#combing two things that should never mingle in my brain…… what will this do to mw

[achilleslyre]

last reblog reminded me when i said this… brainworms

[miizpah]

mine | sakusa kiyoomi

anon asks : listen to this!!! being sakusa bimbo wife, ur so fucking beautiful that whenever ur both at social events for vball, there’s always someone coming up and hitting on u. mr sakusa doesn’t like that ::))) and he can’t wait to get home to punish his wife silly and leave marks that will defo show everyone that she’s taken :):):):)

post timeskip ‼��

tw. degrading, consensual roughhousing, a bit of manipulation.

author note : i am simp for sakusa !! this ask for me hyperventilating into orbit. girl, y/n a little too brave in this one, like miss girl gon ahead and sit down we all know who dom here. and not how there’s only a small part of smut in this, yo, i’m sorry it’s not longer but my motivation for this fic went whoosh. and not me being in the middle of changing up my theme 🙄 and struggling at that.

“Omi-”

One second you had been nodding along to a conversation being held by one of the team’s older PRs, the next second you were being guided away by your husband’s tight grip, your wrist exploding in dull pain as all you could do was follow after him. Praying you don’t trip over your satin gown.

You didn’t understand what exactly caused him to snap, he was always respectful and polite when attending events such as these. They were public appearances the entirety of MSBY had to attend, and he was already tittering on the edge becuase of the sheer number of people and crowds. But, he’d never left an event early, and he never blatantly disrespectful to a staff on his team.

The underground parking lot was empty as you both entered, in search for his car. “How dare you let his filthy hands touch you?”

It made sense then, your mind wandering back to the entire conversation. You had been sipping on a glass of wine with Atsumu and Shouyo by your sides, since Kiyoomi tended to stay away from the crowds, you were the one who would mingle around in his stead. Atsumu had promised to keep an eye on you, like always, and by extension, Shouyo gladly tagged along.

Now, you began to understand the glare Atsumu was giving the PR, and the worried looks Shouyo casted over his shoulders. Now, it made complete and total sense. The man had been flirting with you. You hadn’t notice, your mind was a bit clogged up with Kiyoomi and the way his suit fit him too perfectly, you hadn’t even noticed when he had touched your shoulder.

You barely had enough time to register your surroundings before your harshly pressed against his sleek black car, his hand around your throat and his eyes dangerous. The mere look sent bouts of pleasure and fear coiling around your body, and you only tighten your thighs around the knee pressed between you.

“Omi, you’re hurting me,” You whimper softly, pathetically, tears prickling at your eyes.

“I asked you a question, dumb bitch. I expect an answer.” He spat, eyes glaring angrily into yours. His grip tighten a bit, just enough to tease your airway.

“I’m sorry, Omi! I didn’t realize it, I promise!” You cry, hands coming up and grabbing at his arm. He didn’t move for a moment, eyes boring into your watery ones.

He sighed under his mask, loosen his grip. “Hm, you’re right, my little wife never realizes it.” His hand removes from your throat and cards through your hair softly, he kisses your forehead through his mask. “This is why I have to protect you, too dumb and pretty for your own good. You know that, right?”

“Only for you, Omi.” You mutter, wet eyes staring up at him with a doe like express. “Only pretty and dumb for you.”

He smirked, though unseen. “Yes, you are. Come, let’s get you into the car.”

“Ack! Eight, ‘m sorry Omi.” You whimper, trying to keep as still as possible as Kiyoomi rubs almost lovingly at your burning ass cheek. If you’d thought you were getting away for being a little dumb bitch and not noticing that filthy man’s hand on you, you were wrong. Kiyoomi was clear when it came to you, his beautiful ditzy wife, that no one was allowed to touch you. Not unless he’s permitted it.

“N-Nine! ‘m sorry Omi,” your hands clench the bedsheets in a tight grip, eyes squeezing close as the harsh pain spread around your bottom.

“Ah! Ten, ‘m sorry Omi.” You cried out, happy to finally be done with this punishment. You just wanted to shower, take off your makeup, comb through your hair, and sleep. But the moment you both had entered the house, he’d chased you down the hallway and sprayed you over his knees, bunching your expensive satin dress up to your waist and dealt his punishment.

You stood then, dress falling around your bare ass and legs. You couldn’t walk away, not when Kiyoomi’s large hand yanked you forward. “Did I tell you to stand, hm?”

“I wanna shower,” you whine, trying to pull your arm free. But, he only rose a brow at you. The way he looked at you, as if he knew that you didn’t want to shower, sparked a small amount of anger in your veins. And as a serious as you could, you shot him a nasty glare. “Let me go, Kiyoomi. I want to shower.”

“Watch your tone, angel.”

“Not unless you let me go.”

“Oh? Baby trying to argue?”

You huff in annoyance, trying to yanking your arm his tight grip. “Let me go, Sakusa!” You yell angrily, arm finally breaking free and you walked away then, mumbling angrily to yourself.

If there was one thing you’ve never learned when being with Kiyoomi, is to never turn your back on him when fighting. Not only is he going to get angry, but it will lead to some pretty hard fucking, and your ability to walk tomorrow is gone. But, you never learn, you’re a bit dumb, it’s okay. You both get what you want in the end.

You didn’t have enough time to prepare yourself before you find yourself against the bedroom wall, his large hand entangled in your hair, exposing your neck to the wall. “Who do you think you’re talking too, Y/N?”

“I’m talking to Sakusa Kiyoomi, who else?” Brave? No. Smart mouthing? Yes. Is that a good idea? No. Ten out ten would recommend if you’re looking for good sex. But, right now, you were not looking for good sex, right now, you wanted to shower, you wanted to sleep.

“Your mouth is going to get you into some trouble, baby.” His breath was warm against your ear, and you struggled to hold in the shiver of pleasure. “I’m going to ask you again, and you better answer me correctly. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

You swallow, eyes flickering up and meeting his. The defiance in your eyes were clear. “You.”

He chuckled, “my silly little wife.” He backed away, turning you around then. “I can see that you’re not in the playing mood, right now.”

You stare at him in momentary confusion, this was a new reaction. “W-what?”

He looked at you, “what?”

“But, s-sex?”

“You want to shower, no?”

Yes, you wanted to shower. You wanted sleep. Not sex. That’s what your brain wanted of course, your body wanted Kiyoomi. “No...?”

“No?” His smirk widen almost cruelly. “Too bad, I’m not fucking you after that disgusting man touched you.”

“Omi?!”

“What happened to Sakusa?”

“I-I... No, touch me, please!”

He shook his head, backing away and sitting on the bed. “Sorry, I’m not touching you until you shower.”

Why were you complaining? You wanted this. You wanted to shower, not have sex. Why were you practically begging him to fuck you?

Huffing, you nod firmly. “Fine, I’m showering. And we’re not having sex for a month!”

“Ditzy wife.”

“Two months!”

Obviously, Kiyoomi was a man that knew how to get his way. It always his way or the highway. That had been the biggest deal breaker when you first met the man. He was too... much for you. Too clean, too big, and too mean for someone like you. Admittedly, you weren’t the smartest person in the word, you passed high school but wasn’t smart enough to get into college, but that was okay.

Your mother always said that you should be grateful that you were beautiful, you could find yourself a rich man and be taken cared of. That had been exactly what you did, you ound a man, who was rich, who was handsome, and you thought yourself clever enough to play him. You had been wrong. God, he was mean, so mean, and cruel, but he had emotions, and it was rare to see them, but they were there, and he was taking care of you.

It didn’t take long for you to actually fall in love with the man. And him, loving you. Your family hated him, though. He was a famous, professional athletic. Your parents didn’t believe that to be a good enough job. Your mother wanted you to find a rich, old ceo old to marry, cause lord knows you’ll only ever work at a restaurant or club if you had to fend for yourself, that way when he died, and everything was left in your name, you would be rich, and a ceo.

Even you knew it didn’t work that way. You didn’t care that they didn’t like Kiyoomi, you loved him, and he accepted you, as you accepted him, and that was all that mattered.

But, as you said. Kiyoomi was a man who knew how to get what he wanted.

And, right now, he wanted his dumb little wife folded in a mating press as he fucked into you mercilessly. Your mouth stuffed with his fingers, and your legs shaking as the pleasure rack through your body.

Your moans were muffled, and Kiyoomi stared at you in amusement and lust. “My ditzy wife looks so pretty with my fingers done your throat, and your cunt stuffed full of my cock.” He pushed his fingers down further, and you choke, hands gripping at his biceps in a death grip.

He pulled his fingers away, holding your mouth open before leaning down and spitting directly inside your mouth. “Hold it there, whore. You swallow and you’ll get punished.”

His arms formed pillars around you, his cock dragging against your gummy, fluttering walls in quick strokes. “You’re mine, my wife, my whore. No one else’s, you hear me?” You could only nod, eyes fluttering close. “No one is allowed to touch you, fuck your messy little holes but me, got it?” Your moan is muffled.

“Swallow,” he demanded, and you did as told, swallowing and opening your mouth so he could see. “Good girl,” he hummed, quickening his pace.

Your body was covered in marks, ones that had did the moment he jumped into the shower with you. He left them on your neck, your breasts, your tummy, and thighs, he’d even bitten into your wrist. He didn’t plan to stop until all of your limbs had at least two marks on them.

“Ah, ah, ah, ah!” You moan, hands moving to his back and nails scratching shallowly at his skin. “Omi!” With each thrust, you could feel your stomach tightening and your walls fluttering. The pleasure coursed throughout your body rapidly, his warm breath against your cheek causing shivers.

“C-cumming!” You announce sharply, nails digging into his back as your thighs tense. “P-pull out, I’ll make — ngh! — make a mess!”

Kiyoomi didn’t listen, leaning back and hooking his hands underneath your thighs. His eyes zeroed in on your sopping cunt, watching the way you stretch around him. Your warnings about making a mess went through one ear and out there other.

Your moans grew louder, head turning into the pillows to muffle them. You try to close your legs, anything to minimize the forthcoming of your squirting release. But, Kiyoomi’s hand were strong and he held your legs open as you release over him.

Immediately, you feel a sense of dread forcing your high away. Your mouth formed the words, but your throat gave away when a hard pressure was placed there. Opening your eyes, you were met with Kiyoomi’s dark ones, looking at you as if you were the best damn meal he’d ever had.

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your lips before uttering, “keep still, angel, I’m doing this again.”

note — i hate this, i hate this, i hate this, i hate this. i’m literally in the middle of trying to change my theme and writing style and i’m throwing up?? pls, anon, don’t hate me, i tried with this. it’s not a long piece of smut bc i didn’t know if u wanted it, :(

[wyn-n-tonic]

Golden, Like Daylight -- Part V

Word Count: 2,005 Warnings: PTSD. Allusions to sex (it borders on the edge of smut but we should know by now I'm shit at that). Hint of a praise kink. Bit of marking kink. Death. Ben Affleck. Author's Note: The last few chapters have taken a lot out of me, I put a lot of my own experiences with PTSD and mental health into them. I tried to make this fluffy, I needed that comfort after a hard week and I feel lighter for it. As always, thank you so much for your kind words and loving this like I do.

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

“Fuck you.” Benny stares straight into Tom’s eyes. "This is my fuck you money.” The held breaths are louder than gunshots, waiting for a reaction that doesn’t come.

Cold Camp Davis grunts a laugh, “We don’t have enough men to carry all this money so we might as well be warm.”

Benny giggles like a child as he grabs a strap, zippo clicking to ignition again.

The laughter that bubbles up is like a light, warmer than the thousands of dollars burning bright against his eyes.

Frankie, you might as well take your salary out on the front lawn and pour some kerosene on it.

He hears it so clearly in his head and in his heart, Leah teasing him for all the lights being on the first time he took her home.

Tom stands up, dumping an entire case down to tinder in the cold air.

Eight dates in and she’d already witnessed one of his attacks. It was the third date, he’d wanted to take her home that night. His body on hers for hours. Wanted to make breakfast the next morning, having already committed to memory the way she takes her coffee. Instead, she spent that night holding tightly to his hands as his panic crescendoed in the backseat of his car.

If it wasn’t then that he realized he loved her, it was in the way she turned to look at him when he quietly said,

The lights being on make me feel safe.

It wasn’t pity, like he’s used to. It wasn’t the look somebody gives a broken man with a broken mind and a broken soul. The only change he found in the already soft features was an understanding behind the dark eyes staring back at him.

This fire makes him feel safe now.

He’s always straining in the dark. It’s not just about watching his six. It’s all twelve hands on deck with two eyes and a ringing in his ears so intense he can feel it in his toes.

But here? It beats back against the edges of gloom that have continuously threatened to consume him.

He can sweep enclosed spaces in minutes, assess the situation and the danger within. It’s a lot harder in the extended wilds, nothing but the moon to guide the eye.

Before Leah—and for a while there after—he combed room for room upon his arrival home. He’d ask her to stay in the car, his conceal carry coming out as soon as the door would swing open.

He’d sheepishly grin, collecting her from the passenger side after his survey and she’d hug him. Holding tightly around his middle section, pressing her cold hands up under his shirt to that hot place where his heart beats and whisper with genuine gratitude,

Thank you for protecting me, Frankie.

It was never condescending, that’s all he ever wanted to do. Protect her. Protect himself. Protect the men giggling like schoolboys around him right now.

And he liked being told what a good job he did at that. —————

“What's Frankie short for?” Barely audible, her breath fanning across his chest as she continues to catch it. Like willing waves of normalcy in the aftermath of a hurricane.

“Francisco.”

“Francisco,” she repeats, dragging out the o. “Do you like it?”

“Used to make me feel like I was in trouble, very harsh coming from pissed off higher ups and even angrier parents but it sounds…” he thinks on that for a second, the events of the night still rippling through his body, “a lot sweeter in your mouth.”

“Watch yourself,” she hums a kiss into the flat plane of his breast before sinking her teeth into the flesh there, biting as hard as she can.

A chuckle vibrates from deep within him, “one hell of a bite too, I won’t soon forget.”

He looks down into her eyes, bright with mischief as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth now. He’d had hickeys before but never like this. He surveys the purple marks across his body, somehow burning brighter than the rest of him, and a contentedness pools in the pit of his stomach. Her stamps on him in easily hidden spaces to match the lipstick stains she’s started marking across his right cheek in the moments before they walk into the bar or the restaurant.

Little ways she says mine.

And he is hers. He knows it in the steady way his lungs rise and fall underneath her now.

He brushes a soft wave from where it tickles across her nose, “is Leah short for anything?”

Her nose scrunches, “not a goddamn thing.”

“Do you know what it means then?” His large hand is sprawled across her lower back, the weight of it an anchor.

Don’t leave me, it says.

“I don’t know,” she drawls, the slight twang coming forward in moments of exhaustion and inebriation, “just think my mama liked the sound of it is all.”

His heart is blazing underneath her cheek as she settles against him once more, her soft voice tumbles towards him, “Francisco…” as her eyelashes brush against his skin and he swears he can count them all on sensation alone.

“Yeah, baby?”

He feels a smile tug at her lips, stopped in its tracks where she’s rooted into him. It’s the first time he’s called her that.

“I have nightlights.”

The light makes her feel safe too. —————

He’s standing over Tom’s body and he hates to admit it but the feeling washing over him is one of relief.

Relief mingled with guilt.

Guilt that nobody was watching his six, his back wide open to the world behind it. Five seasoned fucking veterans and nobody watching the higher ground.

Relief at the silence he knows will engulf the group now. No more orders from a child who should’ve never been granted the lead to begin with.

Guilt because he was climbing up a fucking rock when he should’ve been doing his job as a friend and brother.

Relief that it wasn’t his brains splashed across stone.

His head is fucking pounding and it has been for days, pain dulled by consistency but never not there.

At least I can feel my fucking head.

He thinks of all the other things he can feel now, the things service beat from his body.

The ache in his limbs, heavy with exhaustion.

