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iznsfw · 11 months ago

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IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 1 - Kwon Eunbi

IZ*ONE's Kwon Eunbi x Male Reader Smut

21,183 words

Categories | best friend!Eunbi, facefucking, cum swallowing, against the wall, anal

The most unrealistic thing about this, besides getting to fuck Eunbi, is that she has sex with glasses on.

“Two things. I need you to tell me two things before I kill you in front of everyone. And trust me, I’m very good with a gun.”

“Oh no,” you say grumpily, and a little more sarcastically, while you're gathering your things into the gray backpack you’ve used through its tatters. “How will I ever see the light of day again?”

Eunbi barely looks intimidating anyway in the toga that sags around her small body. The fabric’s a blackish-blue waterfall that drags on the ground. You’re surprised mud hasn’t done its wicked way with it. It began raining earlier, see, and now, except for the mud as evidence, it's as if it never happened. The heat has become too much.

Everything is too much.

“You won’t,” Eunbi says, tongue between her teeth, “but save yourself for once. Tell me what’s going on.”

Right above the garment, her long tresses fall over her shoulders. Earlier last year, she had it cut and everyone fell for her instantly. But you’ve always taken the speedy growth of her hair a victory for your side.

No victories right now though. It’s supposed to be a grand day—the scam that is college has finally run its course, and today you ought to celebrate and throw your cap in the air like everyone else.

But you’re still completely, royally pissed off.

Turn your back. Clear answer, with other possible variations that basically say the same thing: I’m not telling you shit. Nope. Stop bugging me. Brat.

She follows, and she’s a shadow behind you who’s too pretty to be one. But you lengthen your steps. Hope she doesn’t pursue you, but she’s always done that. Since you were kids on the playground, she’s never let you deal with things on your own. It’s forever been Eunbi will help you, Eunbi will stay with you, Eunbi will talk for you.

Why must that knowledge swirl a puzzling mix of emotions in you? She has not once left you alone, and yet here you are, forcing her to do so.

A pair of leather shoes and high platforms (which give way to the illusion that she’s barely shorter than you) pave through the cobblestone ground of the campus you’ll never dream of returning to. You say that yet you and Eunbi are the only other few graduates remaining on the premises. Why? It’s not like you have anything or anyone to be melancholic about.

She walks in the corner of your line of vision. Alright, maybe someone.

You’ve tried to avoid eye contact but you turn to her anyway. She’s always been this easy on the eyes, even when you were high schoolers with wild hormones and sensitive young hearts. Sharp nose, intelligent brown eyes, and pretty smile—she could’ve been a real heartbreaker back then if she weren’t hanging out with you. She could’ve been everything, because this town is too simple, too small for a girl of her caliber.

Turn your eyes away before she could notice. Broken out of your train of thought, you start to notice how your bag knocks your spine repeatedly. Painfully. With the way your notebooks from years and years ago are bumping around in there, you’d think you were carrying a luggage good enough to give you a week’s worth of supplies.

“Ugh.” Eunbi pinches her nose irritably, allows the sounds to continue for a good three seconds, then pulls the source off you. "Dumbass. Alright, now tell—”

“No. Become a nun. Live a good life. Go eat ice cream with Chaewon or something.”

“She likes mint chocolate, so no. I’m never eating that shit.”

“You’ll live.”

“Oh, I will”—she taps your bag, smiling evilly—”and I’ll take the bag with me.”

You sigh loudly. “Eunbi.”

Oh no, don’t get it wrong: she’s always like this. It's not just today that she pushes your buttons, catty with her negotiations and even more so when you turn them down. She discreetly takes control with a sleight of hand, and you never see it coming. You wish luck to whoever smug kindergartner she’ll be an educator to in the future. She’ll quickly show him his place, just like she’s shown you yours.

“What?” she says with a derisive smirk. She pulls on the arms of the backpack to boost its weight up. “No tell, no bag.”

At this point—

“I don’t give a fuck, Eunbi,” you spit. "You have bigger things to worry about.”

Pause. You briefly consider telling her how your grand day was shattered by your own self and thinking, but you don’t want to bother her. She's your best friend. You shouldn't be making her listen to your woes.

Close your mouth; you didn’t even realize it was hanging open for a while.

You exhale through your nostrils. “Do yourself a favor and take care of something else.”

You walk away. That was supposed to be the end of the story. It's the hashtag at the end of an article, the death of the conversation. But wide strides can’t keep her from coercing an answer out of you.

You know that because she’s suddenly pulled you by the wrist then so close to herself that even your cloaks can’t bar yourselves from each other. Her body presses below your chest. Her stern eyes hush you. You can quite literally feel her breathing.

“I think I can handle it,” she says, gaze steady and chin lifting, “much more if it’s you.”

Okay, so maybe you underestimated how intimidating she can get.

She’s a small girl, lying her way into five foot three, but she’s surprisingly strong. You’re more than aware of that to avoid testing if her palm on your heart is sturdy. Her fierce glare, needling into your integrity, is something new. Frightening, too. Her jaw—(oh, and you can never give that perfectly cut line it’s incredibly lucky to possess a normal glance)—is tight with determination.

For a moment, you think you know how to speak but just forgot to completely.

You get the hang of it after a few seconds when you crack a smile. “Can’t tell you anything if you got your hands on me, little raindrop.”

Eunbi squints her eyes, then folds her arms neatly. “A silver rain drop. And I’m not little, I’m one sixty flat.”

“Take that cap off and we’ll see.”

You’re not exactly a top student, but you’re smart enough to run away before she whacks you with her rolled diploma.

(It somehow lightens your mood, because if there’s anything you love more than your phone and street food, it’s Eunbi’s tiny, challenging self trying to one you up. Her light punches are like package peanuts trying to make a dent in you. And it’s just so adorable seeing her face turn dark as she aims for you, and fails.

Oh, and it’s all in good banter. It wouldn’t be a friendship if those jabs were spiteful. There are a lot of relationships out there, both platonic and not so, where insults are masked behind “jokes” and jokes behind insults—you’re glad that doesn’t count for you and her.

But even if we’re to say that Eunbi’s cornering you to the wall, suddenly having grown taller than you, and snarls, with a knife to your throat, “Say good night forever,” you’d kiss her and tell her: “I won’t let the bedbugs bite.”)

"Two, please. Thank you."

Slip the paper bills in the vendor's brown, rough hand and slap yours back on Eunbi's shoulder. You’re still surprised at the bareness you feel, then you remember she's since stuffed her toga in your backpack because of the heat. Now she’s wearing a sundress that flows around her like water.

Look at her discreetly. You’re wondering how she managed to hide all… that. The fabric fits and compliments her figure too much to go unnoticed. You have to pretend to be curious about the boiling process of the eomuk again to avoid staring at her slim arms.

"I still don't get why you call me that," she says. She pulls the drooping strap of her dress back up her shoulder, and you swear you’re gonna lose it.

Take deep breaths. You can do this. "Call you what?"

"You know." She daintily taps away a bead of sweat from her forehead and looks up at you. "'Little raindrop.'"

You return her stare eye for an eye. You have to admit it was a feeble attempt. Whenever you look at her, you're overcome with the realization that she's just so beautiful. Her brows are naturally curved and shaded, and there’s just the tiniest dimple at the side of her mouth when she smiles hard. Who in the world just has a face like that?

But you can't dwell on it. It's a dangerous premise, and you're a rightful coward.

"Ah." Your fingers tap comfortable rhythms on her skin. "Because… hm. Bi means rain, right? And you’re small, a.k.a little. So there you have it."

A crowd sifts through the streets and roads opposite your university, and occasionally daring motorists. Graduates fill the sidewalks to purchase street food. It's been this cramped since forever. You can't believe this is the last time you'd ever see this commotion: nameless faces that have matured through the years occupying every space, scentful smoke that wafts in the air, and, of course, the familiar sight of these stalls on wheels catering to young'uns like you short on cash.

Now that you think it over once more, perhaps you'll miss this place more than you thought you would.

"Well, would you say it, uh…” Eunbi taps her chin. “Hm, derogatively?"

"Oh, come on," you say, shaking your head emphatically, "I would never."

"Good, because I just lost your bag."

Your eyelids suddenly stop drooping. Realize only this second that you haven't felt torn fabric on the shoulder you’ve been caressing.

"Eunbi, what the—"

"Kidding, it's right here." Eunbi lifts it up in the air cheekily. "Gotcha."

"Oh, fuck off," you groan. Push her away, but not so much that she's out of arm's length. There are people whose intentions aren't so nice in this crowd.

Eunbi's adorable, you have to admit. Every day that rises is April Fools Day for her. She loves pulling pranks on you and commits to the bit perfectly. It’s been like this since… forever. It’s like you were born knowing her.

With all that fake innocence on her face when she tells you a white lie for her prank’s sake, she could be an actress. For a moment, you wonder what you'll do if she does become one, if she finds out that she's more than this place is worth. Would she leave you with no warning? Make a name for herself and never bother to reach out?

You gulp a little. That could happen even without the entertainer job. You've been friends with her for ages. One day, she'll grow tired of you and seek brighter horizons. Finer places. Better men.

"You alright there?" Eunbi asks.

You envy her for a lot of things—her charm, her easy way of making new friends, those legs that she’s worked hard to tone. But right now, you’re jealous because she isn’t privy to all those things that run in your mind about wanting to do things to her. Stupid things like hold her hand, tell her something you shouldn’t, the works.

Jealousy won’t amount to anything, so you just nod. It's not like there's much to say that you won't be embarrassed of saying later.

"Well—"

Just in time, the kind vendor raises two eomuks from the bubbling broth. The delicious scent makes your mouth water. "There you go," he says in his usual jolly way that always makes you laugh. "Congrats on the graduation!"

"Thanks!" Eunbi says, always the first to be grateful. She takes hers and the aforementioned dimple on her cheek shows itself again. Your chest squeezes.

"Don't forget me when you're rich." His jovial face almost looks sentimental. "One for the gentleman and one for his girlfriend."

Your smile fades into a nervous line. "She's not my girlfriend," you say carefully.

It's more embarrassing each time you have to say it. Are you too close with her? Probably; your arm is always around her and she's one of the few consistent friends you have. She's been by your side longer than anyone. People are gonna think something’s going on along the way.

The vendor nods mockingly, as if to say “yeah, sure,” and winks at Eunbi. She winks back, but fails to halfway—her left eye scrunches up.

"Don't listen to him," you tell her. You walk away from the crowd; it's suddenly begun to feel warmer than usual. "He likes to play around a lot. Even in first year he was like that.”

“Eh. It's not like he said anything bad.” She sinks her teeth into the skewered food and shrugs.

"It's invasive."

"Invasive," she repeats thoughtfully, (chewing thoughtfully, too.) “Okay. But how?”

"Because… ‘cause…" Suddenly, you find there's no appropriate reason you could dream up to justify your uneasiness. "It's, you know, strange when people do that."

“I don’t mind, honestly.”

You find that you swallow on nothing rather than the delicious treat you’re holding.

The place becomes too much, with the heated smoke eventually making Eunbi hack a cough and the sweaty people surrounding you more than they should. So you squeeze between them with her and go on for a resolute walk down the road. Just a few blocks up ahead, you can see the sun setting. It reflects back and pours a hefty amount of light on your figures. Your shadows synchronize with your steps.

“You don’t?” you ask, just to make sure you heard her right. The possibility of her being so comfortable with you that she isn’t bothered to be called yours… it’s a lot to handle. She shouldn’t just place that on your shoulders and expect you not to buckle.

Try to keep your knees from folding at the idea as you walk down the familiar streets. The roads reside in a subdivision that's humbler than the others, hence the houses being small and more trees standing above you. But you don't mind—you need a break from the urban place anyway.

Your university stays a little near the border between them. That's why more street food stalls come up to view and a few thrift stores. Is this the last time you'll come here?

The last time you'll see her?

“No. Why would I? Alright, now that we’ve got things all nice and settled…” Eunbi takes your wrist. Tightly. She's not going anywhere, and neither are you. “Back to telling.”

“Telling you what?”

“You really wanna play dumb with me?” She presses the point of her skewer to your stomach, seizing you by the waist. “Get those words out. Now.”

"Hit me."

"Two things, right? So answer me." Eunbi's fingers wrap tighter around your flesh. "Why were you crying in the bathroom? What happened?"

Oh.

That.

You're quiet. You look only forward, not daring to meet Eunbi's eyes. If anything, the stick could dig into your guts and it would be infinitely better than having to admit you’re weak. You’ll have to tell her one day. You’ll have to admit that you’re not a better guy just because you’re the only one who has the balls to approach her—you’re just like the rest of them. Nothing special. Grades barely there. Average, probably not even so. Everything but nothing.

“I wasn’t crying,” you say. You can’t remember what happened anyway, but saying what you do leaves a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

The eomuk stick drops to the ground with barely a click. “Are you lying?”

It’s rare that her voice gets solemn. It’s less rare that you rush behind words to cover yourself.

You fix the mortarboard on her head so that it doesn’t slip past her brows. The staff didn’t quite take her measurements properly, so you had to tip the cap backwards. Good enough. “Think you can figure that one out yourself, Eunbi.”

You give her a look that tells her all that she needs to know. It’s not like you can explain properly with this state of mind. What else can you say?

What else can she say?

Perhaps:

“Please.”

Everything stops.

Eunbi takes your hand, which looks large in comparison to her pale one, and traces a finger along your knuckles. Look down at them—those are the days that’ll go by, the months that’ll lose themselves into the void of timeless time. It could never be the same if fate wills itself to change one of these days, and you wouldn’t even know it. Not even a warning.

“It’s just me.” Her voice thins, and you figure out that she’s sort of like you, too: it’s not rare for her to hide behind words and wit. “I’m your friend. You can tell me anything. Please tell me what happened, okay? I hate seeing you get upset.”

You wish you could tell her that it’s the same on your end. Eunbi’s the girl you let climb in your lap after a thunderstorm provoked her, the girl you comforted after she had her heart broken by the man she was convinced was the one. Through it all, you tried to be strong for her, but there’s little foundation to build from.

The side of your mouth twitches upward. “Do you now?”

Eunbi’s shoulders descend as they release a tired little sigh. She nods, refusing to say anything until you take the lead.

“Well, if you want to hear the whole story,” you say as you ring an arm around her, “I was already having a pretty shit day to begin with.”

“Why?” She chews on her lip. Pink gets on her teeth.

“Didn’t feel like I deserved to graduate.”

See, there are a lot of justifications as to why you didn’t deserve to go on stage and receive your diploma. You aren’t worthy of this toga and hat when you’ve barely accomplished anything compared to the others. They’ve already scored internships and some even sealed some higher positions in well-off companies. You, on the other hand, haven’t got anything going on for you.

That rings true for as far back as first year. You cheated (rarely) but still barely passed. Studied but never got the answers right for the test. Kept a strong face but you’re still in pieces on the inside. Now that you’re graduating, you’re the same guy after all that time.

“I had a… very weird time in there trying to get myself together,” you say. “I did nothing to make mom proud. I just bullshit my way through college.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Eunbi hums quietly. Is that her side pressed to your hip? You suck in a breath.

“I mean, sure, but look at how far they got. I’m still in square one.”

“Different speeds for different people,” she says wisely, looking down at her shoes that begin their steps at the heel. “You don’t have to beat yourself up for going at your own pace.”

You chuckle deprecatingly. “When I’m a dumbass, I should.”

“You’re not.”

“You literally admitted you had a hunch I was stupid when I thought your name was Geumbi.”

“No, no, that was a long time ago. I was like, fourteen. It wasn’t my fault. And neither was it yours.”

She steals a bite from your food. A withdrawal from her as she finishes her robbery and yet you bring her back. Do it by stopping, then wiping away the broth on her lower lip with your thumb. Where did that come from?

Eunbi’s frozen. For a moment, she says nothing. She pauses, then looks up at you. Just a simple look from her makes you weak. There are galaxies in her eyes.

“Actually,” says Eunbi, hand floating to your wrist—her voice is soft, “you’ve got to stop thinking everything’s your fault.”

Where should your touch go when all it yearns for is hers?

It's easier said than done, too. Therapy fills your brokenness yet it drains out anyway. All those methods and you can't stick to one. Everything bad that happens is your fault. It's like you're connected to them all.

“I’ll try." Your words barely pass audibility. Should you be ashamed? "I don’t like this either.”

Eunbi presses her lips to the back of your hand then goes on strolling like she didn’t just save you from another spiral. Haughtiness rides her tone. Yep, she knows she’s your anchor. “You can start by carrying your own bag instead of me doing—” She pauses. All the sass is gone; just pure fear. “Shit.”

Your forehead creases and you look around. Nothing out of the normal, just the birds of seldomness and trees that sway with the wind. “What?”

“Don’t be mad at me.” Eunbi bites her lip anxiously. “Promise me. Please.”

“What is it?”

She tells you.

“Eunbi lost your backpack?”

For the hundredth time: “Yes.”

"Like actually?"

"Yep."

“With the notes and sketches you had? What the hell?”

“God, you don’t have to rub it in like that.” You navigate through the streets and try to catch onto anyone perhaps holding a familiar satchel. Nobody fits the description. “We didn’t notice until we were alone.”

You and Eunbi do the very thing characters in horror movies shouldn’t do: you split up. She returns to the food vendors to ask around. They’d cater better to a face like that. You’re left to do the hard work and follow random people to see if they’ve brought away a bag. You really should have reversed roles, but Eunbi’s gone now. You can’t call it off.

The crowds are starting to dissipate, but that doesn’t make your hunt for your bag easier. Whoever stole it must have thought it was his lucky day. That shit was thrifted off a store, but it could sell for thousands if refined just right.

All those documents, lecture takeaways, pencils…

It’s not like they matter anymore. You wouldn’t dream of going back to school, so they won’t have much use in the long run. But those things played a major part in your life, especially in college. Losing it feels like missing a piece of a puzzle you spent nights completing.

“That’s so damn irresponsible of her. Not like her, too. She's a fucking—”

“—adult. Like me. Yes. We’ve gone over this.”

You must look like a local pervert right now, peering at people’s lower sides in search of your treasure. You hope they don’t get you wrong. Women are already giving you dirty looks though. Shit, you’re going nowhere with this.

“You don’t have to defend her every time she does something,” mutters your friend Sakura from the other line. Her accent has lost its origins a long time ago. Now, it carries teasing scorn.

Where the fuck could your bag be? Turn your head to the right, then to the left. There you go, you’re a fucking bobblehead doll. Feel even more ridiculous. It’s all a little humiliating, exposing a vulnerability to people you don’t know. Hey, look at me! I can’t find something important! And I can’t ask you for help because that would mean I’m a shameless piece of shit with no dignity and I’m too childish to graduate and—

“I’m not defending her, Miyawaki,” you blurt out, a little louder than you’d like. More dirty and judgmental looks. Always the centerpiece, you, and for all the wrong reasons. “Go back to gaming, can you?”

“Ha. You’re the one who called me and said, ‘Oh no, I’m with Eunbi again and I’m so in love with her!’” Sakura lets out a smug little laugh. “Just ask her out, dumbass. That way you won’t have to play attorney all the time.”

“I’m not asking her out, dumbass. She's just a friend.”

“Ask her out or Hyewon will. Hyem’ll say shit like, ‘She can lose my bag anytime—“

“Hey.” Eunbi comes up empty-handed. Her words are heavier with each passing fragment. She doesn’t have to say them for you to know her search was fruitless, just like yours was. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see it. I asked around, too.”

Your hopes are dashed. “Call you back,” you whisper into the phone.

“Tell me how the date goes!”

With a small beep, Sakura is gone, (thankfully.) (And so is her song about you and your best friend sitting in a tree doing something so lewd you could only spell it out.) It’s just you and Eunbi, in the gentle end-of-September sunset.

“Now, would you look at that.” Eunbi laughs sarcastically. Sweat usually drips from the side of the face, right? Not the front? She throws her hands up and places them back down her sides anyway. “I guess I did lose the bag after all.”

Something’s wrong. What is it?

You stare at her, not knowing what to say. It is kind of ironic in a biting-you-back-in-the-ass way that Eunbi’s kidding threat about losing your stuff actually came true.

“You sure you didn’t see it anywhere?” you ask. You’re starting to lose determination. And for what? You did say you didn’t give a damn about it earlier. How easily your words come to you when you only think of yourself.

“W-well—”

Yep, there's definitely something wrong. Kwon Eunbi doesn’t stutter. Unless she’s mocking Minju, who’s almost always nervous, or does aegyo as a punishment, she doesn’t trip over her words. “What?”

“Fuck it, I’m sorry, okay?”

Tears come too easily even to the gutsy Eunbi. It’s always been her Achilles’ heel. She’s a great and friendly leader, but one nice word that hits her right where it needs it or a bad day has her reduced to sobs. She smiles through them, wiping the teardrops with the end of her wrist.

“And don’t tell me it’s fine just because I’m crying,” she says. The frustration gets to her and soon her sobs attract attention. “It was, a-a shitty thing to do on my end. I know it’s not okay, but I’m sorry.”

She’s a tearful painter of emotions under a night littered with starry skies.

She doesn’t have to hold the brush for the two of you all the time.

Take the brush from her just like how you take her into your arms. Eunbi says not to absolve her of her sin, but you’re a god whose mercy merges with bias. You like her too much. There’s something that pulls at your chest whenever she breaks down.

The tension partially leaves her stiff shoulders. She sniffles, and it’s an attack straight to your heart. It’s so rare that she becomes so weak.

“Eunbi—”

She shakes her head before you could go on. “Don’t say it. Please. Let me make it up to you.”

“I’ll say it anyway. It’s fine. I can’t use the stuff in there anyway.”

“I said no. Hmph.” Her tears blot the front of your shirt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I would cry like this. Don't feel guilty, okay? Okay? I just don’t like giving you a hard time.”

“You never could.” You’d trade more than a backpack for Eunbi’s wellbeing.

Somehow, Eunbi cries more. Her hug circles your waist in almost a chokehold, and you realize that the Kwon Eunbi from years back—the one who made everyone call her Madison, the one who’s always glued to your side—is still here. She’s just older, a little braver, and prettier than you could ever imagine.

Emphasis on the last. Her lashes carry her tears in a biblically beautiful manner, like you ought to kneel and venerate her. The southward curl of her lips is so cute yet painful that you’d give anything to see them lift again.

“You don’t have to say I didn’t do anything wrong…” she tells you quietly. You could hear the guilt infecting her words, evident in the cracks of her voice.

“Well.” You touch your mouth on her hairline. “You have a way of making me say it.”

There’s no mourning for your bag. You suspect that there was none at all, perhaps just shock? Must be why you’re cradling her, like a child would to a doll at night, and letting her feel your touch. Maybe the way she’s closing herself into your embrace is platonic, because at the end of day, you’re still friends. But you don’t feel her breath on your skin for a while after you indirectly forgive her.

Eunbi lifts her face from the comfort of your front. Pouting, she then laughs a little. “What are you doing? You don’t have to be so sweet.”

“I could be sweeter,” you offer. She sighs loudly, tired of your mischief; you grin and pat the small of her back. “Come on, let’s go home.”

The night has downed the temperature, and now the breeze whips her small form back and forth. It’s too cold for her to be walking with no sleeves or at least trousers. So you lift your toga up and slip it around her. It’s bigger than the one she had and lost with your bag. Her hands barely fight their way out of being hidden under the long blue sleeves.

Her eyes reduce to suspicious slits while a smile pastes itself on her lips. “You’re a flirt, you know that?”

You shrug casually. “Born and raised.”

“That’s not how you use it,” Eunbi says, wiping the last of her tears.

"Might as well go on. I opened the can of worms, now I'll lie in it."

"Jesus."

"What? I made my bed more than I could, now I'll eat it."

“Wow, it’s like you never listened to professor June.”

Wasn’t it just afternoon a few minutes ago? The sky has become a blueish black landscape. The only sources that provide illumination to the streets and alleys are the streetlights and moon, plus the twelve especially bright stars etched into the map of constellations.

“Okay, miss Oh My Gadnis,” you fire back. She gives you a dirty look. You immediately take it back.

She throws her head back and lets darkness take over her vision for a while. Gulp. The light welcomes itself back and she lets out a prolonged, wistful breath. Tiny sobs glaze it. “It’s Minju’s fault. She was always shouting that in the dorm. Makes me kind of miss her.”

In the last years of university, Eunbi made friends with eleven girls. She was the leader of their friend group, the one who made plans and provided solutions. But as graduation crept closer and eventually caught up with them, she won’t be seeing them much again.

“I can always drive you to your meet-ups. Didn’t get a driver’s license for nothing.”

“You don’t have to. I already fucked up your day.”

“You didn’t. It’s just a bag, little raindrop.”

The chilly atmosphere tracks your nighttime conversation with your best friend. What do the songbirds, sleeping yet eavesdropping, think of you and her? Does the moon brighten to increase your shadows? It’s like they’re listening in.

She looks down at the edges of her shoes as they mark their path to home. “What brand was it? I’ll buy you a new one. I-I’ll send the notes to you.”

“No can do. Just do this one thing.”

And now, the night quiets.

When time has chipped away at the lack of lines on your faces and brought forth hell, you’ll be there. Together. You won’t go back here anymore, but there will be prettier places for you and her. It’s what you pray for though you’re not all that spiritual, but you know it’s what you want.

“Let’s… be friends until we’re old and miserable,” you ask of her. Even admitting that you want to be with her makes you shy, and you’re anything than that when you’re around her. So why is this happening? Why are you doing this? “Spend more time together. Doesn’t have to be something grand.”

Eunbi blinks at you. There are undertones to your words, some kind of hidden message a veteran film critic could pick apart if your life were a movie. You’re asking her to be with you, yet there’s depths to it, almost like you’re telling her another thing.

“Sure,” she whispers, nodding. She can do that.

Again, a lot of subtext. But that’s for another night.

“Oh,” you add, “and be my backpack since you lost it anyway. Get up.”

Eunbi flinches, but she’s smiling the second you lower yourself for her.

“Come on. You’re tired, little raindrop. I’ll take you home.”

She sighs. She climbs on your back anyway. You support her legs with your forearms and boost her up. You pay your gratitude to the dark for hiding your flushed cheeks at the feeling of your friend’s body pressed so tight to yours.

“Please don’t do silly shit,” she begs, placing her face next to your neck and fearing the worst.

She’s right to be frightened. Lowering yourself nearly to the ground in preparation, you yell: “Here comes the rollercoaster!”

“No, no, no—ahhhh!”

You zoom Eunbi in the night, feet picking up speed and racing through the road. Her arms are rounded around your neck. She shrieks in delight, and while along the way your legs start to ache, you’re just glad to hear that laugh again.

Gently push the door to your house open with the help of Eunbi's keys, which come with a keychain of a knitted rabbit. Darkness greets you, spreading itself around the house like water.

“Why is it so dark?” whispers Eunbi, looking around and twisting her arms around your neck tighter.

“You’re such a baby," you chuckle. "It's nighttime, of course it's gonna be dark."

Eunbi whines and squeezes her legs around you. The feel of her fluffy thighs in the curve of your palms—it's… something. You can't think like that about her when she's your best friend, but she's so close, so perfect on top of you that your mind runs with ideas.

"Alright, fine. Turn on the light."

"Where?"

"You’ve slept over so many times and you don't know where it is?"

"Doesn't count when I can't see, genius."

"Right here." Twist your head to the wall, where a light switch stays. "Just near the door."

Eunbi reaches out her hand, and you're cohorts with the dark when you secretly inch the fluff of your sleeve against her fingers. She screeches, suddenly struggling, calling your name and whoever Fuck is.

This is the way of your prank backfiring on you: her limbs are surprisingly strong that her feather-light weight becomes too much. Your legs start to shiver. Your hands weren’t made to suffer this much wildness.

"Something touched me!" Eunbi screams, kicking you in the spine. You try to hold on to her but her legs don't behave. "A mouse, a mouse, a—"

You start to laugh. She's like a proactive rabbit trying to beat you up. "Calm down, it was just—"

"My hand, it touched my hand! Disgusting piece of shit, get it off—"

"Eunbi!"

She both clings onto you and pushes you away, scared of what lurks in the dark. You can't take it anymore and drop miserably to the floor. The tiles knock your back out. Eunbi won’t let go of you; her screams never stop.

"Help! My hand—"

"What's going on here?"

The light flickers on, letting you see what's happening. You're in the living room that connects portallessly to the dining room. The ceiling generates dizzy circles above you. And then there's Sakura, an unexpected presence, standing near you.

"Whoa there," she remarks, smug like she’s a journalist who caught a forbidden celebrity couple. "There's a time and place for this, right?"

For a moment, you wonder what she's talking about. You sit up and realize Eunbi's squeezed herself on your lap, with your arms tangled into hers during the mess.

Flush red. Sakura will never let you hear the end of this: you cradling Eunbi on the floor, with her looking so comfortable snuggled up to your touch. “Something couple something something perfect for each other,” that's what Sakura would say.

"It was just a prank," you mumble to the girl on your lap. Pat her head. Show her the fluffy fabric cuff of your sleeve. "See? There's no mouse."

"What the hell? You're such an asshole!" Eunbi's blade-sharp gaze, it cuts through you. You want to keep bleeding, It's unfair how pretty she is even when she's angry.

"Hey, I can do pranks, too." Turn to Sakura, because the next thing you're wondering is how she's here. "How did you get in, Miyawaki?"

"I drove," she says, like it explains everything. "Should we eat? Your dad left some food in the microwave."

Eunbi turns shy at Sakura's knowing look as she rises. She pulls you up. The veins in her forearm flex.

Sakura leaves anyway to fetch the food. You can smell spring rolls and freshly-cooked rice. Your stomach churns—running with Eunbi on your back has burned all that eomuk and left you hungry.

You look at Eunbi questioningly. "Do you know why she's in my house?"

"No.” She returns your curious expression. “I was hoping you would tell me."

“Christ, what's she doing here?"

"I'm here," butts in the Japanese girl, bringing forth a plate of crispy rolls and utensils, "because I personally want to help Eunbi unnie in making it up to you.”

She takes the liberty of scooping chunks of rice onto your plates. You dig your fork through one of the spring rolls, place it on Eunbi’s small plate, then get one for yourself. The wooden image of Jesus on watches you closely. You’re suddenly aware of every little sin you’ve made.

“Listen,” says Sakura, and you do just that.

So here’s Sakura’s brilliant idea, funded by her and her friends (somehow, Eunbi doesn’t get to contribute a cut): a trip for Christmas.

It’s out in Seoul, where it’s snowing at that time of the year, where you’ll get to roam the city and buy whatever you want—all on the house. There’s ice skating to do and restaurants to try, each new and exciting. You’ve never been to Seoul before, but the way Sakura narrates the whole plan makes you look forward to it.

She talks about how her new job is paying her great, and how the fact that the other girlfriends Eunbi has are chipping in makes it an all-in-all win. It’s a friend’s duty, she says, to stick up for when one of them is down, and since Eunbi made a mistake, she’ll gladly take the blame. You’re surprised at how dedicated the girls are. You’ve never seen a bond so deep that they’d pay thousands just for compensation. And for just a thrifted old bag, too.

It’s inevitable that you agree. You have nothing to lose. This is a chance of a lifetime, and you’d love to have a vacation anyway.

Sakura only has one stipulation:

You have to go with Eunbi.

Now it’s not that Eunbi is hard to be around, but she kinda is. It’s not in the usual way—she’s your best friend, not any other girl, and she’s not overly dependent that you have to act as her father or something. She can take care of herself, which can’t be said about a lot of people.

But this is what sets you off: you’ll be the only one with her in Seoul. A guy and a girl sharing a hotel room. Would it be awkward? Of course. How do you tell her that you won’t look when she dresses up? What do you tell her if you find her bra in your sheets?

Still, she’s your best friend. It shouldn’t be awkward around friends, especially when you’re on the journey of spending more time together. That’s the whole point of the relationship: to be free and careless around someone. It’s supposed to be like that until you see how pretty she actually is, with the flow of her long hair and the crinkle of her eyes.

That’s where it gets difficult. Really, really difficult.

“Hey,” she says, and that’s what breaks your reverie. Looking up at her, however, has you drowned in another.

Black-framed glasses sit on her nose, curling at the ends behind her ears. Her hair is pulled up into a ponytail, some fringes flying free from the band. It’s such a deadly attack. Then there’s the graphic shirt that hugs her too tight and the denim shorts that cut too close to the starts of her thighs.

You gulp. When you thought Eunbi couldn’t get prettier, she proves you wrong.

“You like it?” she asks. She twirls around. “I got glasses.”

“I see that,” you reply. Why is your chest immoveable?

Eunbi grins. “I couldn’t say that until I went to EO.”

You force out a laugh. You look at your phone, scrolling through your feed in search of a little reprieve from how pretty she is. At this point, it’s a constant run around your mine: Kwon Eunbi is so pretty. And she’s not just pretty, too. That’s what makes her so beautiful: the duo of feistiness and painful attractiveness. Can you say that? No. But that doesn’t mean you can’t think it.

The first thing Eunbi does when she takes the seat opposite you is swipe a finger through your ice cream. Glare at her. She beams at you. Your reprimand dissolves.

“How’d you know where I was?”

“Lucky guess,” she says. She decorates the sides of her face with her palms as she looks at you curiously. “What you thinking about?”

You. “I’m still not sure about the whole trip thing.”

"Come on," she says, and that pout knows how to break away at your attempts to ever hold her accountable for anything. "It's only weird if you make it weird."

Weird is fitting for October anyway. Should have ordered that Halloween special instead of this.

You were a solo customer in the ice cream parlor until Eunbi came out of nowhere. She always knows where to find you. Telepathy? Power of friendship? Power of something more than that?

You don't want to think about it.

"It's Sakura," you say, testily, as you shove another spoonful of double dutch in your mouth. The sweetness can't melt your anxiety. "It's always weird when it's Sakura."

Eunbi considers this. "What about when it’s me?"

“What?”

“I said: is it weird when it’s me?”

She’s clever at finding ways to make you stutter. “No,” you tell her quickly, “it’s not you, I promise. Just… it’s only us.”

You and Eunbi, alone in a hotel room. A straight man and woman in the same place, with nobody else around. You have fantasies about how it ends, but you know it'll never happen. But the thing is: you're stupid. You're going to do something you shouldn't, like watch her as she pulls long stockings over her legs. Think about more details than the shadow of her body on the glass shower panels let on. Want your best friend when it's everything you should never do.

“Is that so bad?” Eunbi sighs and looks around, thinking. As she takes in the jolly retro style of the parlor and the waitresses, she continues, “I mean, if you want to, I can find another way to, like, make things good. I can tell Sakura to call it off—”

“No!”

She looks at you surprisedly. Always, you speak before you think. To be fair, there’s a single thought behind your too-fast outburst: you can’t let this opportunity pass by. But rather than the grand city lights and expensive restaurants, you think about her.

You cover your mouth. Shit. You have no worries about fucking up in front of her. The worst thing she’d do is make a reference to it in future conversations or joke about it. But right now you’ve just revealed your true intentions.

You’re lucky Eunbi never takes things to heart.

“Okay, fine, geez.” She chuckles lightly, shaking her head at you. “You really need a vacation, huh?”

The only thing you need is silver rain, but you somehow always wield an umbrella.

“Do you like it?”

It’s what Eunbi says, on her knees before she sucks your tip. Groan you must because that tongue is too talented. It’s a skill you could only make faint guesses where it originated. For that, you don’t care anyway—not when she’s slipping and wrapping those perfect lips around your cock, the intent suction making you reel into her face. Almost knocks her specs away, and you wouldn’t want that to happen, would you? Her appeal just goes to an all-time high with them.

“Fuck, yes, Eunbi,” you say. “I love—”

“No. Now that I think about it, you don’t actually get to speak.” She teases your testicles and nurses on one, her hand attending to your stiff erection. “Not until I have my way with you.”

And she does. She switches back to your cock then, like an expert, she bobs her little head up and down, taking you in her throat like it was nothing. The chest of her tight shirt is stained with precum, and some of the foretelling liquid is in her hair. But when has she cared about that? Never, not in the time continuum of this room. She only likes to keep the propriety of servicing you, no matter how red her knees are or how sore her jaw gets.

Eunbi teases her tongue on the lower side of your cock then brings her lips up. You hiss. Her throat welcomes you again, and, with a hand on your thigh, she makes it work. She’s choking, and yet the clever little thing is so diligent with her work. Through choke and sob, those teary eyes looking up at you for validation, she continues. Spit dots your cock and so does lipstick. It’s smudged at the side of her chin.

She licks your cockhead repeatedly. It’s swollen, and she takes advantage of it by licking. And sucking. Then licking it again so rapidly you start to shake.

There’s a greedy glimmer in her tears. “Gonna cum?” she asks. “Please? I want you to.”

Fingers wrapping around your base, she goes down again. Her nose touches your pubic area. You can feel her hot breath tickling your flesh when she rises for a brief and subtle breath. Then it repeats: Kwon Eunbi is forcing her head up and down, lips wet with saliva and precum. The texture of her tight throat and the welcoming pleasure of her mouth brings you too close. Too damn close—

Fill her throat with white so much that she squeals in surprise. A little adorable giggle, then some more hardworking sucking to work your cum out of you. You want to tell her that you’ve become too sensitive, that she shouldn’t continue. But then you never want it to stop.

“Fuck! Eunbi, Eunbi, Eunbi—”

That’s what you say when she continues despite her breaths getting lost.

“Good girl. Good pretty girl.”

That’s what you say, with your hand on her ponytail, tugging it so she gets access to the oxygen she willingly deprived herself of. Her mouth’s filled with your semen. She’s gasping. Her chin’s lifted to the sky but her eyes gaze only at you. Your approval isn’t what she needs to get by solely, but god, does it make her think so.

“I love you.”

That’s what she says.

But like everything else—this blowjob that made you fail November’s challenge, the sweet talk, her on her knees, her actually liking you—

It could only ever be in your imagination.

December couldn’t come any sooner. Packing was an eventful occasion. You bunched up a lot of underwear in your carry-on like you had a habit of pissing yourself. It was only when you got to the airport that you realized that in all the rage to get clean underwear, you didn’t bring socks.

The twenty-third was a day you both dreaded and yearned for. But then you’re in the airplane, traveling through clouds you used to stare up at, and Eunbi’s beside you. Isn’t she always? She falls asleep a couple of times in the airport, head on your shoulder, and you pat her knee to slumber her. Her Sanrio neck pillow is of no use when you’re a better one.

Why can't you stop staring? She's been a tear in your heart for a long time, making it pulse and ache, but now she's gotten so much prettier, so much more friendly that it isn't really unexpected that you fall for her. Is that your confession to yourself? Perhaps. You could only ever say it to your own heart.

Picture this, (and, matching that of the many other scenes you’ve dreamed of her in, it would only be real for a while): Eunbi's wearing that shirt from the day she first sported glasses. On your lap. Looking at you with an aura any man with a heterosexual drawing could read. Hands on the edges of her knees.

She's leaning over, and she's saying—

"That little witch,” she spits, shoving her carry-on, “I can't believe we fly at seven and we had to be here at two a.m., I'm gonna kill Sakura!"

Close enough?

"You got a mouth on you, huh?" you remark. Pull her wheeled suitcase to the mouth of the plane.

Seoul is a paradise. You could see the greatness even from above. A couple of times you have Eunbi wake up to look, and she does. Her evident happiness shines brighter than the city lights.

"It's beautiful," she murmurs excitedly. Even her eyes that are heavy with sleep appreciate the view.

"So it is."

But you could think of other things that are prettier. Other people.

It's autumn, and the golden leaves are starting to fall. They crumple beneath your feet and release crackles that bring a strange sense of satisfaction. Step on another one. And another one. Somehow all your troubles are gone.

Look at her.

She’s reading from a book, paging through leaves containing yellowed words. She looks like a nerdy girlfriend with the new look, which you still haven’t gotten over. In any case, she’s so beautiful, and again, your heart is sore.

Eunbi’s deep into the story woven with Shakespearean words, but she catches your prolonged stare. Blinking, she lifts her head. Smiles. Cocks her head sweetly to the side and you swear she can’t look any better than this: long dark hair swaying ‘round her face and glasses making her more adorable. Says, “What ya lookin’ at, handsome?”

Yeah, all gone.

Eunbi loves playing around with nicknames, and she must think you’re vain enough for her to use that when she wants to rile you up. (She does.) You roll your eyes, and she laughs at her own ridiculousness and your attempt to be dismissive.

“Someone who’s prettier than ever,” you reply. Raise your chin. “You know her?”

“You really love me, huh?”

“Never said it was you.”

“Oh, darling.” Eunbi licks her lip. “I know it’s me.”

Well, shit.

Eunbi’s the only girl you know who could respond to your teasing. The only person, for that matter. Even the men start to back away. She’s the sole person who can handle you, and you yourself could barely handle her. Good friends don’t suddenly lose their breath when she gets near. Good friends don’t think of ever, ever crossing that borderline between platonicness and romance.

So it’s safe to say you’ve been a bad friend all along.

“Since you’re, like, so obsessed with me…” Eunbi rises and hands you her phone. The phone case is red—of course. “Take a picture of me, please?”

She rises from the bench, and you wince inside at how good she looks. It should seriously be prohibited to look that attractive. You've tried to keep your head clear of her, but then she stands up in those teeny tiny safety shorts, fucking hugging her thighs and that supple backside. Why did she choose to go in that? Not even a skirt to go with it, or dress pants? You’re not one to nitpick at what others wear, but you feel something stirring inside you when she dresses more freely.

And red—it just looks so good on her, doesn't it? That simple tight sweater has you begging for forgiveness. You'd go to a priest, confess your sinful yearning, and you don't think that he'd forgive you after how you describe it.

"Will do," you say, chewing on your lip. "Get to posing. We don't have all day."

"Not to burst your bubble," she tells you, " but we do. But I'm a good girl, so I'll do as you say."

Swallow. Why the fuck is she like this?

"You sure as shit aren't, little rain—"

She bends over.

The question repeats in your head. She bends over, (forward anyway), but if any shameless man were to walk behind her, they'd get an eyeful of her butt. You want to tell her she shouldn't do this, especially when her bottoms grip her thighs as a sole factor. But she's holding her bag in the edges of her fingers and angling her head to the side, and you know you’re over.

"—drop."

Eunbi smirks, haughty and proud. "Cat got your tongue back there?"

"Not even close. Give me a smize."

Proud of yourself for recovering quickly, you snap a photo of Eunbi. The look she gives the camera (you?): relaxed brows, slight pout, the black eyewear being the cherry on top—it's not easy baggage to carry for a man like you.

You put the phone down. Take a breather; you always have to when you're with her. Kwon Eunbi, national heart player. Kwon Eunbi, number one prank puller. Kwon Eunbi—

—your friend. Your best friend.

"What's wrong?" All that confidence evaporates from her as she walks up to you, concern taking its place.

She can be really scary sometimes. How could she be a flirt one second then a sweetheart the next? You're kept guessing, and you're guilty for liking girls like that. But as you study her, look at Kwon Eunbi—her hair and the band that sits atop it, her lips, her face—you kind of figure out that there's no other girl like her.

And that scares you.

"Nothing," you lie. "You wanna go get coffee or something?"

"Actually," she states seriously, rising, "I do wanna go get coffee or something."

The twenty-fourth. The malls are crowded with people buying last minute presents, so you and Eunbi sat on the bench outside. It might be Seoul, but you’re not fighting your way through a crowd. While you stayed there and waited for time to feel wrong, a rich woman mistook you for a beggar, pitied you, and gave you a coin. As you stared at the bust on the metal, Eunbi laughed so hard you were not totally uncertain that she was going to throw up.

"We should leave," Eunbi says, "before someone tries to bring you to a damn church basement."

And the scene repeats itself again: you talk with Eunbi, like you've done a million times, as you go to your home for this night and the next. You talk about everything, because conversations come so easily when it's her. Whether it's about stupid people or school or what happened that day, the words flow naturally.

Eunbi bites her lip, hands on her hips. "It's getting late."

"That a problem for you?"

"No. Nope. It's just that… I can't believe it's going to be Christmas tomorrow."

Christmas lost its spark back when you got into college. You've graduated and still you find no solace in the stockings and evergreen trees. School—oh, its deadlines, its pressure, its it-won't-matter-in-five-years-but-I'll-make-you-think-it-will papers—really ruined things for you. Forever.

She drags her vision around everything: the sky of stars, the roads that are just a bit cleaner than the ones at your home, the claw machine arcade just across the sidewalk. She goes there, and you follow. Don’t you always?

"It’s Christmas and we're here," she continues. She manages a snortle. "Doesn't your dad feel lonely? I know mine does."

"He likes you, Eunbi. He doesn't mind."

You pull out a bill and slip it into the old exchanger. Sure enough, tokens spill from the gap. Count them in your palm. Divide it between the two of you. You and Eunbi always share, no matter how hard you try to make it seem annoying. You only ask for one drink and one straw. You split rice balls from that trip in grade eleven when your parents forgot to give you allowance for lunch, up until college when the two of you were too broke to eat anything else. What’s yours is Eunbi’s, and what’s Eunbi’s is yours.

"What first?" She studies the old arcade. It's filled with machines that are either anciently old or freshly new. No owner patrols the areas, but instead, a CCTV does so mounted perfectly on the corner of the walls. It watches your every move, reminding you to behave.

"Wanna get a Piglet?"

“A what?”

“A Piglet. You know, the one who looks like an armadillo.”

“What the fuck is an armadillo?” Eunbi says the English name with spite, almost spitting it into the ground.

“Forget it. I mean like the cartoon pig people say looks like you?”

"Oh. Nah. A good ol’ vibrating egg for me." She thrusts a thumb into the glass of an 18+ claw machine, where it tempts the player with boxed sex toys and hentai copies.

Heat flares at your cheeks. Now it’s not that you’re thinking of it, but it’s Eunbi’s dirty jokes that make you think of stuff you shouldn’t. Her on her bed, legs spread wide open as the toy pulses on her clit, her throwing her head back and crying…

"Spend my money wisely, please?" you croak out. Slip a token into one machine and start to crank at the lever.

"I'll be good."

Your hand curls tighter around the ball of the lever. You hate how you picture double meanings with everything she says. She doesn't deserve that. And you don't either.

Eunbi prances over to the Piglet machine anyway. You want to snicker at her antics, but it gets broken when you see her bend down. The jeans could only hug her backside so much. Her shirt lifts and you could see her tummy—that flat, soft midriff that you’ve wrapped your hands around when you guide her back on the occasion she runs too fast. Or when she needs to move away. She doesn’t mind; she touches you more freely anyway. But you wonder if she’d let you come up behind her and place your hands all over it, not as friends but as something more.

Because for a friend, she sure does take up a lot of your mind.

Put your focus on this keychain. Yes, this one. This keychain is cute. Would be nice to bring something home to your father. You guide the claw to the nearest one and slam the button. To your surprise, the metal actually hinges around the keychain. You could feel your soul lift up to your throat. It just needs to make it all the way to the hole—

“Shit!” you curse as the claw lets go. That can’t be fair, right? It was doing so well, then it just spread open again. What a waste of time and money.

“Loser,” giggles Eunbi. She shows off a Piglet stuffie, pink and simpering.

“Wow, really needed to hear that. Thanks, Eunbi.”

She lifts her shoulders. “Hey, for what it’s worth: I just got lucky.”

Tokens become nothing to you. You try again and again for a prize to make it your money’s worth, only to end up with nothing. Eunbi scores a candy from the kids’ section, and you could see her consider trying out the 18+ ones. The appeal of the Playboy magazines and the Japanese girls looking back lewdly at her with barely no underwear on is beguiling.

“Do you think I should try to get a dildo or something?” Eunbi asks, running her knuckles along the markered glass.

“You don’t even know if it’s clean.” You’re leaning against the outside exchanger, staring into nothingness. But you always manage a little response for Eunbi, as absurd as her questions are and as wild your thoughts are about her. “You might get an STD or some shit.”

Her face squeezes up in disgust. “Ew, right. Forget it.”

You feel her warm body press into your side later. You’re still surprised even though the girl never leaves you alone. Then her head is on your shoulder, just like in the airport, and your heart surges. How do you deal with her? Pet her arm, and somehow she finds a way to sink deeper in your touch. She looks up at you and offers you a kind smile.

“I got you the keychain,” she says. She drops the Seoul keychain on the hand she forced you to open and looks away modestly. “Saw you sweating over it.”

“Thanks.” You look down at it on your palm and feel warm inside. She really is so sweet. “Appreciate it.”

“Yeah,” Eunbi replies quietly. “It’s the least I could do.”

She purses her lips tightly and exhales through her nostrils. Guilt floats in her face like a dark shadow.

“If it’s about the bag, I already told you it’s okay. I mean, it’s just a bag.”

“So? It means a lot to you.”

Your thoughts race with your words and win, forcing them out. “You do, too.”

Is she blushing? No. No, can’t be. But she’s stroking your palm with the keychain on it, a little tilt at the edge of her lips. That’s kind of close to that. Friends do this, right?

Her touch feels both foreign and familiar. You want to reel back and apologize for something you didn’t do, but then you want to hold her. Make her happy. Is that alright?

“Speaking of which,” she says pensively, staring into nothingness like you are, “what do you think happened to it?”

“The bag? I dunno.” Bring back her attention—eyes on me—by actually holding her hand. Sometimes you could be so brave. Toy with it, swinging your joined hands in the air then pressing them to your chest. You laugh at the suspicion clear on her face. “Probably in some lost-and-found counter. Or someone actually stole it and was like, ‘yep, hit the jackpot.’”

“Like trouvaille,” she says.

“What?”

“Trouvaille,” Eunbi repeats. She breaks her gaze from the space on the road and looks down at her sneakers. “A lucky find.”

A lucky find.

Staring at her is your pastime at this point. Your focus glazes over her once more, and you drink her all up. Two locks of her hair are pulled and tied at the back, making her look absolutely gorgeous. You’re lost in her eyes, like they’re an ocean and you’re on a raft floating on its waves. And of course, those glasses—you’re convinced they were made to make you want to do sinful things to her.

But the urge to sweep her in your arms takes over, and it outweighs your lust. Or are they equal? She looks so beautiful, yet so handsome. So pure and sweet, yet such a bombshell.

“Forgive me, but I must reiterate.” She tilts her head with a silly little grin. “What ya looking at?”

You’ve figured it all out. You wonder why you were ever worried.

"Well," you lead a runaway lock of dark hair back behind her earlobe, "guess I’m just lucky to have found you. Even if you're a nuisance."

Her eyes crease up into half-moons. "And I'm lucky to have met you."

"Even… ?"

"Nothing after. Just that: I'm lucky to have met you."

You never meant to actually do it. But it’s become too silent, like the world is leaving the cards on your table to play. And there’s her certain hold on your fingers, like she wants you to do it. There’s the birds tweeting as they gather into the trees for the night, waiting for the show of a lifetime. The stars, too, are bright tonight.

So who could blame you for nailing her to the claw machine and finally, finally kissing her? Her lips are as soft as they look, and you’re melting in them. You’re still holding her hand, keeping it pinned up to her side. Your tongues come out to play and it’s so much better than you imagined, so much better than your stupid little fantasies. Your eyelids shut, too, because this is an experience you never want to end.

That collarbone will be the end of you. It peeks from the neckline of her shirt, and you suddenly have all the courage to seal your lips on it. If only you could have mustered the same courage back in college to socialize, but you’re glad you saved it all up for this moment. Eunbi’s moan is sharp, and it almost makes you falter, almost makes you stop. Nope, can’t do that. When she’s letting out all these other little sounds as you have your way with her, there’s no way you’d let up.

“Hmmm…” Eunbi twists her head to the side and cries out. It unintentionally grants you access to her flawless neck. You leave some flaws: purple bruises she whines at, harsh open-mouthed kisses that trail saliva all over that pale skin. “I need to tell you something.”

You brush your mouth behind her ear. You can smell her faint perfume. “And that is?”

“I lied about wanting to get a drink.” She scoffs at her desperation, then sighs. She gives in either way. “I fucking hate coffee. Hate it. Hate it like a mother hates her firstborn. Or something. Just hate it, hate it, hate it.”

You shake your head. What an unfitting time to say that. Cradle her anyway. “Then why did you get some with me?” you ask.

“I-I don’t know. Guess I just wanted to be with you.”

Wait, so what about all those times you invited her for a study session at the cafe? She had always ordered a latte. Has she been hiding that silly secret each second, just for a chance to hang out with you? To have your company?

You didn’t know coffee would flatter you this much.

You pause. Does she like you? As much as you like her? You don’t know. You’re momentarily flustered. Step back and scratch the back of your neck, similar to a boy having been caught doing something wrong. Kissing your best friend is something wrong.

You shouldn’t be doing this. A friendship between two heterosexual people of the opposite gender could stray to lengths that are both painful as they are excruciating if someone dared to touch the other. So, if you kissed Eunbi, who could predict the consequences? Chances are you’ve ruined your friendship forever.

Then she grabs your waist and pulls you close. Kisses your chin ‘cause that’s all she can reach and she can barely reach it at all. But it sends shivers down your knees.

“Come on,” she whispers breathily. “Don’t be shy. Touch me.”

Foolish to stop and think. Your immediate yet hesitant reaction is to give her jawline one final kiss and slip your hands under her shirt.

“Oh!”

Alright, you’re a lot more confident now. You pull the cups of her bra down and start to squeeze. It’s no secret that she’s got a blessed bust, and now you get to feel it. Her nipples are hard in your palms and the flesh in your hold is just so soft. You could never get enough.

Eunbi laughs. Sort of; it’s kind of a moan, too. She lifts her chin to the sky as you knead and knead and knead. “H-how long… have you been waiting to do that?”

It’s an achievement making her stutter. More stammering breaths leave her lips when you thumb her nipples. Press, thumb, pinch, repeat. It’s how you find out she’s just so damn sensitive, and of course you’re abusing that fact.

“You don’t want to know,” you reply, brushing your lips over hers.

She gasps. “Again.”

“Huh?”

Eunbi kisses you. “Kiss me. Like this. Again.”

Is anyone aware, by the way, that you are completely incapable of refusing her?

You kiss her, like she asked. She sighs happily, her tongue suddenly coming out to play. More sensations of softness are at hand, and now you’re battling for the upper hand with your tongue responding to her gestures.

Two can play this game. You slip your tongue through her lips and she sucks it, almost like she’s aware of who’d be controlling who. You force her up to the claw machine glass (plastic? It’s pretty sturdy) so hard that your kissing isn’t gentle by any means. It’s leaving her breathless.

“You’re… you’re good,” she hums, when you finally reward her with a break. “I wanted to be the first girl you did that to.”

The revelation definitely isn’t linked to how hard you’re nibbling on her jawline. Her shuddering breaths are everything.

“Actually,” adds Eunbi, “I wanted to be the first everything for you. First kiss, first love, first time. But you just had to date Hyewon, huh?”

“Jealous?”

“Nope. Never. Just, oh, don’t stop–” Eunbi winces, ribbons her fingers through your own more. “Oh…”

Your tongue swirls on her neck. Meanwhile, your hands are busier. You squeeze Eunbi’s fantastic breasts so that her leg pulls you close. Your obvious erection pushes against her center. Her hips start to move, bringing herself closer to your rod and getting off on the feeling. Her little whines increase.

Then you remember something.

“Have to.” You retrieve your fingers from under her shirt. Regretfully. Fix her bra back on her.

She’s near tears. “No…”

“There’s a CCTV, little raindrop. You wanna get arrested?”