He’s dreading adding the dead weight of a dead body to the load.

The pang in his stomach, too used to consistently hot food.

He wants black coffee and bacon and tiny spoonfuls of sweet potato puree he airplanes into his own mouth to show Luna it won’t hurt her. Hell, he’d take the mushed peas right now.

Benny’s sobbing. The one amongst them all that never breaks is the broken one now.

He’s staring off again at everything and nothing, Santiago and Will unfurling bags for the body.

What a present to bring home.

It was always the risk they faced, they knew it.

If you were lucky, truly lucky, you came home whole. Untouched, unscathed, unmarred. The safe deployments, the technical shit, the brains behind the operations never seeing bloodshed. Everybody else though? Some were held together by duct tape and pure grit.

Others tied up in a flag with a bow.

Daddy’s not coming home but here’s a purple heart for the dress uniform he’ll never wear again.

I should’ve done more.

He’s not getting a purple heart for this.

I should’ve held on tighter.

He didn’t die in service to his country, he died in service to himself.

I should’ve made a bigger issue of the weight.

Another family he’s failed to protect.

I should’ve said no. —————

The darkness is cut through with a warm glow in every outlet as the clock tips over the edge of midnight.

Wednesday, the eleventh of October.

Nose to nose, the excitement of the day hangs over them like a wave threatening to crash. A giddiness in their bed forcing sleep to the edges of thought.

“Do you think they’re gonna know?” Her voice is soft, featherlight. Trying not to disturb the peaceful bubble they find themselves in now.

“No,” he lifts to press his lips gently into hers, “but I can’t promise I won’t shout it out on the altar.”

Panic takes her eyes, he knows it all too well and he’s gripping tighter before she can inhale. Fingers splayed across the small of her back, the weight of it a comfort to the tender bones and aching muscles.

I'm right here, it says.

“Breathe, breathe,” he’s speaking softly into her hair, “it was just a joke, baby.”

“You're not funny, Francisco Morales.” She speaks it like a fact, like she doesn’t spend hours in his arms filling his head with the music of her laughter. She says it like he isn’t watching smile lines appear in real time, falling more in love with each one.

“Would it be so bad though? If I did? If people knew?” It’s hope in his voice that she’ll say yes. That he can announce to his best friends all at once, every single one, before Santi leaves again. He doesn't want his happiness to arrive by text message. He wants to see the light of congratulation dancing around him.

“I don’t want to jinx it,” she’s scared, “besides… it’s not traditional.”

He scoffs, “what about us has ever been traditional, mi alma?”

“I'll make you a deal,” her fingers run through the stubble along his jaw, thumbs lingering over the patches, “don’t shave this tomorrow and you can tell the boys.”

“You want me to keep this malnourished shit on my face? For our wedding?”

Her giggles vibrate against him, “Yes. I have plans for it after you say I do.”

He growls, “this deal sounds pretty sweet to my lazy soul, what do you get out of it?”

“Hmm…” she brings her hand up to tap on her chin, “well, to begin, I’m getting a hot husba—”

“Debatable.”

“I'll fuck you up, Morales, take the compliment.”

He laughs a kiss into her, “what else?”

“Benny and Will will become automatic attack dogs around me, I’m fairly certain they will clear their schedules for all of April to stand guard outside the room. My own personal security team.”

He laughs again at the truth in her words, “what else?”

She pushes forward again, taking his lip between hers. A soft kiss with the burning desire for more.

“I’ll wake up on Thursday morning with a rawness between my legs that I’m usually only gifted on the weekends.”

His grip tightens, any suggestion of sleep leaving his body in a rush of blood straight through him, “I will never shave again.”

“Don't threaten me with a good time, my love.”

He rolls himself into her at that, kissing down her jaw. Her neck. The sensitive skin of her breasts, low lying cotton barely above indecency. He raises the hem, the curve of her belly burning hot against his lips, two hearts now beating inside her.

He grabs the elastic around her hips and gently pulls, kisses so soft across her pelvis they feign an innocence to his true intentions. Her legs kick out to help discard the fabric tangling her ankles as he settles broad shoulders at the base of her being.

Her fingers twirl through the soft curls that have been crushed against a pillow for hours by her side.

He kisses her soft thighs, slowly dragging his rough cheek against the delicate flesh.

“Francisco,” her fingers flex tighter as he looks up to meet her eyes, “don’t be such a fucking tease.”

He smiles wide, the devilish grin splitting his face as he drops his eyes to where she wants him, the fever that’s taken over her body in the last three months beckoning him in.

His hands are heavy on her hips, clenching deep purple into her. Marks in easily hidden spaces, his little ways of saying mine.

TAGLIST: @justanotherblonde23​ | @greeneyedblondie44​ | @icanbeyourjedi​ | @princess76179​ | @bbuckysbeardd​ | @notcookiebelle​ | @knivesareout​ | @phoenixpascal​ | @lexi-b-writes​ | @empress-palpat1ne​ 

[vaguely-concerned]

T.F.’s eyes finally slide open. It takes them a while to focus — there’s still the hectic pink of fever in his cheeks, though right now I’m so happy to see him look any shade other than ash grey that no sight has ever been dearer to me. He blinks a couple of times, snuggling close to my chest in an instinctive, thoughtless sort of way as he tries to glance around only to find himself too weak to lift his head for it, then looks up at me, befuddled and expectant. I swallow at how he seems to have known it was me next to him on the bed before even opening his eyes — the healer lady had said it might help him make sense of things faster if he woke to somethin’ familiar, guess she was right — and carefully stroke some hair away from his forehead. It’s curling a bit from the dampness there and in a state of uncombed chaos he’d never allow under normal circumstances; it makes him look, I dunno. Different than normal. Like a kid, almost. Small, for all that he’s those two eternal inches taller that he keeps lording over me. My arms tighten around him. She’d said he was gonna be completely fine after some rest ‘n all, but… still.

“Malcolm?” he says, voice scratching up his throat, eyes shining with feverish brightness but lucid enough, too earnestly if blearily confounded to be worried. “What the hell’s goin’... where…”

“Sssh, don’t worry about it, I’ve got it handled,” I say gruffly, pressing my lips to his slightly too warm forehead and hearing his small surprised-but-not-displeased noise. “You just… sleep it off and get back on your feet again so I can yell at you for that dumb shit you pulled back there.”

He laughs a bit at that, finally managing to glance around the spartan interior of the small stone cottage and seemingly not finding the results of the exercise terribly rewarding. With a strained grunt he lets his head fall back to the straw pillow and slowly nuzzles his face against my chest. “Oh, I pulled some dumb shit,” he murmurs, sardonic even while weak as a kitten.

I growl, squeezing him tighter against me as carefully as I can. The broken ribs probably healed up along with the wound when the healer did her magic lightshow… thing, but I don’t feel like testing that theory right now regardless. “Oh, don’t even start with me, Tobias. Gettin’ in the way of the blast like that, I — you — ” I splutter for a few seconds, having to suppress a wince at the memory of the way he’d pushed me out of the way, that strange confused moment afterwards when all I’d been able to notice was his weight on top of me and the smell of blood. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” he drawls, a smile in his exhausted voice as he rests his forehead against my collarbone and winds his arm over my waist, using the right now truly pathetic extent of his strength to draw me close. “Now you know how it feels.”

He sounds much smugger about it than anyone decently should. I bite my tongue against a couple of choice words that fight to get out in response only because he just gently bounced off death’s door and I’m still stupid with gratitude that I managed to catch him before he hit the ground. Y’know, spiritually speaking. So instead I sigh and comb my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Shit, T.F., just… stop spendin’ breath being smart with me and start spendin’ it on getting better, huh?”

“Aye aye, Head Nurse Graves,” he murmurs. Despite the amiable sarcasm I can feel sleep pulling at him again, his limbs going heavy and slack as he burrows against me, breathing growing slow and deep. In some ways it’s like every night when we go to sleep, and in other ways…

I brush my lips to the top of his head, and he sighs softly and fumbles, clumsily, for my hand. He kisses the back of it very gently, then looks up and runs his fingers down my cheek, pausing over the small cut there that was, somehow, the only mark I walked away from this whole debacle with — it’s already scabbing over.

He smiles.

“It was worth it,” he says, gaze momentarily bright and clear like sun reflecting on the surface of the ocean in calm. “...are you okay?”

Am I… but, well, that’s a talk for another time and I know I ain’t getting him to let it go before I answer properly, he’s impossible like that sometimes.

“Yeah, I’m fine. A bit rattled, but that’ll pass. Now sleep,” I add severely, wrapping my arms around him properly again to stop him from wriggling around so much, and he chuckles and dutifully lets himself settle against the shelter of my body under the woollen blankets, his face tucked safely against the line of my throat. He’s snoring gently within minutes, in that hilariously dainty little way he has as opposed to my wall-shaking one. Reportedly. Mainly according to the testimony of a known liar and scoundrel, I’d take it with a grain of salt if I were you.

I stay awake for a long time, listening to him breathe and feeling the warmth of his body against me as I hold him. The healer comes in once or twice to check up on him and tells me each time, mingled sympathy and amusement in her voice, that he really is going to be okay and that I can sleep too.

At around dawn I do, finally lulled by the warmth of the covers and the strong, undaunted beat of his heart.

For reasons of its own that I do not fully understand my brain chose to write this instead of working on any of the many WIPs I've got going on, so here we go lol. some hurt comfort nonsense coming right up

[missroserose]

If you're still doing Distraction Day prompts, I would love to see dialogue 34 and kink 77 with Harringrove ^^ ❤️

Hello!  I was thinking of closing prompts yesterday—the election is over, finally—but frankly, this combination was too damn good to pass up.  We’ll see if any of the others in the queue turn into anything...it’s been awesome having a chance to finish some pieces, but my longer WiPs are calling...

Thanks to everyone who sent one in! I hope these have been as pleasant a distraction for you as they have for me. <3

34.  “Are you testing me?”

77.  Rough Sex (Feral/Primal)

—

The pulse of the music booms through the flimsy bathroom door, Billy’s hips snapping almost in time to the beat.  Mötley Crüe is, like, barely metal but he’ll take it—if a lame-ass Halloween party is what it takes to get these prissy Indiana kids to loosen up a bit, to break out their real selves, well.  He’ll enjoy every moment of it he can.

Just as he’s enjoying burying his cock deep inside the former Keg King of Hawkins.  Tangling his fingers in that ridiculous hair.  Watching that pretty-pretty face do a pleasure-pain twist in the mirror as Billy drives into him from behind.  The fire it lights in his gut is almost enough to make him forget, for a moment, that they’re in some Midwest suburban hellhole, fucking with some girly-ass lotion from the countertop in place of lube.  

This is a bad idea, of course.  He should know better than to mess around with straight boys, especially the ones at the top of the totem pole.  The ones who’ve known everyone for their whole lives, who could destroy Billy and his aspirations with a few well-placed words.

He know’s it’s a bad idea, but it’s not his brain calling the shots right now—it’s the alcohol, the music, the bump of cocaine he’d snorted off of Lana Franklin’s Playboy-bunny-costumed tits earlier fizzing beneath his skin.  It’s the heat of desire, of the dance floor, of Steve’s flushed skin beneath him.  It’s the existence of this moment, the few moments like it that Billy lives for—pure and unrestrained and here, when he can let go.  When he denies himself nothing.

And the only thing better than King Steve, Dethroned is King Steve, Impaled, writhing so beautifully around him.  

“Fuck yeah, Harrington,” Billy croons in his ear, voice all honey-coated condescension.  The everything of the moment fills him, overfills, presses outward; he wonders, for a moment, if it’s possible to burst from sheer unadulterated yes, fuck yes.  “Didn’t think any of you Indiana boys were this brave.”

Steve’s eyes meet his in the mirror, and he flashes that smile—pearly white teeth, rapacious underpinnings, the lightning rod to Billy’s manic energy.  It’s enough to make Billy suck in a breath—enough, for a moment, to make him contemplate an impossible future, one where Hawkins has two kings.  “There’s a lot you don’t know about Indiana, Hargrove.”

The words stoke the fire beneath Billy’s skin, makes him drive forward harder, dried beer from his clothes and cloying roses from the lotion mingling in heady-sweetness.  He can feel something bubbling up in his chest—something eager, wanting—opens his mouth—then the thump of the music is momentarily obscured by a louder and more immediate thumping against the bathroom door.  

“Fuck off!” His roar is loud enough to be startling in the small space; he sees Harrington wince slightly, and without thinking he’s tightening his fingers in his hair, dragging him upright.  A murmur in his ear, arsenic lacing the honey:  “What’s there to learn about, huh?  Cow shit?  Awful music?  Stuck-up bitches?”  Another thrust, hard, as if reminding Harrington who’s in control here.

But Steve’s smile only widens as their eyes meet in the mirror.  “Are you testing me?”

Billy lets go of that ridiculous hair, slips his hand down King Steve’s pants—and fuck, he might be straight but he’s getting off on this, all right.  “Pretty sure I’m fucking you,” he says, closing a hand around Steve’s girth, watching as his lips part in the mirror.

“Then do it right,” Harrington says, but there’s a raw edge in his voice that betrays him, a ragged finish that has Billy adjusting his angle, gripping Steve’s hip with one hand and his cock with the other, slamming in until he can feel Steve tensing around him—sinking his teeth into the meaty muscle where Steve’s neck meets his shoulder, and Steve’s making breathy little cries with each thrust—

—breathy little cries that are fucking going straight to Billy’s cock—

By the time Billy thinks to break out the multiplication tables, it’s too late.  He’s well and truly past the point of no return, and his only consolation is Steve’s eyes are rolling up, his cock giving a kick in Billy’s palm as he gasps, as Billy’s fingers are covered in hot slick—just as he loses the last of his own grip, body tumbling forward and emptying itself into Steve.

“Fuck yes,”  Billy hisses, giving Steve’s cock a couple slow pulls, wet and messy, just to feel him tremble with the stimulation.  Just to watch him bare his teeth again in the mirror.  “There’s King Steve.”

“Pretty sure you’re the new king now,” Steve says as he wrenches away from Billy, and the mixture of heated challenge and fucked-out slur in his voice is almost enough to have Billy ready to go again.  A beat, as Steve pulls up his pants, ruffles Billy’s hair where a crown might sit.  “Mazel tov.”

Billy takes his time doing up his own, leans back against the towel rack.  Watches as Steve turns back to the mirror, finger-combs his hair into place.  Lets the warmth of the orgasm and the gratification of having fucked the King of Hawkins soak through his body for a moment before he smiles.  “We should do this again sometime.”

Steve’s eyes flick up to meet his in the mirror once more.  “Haven’t you learned that about Indiana yet?”  He turns, face deadly serious.  “Nothing ever happens.”  

And that…stings.  It shouldn’t.  Billy knows the score, especially with closet cases in small towns.  He holds up his hands.  “Never happened.  Whatever.”  Watches, as Steve nods, leaves.  Gives it a moment, for the sake of prudish Midwestern sensibilities, before he slips out of the bathroom, too.  He scans the crowd, looking for that ridiculous hair, but gives it up as a bad job; even if Harrington’s stuck around, he’s not going to want Billy lurking nearby.  Not tonight.

But Billy knows how this game works.  He saw that bitch storm out on Harrington earlier.  He can wait.  Study his prey.  Learn how things work in this shithole of a town.

He’s got time.

[anika-ann]

A Matter of Trust

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word count: 5470 (oops)

Summary: You and Steve get to go to a mission together after a while; free drinks, partying, dressing-up nicely, stealing blueprints, the usual. You might even enjoy this as a couple.

Or… not really. Of course something would go awry. What else did you expect when wearing these killer heels anyway?

A/N: Written for or @wkemeup​’s 4k writing challenge; congratulations! Well-deserved, no arguing here; shall the number continue to grow ;) Thank you for letting me participate!