You’re out of breath. You pull the ends of her shirt down to hide evidence of the crime, though there’s the camera witness to it, and try to lead her outside. She refuses to budge. Her glare is clear.

“If that means you get to fuck me till I’m begging and drooling,” she says solidly, “then take me to court.”

You take her home instead.

She looks frail waiting at the glass doors as you purchase some contraceptives from the convenience store, almost whining when you take too long. How the fuck do they have lube, too? You buy that and all the contraceptives they have, because if you want to have Eunbi, you gotta do it fast and safe.

She manages to wait on the elevator, hand wrapped tightly around your palm. Then, when you get to the room, she pushes you down the bed as if she were actually taller and stronger. She truly is an actress—wasn’t she just squirming impatiently not less than five minutes ago? Directors would look at her for sure, a face to remember among plain ones, and say, “Oh, this is our trouvaille. This is what’ll make us billions.”

But now, she’s all yours. Your little trouvaille.

There’s pride in that.

“Fuck. Can’t wait to have someone like you.” She kisses you. Again. Another one to your chest. She’s a little greedy with the way she devours you. But you’ll spoil her as much as she wants; curve your body up so her cushiony lips could have more. Your back is buried into the white sheets. “Someone who is you.”

Grasp the small of her neck—her kisses are surprisingly passionate. "Wait,” you say, “you're not a virgin?"

It doesn’t bother you; just surprises you. Eunbi’s had a fair amount of suitors and boyfriends, and plenty looked too frail to even hold her hand.

"Virgin? Hell no," she replies, like it’s the most unbelievable thing she’s ever heard. The center of her jeans grinds against the mountain in yours. She bites her lip. "Mmm. You think with all this hotness a dude would go, 'Oh, I only want to take care of her'?"

"I do want to take care of you," you murmur, caressing her waist.

"Oh?" A grin stretches on her face. Her teeth still trap her lower lip, and it makes your stomach tighten. Your jeans, too. "Tell me more."

“For one,” you sit up and play with the belt loops on her pants, “I’d like to help you out of your clothes.”

“Typical,” she mutters amusedly. “But I’m not complaining.”

Eunbi continues grinding for long seconds that already feel like a taste of heaven, then rises. Her legs are jelly. You can’t imagine how wet she must be, and to think you’d finally see exactly how. She undoes your zipper, and you in turn pull down hers. Your pants are a whirlpool on the floor. It’s only when you roll on the condom and help her out of the shirt that you realize what she’s wearing:

Calvin Klein, from bust to bottom. Her navel sits above the band of the underwear. Her midriff looks even more perfect bare. Flatness travels through its front until it swells largely at her breasts, which look heavy behind the gray bra. Her hair falls messily over her shoulders, a sea of wildness, and her smile is dorkier with those glasses.

“Fuck.” Your Adam’s apple bobs. “Eunbi...”

“Will you?” she challenges.

You stand up and grab her ass to usher her closer, then kiss her. She smirks; she expected that to happen. Of course, the little devil, always getting her way. But you can’t help but give and give and give; you turn your positions around, push her gently so that she lands on the bed, and continue to kiss her.

Silky legs curl around you. Behind the fabric, you could already feel how wet she is. Drive your hips up because the friction is too good. The wet spot of arousal on her underwear prods your clothed erection.

Eunbi screams loudly. Chastise her with a squeeze on her butt cheek. She yelps, and your lips land on her again. “Easy there.”

“I hate you,” she groans, slapping your arm impatiently. She whines when you poke her cheek. “Give it to me.”

“Give it to me what?”

Eunbi huffs. “You want me to call you daddy on the first day? Really? I mean, that’s fine, I can do that. But can’t we dial it back?”

“You watch so much porn that you forget basic politeness.”

“Wow, hypocrite. Fuck you—”

“Baby.”

That shuts her up. Your thumb caressing teasing rhythms on her face plays a big role, too. Her ears are pink at the ends and she genuinely looks shocked. No, not shocked. Can’t be just that anyway. But that tiny pout pulling south at the ends and the tiniest of pants escaping it tell you what you have to know. You and Eunbi can communicate with just a look, and this one she gives writes to you a message of want.

“You alright? It’s okay, Eunbi. Baby.” Proud to have ruined all her feistiness, you tip her chin up. “I want you to say it.”

Wait, patiently. It’ll take time and you’re not one to rush. When she starts to talk again, her voice is barely above a whisper.

“Please.” She nods and nods, like she was doing it just in case you started to doubt. “Please fuck me.”

“Good girl,” you tell her. You’ve always wanted to. You can tell it’s the same for her.

You ease her out of her underwear and find her pussy prettily shaven, glistening wet. Light stickiness lines the insides of her thighs. Her lips down here are just as beautiful up there. You glide your fingers up and down between them, a choreography you’ll never get tired of performing again. Your touch is light yet you manage to put your hand on and in all the right places.

Oh, well, barely in. But that’s the fun of it; teasing Eunbi is a newfound hobby. In little time, it’s become your most favorite. Your touch is so light that when you edge the tips of your fingers inside, it’s already a lot to take. She lets out a humbled little growl, shoulders straightening. Mouth slacking. Thighs shuddering.

“No, no, why does it feel so—” Her voice breaks. Her face squeezes up and she’s crying out in strained, tiny sounds.

Your digits gently curl on the entrance of her pussy, touching her sore clit and making it throb with the stimulation. Eunbi’s lost count of the times she’s done the exact same thing to herself: lying in her bed screaming out silently with only her hand to turn to. And now she’s here, with you doing it for her.

Slip one finger inside, and even with that she’s already so tight. You start to pump her, each driving her nearer and nearer to the headboard. She’s whining, like no, no, oh, please don’t stop. You add another to hear it more.

“You prick,” she squeals out, palm to her mouth. “If you stop, I’m gonna kill you. I swear, I swear, don’t play around with me.”

“You��re in no place to be making threats, Eunbi.”

This is her punishment: a speed her little pussy can’t take. She’s so tight that you’re already struggling. Trust that she is, too. She’s thrashing around on the bed, disheveling the sheets the staff oh-so-carefully fitted back. Hold her down so she gets to feel the force of your pace.

How did she manage to peek in your mind, collect all your fantasies about her, and act them out? She’s there, in her Calvin Klein underwear, shaking at your fingerfucking and flashing you the most needy looks from behind those glasses. That’s gotta come from somewhere. Watch the float of her tummy when you jam your fingers harder; the quiver in her arms when you part her legs more. Now you’re certain.

Because see, it’s how it’s all so frightening: Eunbi’s Eunbi, your best friend and someone you’ve fallen in love with, and it’s the fact that you shouldn’t be crossing the line. You shouldn’t be fingering her with a madness of thousands when she’s your friend. You shouldn’t be touching and leading her on when she’s your friend. You shouldn’t be—

But oh, you are.

You’re doing it with the courage of someone who knows damn well what they’re doing is wrong, and with no regrets.

“In me.” It’s not a suggestion. It’s a command, veiled under a breathy tone. “Now.”

You pull your fingers out of her and lick them. You don’t know if she’s tangy or sweet or bitter, but you do know she’s fucking delicious. “Whatever you say,” is your reply, because you’re always spoiling her.

Eunbi separates her thighs from one another. Your protected cockhead bumps against her clit when you approach. She flinches, but scurries herself near. She can’t stop staring at you, your cock, your stomach. Everywhere. It makes you possess a kind of narcissistic theory that perhaps she’s just as obsessed with you as you are with her.

You’ve never hoped this hard for a conspiracy to become true.

"Please." Eunbi's breath shortens, and she closes her eyes. She’s suddenly quiet, letting go of her harsh neediness. "Please rub your cock on me. On my clit. Without the condom."

Look at her throbbing nub and catch your breath. Barely. You run your fingers below the sensitive pearl. Then, on it. Under it, too, with little weight in order for the heat to circle around. "I don't know if we should, little raindrop."

"You can put it back on after, i-if you want." Her begging is borderline desperate. No wonder she isn’t sassing you. "I’m on the pill. Should have told you, I’m sorry. But I just want to know what it feels like. Please?"

“Are you sure?”

She nods. Not that you need it to know what she wants.

You unroll the condom. Her mouth waters, even more when you do as she says. She’s right to be curious—it feels so fucking good that you’re afraid you have to put it on before you cum all over her. She whimpers quietly, the heat gathering in her clit and her legs suddenly tensing.

“Gah—” Eunbi sobs and catches the side of her fist in her mouth. “Oh god, please.”

“Seriously, you’re so cute when you’re desperate.”

“Shut up,” she gasps. “Just put it in me.”

Sure you will, but you can’t resist flicking your cock between her lips. Your tip teases her entrance and slaps her clit. Eunbi lets out a lengthy groan. It transforms into a girlish cry, and you kiss it all away. What you don’t know is the moment you push yourself inside, no amount of petting would get her to quiet down.

So you do.

“You are so—” Eunbi’s legs stretch out. They require an anchor, and you’re glad to act as one. You place your hands firmly on her thighs and start to push yourself inside the delicious tightness. Every time you try to push past the limits, her pussy only closes more around you. She’s all wet and aroused yet she remains so goddamned tight.

She’s slippery but firm in holding your cock inside that warm, wet hole. She has to stop tensing her stomach so that she won’t deprive you of her. It’s hard to push, but one powerful thrust drives you all the way in, making it worth it after everything. She spreads her thighs more which gives you the chance to feel them, and you’re right for grabbing the opportunity. Grabbing her thighs, to be specific.

Each thrust helps spread her out. You’re pushing her apart and forcing her limits to be taken down. Her pussy sleeves your shaft so well, so tight yet so perfect. You slam harder. Take in the beautiful imagery of Eunbi’s small cunt taking more than it could. Its hold is so enclosed that you’re required to guide her legs up to welcome your dick deeper.

“I’m seriously so angry at you,” she hisses out. She bears every drill with a pleasured face and a fist that chokes the sheets to material death. “How did you not dick me down… all those years ago, huh? What a fucking tease, fuck—”

Make up for it by choosing a rocky pace. She won’t relax, and it’s straining you. You’re so deep inside her yet you can tell there’s more to excavate—her tensed body just won’t let up. It’s like every time you roll your hips, her velvety walls close more around you.

“Well, I didn’t know you were so tight,” you say, kissing her collarbone. Tiny nibbles here and there before you give it a lick. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“Oh, you’re sorry? Then fuck me harder.”

You’re terrible at apologies, but you’re sure she’ll forgive you this time. Your core releases a mighty strength in shoving between her open legs. Even that sexy Calvin Klein bra can’t stop her godly tits from bouncing. Her glasses are lopsided while her vision goes loopy behind them.

Her cheeks inflate in labor as her lower body rises to greet you. She’s so adorable; it pinches your heart and leads your mouth down so you can kiss her shoulder and clavicle. See, you’re a good multitasker after all; you can destroy the heat in her center while worshiping her body. It’s good practice. Question is: would there be more times to exercise it?

“That’s it, yes,” Eunbi breathes out. Her hums of affirmation stutter even without her lips opening. “You know what I’ve always imagined? It’s this, it’s always this. When I’m supposed to be studying, I just think of how good you’d pound me. How you’d make me scream. Do what you want to me, okay? Hnnn, so big.”

Plenty of similarities between you and your best friend: your quickness to speak before taking the time to contemplate it, the clothes you accidentally mix and match, your ages. But what you didn’t know is when you sit down at your laptop plagued by thoughts of her, she’s somewhere in her own place being overwhelmed by ones of you. The heat somehow multiplies. Fills the room like a verse.

Therefore, you must hold her in place, give her a false reassurance that you’re going to take her slow. Do so, but then your thrusts become unmeasured and rapid. One hand on the side of that flawless waist, you lead the other to her bra. Harshly pull it down and let her boobs spill out of it. You start to squeeze them hard. Her chest is so bountiful that even the width of your hand can’t map it fully. So you squeeze, forcing it to fit in your fingers, and start to pinch. Her nipple is sore with arousal.

“Oh—oh—oh, shit.” She’s sobbing. But unlike the other times you’ve seen her cry, this one is out of pure bliss. “Just like that. Such a good dick, such a good boy, thank you.”

Your ears heat up. “You’re a pretty good girl, too, Eunbi.”

“You’re terrible at this.”

She mewls helplessly when you suddenly ramp up the pace. You’re doing her like you’re determined to make her pregnant. It’s the last thing you want to happen, but the grinds make it look otherwise. Along the expedition of your cock, it rubs her needy cunt and makes her drench your cock with more wetness. Enjoy the tightness, enjoy the squeeze of her hole. She’s so warm and wet that you don’t think you could live having only done this once with her. There’s gotta be more, right?

“What about now?” you ask, unable to resist smirking at how she’s now completely broken apart. Then, mirror her words from some days back that drove and still drive you crazy, as ridiculous as they are: “Cat got your tongue back there?”

She chokes up and is rendered even more lost for breath when you start to lose control of your own moans. They harmonize in an erotic chorus with hers and soon you’re muffling them with another torrid liplock.

“You’re a bully,” she says, the words mashing with your teeth and lips. “A heartbreaking, flirty, mean bully.”

Your noses nuzzle against each other. “You like me that way.”

“I’m not commenting… on, t-that.”

“Good. Because you know what you need to do? Cum for me. You’re shaking, Eunbi. Bet you wanna cry and get there so bad.”

“Y-yes!” Eunbi curses with that adorable lisp. She starts to stammer at the thumb floating and frisking on her clit, and she gives you this watery-eyed needy look that tells you, along with her stiff nubs and desperate gasping, she’s close.

You start to swipe at her clit and fit yourself lower in her. Eunbi gasps. She sits up though her forearms barely could handle the weight of what you’re doing, and stares down at your handiwork. She feels hot all over. You’re not helping calm her down. But you are aiding her orgasm, (which, by the way, is so near she can taste it.)

“What are you doing, you’re making me lose it—gonna—”

No need for her to continue for you to understand when she’s creaming all over you. Your rapid rubs on her clit don’t cease and neither do your thrusts. Eunbi’s yelling so hard that you’re afraid that even the well-built four walls of your hotel room won’t contain her noises. However, at the same time, you want them to hear her. That girl you always have your arm around on? Yep, she’s yours. That girl who always steals your socks and shirts? Just the same.

Eunbi’s mouth pinches up before sighing loudly, followed by a series of other gaspy breaths. You could hear a venerating one the moment the tightness becomes too much for you to handle and thus milks you of cum. You fill her so much that it drips off her lips. Your gentle thrusts guide the mixture of her cum and yours back inside her.

“That good enough for you?” you ask, pulling out.

Gently close her mouth and wipe the saliva that dribbles down it. When you lead it back to her mouth, she sucks on your aiding thumb. You take the liberty of running your finger along the soft pillows of her lips.

Add: “You’re incredibly demanding when you’re being fucked.”

Anyone could have guessed that it would be that way if they saw how she’s sitting there giving you teary puppy eyes.

“Of course. You know why?” She gives you a tired yet satisfied look, a triumphant one, too. “I know you would give me more if I asked.”

Fix her glasses back on the bridge of her nose. “You give yourself too much credit.”

“Okay. Fine.”

Eunbi stands up. She steals your attention from her heaving, heavy breasts when she gets on her knees. She squirms her thighs together, letting your creampie leave visible evidence. She massages your thighs, and it makes you even more turned on.

“Tell me,” she says, another challenge, “that you won’t give me your cum. Tell me I’m such a bad girl that I don’t deserve all of it on my face. Hell, tell me you won’t even dare give me a nice, hot load down my throat as a reward for taking you well.”

You’re speechless. How do you react to this? She’s on her knees, riling you up and about to get to sucking you off. It’s another dream come true. And you hate how she’s right to death. She always is.

“Tell me all of that,” she concludes, “and I’d know you’re a fucking liar.”

Your tongue can’t form a fragment. Not even a stutter is born in your throat. Eunbi stares up at you, her hands neatly folded on her lap. She’s waiting, and you want to tell her it’s fruitless. You can’t tell her anything because it would prove her point. Plus, she’s gorgeous, so what now?

She clicks her tongue. Hums out a contained, satisfied laugh. “Thought so.”

Here’s how it starts: she licks at your tip repeatedly, keeping in mind how sensitive it is after having just cum inside her. Sparks of heat knot there. Then she leads it between her lips, and you’re on your toes again. She just slides those full, pink lips over you so perfectly. From the base to the head she goes with barely a complaining mouth. To you, it’s everything already. But to her—oh no, don’t get it twisted: this is just the beginning of it. A teaser to what will happen.

Her tongue laps side to side while she takes you in her mouth. You let out a stilted breath.

“Damn, you really, really like that, huh?” She pauses momentarily to lick your balls, then travels her tongue to the sides of your rod. With one lick, there’s another ball of heat tightening in you. And another; you’re moaning.

“Y-yeah.”

“I see.” (She doesn’t; she’s closed her eyes while nursing your sore cock. Okay, now she does.) “What’s something you really wanted to do to me?”

You exhale. It’s the only laugh you can manage to create. “Ah. Where do I even begin?”

Eunbi brushes your cockhead over her pouted lips. Your toes curl. “Tell me? Please?” she says.

Talking to Eunbi is easy. You can tell her anything and she’d be there, listening patiently and adding a joke sometimes. But when you’re asked to narrate all the things you’ve wanted to do to her, it’s a difficult task.

How do you say you’ve wanted to bend her over a desk while you finish between her legs?

How do you say you’ve strained for the opportunity to ask her out, with the first date being consummated by steamy, romantic sex by the moon?

How do you say you’ve wished for everything, from romantically cheesy to filthily rough, when it comes to her?

“I—I’ve thought about cumming in your throat,” you admit. That’s the first step. You run your fingers through her hair. Take care not to mess the braids. “Making you swallow all of it.”

Eunbi looks smug. “Sure, I can do that,” she chirps. “I mean, I’m me, right?”

“You’re a brat.”

“So make me shut up. Stuff this fat cock down my throat. Make me gag with your load. You always wanted to, right?”

Eunbi’s a challenging girl. She pushes you to go the extra mile, makes you do things you never thought you could. Tonight is no different.

You don’t care to keep the aesthetics of her hairdo anymore. You bunch her hair up in one tight ponytail then shove yourself inside. No gentleness in your body, you feed her wet and waiting mouth.

What bests the other in terms of tightness: her pussy or her throat? You don’t know. Can’t choose properly either. Observe anyway: this orifice provides the perfect wetness and a tongue that services you with glides and licks. Then you have that tight hole when you push yourself deep. You can feel her breaths being blocked by your girth.

Start to thrust away. In the beginning, she still has it in her to suck. You can feel the strength of it doing away at your length. But now, she can barely breathe to even do it. You’re just pushing her face into your stomach and her nose to your navel. You’re using her, which you’ve sworn you never would do. But she’s asking for it. Can’t you break your oath just once? Or at least, whenever she asks for it?

“Can I say how pretty you look like this?”

The blush on her cheeks adds to the aura of it all. Her eyes are glowing with tears as they blink at you, and she’s started to salivate all over you. She can’t take it all, yet she’s so determined to that you want to stop and praise her. As you fuck her face sloppily, the thought that she’s beautiful still hasn’t left your head. Even when you’re ruining her, you’re still starstruck.

You’re a little flustered yourself. She’s so gorgeous that it sometimes makes you want to go call every visual storm in a rainforest ugly. She’s the prettiest little raindrop, and you stand by that.

“You’ll be good, won’t you? You’ll take all that I’ve got for you?”

She nods so innocently you wouldn’t think that she was having her face used.

She’s promised you to swallow all of your cum, and Kwon Eunbi? She never breaks promises.

Twist the ponytail you’ve bunched together to push her head firm to your stomach. She chokes, her throat constricting. Just what you wanted. You limit the movement of your hips so that you could shove that pretty face into you and make her put that mouth to good use. She’s good at that; even with her gags that somehow sound more heavenly than concerning, she takes and takes and takes your length.

Pounding away, you bask in the squeeze of her throat, her hold on your thighs, her eyes tearing up. Her glasses are lopsided, and this time you don’t fix them. You caress her cheek then tilt her chin up. Her mouth’s an easy place to access in this position. The imprint of your cock bobs in her thin neck.

“Oh!” she gasps for air once you retreat.

She sucks sloppily on you when you rub yourself on the inside of her cheek to lead you to a climax. After you’re certain it’s right around the corner, you start to jerk off in front of her face. As much as you’d love to completely release her, you want to see Eunbi fill her mouth with your semen.

Eunbi’s a good girl, so you found out. She doesn’t need instructions for her to cleverly part her lips and wait for it. Her heavy breaths fan your penis.

“Almost there, little raindrop,” you say, “just be good and wait.”

She sticks her tongue out and you aim for it. Eunbi closes in and fills the top of her tongue with your thick release. It pools in her mouth so satisfyingly that you almost wish you could keep cumming forever—not for the pleasure of it but to see her keep that desperate face on.

“Swallow.”

Eunbi shows off the plentiful evidence of your orgasm puddling in her mouth, then does so. After she gulps, she pants. Laughs a little, too. She has a way of finding humor in the most absurd situations. For example: your professor’s voice cracking in the middle of a rant. Your dad calling her “a very well-mannered young lady.” Having her face fucked.

“Do you know you’re, ah, shaking?” she asks, fixing her exposed bosom back in her bra.

(You are.)

(But, to be fair, she’s made a mess on the carpeted hotel room floor. That’s kinda worse. The saliva can’t be differentiated from her girl cum. But at least yours can.)

“Thanks for letting me know,” you say anyway.

“Anytime.”

Amazing how things could grow awkward after you just abused her throat. You’re like two strangers trying to make conversation, and you’re everything but that, aren’t you?

“How ‘bout this: d’you know that you glow after being fucked?”

“Shouldn’t you do it again?” She climbs onto the bed you’ve collapsed on. She places your hand on her thigh. “Keep me pretty?”

There’s nothing that could make her look unflattering. The messy hair is wild but she’s still a princess. But if that’s what she wants… well, she’s the last person you’d want to say no to.

“You’re insatiable.” Nevertheless, you let her bring your hand to her used core. You love how she stiffens when you start to rub circles around her clit.

“Don’t tell me you aren’t, too.” Eunbi presses her mound close to the heel of your hand. For a moment, she’s frozen. Then, her lips are next to your ear, telling you of a tale older than her lust. “I want you to do everything you want with me, everything.”

You’ve lost count of all the things you want to do to her. From things as sweet as tucking her in after a bad day to the filthiest like defiling that ass since that day she wore cycling shorts alone, your mind just runs with ideas. You can’t choose.

“You’ve kept me waiting,” she whines out. Her sighs grow sporadic. “So give it all to me.”

“Like I said: incredibly demanding.”

“You asshole.” She chokes this out as you start to roughly prod her nub. “You fucking… gatekeeper of dick.”

“Well, it’s my cock. I think I get to decide what happens with it.”

“You’re selfish.” Her voice gets higher. Her winces grow often, and Eunbi’s starting to babble out these little words of biteless barks. “You’re so, so cruel. You don’t know what I’d do, I will—I will—”

Before it happens, you place your hand on the back of her neck. She doesn’t even get to glare at you because it all happens so fast. You don’t know how you did it. Not just this, but everything else: how you managed to befriend her, how you managed to lay her.

How you managed to push her not too gently to the wall, her chest pressing its solidness. How you managed to perfectly time it so that her head is tilted to the side so you could still catch a glimpse of that face. How you managed to pull up her bra and free those tits.

How you managed to say: “Do you know what I would do to you?”

Because there’s a million things you could do to Kwon Eunbi—the girl you’ve got pinned beneath you who’s absolutely tense with want. Your little kisses melt the freeze of her shoulders; you can hear her soft moans again.

Her lashes flutter over the undersides of her eyes. “Please,” she squeaks out, “do tell.”

“I’d rather show.”

Eunbi hums strainedly. You pierce through her again, It’s the second time and her velvety pussy still barely budges at your contradictingly welcome visit. Press your stomach into her back till you’re buried deep inside her. As a result, she’s shoved harder into the wall. Then you retrieve yourself handlessly from her, then put yourself in again.

She pants heavily, matching those of yours. She’s shaking, the only leverage to stay upright is your body on hers. Your rhythm is not too different from earlier and Eunbi still finds herself seeing it as something so new. She still spasms and quakes around you. Anything you give to her, she takes gladly. Each thrust pushes out a feeble cry from her throat and from within.

Her arms stretch to support her stance to the painted wall. You adore them, like you do to every other part of her. But these—these beautiful, strong arms whose minimal bulges hint of well-trained muscles—they do a number on you. You run your hands all along them, not making it easier for her. Everywhere you touch delivers a quiver running through her body.

Although you touch first from the sides, her chest already feels big. You caress her curves before placing your hands right on her breasts. They’re your guilty pleasure, the kind that makes you pray for forgiveness because you don’t even know if you’re worthy of stealing glances at them. Maybe you are, because you’re getting to hold them. It’s a divine sign, if you do say so yourself.

Clutch them. Use them to plunge to places left unnavigated in her cunt. She’s dripping all over you, and it somehow plays the role of lubricant. It lets you thrust easily and keep her wet enough for more.

Any touch you trace on her beautiful body makes her quake. You brush your fingertips lightly over her clit, and the squeeze of her hole strengthens. You massage her fantastic hips and waist and you’re rewarded with a feral cry. Kissing her does no good in helping her calm down because, if anything, she gets more worked up.

“Oh, look at that, Eunbi.” You continue thrusting in her, pushing her limits far from the bounds, and she’s got her hands on her face, tears on her palms. “You’re so desperate. You squeeze so tight around me.”

Standing is something she’ll soon be incapable of doing for her legs are beaten down by your movements. “Not exactly my fault,” she says. “You know who’s to blame? You. You and that smug face and smug everything. You—”

How is it possible that you can make her garble but lose her words as well? Eunbi’s excessive whining comes to a halt as you plummet said cock deeper. Silent screams escape her open mouth and she’s clinging to the surface in front of her like she’d slip if she didn’t. There’s a possibility that that’s true—when you let go of her hip, she almost falls.

“You—” If you didn’t know Eunbi, you’d think her voice had contempt in it.

“What about me? Can you tell me?” You know that’ll annoy her.

It does, for she says: “W-wow, big ego.” She whimpers quietly at the soft kisses you place on her neck. The circumstances don’t allow her insult to hit properly. It just swells your pride.

“I know another thing from me and mine that's big.”

Eunbi growls. “Then put it to good—fucking—use.”

She has a point. Why are you fucking her rough when you could be even more so? Your touch climbs from her waist, tiny, to her boobs that can be described as every adjective in the thesaurus except for that. Afterwards, you carry out a brutal pace which drives her so into the wall that you’re not sure how she hasn’t made a dent in it yet. Her only protection from its hardness is your hands on her bust.

Nothing can protect her from your hardness, however. It’s almost cruel how pink that milky white skin is, culprit of the defilement being your core that slams and slams into it. But you know she likes it this way. So why stop? Of course, there’s no reason to.

“God, please– you’re—” Her expression changes. Pleasure becomes bliss as bliss becomes paradise. “Oh no, I think I’m close.”

No quote from philosophers and learned individuals could inspire you like that simple statement. Yes, she’s close to cumming. And it’s because of you, she just confirmed it. So you tweak her hard nipples and tilt your moves up. You must have hit a certain spot because a simple “oh” turns to a scream. Several of them actually, each increasing the smacks of your hips on her butt and your lips’ ravages on that delicate, vulnerable swan’s neck.

“Hngh, I can’t! I can’t, I can’t, harder, please!” she yells, falling back to the wall and shaking.

Your moves become frequent and rough. Your hands join in with the roughness; they begin to harshly pinch and grab her boobs until she unravels.

Eunbi suppresses her scream into a whiny cry and falls into you, unable to keep her balance anymore. The flood rages in her core and overflows. Your cum slides out of her pussy as she tightens and loosens. She frantically pushes her ass back into you to keep the climax on a high, coupled with sharp shrieks of affirmation.

“Keep fucking me,” she rasps, “keep ruining me.”

Her voice ranges between low and sexy to high and needy. Both sides, however, are draining you. It’s the way the sweat sticks to her gasping face and how her legs are practically limp. She’s completely under your control, and you… like it? Is that how it’s supposed to work?

“Yes, yes—don’t stop.” Her nails scratch the paint. “Don’t, wait, not inside me. Okay? You can’t.”

You manage to successfully quiet your groan of disappointment. You pull out reluctantly. Tell yourself you already ejaculated in her moments ago, so it’s only fair for it to be once. However, your cock’s still rock hard. What do you do about it? You’ve already done more than you should with her. It was all supposed to be just one kiss. How did you get here?

She turns around and places her hands on your shoulders. Her palms are sweaty in spite of the air-conditioner breezing in the room. The exhaustion on her face from sex is there, and so is this little serious look.

“I want you to cum,” she says, “in my ass.”

Thoughts. Too many of those, none pure. Thoughts of Eunbi that didn’t stay as fantasies because look at them bleeding into reality. Silence, too—you’re not saying they speak louder than words, but of course you can tell she’s serious with those watery bunny eyes.

“What?”

And of course you gotta act like a prude. What the hell? You? A prude? That’s a fucking lie. You’ve pleasured yourself countless times to the thought of her and that body, so why are you backtracking? As Eunbi would say, right after you made fun of lazy students while never studying much yourself, “Hypocrite.”

“What?” Eunbi drags your hands down that supple ass and makes you squeeze its full cheeks. “I want you to get your money’s worth from that expensive lube and pound me. And don’t you even think of stopping.”

You glance at the plastic-wrapped bottle on the bedside table, then back at her. It just doesn’t make sense. You—you and your awkwardness and spontaneous bursts of overconfidence—getting to cross the line? Everyone has probably doubted their worth one way or another, in stories written the same as yours, but is she serious? Does she really, really plan on letting you do it?

You look down at your bare feet. She sighs loudly, obviously and slightly irritated at your hesitation. Only an idiot would pass up that opportunity. But maybe you want to be an idiot—because fucking her would mean wanting her. You’ve already done both. You’ve made her cum twice and always wanted to do so, always desired her. To you, it just makes you worse than the rest of the men who vied and strived for her.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Eunbi,” you tell her quietly. Let them rage at your words as if your life were a movie and they were a judgmental audience, but it’s true. You can’t violate more unwritten rules.

She lifts her head, her face parallel to your own. “What if I want you to?”

You blackmailed everyone into reading your story, you’ll say it straight up. This isn’t a love story or tragedy, or whatever. This is a tale about you being too generous. You’re always giving Eunbi what she wants. Every key point’s been triggered by her wishes—from her bailing answers out of you right up to this passionate Christmas Eve. You’re the genie who keeps giving her extra. Oh, you’re a pretty girl, you see, you’d say, blue hand stroking her hair, so of course you can ask for more. It’s all on me, beautiful. All on me.

You keep granting. And granting. And granting.

“Spread those legs.”

Because it’s all written on paper, in the law of nature: she’ll be the one who calls you names and drags you around. But here? Nothing remotely close to that. She’s the girl who sits on the counter of the kitchen table, and opens her legs. Why? Because you told her to. You’ve already fucked all the sass out of that sharp-tongued mouth. There’s little left.

In this wealth-stealing coup of a hotel room, she’s the one who does what you want. She’d slacken her mouth to have you give her a throatpie. She’d ride you like she would a pillow if you asked her. But in a way, behind the scenes, it’s her screenwriting it all. She’s got it predicted from front to base—you’ll fuck her here. And there. You’ll do what she wants and do what you want. Make it meet in the middle.

Because, you think as you slick her asshole and your cock with the lubricant, that’s what friends do.

The edges of Eunbi’s palms are on the counter. You can see them struggle to keep her body upright. You can’t really say you blame the girl when the two of you have done too many things to fit into one night. Anal is another you’re trying to squeeze into a tight schedule.

But that’s what she wants. And, (heads up—skip if you don’t like spoilers): you just so happen to have a habit of being too easily swayed by pretty women.

“Open more.”

“There’s enough already,” she whines, words pitched and tiny.

“I know, Eunbi. Baby.” You’re clinging on that high of seeing the color rose her cheeks. In every way, red (can’t be pink when it’s that dark) looks good on her.

Eunbi’s breath skips a pattern. Her ass retreats at your touch yet goes back every time for you to hold. “You’re too good at this,” she says, speaking as if the words were a foreign language. Which is to say: cute. It’s like when she speaks English; it comes out sounding like fresh, pretty talk.

“Glad you’ve come to terms with that.”

“Wow.” Can’t tell if she said that at your cock pressing to her anal hole or at your quickness to speak. “Okay.”

“I mean, I’m serious. I only called you baby. How does that make me good?”

Eunbi coos when you touch the side of her face. Hold its jawline over the line your palm calls its own. Glimmering sweat and exhaustion and lust, she still has ways to make you go crazy. Your hand comforting her shudders nearly makes her forget you just want her to admit that you’re cut from the rest.

Both of you know what’s true anyway.

“I just…” Eunbi kisses the space between your index and thumb. “I just fall in love too fast.”

“How fast are we talking?”

“I won’t tell you, it’s been crystal clear since the time I met you. But for this?” She taps your hip impatiently. “As fast as you can.”

Her voice deepens, a stretch from her cheerful pitch. Where did that come from? She smirks at the change in your face, but she can’t hide the desperation in hers.

Her hole and your cock are shiny with the lubrication. Turns out the lube was a good buy; getting the tip inside her proves to be easy. However, it can’t help your job in hilting the entirety inside her. Thighs that glisten with wetness and lube wrap around you. Her midriff tenses, and so does her hole. So do her hands on your arms.

There’s already her cum and yours wetting her ass, as well as the lube you bought that was crazy expensive. So why is she still so tight? Her squeals thin and her face makes clear the labor. You’re spreading her apart in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.

She’s straining, too. Eunbi’s using every method in the book to allow your width to enter more: breathing deeply, relaxing her body, spreading her legs. But they don’t seem to work for her when her ass is only focused on closing around the little you’ve put inside her.

“Why do you have to be so big?” she whines. She pushes her cheeks to your stomach, inching you south and into her. “Why does it have to feel so good? Don’t just stand there. Fuck me. Split me open, I need it.”

Her wish is your command. That’s three wishes she’s making there and you’ll grant all of them. In a hard moment of pure will, you pull yourself out and slam yourself harshly into her tight body. Your attempt is successful; your whole girth is snugly hugged by her round butt. The enclosed walls of her anal ring are so overwhelming that you’re close to blowing your load already.

If you’re a genie, Eunbi’s the taker of wishes. She takes and takes and takes, even with your cock prodding past the hurting limits of her little asshole, and she does it oh so well. She’s probably seeing ghosts or the stars they’ve become with the way she’s not even looking at you anymore. No, her body is slanted up to allow you to give what you can. And by what you can, you mean your all.

Eunbi sobs and hugs you close. For comfort? Assurance? Speed? You’ll give her all three. That’s six wishes there, but with her, there’s no limit. You hold her as you find a perfect pace, one that makes her thighs squish on the ledge of the table and has her mouth gaping while you’re making another orifice of hers do the same.

When did pain feel this good? Eunbi doesn’t know. But she loves and accepts it. She’s reciprocating your thrusts with her own ones. It feels too good, so good that the sounds coming out of her are difficult to comprehend. She’s moaning, yet crying, too. Crying yet gasping in delight. Gasping in delight yet panting as if it were too much.

There’s one thing you’re certain of, though: she’s enjoying it. Wetness drools from her cunt and onto your shaft. It’s only a tiny bit of help, but it already aids in fucking her ass open sloppily. Her breaths are warm gushes of wind on your skin, and soon in the air as she throws her head back. Have to place a hand behind her neck to prevent her from bumping onto the all-too-near cupboard.

“So good, so big, can feel you t-throbbing,” she mumbles. Her lips purse before releasing a sharp moan. You’ve just placed your mouth on one of her breasts. “Know you wanted to do this. Saw you, hnn, staring at my ass.”

“Who can blame me?” You lightly slap her backside. “This thing is the best.”

“You got me so...” Eunbi’s gasp becomes a little lost ghost when you start to suck on her brown nipple. “I wore them, those ridiculous shorts, just for you. Wanted you to make me feel good, make me hurt, oh, I want it so bad—”

Her words pierce and break. Their propriety becomes worse yet the willpower they induce becomes stronger. Rapidity becomes a pastime when you’re pumping her. Of course, that’s already a given when the girl’s absolutely incapable of keeping quiet. Anything you do to her she reacts to. She’s still the same girl in the sheets as she is when she’s out and about, and it makes this sinful act—anally ruining her—seem like something so endearing.

Your thumb starts to rub her clit again. You’ve done this plenty of times in this hotel room right after the heat started, yet it still gauges the same reaction from her. She can’t stay still. She wants to stay in one place to receive you better but there’s the pleasurable pain in her ass, your mouth on her bosom, your hand feeling her up. She can’t take it, and you can’t either. She’s a combination of wetness and tightness and loudness and shrillness—you’re both too much for the other.

A lit match to a flamed lighter.

“Oh, god, no.” Eunbi’s teeth dig into your shoulder before retracting. Signs of her sobs linger and roll down her perfect face that wields an expression you admit to have fantasized often on her. “You’re gonna make me cum again. You're gonna make me cum again, I can’t handle it. Please—fffu—”

You stuff your fingers inside her. Match the pace with how you’re fucking her into the kitchen wall. She clenches around you and doesn’t let go. The wet squelching sounds compels you to be harsher with her. Fuck her like it doesn’t mean anything, just like she wants you to.

“Mmm!” Eunbi shrieks at the harsh intrusions she thought would be over.

“Not over yet.” You kiss her. “Still gotta cream this perfect ass.”

The promise of that makes her blush. Red and sweaty, she exercises those toned arms by using them in fucking herself on your cock. The pleasure is addicting, and she’s still keeping you to that oath to cum inside her a second time.

She’s so wet that it’s almost unbelievable. Your fingers curl, spread, jam themselves in her, and each time they pull out they’re soaked to the knuckles. Her clit twitches and you get your touch on there again. A little leak of cum wrinkles your hand from it.

“You really want it, huh?” Hiss at how she bounces that jiggling rear onto you. “Just a little more, baby. You’re gonna have to do much better than that.”

Since when did Eunbi do what you say? Since when did she do it with this much enthusiasm? Despite your shaft wrecking her insides and rearranging her guts, along with the orgasm she’s had, she perseveres. She rolls her body, a snake’s dance, and takes you in further. You admire how much you’ve spread her. Hold her backside to guide her.

You pity the housekeeper who’d have to clean up evidence of your sin. There’s her wetness on the kitchen table, the smell of carnal need in the air, sheets torn by the little power Eunbi’s fingernails have. But there’s no regrets, you think, for this one:

An explosion. The kind that doesn’t kill but brings her to life. Its origin is the base of your cock and birth inside her tight little ass. Hold her close. Slam inside her as if you were mad at her, while she lets out gasped repetitions of “oh, oh, oh.” Now you pull out your digits and resort to furiously rubbing her nub, effectively making her even tighter.

“That’s it, fuck, such a good girl,” you groan. Grip her ass so tightly that it draws a yelp out of her. After it’s all done, you pull out.

“You,” she drawls when you pull out. She spreads her legs and stares at the semen dripping out of her holes. At the mess you’ve made on the floor, the bed, the table, everything. “You…”

She doesn’t continue what she’s saying, but you’re pretty sure you got the gist of it. It was you who fucked her. It was you who made her climax so many times in one night. It was you, her best friend, who did her in.

“Yeah,” you say, laughing.

Somehow, the whole experience is making you guilty. You feel like the richest man in the world, the luckiest, too. So why do you feel you did something wrong?

Eunbi narrows her eyes. She knows you too well. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

You don’t.

“Now kiss me.” Her words fan your chin, a haunting love spell. “Again.”

You do.

Christmas comes, and by then you've flown home. You’re at Sakura’s house to celebrate. Green and red are all over the place: red cupcakes on a baking tray, old books leaning against each other, the rug beneath you and her friends. There’s a giant statue of Santa Claus, overweight and jolly, at the corner next to the Christmas tree. What used to be under the plant were gifts Eunbi specifically said not to touch until 12 a.m midnight. No sleeping in now that you’re well aware that the man himself isn’t real.

Sakura’s undoing the ribbon on her gift, but her eyes are on you and Eunbi. “There’s something really weird going on with you two,” she says.

The girls nod and hum choruses of agreement: yes, he and the bunny leader are acting odd lately. No, they don’t know why. Is it because of the vacation? Seasonal depression (but with Christmas lights!)? They’re gonna find out for sure.

You and Eunbi look at each other. Your faces hold an unreadable expression, until you take an interest in one evergreen branch and her in the collar of her ugly Christmas sweater.

“Nah,” you say.

“Nothing much,” she echoes, drinking her hot chocolate.

Yena groans, tired of your pretentiousness. “You fucked, didn’t you?”

A liquid spray of sugar lands on the rug, courtesy of Eunbi. The girls begin cackling, slapping their hands on their thighs and on each other. You look away to manage your laughter. Unfortunately, it’s as loud as Eunbi’s scheming little members.

“That means yes!” Yujin shouts gleefully. Her dimples are printed on her cheeks. “You owe me ten thou, Yena unnie!”

Christmas spirit truly is in the air. They’re jumping up and down, laughing and cheering, while you two are mortified. You’re the Grinches of the holidays, but even that can’t sour their happiness.

“It worked!”

“I can’t believe it worked!”

“They’re so obvious about it, too!”

“No wonder Eunbi unnie was limping when they came home!”

The whole thing was a setup. It’s all dawning in on you. Why else would eleven girls pool ridiculous amounts of money for a two-person trip? You’ve given them the best Christmas present of their lives unknowingly.

But with how much Eunbi loves them, she’s okay with that.

You are, too.

“Hey.”

You lift yourself up from the comfort of the pillows and sheets. Eunbi’s standing at your bedpost. She still has on the sweater, courtesy of your mother, and her ears are still pink. That’s one of the cutest things about her: when she gets shy or humiliated, it’s pretty obvious.

How do you go about this? It’s been awkward and silent ever since you had sex. It’s so unlike your dynamics, and it’s scaring you. You don’t want to lose her. Is that the same on her end?

At the end of the day, though, she remains your best friend. You’ll always reserve a place for her with you.

“Hi.” You pat your bedclothes, and she sits.

She looks away as she pushes a paper shopping bag in your arms. “Merry Christmas.”

You wonder how you didn’t see it peeking from her tiny back. The bag isn’t too heavy, but it obviously is something large with how much you can feel whatever is inside it. Quickly stapled and taped, it’s a last-minute present for sure. Did she forget you? Of course, your heart squeezes with the idea of it.

“Way to time your—”

“Don’t be stubborn and just open it. Please?”

Do so.

It’s a bag. Not just any bag—it’s a brand new original of the backpack she lost you all those months ago. She’s got it down to the same color (gray), design (two pockets, with black zippers and one for a bottle) and size (medium). The only thing that sets it apart from your first one is the unavailability of shreds and tatters on the bottom side.

Stare at it, dumbfounded. How did she track it down? It’s sure to be expensive, seeing as it isn’t thrifted and is wrapped in the branded plastic of an overseas branch. “Eunbi,” you say.

“It was shipped later than expected.” She shrugs, trying to play it off. Still, you can hear her laughing shyly. “Hope you like it.”

“I told you to save yourself the trouble.”

You lift the bag up and stare at it. The transparent plastic allows you to marvel at its beauty. The faint scent of newness fills your nostrils.

But the real beauty is the one who sits on your bed late on Christmas night, with her hands folded neatly on her lap like a Catholic schoolgirl. A few locks of her hair are braided with red ribbons to go with the season of giving. Her brows are as dark as her glasses, her cheeks as red as her ugly sweater.

“I like it when you trouble me.”

As always, her statements hold more meaning than they should. And, like you could through her eyewear, you can see right through them. Knowing what she tried to say causes you to inch closer to her. The sides of your thighs press against each other.

“Makes me want to trouble you more,” you reply.

She lifts her head. Already the light cockiness she so often brings with her pours back into her face, and you couldn’t be more relieved to see it again. “So do it.”

Things have a way of coming back to you. Your bag, the thrill of meeting her again, Eunbi. Not everything will return, but then it’s probably just a sign that things aren’t gonna be bad forever. There will be days you’ll get to have a vacation with her again, the promise of December’s Christmasses, being with her and her friends you’ve grown to love. There will be days for new beginnings, like this one. This is a fresh start with her. There will also always be days you’ll do whatever she wants, which somehow align with what you want too.

Refer to this:

You kiss her, your little trouvaille.

2K notes · View notes

falling-endlessly · 10 months ago

Text

Boomerang (part 1)

Vox x Female!Ex!Overlord!Reader

Summary: When Vox proves incapable of cutting Valentino out of his sex life despite his many reassurances, you decide to break it off with him and leave for good. He doesn’t take it so well.

Just to be clear, reader is an artificial intelligence demon, looks super realistic and human-like, but is actually composed of nanotechnology. She was human once though, like all of the other sinners.

INSPIRED BY THIS POST

Part 2—> Chapter Index

"Y/n?" Charlie poked her head through your door. "There's uh, someone here to see you."

You narrowed your eyes, rising from your bed. A bone-weary sigh escaped you. It was obvious who your supposed "visitor" was. "Did you tell him I'm busy?"

Charlie pursed her lips, looking down. Great, so that meant he was throwing a temper tantrum. And she wanted you to sort him out.

"Alright, fine," you pinched the bridge of your nose. "I'm coming." She was generous enough to let you stay, after all. The least you could do was clean up your messes.

When you finally reached the main floor, Vox and Alastor looked about two seconds away from clawing each other's faces off. Cyan blue electricity was sparking along Vox's entire body, and Alastor's shadows curled dangerously behind him, ready to attack at his call.

Seeing him made a hot fury like no other claw its way up your throat. "What the fuck are you doing here?" You growled lowly, balling your fists at your sides.

At the sound of your voice, Vox immediately broke away from Alastor, a giant smile spreading across his screen. "Sweetheart! There you are!"

You stormed up to him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him harshly into a corner. You let go of him once you were sufficiently out of earshot of the others, crossing your arms and leveling him with a furious glare. "You have five seconds to explain yourself."

"Okay, let's just calm down for a second here," he chuckled, but it was an empty sound. "Is it really that weird for me to want to check up on you? After all, you kind of just disappeared," his smile strained.

"Has it ever occurred to you that the reason you couldn't find me was because I don't want to see you?" You smiled sardonically, patience running thin.

"Uh, what?" He laughed, but his smile was frozen. "Why would you not want to see me?"

That was the last fucking straw. "Are you that fucking delusional, Vox?" You snapped, poking him harshly in the chest. "When I said I was done, I meant it. This," you gestured between the two of you. "Is over. I'm done."

Vox twitched, electricity sparking off sporadically from his antennae. He stared at you in stunned silence, his breathing starting to pick up speed as he processed your words. His eyes searched your face for any sign that you were being untruthful, and when he found none, he glanced up at the small crowd of residents and staff gathered, only to lock eyes with a smug Alastor.

Vox's screen glitched, his features twisting in a rage. "So you're replacing me with the radio fucker now, is that it?"

"Oh, really?" You narrowed your eyes. "Just like you replaced me with Valentino?"

"That's different," Vox gritted out.

"Is it?"

"Yes, for one, Val isn't some archaic cannibalistic fucker with a vendetta against me!"

"Who has the vendetta against who here? Cause it seems like you're the one who can't let things go." You watched him splutter on his bullshit for a few seconds before you shook your head in exasperation, the pounding pressure increasing at your temples. "Alright, that's it, we're done here. Get out."

"Y/n," he narrowed his eyes. "You need to think about this."

"Oh I've had plenty of time to think," you grabbed his tie, pulling him closer to bare your teeth menacingly. "Now get out before I put a goddamn virus in your software Vox!" Your face pixelated from rage at the end of your sentence. You let him go with a harsh shove.

For a long moment nobody spoke, a tense silence blanketing over the two of you. You glared at him venomously, chest still heaving from your outburst. And him, he was looking at you like he'd never seen you before. Good, you thought spitefully. It's finally getting through to him.

Vox's mouth hardened into a thin line, his sharp claws nearly drawing blood from his palms. "Why here?"

You closed your eyes. "It’s not a forever thing. I just—I need to be away from everything for a little while, okay?" Everything that we've built together. Reminders of you. "No flashy shit, no fast life, no technology—"

"You're an A.I. model," he said dully.

"Yeah well, you win some you lose some," you sighed, rubbing at your temples. "Look, I don't want to say it again. Leave Vox, I'm serious."

For a hot second, it looked like you were ripping his entire world apart and stomping on the broken pieces, the way he looked at you so lost, before he hastily pulled himself back together. "Fine," he spat out. It sounded like it physically hurt him to say it.

He lifted his chin, adjusted his lapels, and stormed out of the hotel, slamming the door so hard it blew straight off of its hinges, blue sparks of electricity still sizzling from it.

For a few seconds, a thick tension suffocated the room, as everyone took the time to process the shit show they'd just witnessed.

"Well, that was fun!" Alastor's cheery voice punctuated the silence. You glared at him tiredly.

***

If you thought that he would give up like you so nicely asked, you were sadly mistaken.

Turned out it was just a pre-game warm up for this asshole.

At least thrice a week, he made sure to fuck up your peace somehow. Last time it was spray painting the entire hotel electric blue (how, you didn't even want to know). The time before that, it was trying to sneak some of his peeping gadgets in through the window. And the time before that, it was putting your name up on every billboard in the goddamn city with a red heart next to it.

Now, you stood incredulously in front of half of the hotel. As in, the other half was missing. Blown off by a fucking missile. You couldn't make this shit up if you tried.

"What the fuck is going on?" You gritted out, before taking a deep, calming breath.

Vox's electric laughter rang out from a speaker of unknown source. You turned angrily to face the open air.

"Pathetic," he jeered. "You still want to shack up with these losers, Y/n?"

You shook your head slowly, laughing in disbelief. "Wow," you said sarcastically. "You really showed us, didn't you? Feel better about yourself now?"

You punctuated your sentence with a glare, before turning and storming towards the remaining half of the building.

Vox watched you from twenty different angles across his screens. The moment you turned your back, his wide, toothy grin dropped, eyes squeezing shut. He slammed mute on his microphone.

“FUCK!” He banged a fist on the table, breathing heavily. It had been two weeks already, and you still hadn’t come back to him. He was getting desperate now.

A quick glance at the screen showed Alastor’s glitching picture. The radio bastard snapped his fingers with a raised brow, the missing half of the hotel repairing itself instantly.

“Fucking show off,” Vox growled raggedly.

He needed to change tactics. And fast.

***

Nothing. He had nothing.

No plans, no blueprints, no smart and suave moves to get you back.

Every scenario he ran through his head would inevitably end with you walking away from him. If only he could hypnotize you like with everyone else—but you were a tech demon, just like him. More advanced, even. Your firewalls were just too strong.

Vox poured himself another glass of scotch, solemnly glaring up at the ceiling in frustration.

A clawed hand clasped his shoulder, making him grit his teeth.

“You’re looking a little tense, Cariño,” Valentino purred, trailing his fingers up Vox’s neck. “I can help with that~”

Vox shrugged him off, annoyed. “Not in the mood, Val.”

But Valentino was undeterred. “Is this about Y/n?” He murmured, knowing he hit the nail on the head when the other demon tensed considerably. “What’s so special about that bitch anyway, hm? Is it the pussy? You know I’ve got whores lined up for you, baby. Just say the word and—”

“Fuck off, Val!” Vox exploded, electricity sparking in his eye. “I don’t want just any random bitch from the street, okay?! I want Y/n. I want her back,” he spat miserably.

Valentino went silent, his face twisting into a cruel expression. “Don’t you understand?” He growled. “She left you. Betrayed you. And she’s not coming back, ever. The sooner you see that and stop wasting your time, the better.”

He turned away, his heels clacking against the marble floors until the double doors swung closed behind him.

Vox let out a frustrated yell, arcs of electricity shooting out from him and shattering his expensive collection of drinking glasses to smithereens.

***

A tap sounded at your window, making you tense.

Slowly you approached it, generating a pistol from your nanotech and holding it tightly to your chest. You peered out of the blinds, only to find your ex dangling from the window sill.

“Holy shit!” You screeched, jumping back.

“A lil’ help?” he grinned lazily, reaching out for you. You grasped his hand, hauling him inside of your room.

The unmistakably pungent scent of alcohol invaded your senses, making your wrinkle your nose.

“Jesus fucking Christ, are you drunk?” You dragged a hand down your face.

“No,” he hiccuped, shaking his head vehemently, which caused him to lose balance. You grabbed his shoulders, righting him before he fell and broke his screen.

“Oh yeah,” his face lit up in realization, before he reached behind him, pulling out a bouquet of slightly squashed roses. “For you,” he slurred, offering them proudly.

You looked at them in exasperation, before taking them gently from his hands. Bringing them up to your face, you closed your eyes, sniffing them slightly. A sweet floral scent filled your senses as you regarded them.

“They’re pretty,” you remarked quietly.

“Yeah,” he grinned, your eyes flickering up to catch his. “But you’re prettier.” At your lack of reaction, his grin faltered, and he looked down.

“I…” he started, swaying slightly. “I’m sorry.”

You closed your eyes, shaking your head. “Don’t do this.”

“Please come home,” he continued, expression drooping sorrowfully. He clasped your hand, looking up at you pleadingly. “I’ll…I’ll do better, I promise.”

The ache in your heart grew almost unbearable the more you looked at him, so you averted your gaze. “Why don’t you ever say that when you’re sober?”

Vox let go of your hand, sliding down the wall until he landed on his ass. “Scared,” he mumbled.

You crouched down in front of him, lifting his hanging head from his arms. “Of what?” You said gently.

His eyes flickered up to yours, and the raw emotion nearly stole your breath away. “You still won’t want me.”

“Vox…” You closed your eyes, pained.

“Come home,” he whispered hollowly. “Please.”

“You know I can’t do that,” you said thickly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

He looked at you sadly, but resigned. “Yeah, I know,” he lowered his screen back into his arms. “…miss you,” he trailed off quietly, before soft whistling snores could be heard.

You dropped your face in your hands, breathing raggedly. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. You had almost fucking caved.

After a moment to compose yourself, you searched his pockets, pulling out his phone (he didn’t even change his password) and dialing a familiar number.

“What the fuck do you want now, Vox?” An irritated feminine voice answered the line.

“Velvette,” you said cooly. “I need a favor.”

****

Part 2 —> Chapter Index

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charliemwrites · 11 months ago

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Woof woof yall.

No content warnings

You’re out in the woods one day, taking photos and going for a little hike. Stupid mental health walk or something; whatever, it’s a nice day and you’ve gotten some good shots. You’re just about to turn back when a huge brown and black wolf lopes out from a nearby thicket.

There aren’t any wolves in England though! Hunted to extinction - it’s why you feel safe bebopping around the forest alone in the daylight. So you see this big fuck-off sized “dog” and coo at the pretty puppy.

“Hello handsome boy, aren’t you just gorgeous! Will you come say hi?”

You do all the right things that you’re supposed to do with an unfamiliar dog but he just barges right through. Trots up to you, nose shoved into your crotch. You startle, bark a laugh, shove at his big stupid head.

“A little forward,” you tease, scratching under his chin, “but it’s better than biting.”

You feel all around his neck for a collar, but no luck. He must be someone’s though, huge blue eyes too intelligent and focused on your words. And his coat is so well maintained, glossy and shedded.

“Do you know how to… sit?”