Prompt: “Get in the closet, now!” (bold in the text)

Warnings: suggestive language, mentions of a kink, objectification, gun violence (brief), swearing (always), attempt at humour, fluff…?

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In your whole history as an operative of S.H.I.E.L.D. slash Avenger, time had never dragged so slowly as it did at this party.

Not even Steve’s presence cheered you up, mostly because he was busying himself with being everyone’s company but yours despite you two coming here together. For a mission. To work, you reminded yourself.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t been there for the plan-making which had resulted in mutual agreement of Steve falling into the role of an honourable man whose infamous good nature prevented him from saying no to anyone who asked for a moment with him even if it meant leaving you alone. Which you supposedly mind, because you were here with him only to sneak in here and possibly get your five minutes of glory if he stood by your side long enough

And that was only an act for people who would have noticed you had arrived together.

For the others, you simply attended the party – a known cover-up for a place of business in arms-deal among the powerful men of the underground world – to have fun and seduce some rich businessman.

Sipping from the very same glass of champagne you had helped yourself with about an hour ago, you scanned the room in the search for the big boss. No, not Steve, but the man of the hour, the one whose blueprints you were meant to steal. The blueprints of a potentially large bomb that could kill tens of thousands if it went kaboom and released the nanoparticles of a dangerous virus to the air.

Lovely. Someone clearly had too much time on their hands coming up with crap like that only to make your life miserable.

“What’s a gorgeous lady like yourself doing at this party alone?” a velvety voice interrupted your dark musing and you vainly tried to cover the shudder running down your spine, cursing at the heat curling in your stomach.

Was this how he was talking to all the women who were throwing themselves at him tonight? Probably.

Had you been through that before? Yes.

Had you expected it to happen tonight? Sadly, yeah.

Was it bothering you? Hell the fuck yeah, even if you knew it shouldn’t and that it didn’t mean anything but Steve doing his job right.

You cursed mentally at your weakness and sighed out loud, spinning around to face the man.

“Waiting for a bulky blond supersoldier to come save her, naturally,” you hissed back, hating yourself for letting your jealously get the better of you.

Steve had never ever made you as much as doubt that you were the one for him, but that green bitch of an emotion still intruded on you tonight. You blamed the upcoming visit from aunt flow and the rush of hormones arriving with it and the fact you were itching to leave and go home just for getting rid of those ridiculously high heels alone.

You usually enjoyed wearing high heels, they gave you confidence as gazes of many men and women followed you, but the stilettos you had got chosen tonight could be used as murder weapon.

Ha, maybe you could try and sell them here, you’d make a fortune!

A frown appeared on Steve’s face, one of curiosity, regret and surprise when he registered your irritated tone.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded quietly, whispering to your ear intimately, only making the situation worse.

“You shouldn’t be talking to me, Captain Rogers. You’ll blow it.”

His eyebrow jumped ridiculously high and you realized what you said; you groaned both at his cheekiness and your stupidity.

“Blow our cover. Get your mind out of the gutter…” you muttered, putting some distance between the two of you for the sake of the cover.

“Maybe I’m feeling a bit reckless tonight,” he hummed back, his large palm resting on your lower back and you had to take a moment to swallow the blissful groan at his gesture. You loved his hands and the heels were not only killing your feet, but also you back, and the warmth radiating from his skin felt like heaven. “But seriously, are you okay?”

“You could have asked through the comm.”

“I wanted to check up on you personally.  So?” he insisted and you couldn’t but sigh again, finishing your glass of champagne when you spotted Wagner, aka your target. You stepped away from Steve.

“Just tired. Want this to be over with. Go mingle, Steven.”

Pausing when you took a note of the harshness in your tone, you found his concerned gaze over your shoulder, whispering as softly as you could: “Thank you for your concern… Captain.”

You caught a glimpse of his discreet lopsided smile before turning away fully.

As you walked into the crowd, your long crimson dress curled around your feet with every step due to the provocative – read practical – slit ending mid-thigh. You hoped that the memory of watching you go would occupy his brain for some time while he talked to the flocks of both male and female admirers.

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Two hours. It took you another two hours to ensure you’d be safe sneaking into the Wagner’s office slash bedroom.

Of course his bureau would be his bedroom; men like him knew nothing about good old sleep hygiene, because the thought of their money distracted them from the evil they were doing to the world and had them sleeping like babies.

Using the key-card you had snatched about three minutes ago, you easily entered the over-decorated room.

Looks like someone’s compensating for something, you noted mentally, not losing any time and activating the no-prints mode on your gloves; one of the perks of working with Tony Stark. You were wearing the nanotech the whole evening and no one had a clue, because the particles were imitating your skin. You’d leave a print on the glass of champagne if you wanted; if you planned on rummaging someone else’s office, leaving a trace was a different case and you wouldn’t take any risks.

Systematically starting on the right from the door and working your way through everything that looked even remotely like a possible hideout, you didn’t forget to gingerly place your palm over the wall-length closet so Friday could run scans.

God, you loved that Tony Stark was on the side of the angels despite not quite being one himself; according to him at least.

“No signs of anything else than overpriced shirts, tuxedos and sets for dom-sub play,” the AI announced, barely audible, and you cringed. Not what you needed to know. “Cuffs are men’s size. Dominatrix set for a wom-“

“Enough, enough! Gee, Friday…” you muttered under your breath, not liking the visual of Wagner in the middle of enjoying-

Gross.

“No need for that much detail…”

Shaking your head, you moved onto the desk; an obvious, perhaps too obvious choice, which was why you wouldn’t place your bet on it. But hey, you could never be sure enough until you checked.

The sudden noise on your right had you drawing your gun at instant, your pulse skyrocketing.

The first thing you saw was a large frame of the newcomer and neatly combed blond hair. Your shoulders slumped.

Steve raised his hands as he moved from the doorway to stand inside, his face visibly relaxing at the sight of you searching another man’s desk.

The door clicked shut behind him and you forced yourself to breathe in, shoving your gun back to the holster placed on your covered thigh.

“Jesus, Steve!” you whisper-yelled exasperatedly and resumed your inspection, paying him no mind anymore. You had more important things to do at the moment; not that you wouldn’t do him; Steve in a tux was sight to behold, like hold onto THAT, literally get your hands on it, but you were here for a job.

“You weren’t responding!” Steve replied in the same manner, causing you to freeze.

He had been trying to contact you? And you couldn’t hear him? But-

“Oh,” you let out intelligently, doing the math easily. “He must have some sort of a jammer in here, makes sense.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But I’m fine,” you stated, shutting one drawer, opening another. “How did you even ge– never mind. You should go-“

“Don’t wanna cloooose my eyeees!”

The distant howl-like shout from the hall turned your blood into ice, your eyes widening.

You had studied Wagner the whole evening; you’d recognize his voice anywhere, even when he was singing ‘I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing’ out of tune.

“-before THAT happens! Shit!”

As you pulled out your phone, the live-feed from the camera in the hall offered you a marvellous view.

Two gorilla-men were dragging Wagner towards his room as his feet barely kept him standing. Gorilla number three was walking behind them just in case that their boss’ face decided to meet the floor despite the support offered to him.

Shit, shit, SHIT-

Closing the drawer you were currently scouring, lips pressed into a tight line, you eyed Steve; he was already bracing himself for the fight, caught in the middle of the process of discarding the jacket to have wider range of movements.

You whined internally – firstly, what a sight, it would always make you weak in knees no matter what. Secondly, if this was to end in a fight, the chances were that you’d make it out without the plans and you had spent the night in those killer heels for nothing.

Oh no, you don’t-

“Cause I’d miss ya’ BABY—I don’t wanna miss a THIIIIING!”

Scanning the room once more, your mind running hundred miles a minute, your gaze fell on the huge-ass closet of which contents you had learned more than you’d like to.

Your lips parted in surprise at the plan forming in your own head.

This is a terrible idea.

It’s yours!

Exactly.

Yeah, okay, fair enough-

NO TIME TO COME UP WITH A BETTER ONE-

Steve was kind enough to follow when you grabbed his arm and pulled him from his spot in the middle of the room, though he did shoot you an utterly confused look.

You met his eyes and gulped when the singing approached the room way too quickly to your liking.

“STILL MISS YA’ BABY–“

“I need you to trust me now,” you pleaded in hushed tone, seeing Steve’s pupils go wide, covering the somewhat always warm blue of his irises.

“With what?”

Well, he asked for it.

“Get in the closet, now!”

A second of shocked silence followed your request before his brain made the connection and a scowl twisted his handsome face.

“What? No! I’m not leaving you alone to face them!” he raised his voice minutely and you covered his mouth to remind him that there were ears present, inching closer with each second passing.

“DON’T WANNA FAAAAALL ASLEEEEEEP-!”

“That’s exactly what you’ll do! That’s easier to play off.”

Steve very much not agreed if his eyes flashing with anger were anything to go by. His hand pushed yours away as he towered over you.

“I’m not leaving-“

“Look at the gorillas, Steve!” you shoved the phone to his face, unlocking the closet and throwing its door open. “One word from them to the rest of security and we’re screwed. Get in!”  

Something between a whine, a groan and a growl – neither of those sounds sexy given the circumstances – escaped his lips and you assumed he had to admit to himself that you were right.

Taking a mental note of his resistance diminishing, you easily pushed him towards the limited dark space.

“CAUSE EEEEEVEN WHEN I DREAM OF YOOOOOOOU- THE SWEETEST DREAM WILL NEEEVER DOOOOOO-“

“We can still play it off toge-“ he tried to protest one more time but you pushed against his chest adamantly.

“And say what? This isn’t what it looks like? We just happened to choose your office to get freaky? I’ll handle it. Trust me.”

Steve gave you his unfairly disarming pleading look, his puppy eyesTM, but backed into the closet without another word, clutching his previously stripped jacket to his chest, because he did trust you.

Fingers on the handle, you hesitated when you realized what could ruin the charade you came up with and planned on pulling off.

Swallowing hard at the terrible idea, you gave Steve a tiny encouraging smile as you drew your gun and three knives from your leg holster/sheath and pressed it to his hands.

“Hold these for me.”

Swiftly closing the door, the last thing you saw was the horror on his face.

As the door swung open and you spun on your heels, he had no chance to react.

The loud song which had been reaching your ears for seemingly endless time died on Wagner’s lips and the third extra gorilla of a man behind him instantly pulled out his gun.

And aimed it right at your face. While you had nothing to defend yourself but your bare hands.

Yay.

“Who are you?!” he thundered and like a charm, Wagner stood straight so the other two guards could have you at gunpoint as well.

Yet, what sent an unpleasant shiver through you was Wagner’s sleazy eyes travelling from your killer heels to your ankles, up to your partly exposed thigh, your waist and finally settling on your cleavage, not bothering to make it higher to look into your eyes.

So. He’s a pig. Shocker.

For once, you were grateful. Not that he was supposed to know that.

A sweet innocent smile spread on your lips as you eyed the weapons with what seemed to be almost a satisfaction, you hoped.

“A government agent, of course,” you said, voice pitched just a bit higher than usual. You felt a bit sorry for Steve at the moment; you were well-aware of nearly giving him a heart attack by saying that. “I work with Captain America.” Scratch the ‘nearly’. Poor Steve’s heart. “I was given the task to scour this place… very… thoroughly.”

Your tone husky now, your teeth bit down on your lower lip, your eyes watching Wagner with faked interest. He hypnotized your red lips before shaking his head as if snapping from a haze.

“They told me you’ve been a bad, bad man. I kept my eye on you all evening,” you admitted, not even having to lie.

The following smile you sent his direction was perhaps too predatory, but that could work. For him anyway.

“Who do you work for?!”

The guards were not as easily fooled as their drunk boss apparently; then again, you hadn’t expected them to.  

“Oh. A.R.M.O.R. America-Related Manpower Operatives and Reinforcements.” God bless their hearts if they were going to buy that, seeing you were obviously trying to imitate the SHIEILD acronym. Very poorly. Playing it up, you let a giggle escape you before your expression turned serious, guilty even. “Oh. Probably shouldn’t have said that. It’s only my first time, you see. I finished my training few days ago.”

“Mm… look at ‘dat…” Wagner drawled and nope, it had nothing on the way Steve spoke when his accent peeked through while he was drunk on Asgardian liquor or lust alone.

Not relevant.

Wagner waved off his guard dogs, gesturing to one of them to approach you. “Why don’t we search you first?”

“Make it quick. I have…” you let your eyes trail over Wagner’s body, licking your lips when visibly lingering on his crotch, “more important tasks at hand. I came here for a mission. I’d like it to… finish.”

Two men instantly went to inspect you, patting you from the back, from the front, up and down, way longer and more thoroughly than necessary.

And they found what they were looking for.

One large palm harshly slipped between your thighs and you closed your eyes, willing yourself not to throw up at the pawing.

Gorilla One’s head snapping up to you, he pulled out the only weapon left on you, handing it to his boss and Gorilla Two grabbed your wrists and locked it behind your back, causing you to nearly hiss in pain.

“Oops,” you shrugged instead, burning gaze locked onto the man who was holding both your weapon and your life in his hands.

Your heart was beating frantically in anticipation, your confidence wavering as Wagner inspected the knife.

A slow smile spread on his face, his left eyebrow rising and then he finally, finally burst out laughing.

A confused ‘what’ sounded from behind you as the man’s utterly smashed boss howled in hysterical laughter.

“This—this is GOL-DEN!” he choked out, tossing the item to the very man who had handed it to him.

“It’s a stage-prop,” Gorilla One sighed.

And that it was. Thank you, Natasha Romanoff.

“Oh. So it’s fake.”

“Told you I have more important things at hand… so if—my hands could find some release please…” you asked sweetly over your shoulder. The very next second, you remembered just what was in the closet; and you weren’t thinking Steve. So you switched tactics. “That’s an order, actually. Let. Me. Go.”

“What the agent said, Greg,” Wagner beckoned, still chuckling, a new twinkle appearing in his eye, his face free of mistrust. Gorilla Two, Greg apparently, released your hands with reluctance. You didn’t bother thanking him. “And let her work. Off you go.”

When the gorillas wavered for few moments, you felt your impatience grow along with the pain shooting up your calves. Damn heels.

“Have you not heard your superior? Do I need to teach you some discipline?”

Wagner licked his lips, taking two wobbly steps towards you. It seemed to seal the deal for the guards, because they left the room.

“Someone went out of their way to get you… Must be my birthday then,” he grinned sleazily, his fingers twitching as if he craved to touch you, his hands stopping few inches from your hip. “I’m all  yours, agent. Why don’t you go on with the… thorough inspection?”

Straightening your posture, chin stuck up, you nodded curtly.

“Of course. Sir, I’ll have to ask you to raise your hands to your head. Don’t move otherwise. I’m gonna feel for weapons now.”

“Yes, madam,” he responded breathlessly, but the second you started the process, his hand landed on your hip.

You stopped in your search, locking serious gaze with him. His pupils were blown, eyes dark with lust. His fingers squeezed, his gaze flickering to your mouth as you stood nearly chest to chest.

“Sir, this is highly inappropriate. I’m gonna have to ask you-“

His palm slid to your bottom, fingers digging into the flesh.

You narrowed your eyes, not even having to pretend you didn’t like that. You slapped his hand away, earning a sly grin. He didn’t try again immediately, which you were endlessly grateful for. Instead, he obediently raised his arms so he looked ready to be either searched or crucified.

Oh, you’d gladly.

“Sorry, Agent, I couldn’t help myself. What is such… pretty face like yourself doing in business like this?” he questioned in a husky voice and at that moment, you knew that your time spent around Tony Stark had taken its toll on you, because you simply couldn’t resist that pass.

“Stealing intel from pricks like you,” you mumbled under your breath, giving him just enough time to realize something was wrong.

A fraction of second later, the edge of your hand hit his throat, bruising his larynx and causing him to release a shocked huff of air. Kicking his knee next, your elbow met his face. A choked groan escaped his lips and you prayed to god he didn’t truly find his voice to call the guards.

You elbowed him in his right temple for a good measure, incapacitating his other knee so he nearly sunk to the floor. You slipped around him in one swift movement; your arm sneaked around his throat and cut out his airways.

Too stunned, he barely fought you and you felt all tension leave his muscles in no time.

Wagner’s body hit the ground as he slipped through your hands despite your best efforts. You winced at the thud shaking the floor; you quickly giggled loudly, playing it off as a drunken fun-time shenanigans. Just in case the guards were still at the door.

Satisfied and relieved when no one burst in with guns blazing, you walked to the closet, losing those damned stilettos on the way.

As soon as you unlocked the closet, Steve nearly hit you with the door when abruptly leaving the limited space. His eyes scanned you head to toe to find any sign of an injury, the flames in his glare fading only a bit when he found none.

“You almost gave me a heart attack!” he whisper-yelled and despite the circumstances, you couldn’t but giggle, this time from honest amusement as he proved your earlier thoughts right.

There we go…

“Worked, didn’t it? Now help me since you’re here, he’s fucking heavy…”

Steve gave you an incredulous look, one promising a storm coming once you had the time for it, but he went to pick Wagner’s body up without protest.

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Steve was kind enough to have you use the bathroom first, so by the time he emerged – around half past three a.m. – you were already tucked in bed, waiting for him. His feet shuffled against the floor and he seemed utterly spent, as if he had been fighting an army from space.

You had both left the party unharmed; then again, you could imagine that socializing the way he had had to could be as tiring as an alien invasion itself. Also, he had been the one leave Wagner office-bedroom through the window, while you simply walked out of the room, winking at the guards who had indeed stayed by the door.

Steve slipped under the covers and turned off the bedside lamp, the warm light replaced by inviting darkness. Your eyelids felt heavy after the long night and you couldn’t wait to enter the blissful land of sleep.

Having Steve’s arms around you, a pleasant habit of his, you knew you’d be out in no time, but you made the effort to shift further into his embrace, sighing in content and murmuring ‘goodnight’.  

Already halfway out as soon as you closed your eyes, you still registered his arm winding tighter around your waist, his nose pressed to your nape. A deep inhale, then another, warm breath and his lips inching closer with each second.

Pulled out of your slumber, limbs already heavy and yet floaty, half-hearted question left your lips.

“You ‘kay?”

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, his foot wedging between yours to pull you impossibly closer, his exhale long and wavering.

The tremble in it alarmed you, urging you to check up on his expression, on him. Willing your body to move, your heart skipped a startled beat when he wouldn’t let you turn around.

“That didn’t sound-“

His fingers wormed its way under your side laid on the mattress, flexing on the flesh of your waist.

“I’m fine….” Bullshit. “It’s just… you have no idea how hard it was to stay put while listening to all that, do you?”

Eyelashes fluttering in surprise, you took in his words, the subtle taste of fear in them, concern for how your abrupt plan could have easily go awry.

You allowed yourself a few moments before responding, forcing your memories, the images of you helplessly lying pinned to the ground after you saw a building explode – a building with Steve still in it – out of your mind.

“I… I think I can imagine. I’m sorry. I came up with an idea and thought it was for the best,” you whispered.

Honestly, you were still convinced that it had been the best thing to do given the circumstances, but that was momentarily beside the point.

“You literally told him you worked with me. I swear to God- I–“

Hearing the shift in his voice, a different emotion interfering – the pure horror, laced with exasperation – you softened your next words even further, running your fingertips over the back of his hand coaxingly.

Without any real hope, you attempted to turn in his firm embrace; this time, he reluctantly let you, your palms instantly trapping his miserable face.

“Hey. Hey, Steve, it’s fine. We handled it. We’re good. I just remembered Friday told me that he was a kinky bastard-“ Steve nudged you at the word and you fought hard the eye-roll he had coming at that “-and decided to use it.”

“You gave me your weapons and went against him empty-handed– never ever do that again,” he demanded, voice equally pleading and firm. You couldn’t help but nudge him back, because in your line of work, promising that technically equalled lying. “If there is any other option.”

You sighed, understanding all too well how he was feeling, willing to promise the latter to ease his mind. And to erase the worried wrinkles on his forehead. You kissed him there, the tension resolving under your loving gesture.

“Noted. I didn’t do that to get off, to have a high.“ Unlike some people, who seemed to do that sometimes. "I promise.”

“I know you didn’t,” Steve said, having the decency to add an edge of guilt to his voice, your verbal call for hypocrisy not going unnoticed. He kissed your left collarbone, tender and greedy, his lips sliding an inch lower to faintly feel your heartbeat and lingering.

“You know me well,“ you stated, running your fingers through his still damp locks, musing. "It’s… nice. Not as scary as I expected once.”

“Thanks…?” he murmured against your skin unsurely and you chuckled, a tired but oh so content sound.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he whispered, heavy-lidded eyes boring into yours, finding your lips with his to deliver a lazy but heartfelt kiss, one you felt reaching your very soul.

Shifting so your head was tucked under his chin, you nestled into the most comfortable position possible and Steve hummed into your hair, once more pulling your body against his, not an inch of space left between you. You melted into his warmth and finally, you felt his muscles fully relax as well.

As you once more walked the fine line of dozing off, a sudden thought caused you to snap your eyes open, your heart skipping a curious beat.

“Steve?” An absent hum was his only response, but encouraged by any reaction at all, you continued, knowing that you wouldn’t fall asleep without having the answer. “When you said it was hard… you weren’t referring to a… certain situation of yours, right? … or were you?”

Even with his body turning rigid, a rock-solid prove he was fully awake, he put effort into sounding sleepy.

“Just go to sleep, woman.”

“…were you?! Do you want me to… do some thorough inspection of y-“ you teased, fascinated, never finishing your thought as Steve’s large palm covered your mouth.

You resisted the urge to release the surprised laugh bubbling in your chest. It wasn’t that you thought Steve’s desire was ridiculous; you were just that amazed that it never came up; a true wonder given your line of work.

Momentarily incapacitated, you didn’t speak, but grazed your teeth over his palm so he would release you.

“Hush!”

“ ’khay-“ You muttered and he removed his palm, sleepy blue watching you in warning. You strained your neck to kiss the previously teased skin of his hand. “We’ll explore that another time. I’m beat. Still love you. Goodnight.”

With that, you curled back into his body, feeling the wide expand of his chest followed by an exasperated puff.

“Goodnight, you maniac. I love you too.”

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━ 

Pins and needles in your toes ripped you harshly from the dreamland and you groaned quietly, rescuing your foot from the vice created by Steve’s own.

Shared sleep was blissful, releasing endorphins, the feelings of comfort and safety it provided irreplaceable and all that, but having your limb pinned to the mattress by a supersoldier was no joke.

You checked the clock on the nightstand; 8:27 AM. Sparing a glance at the man sleeping beside you, his arm wrapped around your waist, palm sprawled over our abdomen, you smiled despite the early hour.

Any other morning, you would have shaken off the cramp and scooted over to get even closer to Steve; however, determined to do something nice for him and make sure he was alright with what he had clearly considered an irresponsible stunt of yours yesterday, you thanked heavens for the unexpected get-up call and planned on wiggling out of Steve’s grasp.

“Where ya’ goin’?” he mumbled sleepily, the inches you had managed to put between your bodies erased as his arm pulled you back, his nose nuzzling your hair with a sigh.

“Bathroom,” you lied easily, lightly patting his forearm. “We’ve barely slept for five hours. You still have thirty minutes till your usual start of the post-mission day, you crazy-ass lark. I’ll be right back.”

“Mm-hmm… I’ll be waitin’.”

Chuckling silently, you freed yourself fully, this time without his protests.

“I’m sure you will, Steve,” you whispered, your smile widening when only ten seconds later, your words were followed by his quiet snort.

Grabbing one of Steve’s hoodies thrown over the backrest of a chair and sliding into it, you made your way to the communal kitchen instead. Your mission was to make Steve breakfast, secretly hoping you could talk him into skipping the usual run today and actually spending a day in bed. You thwarted big bad’s plans yesterday, for god’s sake, you both deserved a break…

As a reminder of the past events, a bruise the size of a boot on your thigh – which you didn’t remember getting – stared accusingly at you when you passed a mirror. You inconspicuously pulled the hem of Steve’s hoodie an inch lower in attempt to cover it. Vainly.

Rolling your eyes, you wondered just how nice you needed to be today; Steve had seemed more freaked out than anything else; nevertheless, the anger could come today and you rather if it didn’t.

Deciding pancakes, eggs and bacon were a safe bet, you hummed and opened the fridge.

It was the exact moment something caught you eye, a change in decorum; right above your head on the top of the fridge.

A big fat zero stared at you from the sign you had got Steve a while ago, a memorandum of your first first-hand experience of his utter recklessness on missions. Ever since then, you and the rest of the team made sure to have the board up-to-date, sometimes proudly and sometimes regretfully rewriting the number of ‘days without Steve doing stupid life-threatening shit’.

Now there was a zero. Your jaw went slack, your heartbeat skyrocketing.

It was not the only change on the sign.

Someone, and you had a very good idea who that might be (hint: he was sleeping in your bed), plastered your name over Steve’s.

Your smile froze on your lips and at that moment, you could have been knocked out with a feather.

Unbelievable.

Un-fucking-believable.

Shutting the fridge with a loud thud, bottles in its door clinking, you strode back to your shared room, sputtering curses.

The audacity of him!

When had he even- how had he done– all night— you had woken up before him-!

Forget pancakes, eggs and bacon; snark was on the menu today.

“STEVEEEEEN!”

You heard his laughter before you even reached the bedroom.

Looking at the bright sight of things, Steve being a little shit was a positive shift from his late-night anxiety. A brief smile crossed over your face before you stormed into the room, finding the blond culprit muffling his chuckles in a pillow.

Your pillow.

Jumping to the bed, you grabbed his own and opted to show him just how stupid you could get.

Because trying to take down a supersoldier in a pillow fight? The zero might have to stay on the board for one extra day.

As Steve’s carefree laughter echoed within the walls of your bedroom, filling you with pure joy, you decided you could live with that.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━  ━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

If you’d like to know the origin of the board, I kindly point you towards my S.R. masterlist, specifically to Challenge Accepted…? Fair warning: it has more drama than this one.

Thank you for reading! ❤️

[terrence-silver]

Hey, I saw your gorgeous faceclaims for Terry's parents earlier, so I was wondering; could you perhaps do some sort of quick one-shot featuring the two of them? Nothing long or complicated. Just a little insight into their daily (messy?) lives back in the 50s? Thanks a lot. 💙

He waddled in drunk.

Again.

Thing is, he didn’t understand how come Red 31 wasn’t a winning option on the roulette wheel when red as a color has never failed him before - his lucky choice for years, in a sense. He could’ve swore to god almighty, that fucking game was rigged. It was rigged and it was rigged in such a way to harm the economic savings of decent, hard-working Americans like himself. Really, if anything, he blamed McCarty for letting in all those damn Communists into the country and messing up the order of things around here. That was the only way Morton could explain his losses tonight. Fifty thousand dollars in one sitting. Straight ripoff and as such, the deplorable state he was in tonight was well-warranted. Did he try to fight those bastards in the security department? Yes! Did he get thrown out of the casino? Yes, he was! Did he, by any chance get in an alteration with one of the suckers who did in fact win a sizeable amount of money tonight on the same fucking roulette wheel and were slaps generously thrown around? Yes, they absolutely were! And proudly at that! This was a free land.

And now, he was home.

Deep-fucking-joy.

His beautiful pastel Harrods catalogue house.

To his gorgeous nagging wife and their gorgeous tiny brat son.

-”It’s three in the morning.”-

A voice chided and of course Myra would be awake waiting for him like some sort of interrogator in the partial darkness of the hallway, stepping out of the bedroom in a silk bathrobe over her lace chemise and her blue rollers strapped to her curls, arms crossed over her chest with bloody intent, a scowl gracing her red lips as she took a long drag out of her cigarette, huffing the smoke into the air. She had time to put on a lipstick? In the middle of the night? The damn casino scammed him out of his own money and she had time for her goddamn rouge face-paint? The absolute nerve of this broad. She didn’t even wear her usual house slippers. No. She had her heels on like some manner of decadent, shameless saloon harlot. Because of course she did.

Wretched Biblical viper.

-”Y’know. If I knew you’d be so good at stating the obvious and telling the damn time I’ve would’ve strapped you to my wrist instead of a Rolex and just carried you with me around all day.”-

Morton shook his hand at her frantically to nail the idea behind his words into her head, clanking the gold clasp of his arm-watch in her direction. The general idea was, that before she even tried to accuse him of anything at this late hour, to gently remind her, as she often needed to be, that he in fact made all the money in this household, and as such, he could waste and spend as much of it as he pleased, however he pleased, whenever he pleased like the man he was. Because, really - who was going to stop him? Did she really think he didn’t know what time it was? There were no clocks in casinos. Yet, he always knew, regardless. It was an ingrained instinct, by now.

-”You’re bleeding, you reek and you look like hell, Morty.”-

She clicked her tongue in annoyance alongside an eyeroll, using an endearment instead of his full name, walking around him with her heels clicking on the marble carpeted floor as she plopped down in the velvet armchair facing him directly, crossing her legs, watching him pour himself a glass of scotch and downing it one swift move. This has happened before. Of course it has. But, was it such a sin he wanted out of this stifling, godforsaken upper middle class life out here in the fucking desert, peddling rings and knick-knack like a common salesman or roadside merchant? Was it so bad he wanted to make a quick spin of money? Was it so hard to understand he wanted Lady Fortune to smile at him? If only just once? Let him live the life he knew he deserved? That she deserved. That their son deserved. That he, correction and all humbleness aside, Morton Silver, deserved, most of all?

-”We can’t all look like Liz Taylor, ma’am. Respectfully.”-

He spat back in disgust, loathing how beautiful she appeared.

So close to making him behave in ways a gentleman never should.

-”How much?”-

She inquired firmly, with a certain sense of softness.

He immediately what she meant, even without clarifying.

He averted his gaze, sighing in defeat - putrid, bitter defeat.

Leveling his eyes instead, with the glass liqueur bottle in front of him.

-”That much, huh?”-

Myra knew, even without words spoken, more or less what the monetary casualties of tonight’s exploits were - she had an instinct for things like that by now, the damn woman - finishing the butt of her cigar and crushing it in the crystal ashtray next to her seat and leaning over her white cream boudoir instead, starting to remove the rolls from her hair one by one, combing them out steadily and attaching the pearled earrings to the pierced holes of her lobes. She once stated he had a serious addiction and that  she read in a health magazine at her book club that such things weren’t anything to be ashamed of and that it could be curable with the right methods and care - that she worried about the state of him - where he was headed - where they were headed, as a married couple - but he didn’t want to hear about it. If she intended to institutionalise him she had another thing coming. He knew what they did to people deemed crazy.

And the Silvers had a reputation to uphold around these parts.

His father was a jeweler and his father before him.

His father’s father, even.

He only wanted to increase what he inherited.

Not let it all go to waste with the knowledge that he wasn’t quite right.

People would avoid them both like the plague for it - bloody bastards.