An adorable head tilt, and the big dog settles onto his hind quarters.

“What a good boy!” you croon. “So smart!”

He licks at your palm and wrist as you scratch at him, huge tail thumping. A canine grin, tongue lolling out as he waits for your next command.

You hum.

“Well, guess we can check if you’re microchipped, huh? Or at least I can get you some water. See if someone recognizes you…”

You make a kissy noise at him. “Let’s go, big boy. Come.”

And to your delight, he falls into step with you. He weaves along the path ahead and behind, but always loops back to you, brushing against your thigh as if to reassure you he’s still there.

You hum as you walk, giggling when you see his ears twitch and swivel towards you. Tease that he should do better if he doesn’t like your version of Jolene.

You only cross paths with two other people on the walk, a pair of guys clearly out for a more serious hike. The dog plants himself between you and them, ears pinning back and a low growl erupting from his chest. You startle a bit, carefully burying your fingers around his scruff in case you need to grab him quickly.

“I’m guessing he doesn’t belong to either of you, then?” you ask.

One of the guys shakes his head. The other gives you an odd look. “He’s not yours?”

The dog barks, loud and rough. You shush him, explain the situation to the hikers. But the dog never stops rumbling and they quickly go on their way, keeping a wide berth.

You huff. “Don’t like men, huh?”

Poor thing. Maybe he was abandoned by a mean owner?

“S’alright, bud, I’ll be good to you.”

He follows you all the way back to your home. And when you open the door, shoulders right past you.

“Ah, shit,” you groan. “You weren’t supposed to come in!”

He gives you an almost betrayed look. You try not to huff in amusement.

“So help me, if you bring nasty things in this house I will shave you. Shave you. You’ll look so silly. Like an overgrown raw turkey.”

The dog turns, trots back to you. You didn’t realize just how big he is until he’s got his big paws on your shoulders. You blink, have to take a step back to brace against the weight of him. In his hind legs he’s taller than you. Really could pass for a pure bred wolf.

A big, rough tongue licks from your jaw to your forehead. You scrunch up your face but end up laying a kiss on his muzzle in return.

“Alright, you big nasty. Down you get.”

You shut and lock the door behind you, brushing leaves and dirt off.

“Okay, shower first,” you say aloud, already tugging off your clothes. “Then we’ll run into town, see if we can track down your family.”

You don’t mind the dog staring, unblinking, as you strip down right there, balling things up to avoid tracking a mess through the house. Nor do you mind him following you to the bathroom, though you do push at his snout when he licks the back of your knee. Just normal dog things, really. They don’t get people stuff like clothes or boundaries.

“Stay out of trouble, bud. I’ll be right out.”

As you wash up, you consider the merits of adopting. Only if you can’t find the dog’s actual family, that is. It’s lonely in your little house sometimes - and a bit spooky at night. A big, protective dog might be just the thing.

Masterlist

#cod #thoughts™️#my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic

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emacrow · 7 months ago

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Alfred's is a father once more... Bruce is not handling this well. Pt 2

Sequel to the first post of this.

Bruce and the batfam are very used to alfred's schedules that he put them all on so that both daytime and vigilante night time are perfectly schedule.

So to enter the dining hall with their food already present, Bruce's newspapers and coffee with his pain pill on a napkin already set without the butler man himself ready to scowl him into next Tuesday because he was supposed to be on a 'break'.

Something was definitely wrong...

Everyone is commentary concerns wondering if Alfred is sick or just very upset about Bruce. Duke suggests they check his room or the kitchen.. which they did and he wasn't there at all. Damian suggested his personal green house garden which Dick isn't allowed back in yet. He still have 3 week left before alfred take the banned from the green garden after the last incident.

At this point everyone is highly concerned and Tim is ready to hack into the mainframe of the manor to look for exactly where alfred was.

Only for alfred to lightly cough a bit in his hand, at the front of the backdoor porch of the Wayne Manor holding a tiny baby boy in new soft button up one piece baby onesis that was light pastal blue easily with one hand.

"My great grandson will be living with me in the nursery room after I had dusted it clean, and cookies will be done in 45 minutes." Alfred said softly yet sternly as he turn around walking back inside the manor.

Everyone of the batfam is shocked like a deer in headlights, except for Damain who looking awestruck with literal stars in his eyes and Bruce who look frozen or his rebooting in his mind after a 20 seconds of overanalyzing short-circuit because Alfred didn't mention much of his Family beside a very over-energetic and smart granddaughter and her a bit dim-witted but intelligent husband in a orange suit.

Damian's and Bruce's reaction in my opinion

New post

#dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #danny is the ghost king #danny phantom #dc x dp prompt #dc x dp #dp x dc #de aged danny #danny is a preemie #alfred is older then bruce thinks #alfred raises danny #alfred pennyworth #alfred is worse then bear plus gorilla if you were to hurt a inch of his grandson's hair #damian is awestruck that he now not the youngest anymore #damian been betting his time to when his father was going to adopt again but Alfred was a unexpected but welcoming surprise #he going to spoiled the baby and claim best cousin ever and nobody going to stop him even if he got to get all stabby again

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mikassaviola · 6 months ago

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Best Friends Brother|MYG

Description: Your best friend's older sexy brother. The older one. Smart. Intelligent. The one who advises you about life ever since you were a kid.

Warnings: age gap, reader is 20, Yoongi is 27, Soft Dom Yoongi, Mentions of insecurity indirectly, Unprotected sex, slight fingering, appreciation, nipple sucking, after shower after care, cute stuff?

-------------------------------------------------

You and your best friend Mina were now eating pizza and sharing reels to one another, meeting after a long time and having big plans.

But this is what you were actually doing.

Nothing.

But it was comfortable.

Mina's phone ringing interrupted you as you looked at her lazily picking up the phone and putting it to her ear.

Just like Yoongi, you thought.

You shook your head, it had been too long since you met him. He's probably busy with some music projects in Seoul.

Meanwhile you and Mina went to different colleges and met up like this after a long long time, fixing your schedules when free.

"Oh you're here? Sure sure, yeah", You heard her say, as you curiously eyes her. She was getting up after cutting the call.

"It's Jungkook, you know the guy who was three years our senior?", Mina said and you nodded still confused as to where this conversation was going.

"Yeah, the jock guy", You replied casually.

"Well I've been going out with him for a while, and he's outside.. I'll be back by the night?", She asked but didn't really ask as she was already putting on her socks after jeans.

"I didn't even know how long you've been dating? Is he good? Seemed like a Playboy back in the day", You asked completely not expecting that. She hasn't told you she's been dating for a while?

"Three months, will see you. I'll probably be late cover for me yeah?", She said leaving you alone in her house.

You were supposed to catch up, watch a scary movie at night, do your face mask and stuff. Just you and her.

But in these two years ever since you joined colleges you've been drifting apart, it's no secret.

She can feel it, you can too. Always inseparable during school, best of friends and all that shit just going into trash as soon as you joined.

Your personalities were really different and in the back of your mind you already saw this coming.

The bell rang making you frown, no one was supposed to be here.

Her parents have gone out for the weekend hence your plan of staying, her brother's in Seoul and she possibly can't be back so soon.

She clearly stated that she'd be back by night.

You walked to the door, your over thinking ass wondering if it's a serial killer as you opened the door.

It was quite the opposite. It was Yoongi. With a big ass suitcase. Dresses in dark blue jeans and a yellow T-shirt.

He looked handsome.

"Hi, uhm long time", You mumbled stepping aside giving him a way in.

He was also surprised to see you, hoping for his mom to answer the door.

"Yeah, how you doing?", He asked walking to his room casually as multiple questions popped inside your head.

Why is he here? Is he staying? Did something happen at work? Is he good?

He looked like he lost a lot of weight. He walked back inside probably after keeping the suitcase as you filled a glass of water for him to take.

"Thanks uh, so where's everyone else? Didn't expect you here", He asked drinking his water in one go as you leaned on the counter across him just like he was.

"Your parents are out for the weekend, and I was uhm with Mina, she uhm... She's out buying some snacks for us, I was supposed to stay in your room since Mina snores", You said as he gazed at you nodding at your words.

"Yeah, I didn't really tell anyone so..", He said shrugging at the end and you nodded taking in his words.

"Why don't we sit down?", You walked to his room because Mina's was really quite messy, not like he would mind she was his sister but you just thought it'd be better.

Less messy and probably more comfortable for him, he's back after like an year? Or even longer.

After you were settled down on his bed and him beside you leaning at the headboard you asked.

"Is it fine at your work?", You said looking at him. He was just looking up. He looked pretty, his cheeky cheeks and pretty feline eyes.

You missed this. Sitting like this and talking about life with him.

"It is yeah, although it was getting too much, felt like I wasn't getting a break. So another producer offered me to take off for like a month or two", He explained smiling slightly making you smile.

"Sounds good Yoongi, you got good colleagues", You said following his gaze and staring at the ceiling. Many star stickers pasted on the ceiling.

Back when Yoongi and Mina shared a room and Mina wanted a starry ceiling, her room was their store back then. Then she turned 8 and got her personal room.

"I do, what about you? How's it going at college?", He asked the question you dreaded. You didn't know whether to ramble to him how shitty everything is, the last was two years back.

When you were 18 and were about to start college.

But now things are different. Yoongi has always been smart but he looked even more mature, having work experience too now.

"It's fine", You said but Yoongi could tell it wasn't.

You were different. Introvert. Never opened up to anyone really. He didn't like that you weren't even telling him things like you used to. But then again he was the one who was focused on work never taking a break. Less calls. Less texts.

"Mhm, made many friends?", He asked and you looked at him to find him already looking at you.

"Not really but I'm fine", You shrugged.

"You miss Mina?", He asked.

"Of course I wish she was in my college would've made things easier but that's okay too", You said. You never said it out loud. Not to Mina because every time she talked about her college. She was always doing so good.

"Mina would've come back by now", Yoongi mumbled checking the time and you sighed.

"Look, she's with a guy. Please don't tell your parents, will be back by night", You bit your lower lip waiting for him to react and he shrugged.

"Should've told me Y/N, she's an adult now. Although she shouldn't have left you alone", Yoongi said.

He noticed the pained expression that took over your face, scrunching his face and cocking his face to the side giving you the look.

You sighed. "We've just drifted apart I guess", You let out, rubbing your forehead slightly.

"Impossible, you were so close", Yoongi retorts totally shocked and you smiled slightly.

"We have, ever since college started, she made new friends, a boyfriend, she's having her own adventures that the boring me could never suggest", You chuckled slightly hurt. You thought she'd always choose you even though you can be really constant about your life.

"You literally made her jump roofs", Yoongi exclaimed and you immediately groaned at the memory of the 14 year old you.

"Not that adventure, the smoking, clubbing types. I've never been that kind of person Yoongi, you know it and she has always been an extrovert", You explained a little frustrated.

"Then she's choosing shit if that's what she wants, what about you", He asked.

"I have been the same, not many friends and all, I just miss Mina and I miss you", You said looking at him as he sighed.

"You're really awesome, just don't think you're boring or stuff because your adventure isn't Mina's cup of tea", Yoongi explained and you smiled. Always good with his words.

"You know I'm sometimes jealous of her, because she's so good at it. At communication. Like she's forgetting about me and here I'm stuck with her memories", You chuckled at the realisation that you were saying this to Yoongi.

"Mhm and?", Yoongi asks as you bite your lip. He surely knows you to the point that he understands when you want to say more but won't because you think he'd judge you.

"And, she's good with guys. Don't get me wrong, they come back. And the guy I dated. God he made me feel horrible. Like I wasn't a good fuck, had me scarred for life I guess", You let it out and laughed afterwards masking the hurt with it.

"And you believed him? Didn't even try anyone else? Maybe he was bad at it yanno?", Yoongi argued knows you too well to know you're hurt. Knows you're an overthinker.

"I couldn't try someone else", You said a force in your words, your eyes on him, his on yours, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Why?", He asked.

"Because, I-", You leaned over placing your lips on his.

He's been talking for too long, knows you're fucked. He looks so pretty doing nothing. You just can't help when he's so close to you after so long.

Fuck the besties code that you and Mina never talked about. About not being with each other's siblings.

Your hands settled around his neck as he started moving along your lips after a while. It got hot and wet after a while as you devoured each other.

Yoongi has always liked you, you were so different and adventurous and good at talks completely opposite of what you just told him.

And when you kissed him, for a second he thought he was simply imagining it but here you were gripping on his collar as his hands sneaked around your waist.

You pulled back out of breath.

"Because every time I'm with a guy, you're on my mind. Yoongi would've listened better, replied better", You said pecking his lips in between your words as he just stared at you baffled by your actions.

"Would've touched me better", You said placing yourself on his lap.

"Shit you gotta reply to me Yoongi", You said grinding on his crotch as Yoongi took your hands pushing you back and climbed over you.

"God do you have any idea what you're doing?", Yoongi said as your heart beat fastened inside your chest at the proximity. Your actions registering in your head as you got red and red. "Never took you the one to be so reckless", Yoongi pointed out his lips finding your neck making you gasp.

"Yoongi", You whined as he started un buttoning your t-shirt trailing kisses along it making your skin burn as he reached in between your breasts.

"Was so glad when I saw you open the door", He mumbled against your skin softly making you whine.

"Yoongi, I"- You gasped when he took your nipple in his mouth. You didn't wear a bra knowing only you and Mina would be at home.

"You're so pretty baby, Mina is just stupid", Yoongi says leaning back sitting up and removing his T-shirt.

You both half naked, your cheeks red, chest heaving up and down as Yoongi traced your tummy and grabbed your boobs making you hiss.

"So sensitive here", Yoongi cooed coming down to lick your nippled and suck on them as you pulled on his locks slightly making him groan.

Giving both of your nipples a good suck he trailed his kisses down, biting and nipping on your skin making you whine out.

"So loud, all for me bet that boy didn't worship this perfect body", Yoongi said toying with your waistband.

"Yoongi please I want you to touch me", You whined out as he pulled down your trousers along with your panties.

"I am touching you", He said and you whined making him laugh at you, his gums showing.

He spread your legs for his eyes to see, his laugh fading and his eyes darken when he looked at your cunt.

"You want me so bad, don't you? Look at you baby, so fucking messy, all for me", He said his right hand leaving your leg and coming down to your pussy pushing a finger inside.

"Fuck yes, Yoongi. All for you ", You mumbled your breath catching in your throat and he pumped his finger in and out making you moan.

"I know", Yoongi murmured pulling down his jeans along with his boxers and holy fuck. You've never seen anything so big, not in porn, never in real life.

He was big and thick and perfectly long.

"Yoongi you're so beautiful", You moaned out feeling the need for him to be inside. "Please put it inside me", You said seeing slight pre cum leak out at your words.

"You have no idea what you're playing with, you want me so bad yeah?", Yoongi said pressing the head of his cock to your clit rubbing it up and down.

"I'll cry if you don't", You said out of frustration, not thinking before you spike making Yoongi grin.

"Would love to see that, will see that someday", He said pushing his full length inch by inch inside you as you opened your mouth and closed your eyes. Taking him in.

"Shit Yoongi, you're so so so big", You said out of breath and Yoongi leaned down pressing his lips to yours.

You could feel his veins rub against your pussy walls as he shifted slightly making you wince.

"So tight, so fucking tight. My fucking pussy", Yoongi rambled and gave you a long, slow but powerful thrust making you gasp.

"Yes, yes yours. God feels so heavenly", You said as he started thrusting in and out.

His dick filling you so well, reaching deeper with every thrust.

His hands holding yours above your head as he thrusted inside your pussy repeatedly and harshly.

"Yes yes yes yes Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi", You chanted like a mantra making him groan.

"Whoever said this is bad can fuck themselves, this is the best. Made for me. Mine", Yoongi growled sitting on his heels pulling you towards him holding your legs up as he thrusted inside you violently.

"Holy fuck, fuck, yoongi. Yoongi. Yoongi. Yoongi. Yoon- ah fuck - gi", You moaned feeling the knot in your stomach tighten.

"Fuck yes, tell everyone who's making you feel good. Who do you belong to baby? My pretty baby", Yoongi moaned his thrust getting sloppier and faster.

"You Yoongi", You cried out. "I am gonna"-

"Me too", Yoongi growled.

"Inside, Fill me, I'm on pill", You moaned feeling your orgasm wash over you and feeling overstimulated as he thrusted and thrusted until he came inside you with a groan.

Leaning his body over yours, sweat beads coating his forehead as he kissed you sweetly.

"You are so beautiful", Yoongi said, his voice deep and soft as you smiled.

"You are such a talker when you fuck", You said as he pressed his forehead to yours as you both laughed.

"You make me say things", Yoongi replied, both of you tired but had the biggest smiles on your faces.

"I love your smile, always have ever since we were kids", You mumbled taking his face in your hands and tracing your fingers over his gums.

"Ahan, is that so?", Yoongi asked and you giggled.

"Mhm, let's take a shower?", You asked making Yoongi get up as you both took a shower together. Bathing each other and talking.

"It's not a one time thing, don't overthink", Yoongi murmured drying your hair with a hair dryer.

"I know Yoongi, I'm looking forward to us", You said smiling at him wearing his t-shirt and shorts as he smiled back.

You both laying in your bed, your head on his chest, your arms up in the air as you measured your hands silently.

"You're so small", Yoongi exclaimed and you huffed.

"I'm taller than Mina", You said nuzzling your face in his neck bringing your hand down to wrap around hin.

"Never took you as the cuddly one, can live like this forever", Yoongi said making you smile.

"I know you're tired and want to sleep though, sleepy baby", You said.

"Baby? I'm like 7 years older?", Yoongi mocked and you both laughed. Glad that his age was not a matter of concern but something you were joking about and you hope it stays the same.

"okay baby", You teased, your laughs never fading as you both slept in each other's embrace.

A/N: you can lmk about my errors yk I'm like really new to this😭

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deliciousangelfestival · 6 months ago

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The Malicious Daughter is Back! - 1 | Bucky Barnes

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || Support : Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

It was supposed to be easy, but it's not.

He felt his hands and sensed they were shackled to this agreement. While everyone chatted and laughed at this lunch party, he couldn't share the same sentiment.

Today was the engagement party of two influential conglomerate families.

The daughter of Celestial Enterprises, which owned Luxury Goods, Smart Home Technology, Media & Entertainment, was Victoria Sinclair.

She was a strikingly beautiful woman, exuding an air of sophistication, yet there was a hint of maturity beneath her seemingly spoiled demeanor.

With a shy gesture, she reached out and gently touched her fiancé's hand. Her soft touch snapped him out of his daydream.

She gazed at his face, mesmerized by his striking features. He could easily be the most handsome man she had ever encountered in her life. Despite meeting countless models and actors, none of them held a candle to him.

Bucky Barnes was the epitome of sophistication. With his jet-black hair, piercing blue eyes, and impeccable suit, he exuded an aura of intelligence and quiet confidence.

As the heir to the AstraNova Group, specializing in aerospace, renewable energy, and real estate, his wealth and influence were undeniable.

He felt something creeping on his hands, he glanced down to see his fiancée Victoria touching him. Despite his discomfort, he clenched his fists, fighting the urge to lash out.

But he had to keep it together. Tonight, his psychiatrist would have to listen to his anxiety. He couldn't let anyone at this party know about his Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD).

He was overly sensitive to sensory input, including touch. In this room, only his parents knew about his disorder.

Bucky smiled and gently pushed Victoria's hand away from him. He could only tolerate it for five minutes. But it seemed this woman didn't understand him.

If she were just another woman, Bucky would have instructed his assistant to escort Victoria away. But he couldn't do that.

Because this woman was necessary, in fact. Her family's money was crucial. This was a business marriage. Bucky wasn't a social man, so when his family arranged the marriage, he complied with their wishes.

He thought he could go along with it, but his disorder acted up every time he got close to Victoria. She was glued to him.

"Fuck," he thought. He wished his parents had chosen a woman who preferred shopping over clinging to him.

"Look at this couple. Hohoho… Like newlyweds," remarked Victoria's mother, Genevieve, a woman around 50 years old, exuding opulence in her elegant gown adorned with intricate lace and jewels.

"What a joyful day," nodded Bucky's mother, Juliana, a woman of similar age, dressed in a modest yet tasteful attire, her eyes fixed on her son who appeared calm. However, she couldn't help but notice Victoria's persistent touching.

She prayed that Bucky wouldn't lose his patience.

"By the way, where is the oldest daughter?" slipped one of the guests, causing a ripple of unease among the attendees.

Even Victoria lost interest in getting close to Bucky. She stopped leaning toward him and sat up straight.

Her silent expression mirrored Genevieve's, catching Bucky's attention.

This was the first Bucky had heard of another daughter.

“You have an older sister?” Bucky asked Victoria.

Victoria responded with a nervous voice, “I do... She's... how should I say this? She's complicated. She's never at home. And when she is, all we do is fight.”

Bucky nodded, understanding her explanation. An estranged sister.

But he had never come across any mention of this in his fiancée's family background.

Were they hiding their other daughter? An illegitimate child?

Bucky noticed Victoria's father, Jonathan, a distinguished man in his sixties, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, who had stopped drinking and focused his attention on the table.

Genevieve laughed elegantly and remarked, “Haha… She doesn't enjoy these kinds of events. She prefers outdoor activities.”

On the first day of their engagement, Bucky found himself embroiled in family drama.

Then, a voice from outside could be heard, “I'm sorry, miss. This room has been booked,” said the security.

“It's booked for Sinclair and Barnes, right? What a coincidence. I'm a Sinclair too,” a playful female voice retorted.

‘BANG.’

The private door burst open from a forceful kick, startling the guests.

All eyes turned toward the newcomer.

Even Bucky turned around to see who it was.

She was wearing black leather boots, black pants, and a gray turtleneck sweater. Her attire stood out starkly against the elegance of the room.

She looked at everyone, then stopped at Victoria and Bucky. Then she scoffed, causing Victoria to clench her fist and bite her lips.

Compares to Bucky. He wondered what had happened to her. She was wearing a hand cast, a band-aid under her right eye, and small new scars under her lips.

Two things he realized were that her demeanor and facial features were different from Victoria's.

Victoria nervously laughed, "We thought you wouldn't come."

💋💋💋

You smirked and grabbed a glass of wine from the server who was serving drinks.

With a bow, you said, “Congrats on the engagement. Pardon my lateness. Seems like a rat ate your invitation.”

Victoria forced a smile, determined not to take the bait, especially in front of her fiancé, Bucky, to avoid any confrontation.

You walked past the couple and headed towards your father, Jonathan.

He showed no reaction, simply sipping his wine.

Standing beside him, you didn't even glance at Genevieve, who gritted her teeth, continuing to smile at the Barnes family.

You said to your dad, “Is this what your wife asked for? I must say I'm impressed.”

Bucky was taken aback when he heard that. What did it mean?

Genevieve gripped her wine glass tightly. The stories of her as ‘the other woman’ were in the past. She had worked hard to be accepted in this socialite world, and it had made everyone forget that she was the second wife. Everyone had called her Madam Sinclair, and Victoria the only daughter.

You shrugged your shoulders. “I'm just impressed that my sister could join the Barnes household. She didn't have to steal someone's husband like her mom.”

Victoria gasped and started sobbing.

Genevieve exclaimed, “How could you make your sister cry?”

You drank the wine in one gulp and put the empty glass on the table. “I want to vomit when I call her my sister. I need that wine to clean my tongue.”

Genevieve looked at her husband and whispered, “Jonathan, stop your daughter.”

You looked at your father, who was also looking at you, both of you silent. This is the relationship between father and daughter. Both of you used to be close, but everything changed after the other woman entered the family.

He won't say anything. He never does.

Turning to the new couple, you observed Victoria drinking water and her fiancé Bucky.

You didn't know much about him. What an unlucky man, you thought.

Walking towards him, you stopped in front of Bucky.

Bucky was looking at you too.

You said, “She throws away everything that I own or touch. I wonder…”

Your fingers touched his chin, and your face came close to his. You could see his eyes clearly.

You smirked and said, “I wonder if she still wants you after I do this.”

What you did next made everyone gasp.

Victoria screamed, “Get your lips away from him,” as she pushed you away from Bucky, acting as a barrier.

You wiped your lips, achieving your goal of seeing Victoria panicked.

With a salute gesture, you said, “I've got what I wanted. Goodbye, everyone,” and left the party.

Victoria grumbled, looking at Bucky and touching his hand. “Are you okay? I'm sorry. If you're mad at my sister, I apologize.”

Bucky pushed her away from him, his action shocking her slightly, but understandable since he had just been kissed by a stranger.

Bucky remained silent, not because he was angry, but because he had a million questions.

His disorder prevented him from being touched by someone, and yet he had just been kissed.

This is also his first kiss.

And... he didn't vomit.

Bucky looked at the closing door, wondering where you had gone.

He knew he had to see you again.

Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

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lees-chaotic-brain · 8 months ago

Note

careless whisper by george michael , gojo , angst

WC: 2k

CW: cheating, angst, hurt/no comfort, reader has female pronouns (referred to as madam and birthday girl), alcohol consumption (all characters are of age), swearing

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added to the event taglist): @chosolovers @ssetsuka @ichikanu

listen to this while reading

Event Guide | Event Masterlist | JJK Masterlist | Blog Navigation

For one night, one night alone you were going to put all of your suspicions and past hurt aside and enjoy the party. After all, it was your birthday so the night was supposed to be all about you.

Shooting a smile at your boyfriend across the room you can't help but feel your stomach flutter as he shoots you a wink and begins making his way through the crowd towards you. Stopping in front of you he sweeps forward in an exaggerated bow, extending his arm.

“Madam Birthday Girl, will you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

Laughing at his antics, you relax, reassured by his usual behavior. Of course everything was normal between the two of you. You were just being paranoid. Placing your hand in his, you allowed him to escort you onto the dance floor.

I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor

Wrapping your arms around his neck and swaying slowly to the music you rested your face against his chest and enjoyed the peace of the moment. Or, at least you tried to.

As soon as your nose brushed his blue button up your senses were invaded with some sort of expensive oriental perfume, meant to be subtle with rose and jasmine. But judging from the way your nose burned, whoever had been wearing it must have been wearing a whole bottle for the residual left on his clothes to be so strong. Nothing like the one or two spritzes of understated wildflower perfumes you preferred.

Fighting the urge to gag at the overpowering scent, you looked up over his shoulder in an attempt to get some fresh air. Instead you were confronted by lipstick stains on the edge of his collar. Bright pink lipstick stains, which couldn’t possibly be yours, because you would never wear a color that garish.

Suddenly you no longer felt like dancing, and as the song’s outro played you decided to give him one more chance to explain himself after the party. If he couldn’t do that, then the two of you were done. Looking up into his eyes you gave him a forced smile, a small part of you screaming that this was going to be the last time the two of you danced like this.

As the music dies, something in your eyes

Calls to mind a silver screen

And all its sad good-byes

After the song ended Gojo watched you walk away, unsettled by the finality in your eyes. Had you figured it out? Did you know where he had been before the party? Who was he kidding of course you had. As much as the two of you had danced around the obvious truth for months he knew that you knew. He had fallen in love with your quick wits and intelligence. There was no way you hadn’t put two and two together.

But despite forgotten dates, the nights he came home late or not at all, the perfume that wasn’t yours clinging to his skin, he dared to hope that you would just keep pretending not to know. That things could stay the way they were. If only you weren’t so smart.

Though it's easy to pretend

I know you're not a fool

Walking across the room you mingled with the guests, accepting birthday wishes and engaging in small talk. Heading over to the bar, you got a refill on your drink and leaned against the bar sipping it. You heaved a sigh, wishing the entire thing was over and that you could just go home. A large warm hand placed on your shoulder interrupted your stewing, causing you to turn around.

“Oh! Geto! Hi! I wasn’t expecting you to come. How are you?” You were surprised to see none other than your boyfriend’s best friend, Geto Suguru. The large man chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly at your surprise.

“Sorry, I was in the area and decided to drop by. I’m doing okay, but actually I’m here to ask you that. I’m really sorry about what Satoru did. It was fucked up. How are you doing with the breakup? I may be his best friend but just know that I’m always here for you-”

“Wait, what? The breakup?” You were confused. You hadn’t even told your best friends about your plans to confront Satoru, seeing as you had only made up your mind a few minutes ago. “What are you talking about?”

“What do you mean ‘what do you mean?’ We had a conversation and Satoru promised me-” Realization lit up in his dark eyes. “He didn’t do it, did he? Oh that son of a-” He stops, looking at you guiltily.

“Listen, I’m really sorry. You should hear it from him. I gotta go now.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you with a sinking feeling in your gut.

From across the room, Gojo watched his friend leave, knowing that whatever had just happened between the two of you could not not have been good. Not wanting to obsess over what Suguru could have said, he turned away and jumped into a conversation. Whatever was said had been said already. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment.

Time can never mend

The careless whispers of a good friend

If he had watched a few seconds longer he would have seen you shake yourself then chase after his friend, looking for answers. Darting around guests and avoiding dancing couples you caught up to Geto just outside of the building.

“Wait!” You yelled, hurrying to catch up with him. “You can’t just leave like that! I need to know what you mean.”

Not turning, Geto shook his head. “Trust me on this one. You don’t want to know. Let him tell you. I’ll make sure he does, but you shouldn’t hear this from me.”

“I’m pretty sure I already know.” The words fly out of your mouth before you could stop them. “He’s cheating on me, right? Listen, I need to know. I’m probably going to break up with him tonight. So it doesn’t matter anyways. Just tell me.”

Rubbing his face with one hand he sighed and chuckled without humor. “Of course you know. Jesus this whole situation is so fucked up.” He turned around and looked at you properly.

“Let’s go find somewhere to sit. This might take a little while.”

To the heart and mind

Ignorance is kind

Geto had left a couple of minutes ago, leaving you sitting on a sidewalk bench organizing your thoughts. Fighting the urge to cry, you were unsure why the pain in your chest was so sharp. You had been almost positive, he was cheating on you, so why did it hurt so bad to have your suspicions confirmed? It wasn’t like the knowledge was anything new to you.

Maybe it was because you now knew that the woman was the daughter of a wealthy family close to the Gojos. Maybe it was because you knew that it had been going on for months, and when Geto found out he had made Satoru promise to either end things with the other girl or break up with you. Maybe it was knowing that after making that promise Geto had found him with the other woman again, leading him to assume Satoru had broken up with you.

Whatever it was, it fucking hurt. Letting out a small sob, you clutched your chest feeling your heart break. Unable to stop the tears from spilling over your waterline you opened your phone and texted him that you knew before you could back out.

But as you wiped your face and headed back to the party because you would be damned if you let him ruin your night, a small part of you wished you hadn’t discovered the truth.

There's no comfort in the truth

Pain is all you'll find

After receiving your text, Satoru watched the entrance intensely, waiting for you to return. The second you step through the door he locks eyes with you, gesturing towards the outside, mouthing that he wanted to talk.

Instead of turning around and walking back outside so the two of you could talk like he had expected, you just strolled into the party and joined a group of your friends. Whipping out his phone, he tried to send you a text, only to discover that he had been blocked.

Then the panic set in as he started trying to make his way towards you. But at that moment a popular song came on over the speakers, and the crowd became rowdy, making it impossible for him to get to you. It was like the crowd was against him, pushing him back towards the edge of the dance floor instead of across it to where you were.

Didn’t they understand that he needed to get to you? That he need to explain himself? He wishes the crowd would just disappear. That it was just you and him, with nothing else in the way.

Tonight the music seems so loud

I wish that we could lose this crowd

As he continues to scan the crowd for you, he finally catches sight of you dancing with your friends, laughing and singing along to the song. Shouting your name, he waves frantically, but the venom in your eyes when they meet his make his voice die out.

Maybe it was for the better that the two of you didn’t talk right then. You didn’t seem like you were in a place where you would be able to talk reasonably. Turning, he decided to head out for the night and give you the space you so clearly needed. He would just talk to you tomorrow.

Maybe it's better this way

We'd hurt each other with the things we'd want to say

The next day when he went to your place to talk, Satoru was greeted by a box of all of his things sitting outside of your apartment and a post-it note declaring that the two of you were over. And despite all of his screaming and pleading and banging on the door, you didn’t come out that day. Or the next. Or the one after that.

Now it’s been months, and he’s given up on winning you back. It’s clear you have no interest in hearing him out. And in those three months he had come to realize just how much you had meant to him. You were his better half, the one he truly loved. The other woman he had cheated on you with couldn’t hold a candle to you.

If only he hadn’t been such an idiot. Maybe if he hadn’t been so conceited and cocky he would have seen the value in what the two of you shared and the two of you would still be together. Maybe the two of you would have spent the rest of your lives in happiness together. But that’s not what happened, and now he was all alone.

We could have lived this dance forever

But now, who's gonna dance with me?

Years had passed, and he was still alone. At first he had tried dating to get over you, but after realizing that the first girl had a similar smile to you, the second had the same shade eyes as you, the third your hair color, he stopped.

It didn’t matter how hard he subconsciously tried to find girls to replace you. None of them were ever going to be you. And the guilt he harbored over the way he treated you would follow him into the grave. He lost the best thing that ever happened to him. There was no recovering from that.

And I'm never gonna dance again

Guilty feet have got no rhythm

Note: to the people who asked to be tagged on the poll, i haven't added you to my event taglist yet, it was just for this fiic dw. however if you would like to be added, let me know!!

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mypoisonedvine · 1 year ago

Text

𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 | darren/pig x reader

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 | since little babbas, it's been pig and runt, runt and pig-- king and queen of your own little world. you were happy with just that, but now that you're eighteen, pig wants more... more than you're prepared to give, it seems. and he's prepared to take it if he has to.

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 | 4.6k

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 | NONCON SMUT (18+ only; virginity loss, creampie/breeding, fingering, coercion and force, slapping, hair pulling), extreme creepiness/yandere vibes, innocent reader, niche irish accent/dialect so bear with me on the slang and such

(I tried to capture the spirit of the very unique dialogue style of the play/film, while still making it vaguely intelligible and hopefully keeping it from being too upsetting-- but this is definitely one of the weirdest things I've ever written. proceed with caution as always.)

You laid awake that night, thinking endlessly about how he’d kissed you.

Why’d he done that? What’s he thinking?

You felt a little sick and a little dizzy every time you remembered it— it was just weird. You’d never imagined kissing Pig— or Pig kissing you— even if other kids had been joking about it since you were wee. Now that he’d gone and done it, pinning you to that wall and pressing his lips on yours (oddly sweet, for how hard his fingers dug into your arms), you wondered if it was what you should’ve expected. You just assumed it would always be the two of you— Pig and Runt, King and Queen— but never pictured it changing. But things change, don’t they? Boys and girls become men and women, husbands and wives, dads and mams. It’s just what happens. But you never thought about it happening to you and Pig…

It played over and over in your mind: his cold eyes, his soft lips, his fast breaths against your face. “Please, Runt?” he’d whispered, looking heartbroken and desperate like you’d never seen. Begging you to let him kiss you, but he’d taken your first kiss and not even warned you— what were you supposed to do?

The same questions swirled in your mind when you heard the knock at your door the next day. You knew it was him, and you knew that he knew that you knew it was him…

“Lemme in, Runt,” he demanded from the other side, and you stood up and quickly opened the door. He was leaning against the frame, looking down— like a little boy, ashamed and getting scolded. He brushed past you and sat on your bed, and you shut the door.

“Pig,” you breathed, not sure what else to say. A longer silence passed.

“Y’mad at me so,” he noticed, wringing his hands in his lap.

“No,” you denied with a sigh, sitting beside him on your bed. “No, Pig— jus’ don’t understand… why’d you go an’ do that, then?”

“Ah,” he shrugged, looking away from you, “I-I told you already, think you’re pretty.”

But it wasn’t that, you knew it wasn’t only that. “What you want, Pig?” you asked him quietly, and he looked at you again. He smiled a little, his eyes looking you up and down quickly.

“Just a kiss, Runt,” he promised quietly. “Only one.”

“Got one already,” you frowned as you crossed your arms. “Stole it.”

He leaned in closer to you until you could feel his breath on your neck. “Couldn’t help it,” he offered quietly, “m’sorry— just needed to kiss you.”

You turned and looked at him again, his face so close that you shivered a little.

“Should let me kiss you again,” he said, “see if y’like it this time, so.”

You hesitated, staring into his icy blue eyes. “Think I will?” you wondered.

“Yeah, scared you before,” he said, “didn’t tell you nothin’ before I did it— that’s why you didn’t like it. Try again, yeah?”

You bit your lip, seeing how he smiled at you— it didn’t match his eyes. His smile was friendly and soft, but his eyes were darting back and forth between your own, anxiously searching them. He wasn’t nearly as relaxed as he wanted you to think he was; he looked a little terrified. It actually relieved you more than the cool-and-collected act did— you were terrified, too. And maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

“Please,” he whispered.

The last thing you wanted was to hurt him, and you knew you would if you turned him down. Nervously, you nodded, and the way he smiled at you warmed your heart. He grabbed your face— gently, still— and pressed his lips to yours. You tried to kiss him back this time, moving your lips slowly with his, and his thumb stroked your cheek as he tilted his head a bit more.

When he broke away a few moments later, he smiled at you with his face close to yours, and put two more pecks on your lips before finally letting go of your head.

“Love kissing you,” he mumbled, “taste so sweet, Runt…”

You smiled a little at the compliment. “You taste like toothpaste,” you admitted with a giggle, and his cheeks got a bit pinker.

“Ah, Runt,” he cooed, “jus’ didn’t want you tastin’ my lunch— s’not what you want, is it? To kiss me and taste Tayto crisps?”

You laughed and shook your head, while he pulled you closer and wrapped you up in his arms. You shivered a little as he kissed the top of your head, inhaling deeply the scent of your hair.

He grabbed you by it suddenly, wrenching your head back and kissing you again— harder, and shoving his tongue into your mouth. You moaned a little in shock and protest, but he just moaned back at you.

“Pig!” you managed to yelp out, muffled by his lips, and he hummed proudly.

“Need ya, Runt,” he groaned, letting go of your hair and starting to hold you tightly. You whimpered as he kissed you so hungrily, unsure what to do or think.

“Jus’ a kiss, Pig,” you reminded him, but he groaned and started to hold your neck, moving his hand down to the collar of your t-shirt.

“Jus’ a kiss,” he repeated, grabbing your shoulder painfully tight to keep you still as he started to kiss on your jaw. “Jus’ a kiss, so— no more?”

“No, Pig,” you insisted, really thinking he would stop; but you both heard the whimpery moan that you let out when he kissed the very right spot on your neck…

“Oh,” he purred, moving his hand to tickle your chest again, “Runt like it— like the kisses? Moan again all pretty, girl…”

You yelped and slapped his hand when it started to dip into your shirt, touching the edge of your bra.

“Eh!” he whined, backing away and shaking his hand out. “What’cha slap Piggy hand for?”

“One kiss, you said!” you reminded him with a whine.

“Sorry, pal,” he laughed, “thought you liked it— way you moan an’ all…”

You bit your lip, because you couldn’t deny that it felt good— but the alarms in your head had gone off the second he touched under your shirt. What did he have to do that for, if you were just kissing?

“S’okay if you’re scared,” he promised, “doesn’t mean we can’t—”

“Stop,” you said sharply, turning away a bit, needing more time to think. You crossed your arms and turned away, and he slid closer to you on the bed.

“Runt, I—”

“Stop talkin’, Pig,” you pleaded. “Don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

He laughed nervously, looking away and then back at you; his hand came to rest on your arm. “Pig never hurt Runt,” he promised. “You’re my life. I’d never hurt you.”

“Mine too,” you returned softly, meeting his gaze again. It wasn’t really that you were afraid he would hurt you… it just made you feel strange. “Don’t feel right, this,” you told him.

His smile fell, and he looked at you with the saddest eyes— you couldn’t take seeing them, so you looked down, but he reached and turned your chin so you’d look at him again. “How’s it not feel right, us?” he wondered. “King and Queen— s’always us, pal.”

“Eh, I know,” you breathed, “but… not like that.”

“Not like kiss?” he pressed, lowering his voice, his fingers dragging along your arm and down to yours, where he tickled your hand until you turned your palm up for him. “Not like touch?”

A shaky sigh fell from your lips as his fingers tickled your hand.

“Not like…” he continued, whispering now, watching your face as you watched his hand, “fuck?”

He reached under your shirt suddenly and your hand instinctively raised to hit him again, but when it came down his other hand caught it harshly at the wrist.

“No slap,” he warned sharply. “I’s only talking, Runt—”

“Talkin’ about a fuck!” you noticed with a frown. “Pig, we can’t—!”

“Why not? We grown,” he insisted.

“But… but we…” you mumbled, looking at him and losing your train of thought.

“Wanted you, Runt,” he admitted with a sigh as you looked at him. “Wanted you so long…”

“You did?” you pressed nervously, and he must have confused your shyness for coyness, because he smirked and nodded before pulling you a little closer.

“Held your hand at night,” he whispered in your ear, “had the other one on m’cock, real tight…”

He smiled and licked his lips, but you pushed your legs together shyly. He’d really been doing that while you were holding his hand?

“So pretty, Runt,” he praised softly, fingertips running up those clenched thighs, “prettiest girl there is, yeah? Only girl worth looking at, I think— can’t be another but you, Runt, s’gotta be you.”

You looked away, unsure what to think or feel about that. You’d never really thought about Pig being with any other girl, he’d certainly never shown interest in any— but did that mean you had to be with him?

He started to lift up the bottom of your shirt, and you jumped slightly as you tried to push his hands back down. “Why don’t you let me see you?” he pouted. “Used to have baths together.”

“When we was babbas,” you remembered, “s’different now.”

“Why’s it gotta be different?” he shrugged.

You never agreed to it, you just stopped fighting it— he lifted your shirt again, and you nervously let him take it off of you; a shiver passed over you from the slight chill in the room.

“See? Not so bad,” he said. “Now the bra too—”

“Pig,” you whimpered, “feels weird.”

“I know,” he agreed, “but doesn’t it feel good, too? Tingly, right between t’pretty legs?”

All these compliments only added to your confusion— because yes, it felt nice and sweet when Pig said such lovely things to you. And he was right, too: his fingers tracing the edge of your bra did make a hot, strange feeling stir between your legs. You didn’t want him to touch you there, really, but you also got the sense that if he did, it would help satisfy this sudden need for pressure.

“Show me how you take it off, Runt,” he insisted, and you shakily reached behind your back to unclasp the bra.

He sighed slightly when you opened it, but before you could slide the straps off, he reached up and held your shoulders. Pushing you back (gently) onto the bed, he laid you on your back and hovered over you with the strangest, softest expression on his face; then he guided the straps down your arms, his breath catching as he exposed your chest to him.

It made your whole body break out into goosebumps when he stared at you like that, letting your bra fall on the floor. He looked awestruck as he ran his hands up your stomach— your own breath picking up a bit as they got higher and higher— until he delicately reached your breasts, fingertips brushing against your nipples.

You almost whimpered but you bit your lip instead; his eyes were glued to them, cupping them in his hands and starting to squeeze a little more firmly. He choked on nothing when he ran his thumbs over the tips and saw them get a little harder. “Prettiest tits, Runt,” he groaned out his praise. “Look so ready for Pig to lick them…”

He leaned forward and ran a wide, flat tongue over one bud as you moaned, then closed his lips around them. You didn’t mean for your back to arch into it, or for your hand to come down and pet his hair— but you couldn’t help it. The strangeness of all this had made them so sensitive, and every swirl of his tongue around your nipple made a pulse hit between your legs.

“Mm,” he hummed proudly as he moved from one to the other, looking up at you with bright and needy eyes. You both were panting when he lifted himself up to look at you with a grin. “Could suck on them for hours, Runt, if y’keep makin’ the pretty noises for me.”

He kept his mouth on one of them and held the other in his hand— but the second hand moved down your side, to your hip, to your shorts—

You clamped your legs together again, and he frowned as he pulled his mouth away from you. “Open t’legs, Runt,” he whispered. “Let me feel.”

You sighed a little, heart racing, and obeyed, hesitantly relaxing and spreading your legs. His hand touched outside your shorts first, running over the fabric and cupping you through them. “P-Pig,” you mumbled out as he pet you, his breaths heavy and uneven as he looked down and watched his hand move over you.

Shoving his hand in your shorts, he groaned as he cupped your heat in his palm, and you squirmed a little. His fingers explored between your lips, groans escaping your throat before you could stop them. This felt incredibly strange, being touched somewhere no one else ever had before, and you groaned a little as he seemed to be trying to feel everything until he could memorize it or something.

He swirled his fingertips around your opening, smiling proudly at the squelchy sound it made. “You can hear it, Runt— ‘cause it wants me, see? Little hole wants Pig in it.”

He slipped a finger in, making you bite your lip while his fell with a heavy sigh.

“Warm,” he said simply, his eyes looking a little darker as he felt inside you.

He pulled his finger out and brought it up to his face, taking a deep inhale beside the shiny digit as you bit your lip nervously.

“Fuck, Runt, smells good,” he groaned. “Smells fuckin’ good…”

He licked his finger next, humming at the taste.

“Wanted a taste for a while, yeah?” he admitted with a lower voice. “D’ya ever think about it, Piggy licking your little cunt? Thought about my tongue inside you?”

You shook your head, but he didn’t seem to believe you.

“Thought about it,” he informed you— obviously. “Wanked and thought about it, sweet little Runt sitting on my face; making you come, kissin’ you there. An’ thought about you tasting me, too— pretty lips on my cock, that sweet tongue…”

Gasping, you looked away; you shuddered as he started to kiss your neck, and you reached up to push him away but ended up just holding onto his shoulders when his tongue tickled your pulse.

You whined loudly when he reached into your shorts again and slipped two fingers into you— the stretch stung and made your hips jerk.

“Too much, Pig!” you told him, trying to push his hand away.

“Too much?” he repeated with a laugh. “How’s the cock gonna fit if the finger’s too big?”

The hand trying to stop him ended up just holding his wrist as he curled his fingers inside you, making your legs shake completely on their own.

You were a bit relieved and disappointed at once as he took his fingers out of your shorts, but then you sat up and tried to jump away when he hooked both hands into the shorts to try to pull them down. “What’s wrong, then?” he asked.

“D-don’t want you to see,” you mumbled.

“Already touched, Runt, lemme see now,” he insisted, but you moved your hips away again with a pout. “Okay,” he relented, and for a second you thought that meant he’d stop making you do all these things, but then his hand moved to start opening his jeans, “I’ll show you first— to make it fair, so.”

You instantly shut your eyes tight when you caught a glimpse of it, the big white thing he pulled out in front of you; but then you found yourself looking, like you couldn’t help it, out of morbid curiosity. And then you just felt even more terrified, because of how thick it was, how it flexed in his hand as he held it tightly, how there was a little drop of clear liquid leaking from the tip…

“I—” you stammered, not even sure yourself what you were going to say, but he interrupted you.

“Touch it, Runt,” he whispered, somewhere between a plea and a demand. “Touch how hard…”

You shuddered as you brushed your fingers over him and the silky smooth skin of his cock, feeling empty and hollow— you couldn’t believe this was happening, that you were touching Pig there…

“Do you think it’s gonna fit, Runt?” he taunted softly. “Do you think little cunt’s gonna hurt with the big cock in it?”

“Pig, maybe not today…” you suggested weakly, overwhelmed by what you’d already done without even imagining what was next. “Maybe wait—”

“Wait, eh?” he frowned. “Mean girl, makin’ Pig wait so long an’ then some more— gettin’ the boy hard like that and wantin’ to stop now—”

“M’not ready,” you tried to explain, but he kept going, snarling at you as his anger grew.

“Little tease!” he accused. “Lettin’ me kiss you an’ all that— touch you an’ suck the little buds, all lyin’ to me that I could have you— you’re lyin’! Thought we’s pals, Runt.”

“Pals, yeah!” you agreed. “Forever! But—”

“Then let me feel,” he demanded. “Let me be inside… s’jokin’ earlier, it won’t hurt you. Pig never hurt Runt.”

You whined and looked away, and Pig put his face right by yours, breathing warmly onto your neck.

“Never,” he swore again. “I can make you feel good. Promise. It feels good, Runt… s’good to have the cock inside, for both. If you don’t like, we stop.”

“Okay,” you blurted out. “Okay, Pig… we can try.”

He smiled and sat back between your legs, pulling your shorts and panties down and biting his lip as he touched again with a full view this time. “S’pretty, Runt,” he praised quietly, spreading you with his fingers as he examined you.

You tried not to resist, hoping to force yourself to relax, but you couldn’t help but jump when you felt his cock press against your wet lower lips. “Don’t squirm, Runt, s’gonna feel good,” he promised, laying down on top of you and hovering above you.

“Scared, Pig,” you admitted with a little whine, and he smiled at you as he kissed your cheek.

“Won’t be so bad, yeah,” he assured quietly. “S’posed to happen. Boys and girls do this— it’s what we do, okay? S’posed to be like this— me and you, man and woman. And it’s so wet, Runt— you want me.”

Before you could decide if you agreed with that, he looked down and lined himself up to your opening. He sighed heavily as he plunged the swollen head into you, a totally new expression falling over his face as he looked down at you. “Ah, Runt, s’fuckin warm,” he groaned, pushing in another inch; you whined and tried to move your hips away, but he held them down as his mouth fell wide open with gasps. He watched himself do it, too— he watched the way his cock split you, even using his thumb to tug up on your clit to get a better view.

He moaned loudest when he was all the way inside, his hips flush with yours, your aching body suddenly covered in goosebumps.

“Feel it?” he grunted. “Feel how it fits just right? See? S’meant to be me an’ you, Runt.”

Just right isn’t quite how you would’ve described it, not with this stinging pain inside like he was tearing you open. You could’ve maybe gotten used to it easier if he’d just stayed still, but he started thrusting right in as soon as he’d slipped inside— you tried to reach down to grab his hip, a chance to slow him down, but he grabbed you at the wrist and pinned your hands down. “P-Pig,” you choked out, “you’re hurting me—”

“Shh,” he breathed, “s’not gonna hurt if you give it a minute. Fuck, Runt, y’feel that? It’s so good, Runt… such a good, wet hole…”

You started to sob then, but he ignored it. “Said you’d never hurt me,” you reminded him— but he only heard what he wanted.

“So big, I know,” he said proudly, pulling back enough to look down at the sight of himself inside you. “Look’it that,” he groaned, “all that sticky juice, soakin’ my cock, you’re such a good girl for me now, yeah? Runt be good for Pig…”

Another whine jumped from your throat as he moved faster, the sound of skin hitting skin beginning to fill your room.

“Ah, fuck, Runt,” he moaned louder, “s’fuckin’ tight… saved it for me, wanted me to be the one to break it in, yeah? Needed my cock to open y’up, I know it— ah, needed Pig’s cock, didn’t ya? Wanted to beg for it all sweet-like? Pig, need your cock— fuck me, Pig— say it like that.”

“No,” you whimpered, whining as he squeezed your wrists harder.

“Say how I told you,” he demanded.

You shivered a little, trying to find the courage to say something like that; it came out as a shaky, tense whisper. “F-fuck me,” you begged under your breath, and he growled before kissing your neck messily. His thrusts got a bit faster and rougher— and deeper, which you hadn’t even realized was really an option since it never seemed like he was holding back before.

“Dirty little Runt, needs a mean fuck,” he grinned. “Wants it hard. But m’gonna be nice with you— make it all sweet for the pretty Runt.”

One hand moved to hold tightly onto your hip— too tight, really, enough to bruise— and he changed the way he moved inside you: a bit faster yet again and somehow more tender, more intentional. You moaned before you could stop yourself, the crying suddenly stopping, as a different angle making his cock’s fat tip rub against some little spot inside you… it still felt horribly strange, having Pig on top of you and inside of you, but there was a sense of satisfaction building with it as well.

“Nobody else ever gonna touch you, Runt,” he informed you with a heavy sigh. “Nobody gonna touch the Runt but Pig— nobody else get to see the pretty tits, nobody else get to feel inside. It’s all just for me.”

He purred when he noticed the way your face relaxed and your body went a bit limp; you felt warm all over, especially where he filled you, and the pain was gone— at least, the physical pain. Your head still hurt with confusion and shame.

“See?” he smiled wide— impossibly wide— as you shuddered under him. “So good, Runt— y’like it, hm? Pig’s cock in you, you like it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you panted, whimpering as he fucked you a little more desperately now, not quite as patient as before. “Yeah— feels good…”

“How it’s supposed to be,” he insisted again, losing his smile to a series of heavy breaths and moans. “How it’s gotta be, Runt— gotta be me and you, King and Queen, an’ m’gonna be inside you when I want.”

You shuddered, already overwhelmed by this, let alone a standing order to be fucked whenever he wanted it.

“Such a pretty hole,” he groaned, holding onto your shoulders to keep you steady as he rocked his hips faster. “Can’t wait to fill it up…”

Your eyes went wide when you realized what he meant by that. “N-no, Pig!” you choked out. “Can’t get the spunk inside—”

“Shut it,” he snapped, covering your mouth with his hand, “s’gotta be inside, Runt, needa fill your hole. Needa see it drip out, yeah? Gonna watch all my come run out the little cunt…”

Your muffled whimpers just spurred him on more, his teeth bared as he growled by your ear.

“Give Runt the seed, yeah?” he grunted, fucking you harder. “Fill the needy fuckin’ hole— s’wet ‘cause it needs it. You need me.”

He took his hand off your mouth again to indulge himself in your terrified whining, pinning your flailing arms down instead and moaning as he licked and sucked on your neck.

“Wanna be pregnant, Runt? Wanna babe?”

“No, Pig!” you cried in response. “C’mon, Pig, please— jus’ pull out!”

“Mm,” he considered it, “but our little babe would be so cute, Runt— your eyes an’ my nose, haven’t you thought about it? Me an’ you, mum and dad? Sort of funny, don’t you think?”

He laughed— how could he laugh at a time like this?!

“Tell me you wan’ it inside, Runt,” he demanded. “Say it! Say you wan’ all Pig’s spunk inside!”

“I—” you began, hesitating, and he slapped your face as you yelped.

“Say it!”

“F-fuck, wan’ it inside, Pig!” you begged as you cried. “Come in me, Pig, just come, please— just come and be done, please—”

“Shh, shh,” he hissed, shutting his eyes tight as his hips moved faster. “Ah, fuck, can’t wait anymore… m’coming, Runt—”

He gasped loudly and held your hips too tightly as he pushed himself as deep as he could go. Your eyes and mouth open, you simply looked up at the ceiling, paralyzed and speechless as he groaned and spasmed a bit.

“We one now,” he whispered to you, kissing the side of your face. “Man and woman.”

You could only blink numbly as he sat up enough to look down at you, his face hovering too close above yours.

“I think Runt like it,” he grinned, cooing as a tear ran down your temple— he swiped it up with his thumb and licked it up. “Why cry?”

You sniffled and finally managed to wrench your wrist out from his grip, but you couldn’t do anything with it, so you just brought it nervously to cover your chest. “Y’hurt me, Piggy…”

“Aw,” he pouted at you, laying a little more of his weight on you, “jus’ ‘cause it’s the first, Runt. Next time be sweeter, yeah? Easier. Little pussy opened up an’ ready now.”

He gently pulled his hips back, sighing as he slipped his cock out of you, and you winced. He scooted himself down and put his face right close between your legs, making you try to close your thighs together— but he just held them open and used his thumb to pull your lips apart more.

“Ah, shit,” he frowned, “s’too deep, hasn’t run out yet. Can y’push it out, Runt? So I can see?”