-”I’ll make it back for us. I always do. You know me! You know I do! I’ve luck at the tip of my fingers, all I need is the right moment at the right time and it’ll find me when I least expect it! And you love me for it! Maybe next time this year, we’ll be sitting at a balcony somewhere, overlooking the sea! And you’ll be sunbathing with a big hat and we’ll never look back! Maybe up the West Coast - maybe -”-

He found himself ranting, a wave of desperation, guilt and hysteria taking over his senses, fueled by alcohol and a need to rationalize and justify himself, suddenly on his knees and grabbing Myra by her ankles, nearly ripping the nylon of her sheer, flesh-colored stockings with the sharpness of the ruby on his wedding band, pulling her away from the mirror and back unto her arm chair, embracing her legs and leaning his face unto her lap, trapping her in place because he needed her to stay put and listen like he needed air to breathe, rambling and stuttering as he did. He despised this place and he knew she did too, but money was never enough to move someplace better permanently and for that reason he hated it here all the more out of rage. All the dust and scorched, dryness of the earth, and the unbearable desert wind and the goddamn mob burring mutilated bodies out in the wild, and the hyenas, and the loan-sharks, and the snakes, and the hookers and the temptations and the sinning and people blowing their fucking brains out due to accumulated debt and he just couldn’t take it anymore. It was hell. And he wasn’t out of here in a couple of years, he’d just ram his car off of the first cliff with himself, Myra and Terry in it and call it a day. It wasn’t the most Christian way to go, but heck if he cared at this point. He was as far removed from God’s light as he could be by now.

-”You’ll wake up the child with your drunk rambling.”-

She chastised whispering, with infinite tenderness.

With a tinge of sadness and pity too, he figured tiredly.

Letting her run her manicured fingers through his hair sweetly.

Comforting him - another woman would’ve left him by now, surely.

He drank and whored around and gambled and cussed and shouted.

Not her though - all she wanted was him, their son and money.

And although a bit skinny, puny and small for his age.

Almost to the point of occasional embarrassment -

Morton figured a change of scenery would do Terence good too.

Get some strength back into him - make him tall, statuesque and healthy.

Last thing Morton Silver wanted was a malnourished, sickly offspring.

-”Do you believe me, though? Do you believe me when I say I’ll give us lives worthy of gods and leave behind this petty corner-store waste of time? I don’t want to spend the rest of my days behind an old, dusty counter, convincing people which fucking engagement ring to buy some random, nameless dame off of the street they met in a joint one time!”-

He looked up at her almost pleading, fingers digging into her skin to the borderline point of nearly making her bleed - his humiliation at requiring her approval in the first place mingling with genuine need and rage at even being in his position mixing into a potent sort of fury where he was just one inch away from slapping her if she answered negatively and then grabbing her and kissing her the next for running her pretty little mouth like that. He was an irresponsible, hypocrite, drunk gambler and lying, materialistic, greedy whore-mongerer. She was a tobbacco-addicted, fashion-crazed, haughty diva obsessed with her pearls and being the perfect, unassuming upper-crust housewife and mother. They were made for each other. Hell, they even looked alike, aesthetically speaking, both pale, lanky, dark haired, with stark blue eyes - like a matched pair of paper dressing dolls cut-out from a magazine. If anything - little Terry would be a looker. Not an overly wealthy looker, but a looker nonetheless. A little pretty twig-boy with no inheritance quite big enough or impressive to turn heads. Not if they stay here. In this crime-infested cesspool of filth that threatened to drag him down even lower.

He pressed a sloppy, inebriated half-kiss to the side of her mouth.

Trying to make himself forget how much he exactly lost tonight.

She turned her head away, nostrils flaring at the stench of him.

She didn’t exactly bear the scent of roses either, reeking of tobacco.

How many did she exactly smoke in the darkness expecting his return?

-”You always did things your way and I’ve enabled you, in part. Now all I can do is sit around and wait for you to come home alive and hope to god someone doesn’t beat you half to death on the steps of some sleazy, two-bit gambling den like a dog.”-

Myra’s voice cracked and she was overtaken by a wave of sobbing.

Tracing the fresh wound on his head, impartially.

In defeat - her tone pained, regretful.

They been through his debate a million times.

And a million times they’ve reached this exact conclusion.

She didn’t even bother cleaning the blood on his scalp.

This happened so often, there was hardly a point anymore.

He’d be battered and bruised at work again by tomorrow.

She’d ambush him in this same fashion, at this same hour.

Wearing the same bathrobe and spewing the same reprimanding.

And he wouldn’t really change or learn - neither would she.

[cosmetologynerd]

Enter Mysterio (Peter Parker x Reader)

Here is my submission for Kaylee’s Writing Challenge! It’s not the best, but I wrote it and I’m proud. I hope you guys enjoy this little spot of angst and Peter finding comfort in the only person he can really trust. 

Goes without saying but this does have Spoilers for Far From Home! 

Summary: Peter calls for help after his encounter with Mysterio, only to find himself doubting reality. 