“S-stop lookin’ at it, Pig,” you whimpered a little, feeling self-conscious about his face so close to you there…

“But s’pretty,” he giggled quietly. “C’mon, Runt, just push so Pig can see all the spunk come out.”

Though your face had never felt so warm and you cringed at the request, you pushed just once and felt a warm trickle run down from your hole to the seam of your ass.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Prettiest thing, that is. Runt full’a Pig, all the seed pourin’ out…”

He dragged two fingers up through the sticky path down from your pussy, pushing the come back into you as you whimpered from both the soreness and the fear of what might happen now that he’d done that to you.

While your body shivered helplessly and your mind raced with thoughts, all you could do was lay there and blink at the ceiling as he laid down beside you. He hummed as he pulled you into a tight hug. “Love ya, Runt,” he whispered, smiling still. “You’re my life. It’s us now, yeah? King and Queen…”

He laughed, in a giddy sort of way, and held you even closer as he buried his face in your neck.

“King and Queen,” he repeated, “forever and ever and ever, yeah…?”

#well... this is... um... dunno what to say about this.#disco pigs smut #darren pig x reader #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy dark fic

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skzdarlings · 2 months ago

Text

the fifteenth heir ; faerie prince au ; jeongin/reader ; part one

masterlist.

When you save the life of an injured wolf, you are not expecting him to turn into a prince and save you in return. Of course, as it turns out, fairy tales are not that simple. - A prequel to The Same But Different: The story of how Prince Jeongin overpowered his fourteen older brothers to take the throne of the summer court.

part one | chapters tba | ao3 link.

pairing: yang jeongin/reader content info: set in the faerie prince universe, the prequel to the same but different. faerie/human romance. strangers to lovers. eventual sexual content.

content warnings: please heed the following trigger warnings and read at your own discretion. this story is predominately a romance but classified under horror as well. there will be gruesome scenes, images, and threatening scenarios. this chapter features murder, isolation, mentions of human cannibalism, neglect, suicidal thoughts, explicit violence, and dark fantasy elements.

chapter word count: 7000 words.

enjoy <3

Absolute silence surrounds the house. In daylight, pests are lured closer by the meaty red stench of blood. At nightfall, every lowly thing knows to keep away from the yawning maw of that front door. Even animals understand a chasm, this black hole that swallows life and belches bones back into the woods.

You wake behind the eyes of the monster, curled up in your cot by the attic window. Even the slightest noise wakes you, the smallest disturbed pebble a thunderous exclamation in the silence.

Your eyes adjust to the moonlight darkness. You scan the yard.

Leave, you think, pleading with everything and nothing. You beg whatever is out there to get away before it gets hurt.

It’s been a week since your father’s last hunt and his hunger is going to get the better of him – and you are a selfish little girl in a terrified woman’s body and you don’t want to hear another murder.

Silence is absolute until it is not. It always ends with a scream.

Your own shriek is strangled in the sleepy rasp of your voice, startled by a shape emerging from the thrush of the woods. Your racing heart patters as the shadow takes shape in the moonlight.

Oh, it’s a stag.

Two - no, three of them.

It’s better than a person. Your father won’t be hungry for an animal this late in the week.

It’s still unsettling. Your father occasionally allows you into the woods to hunt for animals. You are not allowed to venture far and nothing intelligent approaches the house, so you never find anything more than rabbits and squirrels. If there are more animals out there, it is deep, deep in the miles of trees, well past where the footpaths fade and the branches start to tangle into a wall of impenetrable brambles.

You have never seen a stag before.

The first stag crosses the yard. It steps tentatively, as you suppose deer are wont. But there is something about the angle of its head, the curious, scrutinizing tilt as it looks at the house – like it’s really considering it, the way people might. The way people do, with a breath of relief.

Thank god, they always say. A house.

Our car broke down on the highway.

We were hiking and got lost.

There’s something about these woods.

We don’t know how we got here.

You don’t know how they get here either. Despite the repeated claim, there is no highway anywhere close. You have looked. There’s nothing but the house.

The stags cross the yard one by one, flicking their heads, their antlers waving in the dark. For a moment, the shadows look like long, spindly fingers, stretching up and up as if taunting you with a friendly wave. Hello, they say, we’re out here and you’re in there. Can you see us too?

Then the porch lights wash yellow over the blue night. Your father steps onto the porch. He always answers the door, just like you are always in the attic.

The stags run, though it seems more jaunty than afraid, a bouncing trot back into the woods. Your father hollers after them, enraged his hunger was piqued only to find no satisfaction.

You lay back down and close your eyes. This screaming is preferable to the usual kind, but it is still screaming.

And it always ends with a scream.

You are sitting by the window, legs curled up and arms around your knees. You watch the yard, the flies zipping here and there in the daylight. You have been watching for hours, wondering if the stags will come back. They seem like an impossible dream in the light of day. Try as you might, you cannot picture them in the yard. They just don’t belong there. Nothing does. It makes that murky dream feel like a nightmare.

Your watching is interrupted by a creaking on the stairs. Your father is coming up to the attic.

You jump out of bed, dressed in your too-small shorts and too-big shirt, like always, and you fetch the key under your cot, like always, and you are waiting at the closed door when he arrives, like always.

Even though you can hear each other breathing, he still knocks at the door. A semblance of politeness. Knocking, like he is protecting your privacy. Knocking, like you can’t hear him hacking his way through human bodies, like you can’t hear the mess, like you don’t know where the meat goes.

He knocks, like always.

You slide the key under the door so he can unlock it. It’s a type of understanding, isn’t it? You can’t leave without his permission. He can’t reach you without yours.

The door opens.

He is holding a hunting knife. It should scare you. He has used it against you before, the one and only time you tried to run away. He let you out to hunt and you ran for that elusive highway. Ran, got lost, got scared, got found. He cut at your legs, not to sever or maim, but in a frantic, desperate kind of threat. That he would. That he would do a lot.

But there are things he won’t do. He won’t make you eat the remains of his human catches. He hands you the knife and says, “Go.”

“Do you want something too?” you ask like you don’t know the answer.

“No,” he says, with no further explanation for what he intends to hunt and eat.

You take the knife.

It’s a cool day. You think it must be autumn but the deeper you sink into the woods, the warmer it gets. The gentle breath of the autumnal breeze vanishes as you leave range of the house. The sun brightens while the shade thickens, the forest a starker and starker contrast of light and dark. You keep to the shade because it is sweltering in the sun with no breeze.

It feels strange to do something like that. Does a moment of comfort really matter? Your legs are scarred, the woods are hot, and the house is always waiting. Does a minute of shade really matter?

Resigned, you trudge through the woods in your bare feet, stepping into patches of hot sunlight. The knife dangles in your loose grip. You hardly feel the path under your feet.

A sound bleeds into the quiet nothing. You ignore it even though it could be a catch. That’s why you’re out here, isn’t it? To find food? A rabbit, a squirrel. There are no stags. You were dreaming. There is nothing. Nothing but the house, right?

Nothing but this, like always.

You stop. Your grip tightens around the knife. Every part of you throbs like it is begging to be pierced. Maybe it will wake you out of this nightmare. Maybe it will set you free. Maybe you just want the house to spit your bones into the woods. At least you’d never have to go back in.

You hear it again. It is not the skitter of an animal or a human scream or any sound you know.

Crying, you realize. It’s the whining wail of a hurt thing, more despondent than afraid. It pierces those vulnerable places faster than a knife. A new ache replaces it.

You follow the sound. It sadness is so persuasive that you begin to cry as well.

You stumble towards some trees, their branches low and tangled. You swing at them with the knife like it’s a machete. You need to get through. You don’t know why.

It must be an animal on the other side. It could be hurt or it could hurt you. It could be one of the stags. Somehow, you know it’s not, thinking of those taunting antlers. They couldn’t make a sound like this.

The branches cave with a shatter, all at once as if tired of fighting. You stumble into an alcove, a little shelter among the trees.

In the middle of it, curled up and crying, is a wolf.

A wolf?

Its fur is a solid midnight black, darker than the shadows around it. Its big body is irrefutably canine but the face is not wolf-like.

A fox, you think, though the proportions are all wrong. Foxes are not this big and overwhelming.

You don’t dwell on it because this fox-wolf is hurt. In the obsidian darkness of its coat, you almost miss the streaks of blood, the open cuts just barely visible.

You drop the knife. The fox-wolf watches it fall, its whine gone silent in your presence. Its black eyes are steady. It looks at the knife then at you. There is a horrible sadness in its gaze, a miserable resignation to the droop of its head.

You know this feeling well.

“Did he do this to you?” you ask, as if you expect an answer. It is not more unusual than speaking to yourself.

The fox-wolf whines, a sad, imploring beg. Its gaze goes to the knife.

“I’m not like him,” you say. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Even as you say it, you are not sure your father is responsible for this. It’s not his nature. For all his abominable offences, your father does not hunt for sport. He slaughters indiscriminately but it is always purposefully. Animals, early in the week, brought back skinned and ready for cooking. Humans, later, when he changes, when he starts sweating under some invisible heat source and nothing else satisfies him.

That is when you go to the attic and let the door lock behind you. You know he’s still your father when you can hear him breathing on the other side. When the hunger possesses him, he is a screaming, mindless thing, throwing himself at that fortified door, clawing it up like an animal before leaving to hunt easier prey.

He has managed to avoid that state for a while, no longer waiting for the arrival of a meal but seeking it out in advance. Preventative measures became necessary over time. The length of his satisfaction keeps shrinking. He used to last months, then one month. Now it is a week before he hunts again.

He is hunting tonight so the hunger has not yet taken over. He did not mindlessly attack this animal. If he deliberately targeted this fox-wolf, he would have brought it back as meat for you.

You approach the animal, tentative but not as wary as you should be. It has big teeth: visible, sharp incisors when it opens its mouth. It would keep away any sane person with a reasonable fear of suffering. But a bite is not different than a walk in the hot sun.

You kneel beside the animal. You touch it carefully, parting the bloody fur and exposing the wound beneath. It is not the work of a knife. It’s a gash near the neck, an attack as wild as it was intentional.

Blinking, you recall those antlers in the dark.

“Did the stags do this?” you ask gently.

The fox-wolf whines. It sound affirmative, even though that’s impossible.

The greatest impossibility is the sudden pang in your heart. You thought it had already turned to dust. A small, broken shard beats for this hurt creature.

“Poor foxy,” you say.

You kiss the crown of the fox-wolf’s head. It emits a whimper. It rests its head in your lap.

It has been so long since you kissed anything. You kissed your parents a long time ago. Long before they disappeared on a walk in the woods, when your father came back alone and unnaturally hungry no matter how much your then-teenage self cooked and cooked and cooked.

There was one final kiss you gave each of them, but you don’t remember it now. It would have been inconsequential at the time, taken for granted there would be many more.

You will remember this one. Giving affection to another living thing is as important as receiving it. You were affectionate, once, you think.

For a time, you sit in the alcove, tucked away from the world and the woods. You stroke the fox-wolf’s head from the crown to the neck, then back up. You drag your pinky down its snout and its eyes close like a person lulled to sleep.

The fox-wolf stirs first. It lifts its head and looks at the knife. When it looks at you with those glossy black eyes, you understand.

“No,” you say without hesitation. Terrible sadness cloys in your throat. “I know it hurts, but you’re not going to die. I won’t hurt you. Don’t ask me that.”

You don’t question its seeming understanding. You know it’s still impossible, but you cling to that connection. You imagine it sees your own scars and the obvious exhaustion of your weary body. You imagine it recognizes the droop of your head. You imagine a broken part of its animal heart beats for you too.

“You’re not going to die like this, okay?” Your voice is small and rough. A tear slides right off your cheek and onto the fox-wolf. Despite your efforts, the tears keep coming, plinking along the fox-wolf’s scars like raindrops. You brush the creature with careful fingers.

“You’ll be okay,” you say. “I promise.”

You use the knife to cut a strip of fabric from the bottom of your t-shirt.

“This is the only shirt that fits me, you know,” you say, talking to keep the animal calm while you wipe its wounds clean. “It was big when I got it. We were just coming to the house for the summer. I was thirteen. I didn’t even want to go but Mama said it would be good to get out of the city for a couple weeks. It’s been longer than that now, you see. A lot longer. I’m all grown up. And Mama’s gone. It’s just me and Daddy and the House. This isn’t a good place, but you know that. The forest did something to him and now he gets hungry. He's not my Daddy when that happens. He’s just hunger. And when he’s not hungry anymore, it’s like he wakes up, and then he’s a mess, like he sees all the blood for the first time. The worst part? I think it’s all because of me.”

You never say this out loud, not even to yourself in the quiet nothing. You say it now because it’s the reason you rip your last shirt and bandage the hurt animal.

You have to save something because of how much has died to save you.

“He doesn’t want me to run away, to get too far in the woods,” you say. “I think he’s scared that what got him and Mama will get me. And whatever it is, it’s worse than this. Whatever it is, it makes the house safe in comparison. He’d rather keep getting hungry and kill all those people than risk the forest getting me.”

You kiss the fox-wolf’s head when it whimpers.

“I want to save you, foxy,” you say. “Because he only stays alive to keep me alive. He hunts so he won’t hurt me. All the horror, all the bodies, all the death… it’s to keep me alive. Trapped, but alive. And it’s not any kind of life worth protecting, but that’s what a daddy does, I guess. I’m all he has left to protect. I don’t think he’ll die until I do. Maybe I should. Maybe I should let this all end.”

The fox-wolf whines again but not from pain, lifting its head to turn those solemn eyes onto yours.

“I know,” you whisper, scratching behind its ears. “I guess we never know why things happen the way they do. Maybe I was meant to be here so I could find you and help you. Let’s make a bargain.”

Steady black eyes gaze up at you.

“I saved your life,” you say. “And maybe that was the purpose of mine. So you have to use it. You can’t lay down and die in these woods. You have to be okay. Then you have to go back where you belong and you have to keep using the life I gave you. Okay?”

You curl around the fox-wolf. You hide your tears in its fur, uselessly because it can feel your shoulders shake.

“I think I’ll be okay for a little longer,” you say. “Until it gets me – the forest, or the hunger, or him. But I’ll be okay if I know you’re alive, all right? You’re the first real thing I’ve seen in years. I forgot the world could make such beautiful things. If I can think about you free somewhere outside of the woods, it will make me happy, foxy. Please be alive for me.”

The fox-wolf curls around you too, twining in a big coil of wolven bulk and fur.

“Thank you,” you say.

You lay there for another moment, until the sun has shifted in the sky and the shadows fall differently. The hot light touches the border of the alcove. By then, your tears have stopped.

You sit up and wipe your wet face. You take a breath and the fox-wolf watches.

“I have to go now,” you say. “Be careful, foxy.”

You kiss its head once more.

Then, because you never take a kiss or word for granted anymore, you say, “I love you.”

Because you do, because all the love you had for the world and your family is somewhere inside you still. It needs somewhere to go. It feels right, giving it to this sad creature that needs more life.

“Take care,” you say.

It does not whimper or whine. It watches with those steady eyes as you take the knife and leave the alcove in your too-small shorts and ripped-up shirt, the only thing left that’s yours as you leave your love and hope behind.

Your father usually hunts through the night. You don’t know where he goes and you don’t what the path is like. You just know that he doesn’t trust to send you down it even though you could get away once and for all. You suppose it’s not hard to believe the path would be laden with monsters. After all, he must be one of them.

The house is empty. You go inside with a bundle of berries cupped in the remains of your shirt. The front door swings behind you. It doesn’t lock because nothing approaches it willingly. If it does, it won’t last long.

You go to the attic. It’s the only locking door. It traps you, like always.

You put the berries on the bed and the knife under the bed beside the key. Your shirt is now a sticky, juice-spattered mess, cut at the belly, but it doesn’t really matter. You sit on the bed and eat your berries one by one, watching the yard.

You fall asleep at some point. You wake hours later in your cot, long after the sun has set and the gloaming is gone.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dark. You peer through the attic window across the moonlit yard, looking for the disturbance that woke you. It might be your father. He is due back. Sometimes he kills his catch on the way but sometimes he waits until he’s at the house. The body ends up over the fire in what used to be a cozy sitting room.

You don’t go there. You don’t need to see when you can hear and smell.

You hear a clatter on the porch. He must have reached the house before your eyes adjusted. The automatic porch lights flip on, that wash of yellow over the dark yard.

It illuminates something on the border between the yard and the woods. It’s another stag, tall and broad with spindly antlers. You can just barely see the shadow of more stags behind it. It’s hard to count them, antlers blending into branches.

The first stag steps forward. Your head tilts as you watch, bemused by its awkward step. Is it hurt? It seems to crick and creak as it moves. You imagine a pop as it lumbers forward.

Then it rears up. It lifts its head.

No. No, it doesn’t.

Its neck is craning, its torso elongating. It lengthens and pops and rises until it looks halfway like a person in the yard, hunched with too-long arms dangling down the length of a tall body. It still has antlers.

You fall back in a panicked jump when the front door opens and closes. For a moment, it’s you that feels like an animal, skittering frantically on all fours. You climb onto the cot and peek out the window. More antlered half-human figures are in the yard, watching the house. The yellow porch light glints in the eyes of the closest one, human-shaped but flashing bright with a heated anger.

It looks at the door. Then it looks at you.

You drop down, not making a noise, too scared to even scream.

There are footsteps on the stairs. It’s welcome for once. You have a monstrous thing of your own. Your father has returned from his hunt. Maybe he killed and ate it on the way. He’s coming to see you and he will be clear-eyed and horrified but maybe, maybe, maybe you can find your father in that pain. He will comfort you and tell you monsters aren’t real, like he did when you were young, when your father was the most indomitable force in the world. He could keep out any monster.

You grab the key and dash for the door. You wait for the breathing, the gentle cadence. Yours come rapidly.

You slide the key under the door and it scrapes the ground, like always, then it’s inserted into the lock, like always. The mechanical unclick. Like always.

But it doesn’t open like always. You stare at the door, breathing louder than any scream. You push it open. Your eyes are raised to look at your father, but he’s not there.

Your gaze drops.

“Foxy?”

You don’t understand the sight. This is irrevocably the fox-wolf, the very same one, still bandaged in your t-shirt scraps, still with those steady black eyes. It’s sitting on its haunches, gazing up at you. The key is on the floor beside a small covered basket.

You take a tentative step to look around. The house is empty. Your father has not returned.

The fox-wolf, who somehow unlocked your door, accepts your unintentional invitation and trots into your room. You watch as it sniffs around then waits patiently beside the cot.

You pick up the key and the basket, at a loss to do anything else. You close the door and it locks behind you. You don’t know how you are going to hide a wolf from your father, but right now you don’t care. Its presence is an immediate and thorough balm. You rush to the cot and take a seat. A peek out the window shows the yard is now empty.

“You scared them away, foxy,” you say, rubbing its head. Its tail thumps happily, its eyes scrunching with pleasure. It has an almost-human smile. You kiss its head. “I think you’re a sweetie,” you say. “The woods are full of scary things. We sweeties have to stick together.”

You place the key under your bed and the basket on your pillow. The fox-wolf nudges it with its nose, whining eagerly. Its tail continues to hammer with excitement.

You smile. It’s probably an ugly smile, unpracticed and strange, but the smallest uptick of that unused muscle fills you with unparalleled delight. You didn’t even know you could still feel that way.

“Is this for me?” you ask.

The fox-wolf watches with that squinty-eyed grin. Your smile returns, still an awkward flicker on your long unsmiling face, but true.

You uncover the basket. You are truly shocked at what you find.

As much as the monsters scare you, they are not unusual. You are used to the woods and the horror. You are not used to smiling and you are not prepared for a basket full of baked goods.

When did you last see such a thing? It feels like a memory of a story, fantasies of someone else’s life. The basket is filled with rolls of pastries sprinkled with powdery sugar, leaking purple berry and yellow custard. Dark sugar sprinkles, a spicy scent – cinnamon, you think. You remember. Was it your favourite? Maybe it will be now.

You don’t know where to start or what to say or do. You look at the basket of sweet sugar wealth, overwhelmed. The scents are so sweet that it’s almost sickening, your near empty stomach roiling. Your smile quivers and breaks and then you are crying with hysterical abandon.

The fox-wolf whines with concern, its front paws up on the cot as it stretches to check on you. You wipe your eyes and try to speak, though it takes some time to sound coherent through the gasping.

“I’m sorry, foxy,” you say. You are even more distressed to find those black eyes glassy with sympathy. “I promise I’m happy,” you say. “I just don’t know how to be. I’m sorry. I promise I feel it inside.”

It continues to look at you with concern, its short ears wilting. You rub the top of its head affectionately and try to smile again. It feels toothy, like an aggressive snarl more than a smile, but it’s not afraid.

You look at the pastries again. You truly don’t know what to do next. As much as the fox-wolf seems to understand you, it can hardly communicate, so you can’t ask where it found so much luxury in the woods. It makes you think your father might be close, that the fox-wolf found this treasure abandoned by unlucky humans.

You feel guilty, but the pastries are so tempting. There is something especially wondrous about them. Maybe because it’s been so long. The longer you look, the more your mouth waters, and the more it looks like something from a dream.

You lift a pastry, feeling a combination of hunger and nausea. You haven’t eaten anything like this in years and you are scared your body will reject it. You still crave it. You didn’t even realize you wanted it all this time. You didn’t realize you were capable of wanting anything ever again.

You take a small bite. The pastry is delicate. It flakes and melts on your tongue, the sweet sugar leaving a powdery residue on your lips. You lick it off. It’s so sweet but so soft that you cry again.

“It’s perfect, foxy,” you say.

The fox-wolf still looks morose, one ear perked to gauge the slightest negative shift in your tone.

Your smiles are not reassuring, so you extend a gesture instead. You break a piece of the pastry and offer it.

“Please,” you say. “Share with me. It tastes even better that way.”

It tickles when the fox-wolf licks the pastry off your fingers. If a smile felt strange, laughter feels bizarre, an awkward guffaw, subsumed in the gasp of your tears.

You eat a few more bites, sharing with the fox-wolf. Then you cover the basket and put it under the bed. You pace yourself. You know you won’t keep down more than that. Your stomach is already rebelling under the onslaught of foreign sweetness.

There’s also a special pleasure in knowing it’s there. You don’t even want to finish the basket because then it will be gone forever.

You look at the fox-wolf. You know it will be gone soon too. It can’t stay here. It’s not safe. Even at his best, your father will see a beast fit for food. He won’t care about the intelligence in those dark eyes.

For now, the house is empty and the basket is full. You rub the fox-wolf’s head. Its tail thumps again. You smile a smile you thought you had lost.

“Come on, foxy,” you say. You make room on the cot.

The fox-wolf jumps. It turns in a small circle near the foot then settles. It rests its chin on your knees.

You stroke your pinky down its snout as it blinks with sleepy contentment.

For the first time in a long time – since a life that no longer feels like yours – you lay down to sleep with a smile on your face.

You usually sleep lightly, disturbed by the smallest noise as it breaks the silence, but the silence is not absolute tonight. The fox-wolf breathes and the gentle cadence of its slumbering breath is like a lullaby.

It’s the deepest sleep of your life. You hardly ever dream in your light dozes but it comes in vivid colour tonight. Swirls of monsters, antlers, and hunting knives. Also sugar, cinnamon, black fur and dark eyes squinting in an obvious smile. In your dream, those eyes change, the intelligent but animal gaze softening to something human. You dream of your attic room, a dream so vivid it almost feels real. You can feel the cot under you, the chill of the nearby window, the familiar moonlight.

But it isn’t real. It can’t be. The fox-wolf is gone. A young man sits on the end of the cot, gazing out the window into the woods. If this was real, you would petrified, but you feel that same peaceful calm, his company a comfort. Old hurts and present fears feel far away.

The young man looks at you. Moonlight and shadows dance across his features, but you think he is beautiful, with eyes so dark and focused, hair black and smooth. His cheekbones are sharp. His face is like a knife and yet –

And yet –

There is something unspeakably gentle about him. Not because he’s helpless, not because he’s dull, but in spite of all that danger and sharpness. He looks at you with an undoubtedly affectionate gaze, tilting his head as he holds your gaze.

You blink. You think you might be waking because you shiver, but you don’t want to wake. You want to stay right here with him. You have been wanting him before you knew you could. You want to look at those eyes forever. You want to feel this safe always.

He moves, swift and soft as a shadow. A blink and you would miss it. He tugs the blanket back over your shoulder. Your eyes stray along the length of his bare arm, across his bare chest. The scraps of your t-shirt bandage a scar that runs along the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

Then you look at his hand, so close to your face. Any other hand and this dream would be a nightmare. But this is a good dream. You sigh contently as his long fingers gently brush the crown of your head. His fingertips trace your temple, carefully down your jaw. No one has ever been so gentle with you, not in a long time.

You sigh again. He softly sweeps his pinky down the bridge of your nose. Your sleep deepens. You sink into a perfect peace, undisturbed for the rest of the night.

The morning is another matter entirely. You wake in sunlight, more groggy than ever. It’s not the familiar pale light of early morning but the golden heat of noon. You haven’t slept for so long in years.

You feel the usual ache of sleeping on a rickety cot, something designed for weeks of use, not a decade.

You sit up. The fox-wolf is gone. There’s nowhere in the attic for it to hide, the space under the cot too small. You crouch on the floor and check anyway. The key is there, the knife beside it. The basket is there too.

The fox-wolf disappearing is an impossibility among many, but you know it was all very real. You uncover the basket to find the pastries as fresh and appetizing as last night, not even a little stale from sitting out all night.

You look around the empty room, sitting with the basket cradled protectively in your lap.

You don’t know what to do. You haven’t felt that way in a long time. Everyday has been the same, passed through a disassociated state of bland observation and slow breathing. This single disruption has uprooted everything. You feel the basket in your lap and you know you can’t spend another day sitting at the window.

The choice is made for you. There is a clamoring in the yard so you look out the window, not sure what to expect.

It is the most mundane of all creatures. Your father is dashing back to the house in a clumsy sprint.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge. There is something wrong about the way he’s moving. There’s a stumbling desperation to every wide leap. He looks more like a stag than the stags did.

Did he come home last night? His hunt should be over. The hunger should be satisfied.

The front door swings and slams. You can hear his frantic thunder up the stairs, so much thudding he must be racing on all fours. You curl away instinctively, pressed up against the window, as far away from the door as possible.

He throws himself against it with a scream. You squeeze your eyes shut.

He’s still hungry. Maybe his hunt turned up nothing or maybe it didn’t satisfy him. You don’t know what happens now. Maybe he will eventually beat the door down. Maybe he will drive himself to death in his hysterics. If he dies, you’ll be trapped, sealed in here with that basket as it slowly empties. Eventually it will taunt you, like the stags, waving, mocking you caged in your glass like an animal –

You are getting hysterical too, even with your hands clamped over your ears to block out your father’s wailing. It’s not even just the fear. He’s your father, sometimes, somewhere in there. He used to make you laugh and tell you stories, lift you on his shoulders and tell you about the world. He used to scare away the monsters.

“Daddy,” you try, voice breaking on a childish cry. “Stop it. Please. Daddy, it’s me.”

You can’t find the strength to yell. You doubt he can hear your wobbling voice over his own screaming. The door shakes so hard that you imagine all the walls crumbling under the force of each slam.

You drift in the fantasy of it, of this whole house crumbling around you. There’s nothing to do but stare, silent, and wait to die. It’s a better end than you expected, a last meal, a good sleep, a sweet dream to send you off.

You close your eyes.

Something changes in the air. You don’t hear it or see it, but you feel it, a rush of warmth that fills the house. Gentle as a hand drawing a blanket over your shoulder. The sun brightens and heats the window at your back.

You lower your hands. It’s then you hear a piercing bark, almost a scream but not quite. Almost human, but not quite.

It can only be one thing. You whip around and watch as the fox-wolf careens through the yard, fast as a bullet. By the time you are on your feet, it’s already in the house and racing up the stairs.

“Back!” your father screams, the only coherent word out of his mouth.

You can hear them fighting. A body thumps down the stairs but the weight of it sounds too heavy to be your feral, emaciated father. He must have pushed the fox-wolf.

More than anything, that propels you into action. You made a bargain with that fox. You gave it a life. You’re not going to sit here and let your father take another life at the expense of yours.

You put the basket on your pillow. A part of you wants to eat the whole thing while you have the chance, die with a full stomach and a face powdered with sugar, but there’s no time. You reach under the cot and you grab the knife and the key.

Will he even have the clarity to use the key? You’re not sure, but you slide it under the door. There is clearly some intelligent thought churning in his mind, because he picks it up. He fumbles the lock while the fox-wolf stampedes back up the stairs.

The door explodes open. Your father and the fox-wolf crash inside, tangled in a violent fury. Your father yells at it, prying at its jaw to release its brutal clamp on his forearm. He is not stronger. The fox-wolf might have ripped his arm right off it you hadn’t cried out.

The fox-wolf releases your father so it can look at you. Your father kicks it in its distraction, sending it hurtling to the door with a yelp.

“Don’t hurt it!” you cry. “It’s already injured!”

Your father does not reply. When he looks at you, your heart stops. There is nothing of your father in his eyes, something vicious and lost staring back at you.

No. Not at you. He doesn’t see you anymore. He sees a clear path to prey and he takes it.

He charges you, too fast for you to react in your terror. The knife clatters to the floor as he tackles you and slams you onto your back.

Your body fights, an instinctive propulsion from something buried deep inside you. Under all that disassociation, all that resignation, there is a part of you that wants to live. It claws its way to freedom. You push your father, your adrenaline spurred by his. You scream with the same abandon.

The weight and smell of him abruptly disappears. The fox-wolf has clamped its jaws around his ankle. It drags him clear across the room where your father is left to scrabble against the floorboards.

Then the fox-wolf pounces on you. You don’t know what’s happening until you’re lifted, grabbed by the arms and hoisted onto your feet.

Except –

Foxes can’t grab. Wolves can’t stand.

It happens so fast. You are on your back, the ceiling overhead, then you are on your feet and the only thing you see is a pair of dark eyes.

Dark human eyes. You blink at a face, a familiar face, the face of the young man from your dreams. If he was beautiful in moonlight, he is devastating in sunlight. His hair is so black that it sparkles blue in the light, his features so sharp in contrast. He is like a drop of starlight.

The beautiful man grips you with two humans hands. He stands upright in a human body. You can’t look away from his human face, all those sharp and delicate angles. He is so beautiful that he hardly seems real. You would have been less surprised to see another monster.

His grip tightens. It wakes long slumbering parts of you.

“Foxy?” you say in a pathetically small and fragile voice.

Your father is back on his feet and the – the man? –

The fox-wolf-man –

He dives at your father and lands in canine form, those sharp incisors snapping at his face.

The knife is within your father’s reach. You see it but the fox does not. When your father grabs it, you jump, catching his arm before the knife can do any damage.

The three of you are locked in a messy tangle. Your father is bleeding from wolf bites and the animal is snarling. Everything feels wet. You can’t tell finger from claw, limb from wound, spit from blood.

You kick and scratch and bite like an animal, seeing nothing but red in the terror of your frantic adrenaline.

That part of you so desperate for life is at the surface. You feel your whole body for the first time in a long time. You feel the shattering pain when your father hits your head with his own and you spill back. He holds you down while grappling with the knife.

The whole thing is over in seconds. Your mind is flooded with every gory image of a tooth in a slab of meat. You don’t reach for the knife. Your father is close, his neck within reach, and the animal of your body rears with terrified instinct.

Do you mean to kill him? Do you want to kill him?

It doesn’t matter. You kill him anyway.

The skin breaks shockingly easily as you tear into his throat with your teeth. Blood spills out of him, pounding jugular and a bath of red.

You sputter and choke on it. You use a last burst of adrenaline to shove him off you. You are not sure how fast he dies. You don’t look, spitting up blood and retching.

You wipe your mouth, smearing more of the relentless red mess. You are on your hands and knees. You lift your head and open your eyes.

The fox-wolf is a man again. He is on his hands and knees as well, his face only inches from yours. He is staring like you are the wondrous anomaly, his mouth open with his shock.

You look at each other for a long moment. Then he smiles. He has deep dimples, frighteningly sweet next to the sharp inhuman incisors still visible in his mouth. Like your own crooked snarl of a smile, it is not a pretty grin so much as it is big. And like your broken smile, you can see he means it truly affectionately.

You can’t speak with the blood on your mouth. You try but you sputter.

He reaches for you. He gathers a red wet smear on his fingers, gently wiping your lips. It wracks your whole body with a shiver, the shock of violent residue, the shock of being touched.

You finally take a clean breath. He looks at the blood on his fingers.

He flashes you that sharp, dimpled smile again.

“Wow,” he says with a wheezing laugh.

You can’t even think about asking what’s so funny. The last drop of adrenaline bleeds out of you. The floorboards rush to meet you as your arms and legs buckle.

Your body surrenders your mind to blackness.

#yang jeongin x reader #jeongin x reader #i.n. x reader #stray kids x reader #skx x reader #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfiction #jeongin x you #yang jeongin x you #stray kids x you #skz x you #faerie au

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buckybabesonly · 2 years ago

Text

I Wanna Be Yours

Summary: You are afraid to believe that someone like Bucky might actually love you back.

Pairing: Bucky x Female!Shy!Insecure!Reader

Genre: Angst with happy ending

Warnings: Casual sex (?), misunderstandings, self-deprecation

A/N: I’m actually not very happy with how this turned out but I hope some of you might enjoy it anyway?

Word count: 4.8k

You had never fallen in love before until you met Bucky.

You had spent your whole life wondering when it would happen to you - when you would feel that heart-racing, mind-blowing, bliss-inducing love that you saw so often in movies and read in novels.

Falling for him had been unexpected, like you had been turning corners in an endless maze until suddenly - there he was. This unbelievably talented, unique, intelligent man who treated you with respect and kindness. He showed interest in you when you were too shy to approach him first, talking to you about the everyday mundane, making you feel special. Out of all the incredible people Bucky knew and interacted with, he made you feel like you counted, too.

You worked as a lab tech at the Avengers compound since landing the coveted job two years ago, working closely with Bruce Banner, and had witnessed first hand when Bucky joined the team. He had been quiet at first, introverted, but you watched as he blossomed like a flower. He revealed more of his great sense of humour, wicked smile and subtle charm which made you fall for him.

When you were around him, you felt like your nerve endings were on fire. Every touch from him on your arm, your shoulders, the small of your back, sent pulses shooting through your body and a flush of red straight to your cheeks. The power he had over you was undeniable, and you were certain he knew it, too.

The moment you realised you were in trouble was on a Saturday afternoon, four months after you first met him. He returned to the compound one day with a nasty gash on his forehead and blood crusting his hands, his eyes tired and face pale. The moment you saw him, you knew that if anything were to happen to him, you would have no idea how to cope. Even seeing him with relatively minor injuries made your chest clench in fear and anxiety.

Without a doubt, you had finally fallen in love.

Your first time with Bucky was unexpected. He was perched on one of the counters in your lab, snacking on a pack of cashews as he watched you peer into a microscope. You could barely focus on the work at hand, hyper aware of his presence and ocean blue eyes on your form.

“You’re not supposed to eat in here, you know,” you murmured, trying to hide your smile.

“I know,” he countered, continuing to chew obnoxiously.

You had been harbouring your secret feelings for him for over a year and a half. With every day that passed, you found it harder and harder to figure out what to do. Sometimes you felt that he reciprocated them - the constant flirting, the close touches, the excuses he made to spend time alone with one another. But you were too afraid to ask him outright how he felt about you, and too shy to make the first move.

“How’s your leg?” you asked, if only to distract yourself from your thoughts, referring to the injury he had received a few days ago.

“Much better. Strong as ever.” He kicked it out suddenly as to punctuate his words.

“Hey,” you exclaimed, alarmed. “I wish you would be more careful. Seems you’re always getting patched up lately.” You were frowning, and Bucky seemed amused at your concern.

“Occupational hazard.”

“Whatever. Just don’t bust open your stitches and bleed all over my lab. It’s just been sanitized.” You sniffed as Bucky cocked his head at you, flashing his adorable grin. “In fact I’m violating several health and safety rules just allowing you to be in here,” you said, trying to keep your face straight as Bucky threatened to tease a smile from you.

You turned back to the work at hand, working in comfortable silence as Bucky observed you. He soon seemed restless, however, and you looked up again when he jumped off his perch and walked over to you, bumping you with his shoulder. He smelled so good - like the forest after it had just rained. He looked down at you, giving you one of his trademark dimpled smiles yet again.

“What?”

“I’m bored,” he shrugged.

“Don’t you have top secret, dangerous mission stuff to do?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Your heart was beating fast as he leaned closer suddenly, eyes flickering from yours down to your mouth. He had been doing that a lot as of late.

“Rather do something else,” he said quietly, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip.

Time stood still. He suddenly closed the distance between you, and then you were kissing. His lips were soft, his hands gentle as they raised to cradle your face, sliding into your hair.

Your hands raised on their own accord to grab the edges of his leather jacket, pulling him closer, feeling surreal as he deepened the kiss.

He pulled away just long enough for you to ask breathlessly, “Is this actually happening?”

All he did was chuckle and pull you back against him again.

You were positively floating as Bucky grabbed your hand and led you to his private floor in the compound, into his bedroom. You thought you were dreaming when he lay you down softly on his bed, undressing you both because your hands were shaking.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, eyes searching your face as you nodded.

“Yes,” you said instantly. “It’s okay.”

That night, you had sex with him for the first time. He held you tightly as he thrust inside you, peppering your face with kisses, making you whimper with pleasure until you both reached the inevitable climax.

You felt you could die happy now as you fell asleep in Bucky’s arms, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.

Insecurity was an ugly thing.

You woke up a couple of hours before Bucky, lying with your eyes wide open as the ink black sky slowly lightened, the sun bleeding across the horizon.

You looked at this man lying beside you - this perfect specimen, eyes closed and lips slightly parted as he slept, his chiselled jawline, ruggedly handsome features. The reality of what had happened was slowly sinking in, bringing with it doubts and questions as to what this meant.

God, he was so beautiful. So perfect in literally every way. You were fully aware of his contrast to you.

You had never considered yourself a beautiful girl. You had always been very conscious of your flaws, the way your body didn’t look quite the way you wanted it to, the way you felt that no one really gave you a second look.

I’m bored, Bucky had said yesterday. Were you just a cure for his boredom?

You gnawed at your bottom lip, uncertainties flooding into your system as you recalled the conversation and events leading up to the steamy encounter yesterday. Had he pulled you tighter against him, or had you simply imagined it? Did he do this all the time, or were you an exception?

People had causal sex all the time. You knew that Natasha and Steve had fooled around before and continued as friends only, and a lot of the S.H.I.E.L.D agents you knew had been known to sleep around interdepartmentally, lending to some interesting work gossip.

You knew you were stupid to let yourself think something serious might be happening. You and Bucky hadn’t even spoken about feelings or been on anything which remotely resembled a date. Bucky had been a proper charmer back in the day, you were well aware.

Your heart plummeted as you continued to think. You were suddenly so relieved you hadn’t revealed your feelings for him last night in your stupor. You had been so happy to be held by him, to be kissed by him, but that’s all it was - just a bit of fun. It had to be.

You felt Bucky stir beside you eventually, and you clutched the covers close to your naked body as he opened his eyes and smiled at you lazily.

What was the proper etiquette? Were you supposed to leave as soon as possible?

“Morning,” he said huskily. He looked so adorable that the panic in your chest quelled momentarily.

“Morning,” you smiled.

He yawned, his dark hair unruly as he ran his fingers through it.

“What’s the time?”

You cleared your throat. “Just gone seven. I have an early meeting with Bruce.”

“Mmm. Okay. You have to go now?” He looked at you with what may have been disappointment.

“I should probably get going, yeah. Need to prepare,” you said, eyes scanning the room for your clothes as you blushed at the thought of dressing in front of Bucky, even though he had seen you in all your naked glory last night.

Bucky suddenly moved in close and kissed you, causing your breath to hitch. You felt self conscious about how worn out you probably looked first thing in the morning, but melted into his touch nonetheless.

"Are we going to do this again?" he managed to get out against your lips.

"If you like," you answered carefully.

"I would very much like."

“Me too,” you said shyly, pulling back from Bucky and ducking your head down.

"So you're okay with this?"

Your heart constricted then, wanting to shout loudly that no, it’s not okay, and you actually wanted a serious relationship. But how terrifying would that be to suddenly dump your confessions onto him when the poor man had no idea how you felt?

But you didn’t know what was worse. Just being friends with benefits, or actually confessing your true feelings and pushing him away completely.

“Sure,” you said finally, keeping your voice purposely light. “It’s just sex, Bucky. It’s okay.”

Bucky froze then, his expression unreadable as he stared at you. His eyebrows were slightly drawn together, his lips stiffening as he swallowed.

“What?” you asked carefully, feeling inexplicably nervous.

Bucky was silent for a beat before responding. “Nothing.” He gestured between you with his vibranium hand, frowning ever so slightly. “This is nothing. Right?”

He wanted affirmation. You felt shame flood your chest.

“Right,” you said weakly, turning away before Bucky could see the tears in your eyes. “I better get going.”

He didn’t say anything as you hurriedly pulled on your clothes and mumbled an imperceptible “Bye” before you let yourself out.

As it turned out, it didn’t happen again.

You had no idea what you had done or how you had messed it up, but you had.

You had never done this before. Never casually hopped into bed with a man without something greater at play. You had one ex-boyfriend from your college days who was sweet but you were never truly in love with, and sex with him had happened a few months into your relationship.

You didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to act around Bucky anymore. Didn’t know what he even wanted.

You thought he just wanted a fling. No strings attached. But after that day, somehow, the two of you were never alone again.

He gave you small, if a little curt, smiles now and again and sometimes spoke to you about work-related matters if necessary, but everything else had suddenly disappeared.

A monstrous, ugly feeling gnawed a hole in your chest, slowly over the next two weeks until it was a gaping cavern. Had you messed it up so badly that Bucky just wasn’t interested anymore? Or worse - had it been his objective all along to just get you into bed and then disappear?

No, he wasn’t like that, you decided, quickly dismissing the thought. The only logical conclusion, then, was that your performance had been so poor that he just didn’t want to be intimate again, but didn’t know how to tell you.

You felt so lost. This isn’t what you wanted, not really. You were never one for casual sex, and yet it killed you how Bucky was avoiding you now. You’d rather reduce yourself to his fuck buddy than nothing. That one night with him had been magical, had made you think about an entire lifetime of mornings waking up beside him.

Your misery was clear to see to all those around you, particularly Bruce, whom you had become very good friends with since you worked together in such close proximity.

“Are you okay?” he asked suddenly, exactly two weeks after your night with Bucky. You were prodding about with some equipment you were working on for Sam’s wings. “And don’t just say you are, because I can tell you’re not.”

You shrugged half heartedly. “I guess I’m not. But I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“You might feel better,” Bruce said, approaching you with a sympathetic tilt of the head. “You know I don’t usually pry, but I’m kind of worried. I can tell you’re upset.”

“Not upset,” you lied quickly, meeting his eyes. “Just…I need to get out of my own head, maybe.”

Bruce studied your face carefully but didn’t delve any further. “Tell you what. Maybe you’ll feel better tonight at the party.”

You wanted to groan loudly. Tony’s annual charity gala. You had looked forward to it before, the prospect of dressing up and maybe getting a dance with Bucky, but you weren’t quite in the party mood anymore. Still, you decided to maintain as positive of a mindset as you could, returning Bruce’s smile and promising yourself that you’d try and have a good time.

You left work with a slightly reinvigorated mindset as you headed back to your apartment to get changed. Maybe tonight could be a chance to relight that spark with Bucky again - if not that way, then you at least wanted some assurance that you were still friends.

You tried your best to uplift your mood whilst you got ready. You changed into a silky blue dress, one which complimented Bucky’s eyes, you realised. Perhaps this had been in your subconscious the day you’d picked it out. It was a long number, quite form fitting with a modest slit up the leg. You tried hard with your makeup and jewellery, the idea of impressing Bucky at the forefront of your mind as you tried to steady your racing heart every time he popped into your head.

Observing yourself in the mirror, you smoothed down the sides of your dress and tried to practice your smile. You managed to leave your apartment in a much better, optimistic state as you hailed a cab to take you to the gala venue.

It was being held in a new building commissioned by Tony next to Central Park, extravagant enough to rival the Met. You walked into the marble lobby, gaping at the high, vaulted ceilings and chandeliers hanging everywhere for just a moment, before you began searching the crowd for a familiar face.

You found yourself mingling with your other fellow lab techs who were buzzing with excitement to be invited to such an event, and you suppressed a frown as 30 minutes passed with no sign of Bucky.

Eventually, the crowd filtered into the main room filled with round tables where dinner would be served, and a huge glass bar which stretched along one side of the room. People were still socialising before food was to be served, and your eyes were roving non-stop, unable to focus on proper conversation with anyone.

Finally, just when your hope was dissipating, you saw him. He was standing in the middle of the crowded bar, clad in a black tux. This was the first time you had ever seen him in such an outfit, and it took your breath away. He held a flute of champagne in one hand, a complete vision and so different to how you usually saw him, typically fresh off the battlefield in his combat gear.

He was talking to Sam who had his back towards you. Bucky’s expression was unreadable but, as if sensing your burning eyes on him, he glanced towards you.

He did a double take, pausing mid-sentence to Sam, and you held your breath. He gave you a polite, if slightly terse, smile. He turned his attention away from you again, and your heart clenched.

It hurt more than you thought it would. It was just a tiny gesture, and he had acknowledged you, but why did it cause you pain?

No. Stop overthinking. You excused yourself from your colleagues and found yourself walking towards Bucky and Sam, reminding yourself that you were friends. You spoke to Bucky all the time - okay, maybe not in the last couple of weeks, but you had nothing to be afraid of. Just act normal.

“Hey guys,” you said lightly, watching as Bucky cleared his throat and gave you that same, tight smile.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Sam beamed, giving you a one armed hug. “You look stunning.”

You smiled shyly, twisting your hands together as you looked at Bucky.

“Thanks. You both look very handsome.”

As if answering your prayers for alone time with Bucky, you heard Clint in the distance beckon for Sam to go over, and he excused himself, leaving you two stood in a slightly awkward silence.

Bucky raised his champagne and took a sip as you tried to get him to meet your eyes.

“How have you been?” you asked finally. “Haven’t spoken to you in a while.”

Bucky shrugged, finally looking at you. “Been okay. Busy.”

You felt frustration rising. Usually he would be telling you all about the things that had occurred in his day, his daily arguments with Sam, anything and everything in between. But now he spoke to you as if you were merely acquaintances.

“Listen. Did I do something wrong?” you said finally, surprising yourself by cutting to the chase. You just wanted Bucky back, and you let your desperation take over.

Bucky seemed taken aback at your forward approach, but he composed himself quickly.

“Nothing,” he said, his tone ever so slightly blunt. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You felt like you were going to cry. You didn’t know how just a fortnight ago, you and Bucky had been locked in a passionate cinch in his bed, and now he was completely icing you out.

“Okay,” you said, deflating slightly. You knew that if he didn’t want to tell you, there was nothing you could do to squeeze it out of him.

“I’m gonna go take a seat,” he muttered, giving you one last look before he walked away.

You quickly hurried back to your colleagues, embarrassment searing your insides.

The evening passed painfully slowly. You found yourself sat quietly at your table after dinner service had ended and people were either having drinks, chatting out on the balconies or dancing in the middle of the ballroom.

You felt the gala could not get any worse. Until it did.

Natasha and Bucky were in the middle of the dance floor, swallowed up in the sea of couples and yet standing out due to their striking attractiveness. Natasha was dressed in a short, tight black dress, so simple and yet so gorgeous. Her red hair was straight and sleek, and she looked up at Bucky as they danced, his signature almost-cocky smile on his lips. A smile which he had not shown you since that day.

Natasha was effortlessly beautiful. She didn’t even have to try and she could get any man she wanted. Bucky included, obviously. You watched their movements closely as they danced, how they spoke to each other in low voices.

The emotions rising in your chest was like bile in your throat. It burned, it hurt, and it was able to illicit a terrible response in your brain.

You felt so ridiculous.

The dress you had on suddenly felt too tight, too uncomfortable around your stomach. You caught sight of your reflection in one of the large, ornate mirrors hanging off the walls and suddenly felt so ugly. You had tried so hard tonight, and for what? Bucky had barely given you ten seconds of his attention, and at the end of the day, no amount of effort could make you feel beautiful.

You didn’t know how you could’ve let yourself believe in something more. You had to make every effort to even just feel somewhat presentable, but women like Natasha didn’t have to. She was stunning and talented and intelligent, the obvious choice.

God knows why you had been questioning Bucky’s lack of attention. Maybe you had simply been misinterpreting your closeness all along.

You stood then, not wanting to cry in front of an audience. No one would notice you early departure anyway.

You left the ballroom, almost tripping in your stupid heels as you collected your things from the cloakroom.

Shrugging on your heavy coat as you marched through the empty lobby, you yelped in pain as you rolled your ankle clumsily, sending you crashing gracelessly onto the floor. You cursed, coat half-hanging off your body as you felt tears spring to your eyes.

It was the last straw. You were crying as you tried to stand, ankle throbbing, feeling mildly grateful that there was no one around to witness your childish episode. You thought you might have heard someone calling your name, but you ignored it, the roaring in your ears failing to stop.

Your tears didn’t cease, not even when you finally made it back home, ripping off the dress as soon as you could and crawling into the safety of your bed.

Bucky finally found you the next day in your lab on your lunch break. You were startled to see him appear in the doorway, your eyes tired and swollen from a night of crying. You hoped it wasn’t too obvious.

“Bruce isn’t here,” was the first thing you said.

He looked almost annoyed as he walked in and said, “Wasn’t looking for him.”

“Oh. What do you want?” The words came out harsher than you intended. Bucky definitely looked annoyed now, a scowl fixed on his face.

He shook his head. “Never mind. Forget it.”

“Bucky!” Your voice came out loud and sharp as he turned back around. Frustration erupted. “You know what - you have no right to behave this way.”

“Excuse me?” He turned to look at you incredulously, forehead creasing.

“The way you’ve been treating me - the past few weeks since that night - you just ignore me now,” you were practically spluttering, all your feelings fighting to pour themselves out at once. “It’s horrible. I thought we were friends.”

“We were,” he said, looking almost torn.

“It’s not fair.” Your eyes were stinging and you were mortified, hurriedly lifting your hands to wipe them.

“Are you crying?” Bucky asked softly, looking nervous.

“Yes,” you snapped. “I thought we were close - I thought you liked me.” You were humiliated at your confession but ploughed on. “I thought that night meant something. But you -”

“Woah, hang on -”

“Don’t interrupt me!” you huffed.

Bucky took you in his arms, pulling you into his chest as you tried to pull back.

“Calm down,” he grunted, holding you still as you let out an exasperated noise. “Breathe.”

You knew he wouldn’t let up, so you let your anger reduce to a simmer as you focused on breathing steadily.

“Good girl.”

His presence was comforting despite your anger and frustration towards him. He always made you feel safe.

“I thought you liked me,” you repeated in a quiet voice. You were staring at his chest, refusing to look at him.

“I do,” he said, his voice tight.

“No, I thought you liked me as more than a friend.”

Bucky pulled back, lifting two figures under your chin and forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Can we rewind?” His request was soft. “Tell me. What did that night mean to you?”

“Are you really going to make me do this?”

His silence spoke volumes.

You tried not to let your frustration get the better of you. “I really like you, Bucky. I’m not a girl who enjoys sex with no strings attached. Especially not with you. I mean, I enjoyed the sex -” you blushed violently, “- but I - I want more.” Your words were rushed and you stared at the empty spot above his head, wanting to die from embarrassment.

“More?” he promoted.

“A relationship,” you clarified. “I know that’s not what you want. And that’s fine. But if we could at least just go back to how we were, where you actually spoke to me and spent time with me, I would really like that. Because I miss you.”

Bucky looked perplexed as he released you, mouth opening wordlessly. Finally, he uttered, “I don’t want that.”

Searing pain burst inside you, and your face crumpled.

“No, no, no,” he said hurriedly as your vision blurred. “I mean - I don’t want to be friends, because I want to be together. I want a relationship.”

“With me?” you asked, confusion marring your face.

“With you.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” you said instantaneously. “Are you joking? This isn’t funny.”

“Would I joke about something like that?”

“You said you were bored,” you blurted. “You asked me if I was ‘okay with this’.” As you spoke, you realised how groundless your assumptions actually might be, but you refused to believe the alternative - that Bucky genuinely wanted to be with you.

Bucky threw his hands up in the air, looking defensive. “You said it was ‘just sex’! I never at any point told you that this was just fun for me.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

Bucky dragged a hand over his face, sighing. “Okay, I think we may have had a breakdown in communication.”

“But I don’t get it,” you insisted. “Why would you want to be with me? I saw you with Natasha last night.”

“Dancing,” he said indignantly. “Just dancing.”

“You didn’t dance with me,” you shot back. “I - I only went to that dumb thing because I wanted you to ask me to dance.”

Bucky looked pained, biting down on his lower lip with regret. “I didn’t know.”

“I wanted to look nice for you,” you confessed quietly.

“You did. You were gorgeous.”

You laughed humourlessly. Bucky frowned.

“I’m being serious.”

“Sure.” You genuinely didn’t believe him.

“Stop that and look at me,” he said sharply.

His eyes were filled with both annoyance and affection, making you falter. You didn’t say anything when he sighed and stroked your hair.

“I wanted to tell you how beautiful you were. But I just couldn’t bear to be near you. I thought you just wanted something casual. And I don’t think I can handle that.”

“I can’t handle that either,” you confessed. “I really want to be with you, Bucky.”

Bucky beamed then upon hearing your words, relief washing over his face.

“Really?”

How could he ever doubt that? You smiled and nodded, but your smile was fragile and faded at the thought of Bucky and Natasha dancing last night. Even if there was nothing untoward happening, you still felt that he should be with someone as equally impressive as Natasha.

“Yes,” you confirmed. “I want to be with you, but at the same time, I don’t know why you would want to be with me.”

Bucky frowned. “Is it that hard to understand?”

You didn’t say anything, so Bucky continued, “I thought you knew how I felt. I’ve been making it pretty damn obvious these past few months.”

“I thought you were just being nice,” you mumbled. “I did think, sometimes, maybe you had feelings for me, but then I decided it just didn’t make sense.”

“Tell me why,” Bucky said gently.

You took a deep breath, knowing you could be vulnerable around him. “I’ve never felt that I was good enough for you. I feel so average, so normal. And you - well, you’re you. So outstanding in every way.”

Bucky shook his head, lifting a hand to cup your cheek. He smiled slightly when you blushed in response, skin flaming.

“Listen to me. Do you know how I view myself? I’m completely flawed, my morals are sometimes questionable, I’ve done terrible things -”

You were shaking your head vehemently in disagreement, and he smiled.

“See? You’re proving my point. We’re our own biggest critics. And maybe you don’t see how amazing you are, but I do. And I want you. I have pretty good taste, you know.” The way he looked at you made your self-doubt falter - he was observing you like you were so precious, the softness and tenderness in his face making your heart flutter.

You smiled then, Bucky taking a step closer, dipping his head to whisper against your lips.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life convincing you how brilliant you are, if that’s what it takes.”

#bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #avengers fic #Bucky one shot #bucky barnes x you #bucky fic

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