Prompt: “Of course it’s you.” with Peter Parker

~~~

Images and voices were blurring together, faster than he could comprehend. Images of Tony, Ben, May, all put in harm's way because of him. He saw himself, homemade sweatsuit clinging to his skin, terror filling him as the image of villains past circled around him, Adrian Tooms’ voice echoing “It’s time to go home, Pete.”  The skyline of Manhattan loomed over him, surrounding him and narrowing his view. He saw flashes of green smoke, saw the way Mysterio would fade in and out of his armor, in and out of reality.

He saw you, feet struggling to find ground as Mysterio held you up by your neck, “If you cared about her, you wouldn’t put her in danger,” Beck’s cold voice echoed in his head, and Peter shook himself.

“She’s not real! This isn’t real,” Peter cried out, looking as wind whipped around your hair and you looked back at Peter with terror in your eyes.

“Peter what’s going on?” You asked as you clawed at Beck’s hands and Mysterio tilted his head to the side before he dropped you, evil laughter ringing out as Peter dove after you, helpless to save you.

Your scream ripped through the air as Peter called out your name, his own voice breaking from the scream.

“I don’t think you know what’s real, Peter,” his voice said cooly.

He was half conscious, mind replaying the images he’d been shown, been made to believe were real when two men pulled his broken and bleeding body from the train. He registered he was moving, knew he had to fight it, knew he needed to get back- but back to where?

“I don’t, I don’t know,” he said groggily as pain shot through his ribs. He recoiled into himself as the men carried him, as if he were a child hoping it would take the pain away. “What’s… What’s real?”

His groggy voice fumbled over the words messily before his head slumped forwards and the two police officers carrying him looked at each other concerned.

Even in deep sleep he couldn’t escape the illusions, the nightmares planted into his head. His brain was trying to process fiction from reality, illusion from fact.

Fact: Quinten Beck is Mysterio

Fact: The Elementals are not real

Fact: Peter Parker handed over the world's most dangerous weapons to the world's most dangerous villain.

Fact: Tony Stark will never crawl out of his grave

Fact: Mysterio knows who you are and just how important you are to Peter

Fact: Mysterio did not drop you from the top of the Eiffel Tower

Fact: Voices around him we’re growing louder

Wake up, Peter.

It was his voice, his own voice saying the words. He needed to open his eyes, needed to get back on his feet. You were in danger, Ned was in danger- wake up. Wake up-

But the voice was twisted, mingling in on his own, deeper and crueler than his own. Tingles shot down his spine as the words formed, taking shape in Mysterio’s figure and cunning way.

Wake up, Peter. You need to wake up!

Peter’s eyes opened quickly, heart racing, his brain processing enough to allow him to finally open his eyes again. Bright sunlight poured in through the window, blinding Peter. He felt his head resting on someone’s shoulder, and a heavy weighted material draped over his chest.

Four men surrounded him, all staring wide eyed as Peter stood. “Um.. where- where am I?”

He was surprised when smooth, perfectly spoken English spilled from their lips, all of them smiling as they waited for his reaction. “I’m in the Netherlands?!”

Walking swiftly over to the cell door, Peter pulled down on the lock, breaking it swiftly with his superior strength. Not caring that he was most definitely escaping from a holding cell, or that he was pretty sure he would end up a fugitive for doing so, he let his feet carry him as far away from the jail as possible.

He only had one thing on his mind, and that was finding a phone. He needed to call the only person he could trust, who could easily get to him.

He needed Happy.

~

He heard the jet before he saw it. His head looked upwards, searching for the words on the side of the jet, hoping it was who he thought.

As the jet came in for landing, ruining hundreds of prize winning tulips, Peter read the words Stark Industries plastered along the sleek white plane. His heart skipped a beat, feet speeding up as he approached the jet. Happy was here, he was really here-

His mind raced, was it really him? How could he be certain he wasn’t still trapped in one of Mysterio’s illusions, made to believe he was safe only to be shown once again why he wasn’t.

Peter stopped mid run, watching as two figures emerged from the jet. First was Happy Hogan, grey head of curly hair hastily combed and suit slightly askew, as though he’d been in a hurry to get dressed. He looked at Peter with nothing but concern in his eyes. “Peter?” Happy called out as the second person tried to come forward.

Peter felt his heart stop.

You were trying to push your way past Happy, your hair pulled back messily, black jeans and white top looking slept in. Peter felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of you. You were talking fast, almost demandingly and he could see the way your emotions fueled you. It was you, living and breathing.

But it had also been you in Beck’s hands, calling out to him. He’d been so sure of it, he swore as the memory surged in his head he even smelled your perfume. Your eyes left Happy, settling on Peter. You once again moved towards him, Happy no longer holding you back as he watched Peter. His head was shaking, hands put up pleadingly, like he was shying away from you.

You had gone a total of three feet before Peter held up a hand and screamed a broken “Stop!”

Your feet froze in an instant and you held up your hands. “Peter-“ you tried but he shook his head.

“Stop, please,” he said, voice shaking. “Just- tell me something only you would know!”

You looked back to Happy confused before your eyes once again moved to the boy before you. His hair was a mess, he was covered in blood and it broke your heart because there was no doubt in your mind it was his blood. He looked like he was trapped in his own head, his eyes not daring to stay in one spot for too long.

“Something only I would know?” You say softly, thinking hard, trying not to be too distracted by his wounds. “Um… okay… oh!”

The memory popped into your head quickly and before you could even think of the fact that Happy was standing behind you, you blurted out the words: “You remember when you got your powers? And we had been at Delmar’s for the first time in weeks. You held my hand as you pulled me through the isles- I tripped and you turned to catch me and we fell into each other and that was the first time we kissed and we didn’t even mean to.”

You could immediately see the relief on Peter’s face. His shoulders relaxed like he was finally able to take a breath for the first time in a long time. He rushed forward, enveloping you into his arms. Your hands found the base of his neck and you held him just as tightly as he was holding you. His whole frame was shaking, you could feel the hot tears streaming down his face.

“Oh, Peter,” you say as he cries into you. The both of you sink down to your knees, the dirt and flower petals surrounding you. “Sh, sh, sh, I’m here, it’s okay.”

“It’s you,” Peter breathes out shakily, his voice thick, unable to mask the tears he shed. He was pulling at you desperately. “Of course it’s you.”

“Why wouldn’t it be me, Peter?” You ask him, pulling him away slightly, resting your hands on his cheeks. You wiped the blood from his cheek, looking into his scared and broken eyes. You gave him a soft smile, waiting for him to reply.

“I messed up, [Y/N],” he said trying to control his voice, to steady his breathing but he couldn’t get over the fact that you were here, in his hands and you were one hundred percent real. “Oh my god, I messed up so bad.”

Your hands ran through his hair pushing it from his face as you tried to calm him down. “Peter, it’s okay, whatever happened we can fix it.”

He shook  his head, seeing the illusions before him once again. He saw you falling, saw Tony pulling himself from his grave-

God how could he have been so stupid? He should never have handed EDITH over to him.

“Pete, honey, look at me. What happened?”

His gaze shifted from you to Happy and down to his torn suit before finally settling back on you, his voice coming out in a soft whisper, only one word, but enough weight was placed upon it that you knew this was serious.

“Mysterio.”

[gofordrakgo]

Dwelling Chapter Three

“ ‘No! No way!’ When he only responded by sticking his lip out further, she leaned forward, grabbed a hold of one side of his suspenders, pulled them back and then let them snap back against his chest. ‘Ow!’ He squawked, scrambling away from her to press himself against the other counter.  ‘That hurt!’ ”

Dwelling Summary

Dwelling Chapter One

Dwelling Chapter Two

Dwelling Chapter Four

On any given night Shea lay in bed for hours before falling asleep. Somehow she fell asleep before her head even touched the pillow in the spare bed in Lipsky’s apartment. She dreamt of swirling colors: green, black, blue mingled with odd flashes of orange, but by the time she woke up the next morning she remembered none of it. 

She woke to the sound of creaky cabinets opening and closing, and pots and pans clinking together. A slim beam of sunlight shone through the cracks in the blinds. She lay in bed waiting for a sense of panic to settle in, for her brain to start wondering where she was or why she wasn’t inside Go Tower. It never happened. She felt warm, in a cozy sort of way, and the noise from the kitchen seemed familiar and comforting. 

Never one to just lie in bed for hours after waking up, not that she’d had much choice in the matter, Shea stood, pulled her grimy jeans back on, and slipped out into the kitchen. 

Drew seemed not to hear her and she watched him in silence, stifling a yawn. He hadn’t combed his hair yet and it stuck up in odd places, loose curls forming at the nape of his neck. The way he moved reminded her of someone waiting to start dancing, despite the lack of music. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, reached for a spatula with a snappy movement of his wrist, drumming his fingers on the counter as he did. 

He wore dark jeans that hung loosely off his waist, secured by navy blue suspenders with white polka dots. In contrast, the white button-up shirt he wore was clearly too small on him, she could see every muscle in his shoulders and back flexing as he moved around. Shea blinked at him a few times. He both looked cuter, and far geekier than the previous night. 

Without a word Shea walked the rest of the way into the kitchen, popping up to sit on the counter again. Drew yelped and jumped away from her, throwing his arms up to cover his head. 

“Sh-ngh- don’t do that,” he shouted at her. Breathing heavily, he dropped his arms back to his sides still staring at her. 

She blinked at him, a little startled by his initial scream, but otherwise unfazed. “Jeez. Sor-ry, scaredy-cat.” His hair looked even more sticky-uppy in the front. 

“Oh, yes. You seem so apologetic.” He rolled his eyes and stomped back to his place in front of the stove. Scrambled eggs were cooking in one pan, bacon in the other. It looked delicious and her mouth started watering as she watched him cook. 

Shea shrugged. “At least I said sorry. It’s not my fault you got scared.”

He turned his head to glare at her, taking the eggs off the stove. He shoveled them onto two separate plates, on the counter opposite her. He switched the spatula out for a set of tongs, checked the bacon and then placed two pieces on both plates. 

He leaned against the other counter, watching her, and lifted up one of the plates. She held a hand out, expecting him to pass the plate to her. Instead, he shook his head and took a bite of the eggs. 

“No way. You still have to answer two questions if you want a meal,” he said, after swallowing. A vague hint of a smirk took over his face. 

“Well then what’d you bother making two plates for?” she snapped. His smirk pissed her off, despite the fact that they had agreed on two questions for a meal just a few hours before.  “I’m done answering questions.” 

“Then I’m not going to ask any,” he said. He plucked a piece of bacon off what should have been her plate and bit into it. 

“Hey!” Shea protested. She felt the heat, both from him pissing her off and from her own embarrassment start coursing through her veins. She had to make a very real effort to calm down before plasma started to shoot out of her hands. She hid her hands behind her back in fists, as her fingertips burst into green flame. “Ugh,” she finally muttered, giving up as the fire died. “Fine.”

“What’s your last name?”

“Pick a different question.”

“Fine. Why don’t you want me to know your last name?”

“Not answering that either.”

Drew pushed his glasses up with the back of his hand. “You must not be very hungry.”

“Just ask something else, okay? I’m not answering questions like that!”

“Fine! When you decided to run away, where did you plan on going?”

“I didn’t. Mostly I just went to all the addresses listed in roommate wanted ads, but none of them worked out.”

“Okay. Um. Oh! How old are you, actually?”

“Sixteen. Gimme.” She held her hand out again, and this time he picked her plate up and passed it over. He’d swapped one of his pieces of bacon with the one from her plate that he’d bitten, leaving her two full pieces. She took a huge bite of the eggs, pleasantly surprised to find that they were even more delicious than they looked. “How old are you?” Shea asked around a mouthful of food.

“Twenty-one. Are you planning on returning home anytime soon?” 

“I already answered your two questions.”

“Well, you’ve also already got another night to stay here, so I figure two more and you could have lunch too.”

“Don’t you have a job or- or school or something?”

“It’s Saturday. No class. And I do have a job, but it’s on-campus so I also don’t work on weekends.”

“What kind of job?”

“I’m a TA.”

“A what?”

“Teachers assistant. I give exams, help grade essays and tutor students who need extra help. Are you planning on going home? Ever?

“Cool. And… no.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“I’m still not answering that.”

“Aw c’mon, please!” His lower lip jutted out as his eyes went wide with a false sort of innocence.

“No! No way!” When he only responded by sticking his lip out further, she leaned forward, grabbed a hold of one side of his suspenders, pulled them back and then let them snap back against his chest.

“Ow!” He squawked, scrambling away from her to press himself against the other counter.  “That hurt!”

“Yeah, kinda the point. The puppy dog look doesn’t suit you.”

“Hmph. Says you.” 

“Why do you care so much about why I left, anyway?”

“I don’t care, I’m just a naturally curious individual.”

Shea scoffed. “Yeah right.”

Drew’s face flushed bright red, and he dumped his empty plate into the sink. “I’ve got tests to grade, anyway,” he mumbled and walked back into his room.

Shea stared after him. Sitting alone in the kitchen during the day seemed much more strange than it had in the middle of the night. It no longer reminded her of her childhood home. It was much too quiet for that now that the sun was up. There had always been so much noise: Dad’s tools buzzing away in the garage, Mom practicing her lesson plans before class, Fearless Ferret playing on the TV, Merrick making a fool out of himself with whatever new plot to get attention he’d come up with, Wendell and Westley’s baby babble and toddling footsteps. It drove her crazy back then. She’d give just about anything to get it back now. 

The Go Tower dwarfed their old home, and though sound constantly echoed down the cavernous hallways, it wasn’t the same. Instead of babble between Wendell and Westley, she heard more and more voices emanating from their training room as they pushed the limits of how many clones of themselves they could make, testing themselves to the point of exhaustion. Instead of Merrick poorly performing magic tricks at the breakfast table, she heard him laugh after scaring the staff by shrinking down and returning to normal before they spotted him. Instead of Fearless Ferret, she heard weights clinking together as Heath pushed himself to become stronger and stronger. Instead of lesson plans, she heard her mother writing out training schedules. Instead of buzzing tools, she heard her father on the phone with government agencies seeking the help of Team Go making deals and discussing payment. 

Though having her own bedroom started out nice, it grew lonely fast. The space was far too large for just one person. Like each of her brothers, except for the twins who insisted upon sharing everything since even their powers were identical, her bedroom in Go Tower was closer to being its own house, particularly because it consisted of several rooms. She had her own bathroom, bigger than both bathrooms in their old home combined. She had an entire gym in one room that held a treadmill, weights, punching bags, yoga mats, and various other general exercise equipment, almost all of which she was expected to use every day. Attached to the gym was her power-focused training room which held large cement blocks for her to explode with plasmablasts, a wall made of cement, painted with targets for her to practice her aim, scraps of metal for her to practice temperature control and, of course, a number of fire extinguishers. She also had a study area, with state of the art home-school textbooks on every subject imaginable, a large TV screen with video connection to various tutors around the world, and a little robot that was meant to quiz her, but it often malfunctioned and repeated the same question over and over, no matter the subject she chose. The actual bedroom itself held a king-size bed that made her feel the way she though drowning might feel.

Actually, when she thought about it, her bedroom reminded her of Drew’s whole apartment. She also had a sofa and loveseat, though they were green, that faced a television screen, though hers was far nicer and was surrounded by what must be every horror movie ever made. She had a large table in one corner, that mostly consisted of drawings of different battle plans. The only things she really liked about her room, were the bookshelves that reached from floor to ceiling. The whole room looked like a library. She even had a reading nook and fireplace. Really, the whole thing was absurd. Her closet was bigger than Drew’s guest room, despite the fact that she alternated between her uniform and gym clothes most days of the week. 

Unable to handle sitting still doing nothing after so many years of nonstop movement except for sleeping, Shea leaped off the counter. Part of her wanted to go knock on Drew’s door, but she didn’t know what she’d say to him. Plus, she didn’t want to look desperate for his attention. After all, she was only meant to be there for one more night and for all she knew he was planning on calling the police about finding a runaway. 

She dumped her plate into the sink next to his and wandered off to find the bathroom. It wasn’t particularly hard to find, given that there were only two doors she hadn’t seen opened. She opened the first to find the linen closet Drew had mentioned the night before, so it came as no surprise that the second led to the actual bathroom. 

The bright red shower curtain stuck to the side of the bathtub, but it didn’t look at all grimy. Shea peeled it back and saw that the bottom of the tub was lined with a clear adhesive, decorated with multi-colored robots, aliens and rocket ships. What a dork. And who used blueberry-ash shampoo? Curious, she picked up the bottle and opened the top. It did smell kind of fruity with a weird fiery after smell. She couldn’t decide if she liked it or not. His body wash, some sort of off-brand thing, she did like. It’s label simply read ‘Body Wash For Men’ and it smelled kind of like water, but it had a sort of a woodsy undertone that made her think of leaves changing color in the fall—something she’d rarely seen since her parents purchased Go City. 

As she moved to turn the water on, she realized she probably should ask before just using his shower, especially since she’d need to use his shampoo and body wash. She decided that bothering him because she was bored was entirely different from bothering him because she needed something, and after standing outside his door for an awkwardly long time, she knocked. 

The door swung open a moment later. “What?” Peering around the corner she could see him hunched over a desk tucked nearly into the corner of the room; he must have reached behind him to open the door. He’d flattened his hair, but only a little. He didn’t turn to look at her. 

“Can- um- can I use your shower?”

Drew’s pen finally stopped moving on the paper as he uttered a quiet, “oh.” He turned around and blinked at her before properly answering. “Right, yes. Of course. Um. Here.” He stood up and shuffled past her out into the hallway. She stood behind him, feeling more and more like the little kid he claimed she was, waiting as he opened up the linen closet. He passed her a faded blue towel, that smelled of the same lavender laundry detergent as the sheets on her bed. “I- do you want a clean shirt? I probably have something I could give you.”

“Oh, yeah, that’d be… nice, I guess.” She liked annoying him more. Being polite felt awkward. 

“I’ll leave something by the door, then?”

“Okay,” she said, forcing a shrug. “Thanks.” She hurried into the bathroom. 

The shower felt like absolute bliss. The water ran lukewarm at best, the pressure varied between barely dripping and hard enough to hurt, and she still couldn’t decide if she liked the way the shampoo smelled. But it felt so nice to feel clean that she hardly noticed all of that. 

The mirror hadn’t even steamed up by the time she got out. She realized as she looked in the mirror that she’d been an absolute disaster before. She still looked like a mess and a half. She hadn't even realized that there were yellow-blue bruises lining her chin, presumably from her most recent fight. Briefly, she wondered if the real reason Drew wanted to know who she was so bad was because he thought she was being abused. There were other bruises, on her shoulders and her thighs that she had actually known were there. 

The one on her left shoulder, a nasty looking thing, came from being thrown clear across a giant room and slamming into the wall. At first, she’d genuinely believed her shoulder had been dislocated. Most of the ones on her thighs came from a guy who called himself ‘The Hunter’. He shot her with a number of darts while she’d been dealing with another villain. Hego lectured her the entire time they were in the Go-Car for going too hard on him once she caught him. He didn’t care at all that his goal had been to kill her, or that the only reason she was still alive was because her plasma burned up the poison. 

Annoyed, Shea tried combing through her hair with her fingers. It didn’t work very well, and upon not finding a brush anywhere in the bathroom she debated between chopping it all off and just sucking it up and asking if he had a comb. For the moment she just gave up. She wrapped the towel tight around herself and listened at the door for a long moment, trying to make sure she couldn’t hear him outside. When she felt sure, she opened the door a crack and snatched up the clothes he’d left on the floor. 

He’d brought her a shirt, as he said he would, but surprisingly he’d also brought a pair of gym shorts. She felt gross putting on the same underwear she’d been wearing, even after turning them inside out, but she did what she had to. She really should have thought this whole running away thing through more, she told herself, she didn’t even have money to actually get clean underwear. Still, sliding into otherwise clean clothes felt nice in a way she wasn’t used to. 

The gym shorts were a little loose and hung at an awkward height, but ultimately they stayed up well enough after she tied the strings as tight as possible. The t-shirt actually fit quite nicely, if a little long. She suspected that he’d given her a Mighty Martian shirt, just to spite her. 

When she left the bathroom he had moved out onto the couch, red-marked papers scattered around him on the cushions and coffee table. 

He spoke without even turning to look at her. “I’m sorry if they don’t fit quite right. It’s all I had on hand.”

“Fits fine,” she said and sat down on the spare chair. “You’ve got pen all over your arms you know. And on your face.”

He acknowledged her with a grunt, one of his shoulders moving up in half a shrug. 

“What are you grading anyway?”

“Chemistry exams.”

“Didn’t classes just start like a week ago? Why are they taking exams already?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing at his temples. Was she annoying him that much? “These are finals from the summer course.”

“Oh.”

After a minute of restless fidgeting, Shea grabbed one of the exams that had already been graded and looked it over. She understood exactly none of it. Aside from not knowing anything about chemistry the guy had terrible handwriting, although he seemed to have gotten himself a decent enough grade. 

“You spelled ‘calorimetry’ wrong,” she pointed out, reading through the notes he had scrawled throughout the paper. 

“How would you know?” 

“Because the question on the front spelled it differently from how you spelled it. You spelled it like ‘cal-om-ir-etry’.”

Drew snatched the paper from her hands, holding it practically up to his nose as he searched for his mistake. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he moaned, as he saw she was right. He slammed the test down on the coffee table and hunched over it, roughly scratching the word out. She heard him spelling the word under his breath like a chant, though he didn’t touch the pen to the paper. 

“You just mixed up the letters, it really isn’t that big a deal.”

“Nygh- yes it is,” he snapped at her, throwing the pen to the coffee table and burying his face in his hands, which pushed his glasses up awkwardly into his hair. 

She really hoped he wouldn’t start crying again, she didn’t know how to deal with that. Acting on some semblance of instinct she snatched the paper back, picked up his discarded pen and wrote the word properly underneath where he’d scratched it out. 

“There. Problem solved.” She pushed the paper back towards him and suppressed the temptation to throw the pen at his head. He pulled his hands away from his face and yanked his glasses back down to look at the paper. 

He seemed to read her writing multiple times before confirming that she had actually spelled it correctly. He opened and shut his mouth several times and Shea couldn’t decide if he looked grateful or annoyed. 

“Thanks,” he finally grunted, his voice softer than she’d heard it. When they made eye contact his entire face flushed and he quickly looked back down. 

“You know, you could’ve easily done that yourself. So what’s the deal?” 

He shook his head slowly and didn’t answer. 

Shea crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair. “I’m not gonna quit bugging you until you tell me what your deal is.”

“You’re not going to quit bugging me anyway,” he pointed out. “And it’s none of your business, alright?”

“Nah. I wanna know.”

“What’s your last name?”

Any amusement she felt vanished instantly. “Okay, fine. Just shut up about that.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“You know, your shampoo smells really weird.”

“You know, I really don’t care what you think about it. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of fancy shampoo back home.” He glared at her, but even as he said he started to look like he felt bad about it. 

“I’d rather weird-smelling shampoo to going back there,” she muttered, and this time it was her turn to look away when he looked at her. She shifted her hands behind her back. It had been too long since she’d burned off enough of the plasma energy, and she could feel how even the slightest hint of distress or annoyance was pushing her closer and closer to a full-on fire forming in her hands. 

She shot off the chair and stomped back into the room. She remembered not to lock the door just as she began to do so. Instead, she pressed her back to the door, held her hands out in front of her and finally let them light up. The whole room glowed green around her, brighter than she’d seen since the comet hit. 

When she was twelve she had tried to burn up all of the plasma in her body, thinking maybe if she could her parents would go back to treating her like Shea instead of like Shego. She’d let her hands burn and burn, until, eventually, she began throwing up, became blindingly dizzy and passed out on the cold hard floor of her training room. The worst part was that when she finally woke up she was still completely alone in her training room. She’d never tried it again. For days afterward using her powers at all brought her close to tears, the skin around her hands had burned and blistered so horribly. Around about a month later the burns turned back in callouses, and she’d never tried again. 

Burning her hands in the spare bedroom felt a lot like that. Part of her wanted to just burn and burn until she absolutely couldn’t anymore. She hated feeling all these emotions again. For the last four years, she had mostly just forced herself to forget that she had ever had a life outside of ‘Shego’. She trained, and fought, and studied and felt nothing. 

And this, this… geek kept making her feel… He just kept making her feel. She felt guilty when he seemed upset, he actually made her laugh, made her feel protected, he annoyed her in a way that she also found endearing, and… She didn’t even know. He made her feel so many different ways, sometimes all at once. She no longer knew whether she liked that better than feeling constantly apathetic.

When her veins finally began to run cold, she stopped and collapsed to her knees with her head buried in her hands. She wanted to feel normal again and none of this helped. No matter what she did she wasn’t going to get Hego to be Heath again or get Mego to go back to being Merrick. Wego might never realize they were two people; that their names had once been Wendell and Westley. Mom and Dad were never going to be Mom and Dad again. Were they even looking for her as Shea? As their daughter? Or were they looking for Shego? 

She hated all of this so much. She hated it. She didn’t know the guy sitting behind the door, and she hated that he was the first person she’d felt anything other than dutiful apathy towards. She hated him for trying to get her to open up more and then hated herself for hating him. She hated that the clothes she wore belonged to a stranger, and she hated feeling like they could never be friends because she could never tell him the truth about who she was. 

Suddenly she found herself standing up. She pushed open the door, and practically marched over to Drew. 

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Not Him (5)

Alright, I know I’ve not been very active lately but I just spent five days sitting at a desk uploading work for my second job and my back is aching and my brain is a quaking. Anyhow, here’s the fifth chapter, and a special treat, a Bucky POV chapter. I thank everyone for their patience and to those who are reading, you’re so very lovely. And on a final note, any and all feedback is amazing, it helps me write and let’s me know if I need to rethink plot, etc. Again, thank you and enjoy <3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Bucky POV

When he had first kissed Y/N, Bucky had frightened himself. He thought he had hurt her and it had been worse than the nerves which had been stirring in his stomach since he had returned from his mission. He has spent weeks worrying; what if she had changed her mind? Or what if that long month away she had met someone else? He hadn’t stop thinking about her since he’d left.

But she had smiled at him, even through her frustration at repairing his arm. When she touched his arm, it made it feel as if it was truly his. He couldn’t help but watch her in her work, the way she bent closer, her eyes sharp in their concentration.  Yet later, when they sat next to each other on the sofa, watching a movie he couldn’t quite focus on, her gaze had softened and when she looked at him, she seemed an angel floating before him.

He couldn’t help but kiss her then. He leaned in and her warmth mingled with his; he breathed her in, intoxicated by the softness of her lips. But then she pulled away so suddenly, he was certain he had been too rough. That those years in the dark had left him too hardened for anyone too break through.

She was breathing deeply and her hand went to her chest as her eyelashes fluttered. Her lips trembled as she fought for words.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” He said, himself close to shaking. “I didn’t--”

“No, no,” She assured him, her hand resting on his. “It’s not you...I just--I’m sorry. I don’t know what that was.”

“Are you okay?” He turned her hand over, squeezing it as he longed to never let her go. “You’re shaking.”

“Yeah, yeah,” She said, her hand clutching his in turn, “I--I’m fine.”

“Look,” He kept his voice low, trying not to rile her further. He edged closer to her, “Let’s slow it down. We’ll just watch the movie.”

“Okay,” Her voice had risen even higher as she sidled closer and he carefully draped his arm around her. He held her as if to assure her he would wait until she was ready. “I’m sorry,” Her voice was quiet and ashamed.

“Don’t be,” He hugged her tighter, “I understand. This is the first date I’ve had in over seventy years.”

She tried not to smile but he saw the subtle curve of her lips and the low chuckle which escaped her. “Thank you,” She said and he rubbed her arm as she ceased trembling.

“Hey, watching a movie with a pretty gal like isn’t so bad,” He teased as he settled in, “Not bad at all.”

Her hands rested on her cheeks as she tried to hide her nervousness and it reassured him that he wasn’t the only. He wasn’t the only one trying to be normal; trying to be calm. Yet, there was a tinge of anger to her expression as her eyes focused on the screen. Was she mad at herself or him?

When the movie was over, Bucky was nearly falling asleep. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he truly was. With Y/N against him, he had found it hard not to doze in her warmth. He watched her rise as he rubbed his thigh, cramped from sitting in the same spot for nearly two hours. She swept the errant popcorn kernels into the empty bowl. He stood and took the bowl from her, empty it into the trash and washing it as she shifted on her feet.

“You know,” He said as he rinsed the bowl, “In my day, it was unseemly to let a woman do all the work.”

“In your day, a woman spent most of her time in front of the oven,” She countered, nearing as he set the bowl in the rack and dried his hands. He turned to her and smiled, offering his real hand to her. She took it and smiled.

“Come on, I’ll walk you to your room,” He forced back a yawn as he guided her to the door.

“Sure,” She replied in a small voice.

As they entered the hallway, all conversation died and they walked in tense silence. He had totally blown it. He must have. He kept glancing over only to find her eyes darting away. God, why had he thought he could ever do this again?

She stopped and he turned to her, reluctant to release her hand but she didn’t pull away. She bit her lip, shyly looking up at him as she squeezed his hand tighter. “Um, this is me,” She nodded to the door, “Thank you for tonight.”

“Uh, yeah,” He said, “It was...fun.”

“Yeah…” She looked around and sighed. Her eyes fell to his hand and she slowly untangled her fingers from his. “Fun…”

“D-do you wanna go on a proper date?” He blurted out. Her eyes rounded in the surprise thought he felt more so at his sudden outburst. He was so anxious that it had just spilled out. He couldn’t stand to leave it on such indefinite terms. “Dinner. In a restaurant. Far away from this place.”

“Yes,” She said breathily, as if relieved. “I’d love to, Bucky.” She stepped closer exhaled too, his heart no longer beating so loud as he leaned in.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered, though her lips were barely an inch away.

She didn’t answer but instead crushed her lips againsr his, wrapping her arms around his neck as he stooped to return her kiss. It was better than the first. This time she didn’t pull away until he did, out of breath and flustered. He didn’t want to say good night. Not yet.

“Well,” She tilted her head, her eyes straying coyly as she looked around. “This is good night, I guess.”

“I guess,” He quelled the rising fervour within. “Good night.”

She turned and rested her hand on her door handle, pausing as she looked back at him. “I’m free Saturday night if you are.”

He grinned and nodded. No doubt looking like a dope. She slipped through her door with one last good night and he forced his metal fingers loose from their fist. He hadn’t realized he had been clenching them so hard. He stretched out his arms as he turned down the hallway and set off for his bed. He was awfully tired and he was quite certain dreams of Y/N awaited him.

Saturday came quicker than Bucky could have hoped for. Maybe too quick. He frowned into the mirror as he brushed out his hair for the sixth time. It didn’t matter what he did, it would be in tangles with a minutes of combing. He sighed and slammed down the brush, trying too smooth down the flyaways. He should just cut it already.

A knock came at the door and he rolled his eyes at his reflection before answering it. Steve entered with a suit bag slung over his shoulder, his fingers hooked through the hanger. His brows drew together as he looked over Bucky and shook his head.

“What’s wrong with you?” He laid the bag out across the bed, “You look...angry.”

“My hair.” He grumbled.

“Your hair’s fine,” Steve assured him.

“No, it’s not,” Bucky bristled. He crossed to the bed and slowly unzipped the bag, revealing a dark blue suit jacket over a grey button-up. “What’s the point in wearing this thing if my hair is all knotted.”

“Geez, Buck, you need to calm down,” Steve nudged him as he stepped up beside him, “I’m sure Y/N sees more than a pretty face and nice head of hair...she’d have to to say yes.”

“Hey,” Buck turned on Steve, squinting at him darkly.

“Turn around,” Steve swirled his finger in the air. Bucky slowly obeyed and listened to his oldest friend move around the room. Steve pulled the brush through Bucky’s hair and gathered it at the back, wrapping a tie around it easily. “There. You’re fine. I saw Nat looking at a magazine. A lot of guys wear their hair like this now.”

“Sure, Nat,” Bucky scoffed, “Well, thanks for the suit.”

“No problem,” Steve clapped his shoulder, “Good luck.”

“I’ll need it,” He cringed, “Steve…” He looked at Steve as if he had been startled, “I can’t remember how to do all...this.”

“You always were a natural, Buck,” Steve smiled, “It’s like riding a bike. You just need to get back on.”

Y/N was standing just outside the building, her arms crossed as the New York breeze caught her hair and stirred it around her head. She wore a sleek black dress and had wrapped her shoulders in a sheer navy shawl. Bucky had never seen her wear heels before. Her legs looked amazing. All of her looked amazing. He couldn’t even recall her wearing a dress before. He hadn’t thought she could be any prettier, but there she was.

Bucky felt better since his pep talk and getting dressed had helped. The perfectly pressed shirt and jacket made him feel human again. It was akin to what he had worn seventy years ago before clothing had become so confusing. Plus, it wasn’t so obvious that one of his arms was made of vibranium.

“Y/N,” He called to her as he stepped out the door, “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“Nah,” She waved away his concern, “I’m always early.”

“Well, uh…” He smiled, breathing deeply as his nerves roared in his ears, “You look amazing.”

She smiled, playing with the hem of her shawl. “Thanks,” Her lips curled in a reluctant smile. “You look pretty nice, too. I, um, like what you did with your hair.”

“Really?” He couldn’t help but run a hand over his hair. “Thanks.”

“Should we head out?” She asked, looking to the line of taxis on the street, “What time’s the reservation?”

“...Soon,” He glanced at his watch. “Come on,” He offered his arm and she hesitated before taking it.

He realized that it may have been an outdated courtesy but she didn’t seem to mind as she fell into step with him. He led her to an idling cab and opened the door, waiting for her to enter before sliding in behind her and giving the driver their destination. The drive was silent but not awkward. It was that anxious sort of quiet which follows a day full of anticipation.

When the car stopped, Bucky was the first out on the sidewalk, holding the door open as he waited for Y/N to join him. She smiled up at him as she thanked him, the mix of streetlights and the neon lights of the building casting immaculate shadows across her face. She took his arm again and he made his way forward, trying not to march as he did. 

When they entered the restaurant, they were greeted by a tall blonde hostess and Bucky gave his name, waiting patiently as the staff found their table. At last sat across from the woman he couldn’t stop thinking of, he was ready to burst. And eat. He was terribly hungry after two days without an appetite.

“This is a nice place,” Y/N commented after they placed their drink orders. She glanced over the menu but quickly laid it upon the table as she dared to look up at him. He could see she was hesitating so he nodded and waited for her to find her courage. “Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer, but...I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to ask.”

“Of course.” He answered but she paused as the server set down their glasses and asked after their meals. Y/N read awkwardly from the menu, followed by Bucky who was eager to hear her question, not caring that he had forgotten to request no onion.

“Well...I don’t--It’s really hard to ask. I don’t want to upset you.” She stuttered. “I always...well, it’s about the war, you know. Um, I volunteered when I was in high school at the local nursing home and I used to listen to the old folks talk about those days. I always looked forward to it, hearing about a different time. A time so surreal to our, or erm, my own, and I don’t know… there’s not many left of that era.” She was wringing her hands, “I’m sorry, I should just stop before I go too far.”

“No, no,” He assured her, “Look, I’m an old man. I’ve lived through it all. What do you wanna know?”

“It’s not that I want you to relive anything, I just...what’s changed the most since then? I always wonder, you know, about how much has changed and so quickly. It must feel like an entirely different planet,” She raised a hand, as if signalling herself to stop. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“Not at all,” He chuckled and sipped from his beer. “Well, the most striking difference I think is, um…” He looked around the restaurant, searching his mind. Everything seemed foreign now; everything but her. “Aside from the technology, just the sense of convenience. Everything is so...accessible. You can ask a computer instead of flipping through a dictionary, or even have your groceries delivered to your door. I mean, I remember when I was just a kid, going to the grocer was a treat.”

“It must seem like we take everything for granted,” She said with a shameful look.

“I don’t think so. I think we did,” He wasn’t planning on thinking so hard that night, but she seemed to make everything a little bit easier. “It was simpler then. I’m not saying it to be a crotchety old man, I just mean...I think everyone takes what they have for granted, in a way. Time passes so quickly and we just let it.” He shrugged and pushed back a stray lock which had slipped from his hair tie, “I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“No, I get what you’re saying,” She rubbed her jaw. She had a habit of chewing her lip when she was lost in thought.

“It’s why I asked you to dinner,” He interrupted her daze, “I didn’t want to let another good thing pass me by. Life’s short.”

She blinked at him and dimples formed in her cheeks as she tried not to laugh. “Sorry,” She cupped her hand over her mouth, “Just...you’re how old? You can’t say that.”

“I’ve not lived much of my life,” He said, “But I’m going to start. Right now. With you, if you’ll have me.”

“Your generation is so cheesy,” She teased as she rested a hand on her wine glass, tapping a finger against it softly, “I guess I can give you chance.” She grinned, “If you give me one.”

[boiwribitch]

That makes it worse...

Hey y'all! This is my first written thing on my writing blog! This is going to be a lot of self projecting feat. Klance. You might understand why, or maybe not? I dunno, we'll see :)

It was a night of diplomatic affairs. Aka, not something Keith was excited about in the slightest.

Allura and Coran were throwing a party, in the castle, to welcome an alien race into the the fight against the Galra empire. While Keith himself wasn't a part of Voltron anymore, the Blade was also invited to dine and be present at the meeting portion.

Keith didn't want to go at first, in fact he kinda still didn't want to be there. But there was one changing factor that ultimately triggered his need to be present. And that was a certain Blue eyed boy and his friends.

It was a formal event, so that indicated that everyone had to dress in a suit or a dress. When Keith arrived, in a suit that the Blade provided for him, he quickly saw people pouring in and out of the ballroom area. Immediately his nerves go still at the thought of being stuck in a room with not only most of an alien race, but also a quarter of the Blade. Not to mention his teammates.

Before Keith had the chance to scan the room for a group of humans, assuming they would all stick together in a mass, he heard a shout from his left. There, standing in front of the food table, was Lance, Hunk, and Pidge waving him down. Keith quickly broke away from his Blade posy to greet his old team.

As he walked up to the group, he got a better look at their attire and appearance. Pidge was in a dark green cocktail dress that had a trim of silver on the bottom and top, while the chest area had a silver sequence design of a rose. Her hair was combed and in a high ponytail with a lighter green headband, on her arms were long white gloves that came up to her elbows. Pidge's neck was shown to have a dark green collar which had designs painted with silver glitter. She looked stunning and mature, despite the fact that Pidge also sported tennis shoes with long white socks with the entire look.

Hunk wore black slacks with a light red belt, alone with a sunflower yellow dress shirt that was accompanied with a red and red striped tie. Hunk also had a dark brown vest that loosely draped over his shoulders, and was left unbuttoned. His shoes were black dress shoes with a golden buckle near the ankle. Keith noticed that Hunk was not wearing his usual orange bandanna and instead had his hair slicked back into a low ponytail. Hunk looked about as nervous as Keith felt, he didn't exactly look comfortable, but he was smiling as bright as Keith remembered.

And then there was Lance, and it's sad to say that Keith's first reaction was to do a double take just make sure that what he was seeing looked as good as he thought. Lance wore something slightly more flashy and scandalous than Pidge and Hunk, but that was only to be expected because... Its Lance. He had a sky blue sleeveless vest that was slightly unbuttoned at the top. On his neck, there were gold and pearl chains hanging loosely, whilst is looked like there was one that only had a string and a small shell. His black pants looked slightly tighter and maybe a size too small, but still fit his form to perfection. Lance also... Wasn't wearing shoes? Interesting? Anyway, his hair seemed to have been slicked over to the left of his head while sporting a single earring on his right ear. Needless to say, Lance absolutely looked stunning and gorgeous.

Keith almost felt embarrassed, his outfit was just a simple dark blue suit with light magenta trim.

Before he could get lost in his own thoughts, Hunk hands him a drink and makes some off handed comment about how boring the party has been.

“You look good...” he hears Lance mumble, and blushes slightly. Keith turns to see that Lance is looking anywhere but Keith and instead at a group of alien ladies that looks to be whispering among themselves. His slight bit of hope was quickly demolished and any reason he had to arrive all of a sudden seems pointless. But, Keith had to remember that he wasn’t just there for Lance; he was also there to visit his Castle family. While he doesn’t like to admit it, Keith absolutely considers the people he has been fighting alongside in this war, as his family.

Lance and Pidge had gone off to mingle, leaving Keith and Hunk at the buffet table. Keith glances over to see Hunk staring at him.

"Hey bud, is something bothering you?", Hunk asked with a worried expression. Keith didn't think that he even looked distracted or distressed, but he guess it would be hard to tell without being able to look at himself at the moment.

Thinking he was quiet for too long, Keith said, "Oh, yeah, I'm fine don't worry about it". Keith was bad at lying and he knew it. The only thing that was on his mind was Lance, and how stunning he looked and how his smile could light up a room and his laugh and- how could he possibly fall for a straight guy?! Keith had a plan on whether to ask out Lance or not, but he decided against it for the sake of Lance being straight.

"Nah man, I know you, there is something that is annoying your brain hole", Hunk said as he started poking Keith's forehead with the back of a spoon.

"Listen, its just a personal internal crisis... Its nothing you should worry about", Keith mumbled, beginning to get annoyed at the continuous spoon poking.

"A gay crisis?", Hunk said with a sly grin on his face.

Keith was immediately embarrassed and started stumbling over his words, trying to ask Hunk how he knew? Had he been that obvious? Was Hunk messing with him? What was he supposed to do?

"Keith, man, chill out. Don't worry, I won't tell anybody. I'm just wondering why you haven't asked him yet", Hunk said, putting a hand on Keith's shoulder. Keith slowly looked up and stood up straight.

Speaking of straight... "Hunk, I can't. I would have while I was still here, but I don't think he feels the same anyway. Hell, the guy is straight! What am I supposed to do now?!", Keith exclaimed with slight anger and sadness in his voice.

"You know he's Bi, right?"

"Wait... What?"

"Yeah, he's Bi. Dude, for chemistry class back at the Garrison he literally tye-dyed his shirt the Bi pride flag", Hunk told him as if Keith would know about this. Keith almost couldn't believe it, almost couldn't believe him.

"Are-Are you sure?"

"Keith, buddy, I am 100% sure he is Bi"

"I-I..."

"Keith, honestly, you should go for it! I can see you two being a thing and just- being you guys! I dunno man, all I think is that you should go for it!"

"Hunk... Thank you... Thank you so much! You gave me... At least some-", Keith manages to choke out until he stops mid sentence. Has he really thought about this? This entire time Keith had stayed away from asking out Lance simply because he thought Lance was straight. Now... Now it is almost worse. Because if Keith asked him out and Lance said no, it would've been fine because Lance wasn't even attracted to guys. It wouldn't have been personal. But now...

"Hunk, thank you for telling me... But I need to go", Keith gritted out while he felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. Hunk almost took a hold of Keith before he ran away, so Hunk was left calling after him.

Keith ran. And ran and ran and ran. He couldn't stand being in that room anymore, not while his eyes could still catch Lance's, not while Lance flirted with other people, not while Keith knew. Keith managed to find a small guest bathroom a few halls down and hid himself inside.

His tears never came, they were close, and he felt in pain in his chest and stomach, but no vomit, coughs, or tears ever graced the outside world. Keith just wanted to leave. He wanted so many things right now. Things he has wanted since he left Voltron. He wanted to curl up on a couch and watch movies with Hunk, Pidge, Shiro, Allura, Coran, and Lance. He wanted to cry out all his dammed in tears just so he could feel relief. He wanted to eat some of Hunks food, his almost best friend. He wanted to hug Shiro, his almost brother. He wanted to listen to Pidge rant, his almost little sister. He wanted to hear a story about Altea from the alteans, his almost uncle and older sister. But most importantly, he wanted Lance. He wanted Lance, dare he say, his almost lover.

He wanted to tell Lance everything, how he felt, what he wanted, where he would like to go, and who he would like to go with. He wanted to hold Lance in his arms and never let him go, just to make sure harm never goes his way. Keith wanted to lay in bed with him and be tangled him mess of limbs and loose blankets. Keith wanted to get all the love his had in his heart and hand it over to Lance. Keith wanted that more than anything. He wanted Lance, but the thought of never having him kept Keith from going back outside.

While Keith now knew he had somewhat of a chance, the chance came at a higher risk. If Lance rejects him, it won't be because of sexuality, it will be because Lance doesn't like him personally.

And that, in Keith's opinion, is way, way worse than having no chance.

Keith didn't come out of the bathroom for a while. But when he finally did, he decided that he should leave and just go back to the base. He felt shitty and didn't want to be there anymore for any reason.

Before Keith could make it out of the front entrance, he heard his name be called and quickly turned around.

Lance was making a bolt for where Keith was standing and make bi attempt to slow down. By the time Keith could register what was happening, Lance's body was pressed tightly against his own and he felt himself go completely red.

"Hey bud! Where did you go? Hunk told me you left in a rush really upset about something. I thought you were already gone, but I came over here anyway just to see if you changed your mind. Anyway, are you okay?"

Lance's rambling was muffled by the panic and absolute bliss he was in. Keith knew he shouldn't have be as happy as he was just from a hug, but he was. He made an attempt to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Lance's torso and buried his face into Lance's shoulder, silently whimpering.

"Woah, Keith! Hey, look at me...", Lance says as he backs away and puts two fingers under Keith's chin, forcing him to look up. Lance's face was riddled with worry and seriousness, clearly on the verge of tears himself. Odd, Keith thought to himself. Lance continued, "... I don't know what happened, and I tired to ask Hunk about it, but he said it was something I would have to ask you about. So... Now im asking. What happened? Did someone hurt you?".

Keith was silent as he held back his tears.

"Keith... Is that a yes?"

"I mean... I guess so..."

Lance immediately looked pissed, "Who?! I'll fight them if need be! Just tell me when and where and show them that-!"

"Lance- wait no! Its not... It's somebody you know, but I can't say why or how they hurt me. Listen, it was... Indirect, so it's not like they even know." Keith was about to step away when Lance grabbed his hand, and looked down at his feet.

They were both silent for what felt like eons. They could hear the music muffled by the walls of the Castle, along with slightest scattered mummers of the people inside. Keith all of a sudden put all of his focus on Lance's hand. It was warm while he loosely held Keith's fingers, and his hand was... Almost shaking, like it was scared of something.

"Keith... Im going to need you to be honest with me, okay?"

Keith looked down, and nodded lightly.

Lance looked at their hands, and decided to bring up his other hand so that both of his hands were holding one of Keith's.

"Was... it me?", Lance asked in a voice so small only Keith could hear it.

Keith didn't know how to answer, a part of him wanted to reject that statement immediately and tell him that it wasn't his fault. But... In a sick, twisted way, it was Lance who hurt him. The thought of rejection clouded Keith mind so badly that he just accepted it as reality. Rejection became Keith's reality without him ever actually taking a chance. It hurt, a lot, and there was not much he could do about it.

"Keith?" Lance says, slowly looking up to meet Keith's eyes. Keith started, and god he could stare for hours if he could, but he can't. Keith slips his hand out of Lance's, and manages to pull a sad smile on his face.

"Yes and no. The thought of you hurts, but only because I made it hurt," Keith turned slightly, facing the front entrance and started to walk slowly, "Im sorry Lance... You deserve better than me. I need to leave. It was nice se-" before Keith could finish, he turned to see Lance's face had tear streaks painted onto his freckles. Keith instantly panicked.

"I-I didn't know you-you h-hated me that much. Im sorry... I should have known. I'm sorry for whatever I-I did to make you h-hate me so-", Lance broke off into more of a light sob, and started to fall onto his knees.

Keith fucked up, he knows he did, he has to fix it, but how can he tell Lance that he-

Keith needed to stop being selfish.

Before Lance could fall over, Keith ran towards him and caught Lance in his arms. Lance sobbed softly and started hiccuping, "I-Im sorry, I wanted to help but I ended up being the problem! I-Im s-so sorry!"

Keith felt his heart break into pieces, everything that he promised to Lance in his mind felt broken and like a lie. He had to say something, anything, just to prove to Lance that he didn't hate him.

"I love you!"

Well... He guessed that was something. But it was the wrong something. Lance's sobs stopped to heavy breaths as he met Keith eye to eye. This is it... This is where I fucked up! Keith lectured to himself. He didn't need to tell Lance, he wanted to tell him, but he knew the consequences. He wanted to run and hide, but he was currently sitting on the floor with the boy of his heart half draped over his lap. It was kinda hard to move.

Lance stared at him, saying nothing and unmoving. Even though Keith was panicking at the moment, he couldn’t stop his mouth moving and started spewing words against his will.

“I don’t hate you Lance, I never did and I never will. Sure you annoyed me at first but that was then and this is now. Lance... you were there for me when those who should have weren’t. When Shiro disappeared, again, I thought no one would be on my side or support me, I thought he was the only one who had my back. I was about to, not only give up, but not even consider taking up a position as the leader. But then... you not only believed in me and made me see reason, but you also showed that you and the rest of the team have my back.

“After that, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Thinking about how you make me feel and what you do for me, I was falling for you...”, Keith stopped to take a breath, he looked at Lance’s expression to see if any features of disgust had arrived, but surprisingly, they haven’t.

Keith realized he went too far... He just told Lance that he was in love with him and now he is going to hate him and never talk to him again or- "And... What about now?", Lance asked, disturbing Keith's train of thought.

"What?", Keith asked, his voice wavering.

"You said you were, falling for me... How do you feel now?"

Keith was hesitant, but he didn't want to deprive Lance of an answer. Keith's heart was telling him to just get up and run away, his body shook in anticipation of what the next few minutes could mean for his and Lance’s relationship. He wanted to dig a hole into the floor beneath him and bury himself alive, his heart was fighting against his chest.

Keith’s heart was about to implode when he decided to once again look at Lance. And at that moment, he realized something. He stared into Lance’s blue eyes and saw a sense of hope swim in his irises. Lance stayed close to his body, only a few inches of room between them and if they were to move any closer there would be no room to breath. Lance’s hair looked almost messy, probably from when he collapsed on the floor. He had a look on his face that was... so soft and free looking. No tension, no fear, nothing that indicated that Lance would hate him.

Keith, in that moment realized, that no matter what answer he would give, Lance would never hate him for it. Maybe things would get awkward, maybe there would be some tension; but no matter what, Lance would still love him as, at the very least, a friend.

Keith took a deep breath, and looked at Lance while smiling softly, noticing the dust of pink on his cheeks, and spoke only a few words.

“I still am”

THAT’S RIGHT BITCH!!!! MAKE UP YOUR OWN ENDING!! MAKE A FLUFF, MAKE ANGST, DO WHAT EVER YOU WANT!!!!

[brokemultidotexe]

Thigh-Highs and Neckties (M)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Summary: You hate company functions and you think celebrating the CEO coming to visit is a lame excuse for a party, but when your mom is a manager and you’re an accountant with the company you don’t get a choice. But your night gets a little better when you meet a mystery man at the bar who hates these functions as much as you do, so you both decide to make a quick exit from the party. [AU]

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: BDSM Themes/Dirty Talk/Voyeurism

Genre: Smut 

You stood there looking at your closet. You hated these work functions, you found them pointless. Yes, you realizes that the CEO of the company is the guest of honor tonight but you had been thinking of excuses since lunch so you could stay home and watch Netflix instead. But when your mom is one of the project manager’s, you don’t exactly get that option. Your mother knew of all of your excuses. So here you stood, at your closet, hoping that something would jump out at you and you wouldn’t have to truly search in your packed closet for something to wear. You hated work functions with a passion, but you had been forced to go long before your employment at the company.

You combed your closet for what felt like hours, but looking at the clock told you that it had only been fifteen minutes. In the corner of your eye you saw something packed way in the back that looked completely new. You pushed your clothes aside and reached towards the back and pulled it free. A simple white dress with a deep neckline displayed before you. You figured this would do and it would work fine for a work function, even though you don’t remember ever buying it.

A half hour later you were in the white cocktail dress that you hoped was professional enough. It showed a little more skin than you liked but it was all you could come up with on such short notice. Since it was a little chilly you opted to go for thigh-highs and a garter belt to help keep them up. You decided to leave your hair down and just curl it and ended up doing the best makeup job you’d ever done in your life. You were shocked at the time and grabbed your clutch and your heels rushing out the door. You had requested an Uber as you descended the three flights of stairs it took to get to your apartment. You decided you would finish getting ready in the car because you were already going to be late.

It hadn’t taken long to get to the concert hall. In the car you had put on your heels and a little bit of lipstick. You thought you looked pretty good…well what you could see in your four inch pocket mirror. People were already mingling when you walked into the hall. Your mother spotted you instantly and excused yourself coming towards you. You absentmindedly tugged at the hem of your dress trying to make it a little longer.

“You.” your mother said in a clipped tone, “This is not the time to be late and to be wearing what seems to be a fancy washcloth. This is the CEO we’re meeting, not a Tinder date.”

“This is all I had. You didn’t even tell me about this until today!” You said exasperated.

Your mother’s eyes narrowed, “If you would have checked your email you would have seen the email sent out by the company. Honestly Y/N, start acting like an adult and take responsibility.”

The irritation you felt for your mother only grew. Your mother was always one to chastise you for anything and everything. Your eyes had wandered over the crowd as your mother talked, “Excuse me, I see someone calling me.“

You walked across the room over to the tallest and biggest guy there, "Tae Tae. Save me.” His eyes met yours and he laughed.

“Damn Y/N, you clean up nice.” His smile would make any girl swoon. You had your crush phase with him and you had slept together, but after that you realized they worked better as friends.

You did a mock curtsy and he laughed, “She met you at the door, huh?” He asked. You and Taehyung had known each other for quite awhile. You went to college together, only he was a analyst in another building. His incredible brain made him a solid candidate and he rose up the ranks quickly. While you went on to pile on more student debt to get a masters in accounting.

“Yup. If I end up calling you in the middle of the night to help me move a body you’ll know why.” You stepped closer giving him a hug.

Taehyung  laughed, “Let me introduce you to Su-Jin.” He motioned to a girl with long ebony hair that was drop dead gorgeous. You could tell by the way Taehyung looked at you that he was a goner.

You held out your hand and the girl took it shaking it lightly, “Are you new at the company? I don’t remember seeing you around, but in my defense it is a big company.” you laughed.

“No, I’m here with my brother.” She replied

You noticed that the two of them had eyes for each other and you knew when to walk away, “I’m going to go find me a drink. You two have fun.” you gave Taehyung a quick hug, “It was nice to meet you Su-Jin.”

“You too.” The girl smiled.

You walked away and headed straight to the open bar. Oh how you needed it. “Old Fashion please.” you watched the bartender start to pour the liquor, “Make it strong.” The bartender laughed and poured a little more of the whiskey for you.

“That’s quite a drink. I don’t think I’ve seen one woman who hasn’t ordered a martini or cosmos.” a voice said from beside you.

You looked over and you was mesmerized. His dark hair tousled and deep brown eyes. Your eyes raked over his body and god what you wouldn’t give to see what was under it. “Uh, yeah. Those aren’t going to do it for me tonight.” The bartender handed you, your drink. “Thank you.” You gave him a smile.

“So you don’t want to be here I’m assuming?” He asked, his eyes raking over your body like he was undressing you with his eyes. You watched the edge of his mouth twitch upward.

“Yeah, these aren’t really my thing. I’m a lowly accountant and my mom is a manager so I get roped into these things a lot. I would personally prefer to be at home binge watching something on Netflix.” You took a good look at him. His suit jacket was fitted just right and it showed off just how toned he was…well probably. Black suit and a black tie, simple and classy.

“What about you? You look like you’re at home in a place like this.” You motioned to his suit.

“Truthfully I hate these things, but this was one I was most definitely forced into and couldn’t get out of.” He smiled at you taking a drink from his glass. You smirked, two people who wanted to be anywhere but here and you both found yourselves at the bar. He interrupted your thoughts “You want to go explore anywhere other than this stuffy room?” He glanced at his watch before leaning in closer to you. “I think I’d like to talk to you in a place I can actually hear you. Something tells me this noise filled room doesn’t do it justice.”

You couldn’t find words so you nodded. Warmth pooled between your legs, his deep voice talking right beside your ear. That panty dropping voice. His hand went to your lower back and he downed the rest of his drink and set it on the bar top. He leaned into your ear again, “Lead the way beautiful.”

Your body flushed and you started talking before he could catch the reddening of your face and neck. His hand never left your back as you navigate the sea of people. The cooler air outside the concert hall the party was in felt nice. You hesitated for only a second to figure out where you wanted to go but the mystery man took over and he was ushering you down the long corridor. Once you had made it far enough where no one would stop them their pace decreased and his hand dropped from your back. You missed the warmth immediately.

“So, I know that you like Old Fashion’s. Also that you hate these types of functions, and that you’re an accountant. Anything else I should know.” The way he looked at you caused you to shiver.

He shrugged off his suit jacket and held it out for you to slip into. Instead of admitting the shiver wasn’t from being cold but the way he looked at you, you turned and slipped one arm in and then the other once you switched the hand you were holding your drink in. It was a little big, it hit just below mid thigh.

“Yeah you definitely look better in that than I do.” There was a hunger in his eyes that was hard to miss. You bent your head down hoping that the curtain of hair between you would hide the blush on your cheeks.

“Umm, to answer your question. I rock pretty hard at bowling.”

His laughter echoed down the hallway, it was a true genuine laugh. “Yeah well I’m pretty awesome at it and I destroy my friends every time.”

“I was the only girl on campus that could to a keg stand by myself for a full minute.”

“I can hold my breath underwater for three minutes.”

“I can manage to trip on absolutely nothing.”

This caused him to laugh out loud again and the sound made you smile, “I like you, you’re funny.”

You smiled into your glass when taking a sip, “I try. So what do you do for a living?”

His face sobered up, “Let’s not talk about that.”

You found it odd but brushed it off, “Okay, so what’s your story?”

“Next question.”

“Oh come on, really? You’re making it impossible to hold a conversation.”

He grabbed your hand and turned starting up a stairwell so you followed. It was silence between you until you reached the top. He stopped and leaned over the rail looking at the floor below. He took a deep breath before starting “To put it simply, I grew up with nothing. I learned what I was good at and made a lot of money, and now I’m something. I technically work two jobs and I definitely like one more than the other. So like most people seventy percent of the time I work at the job I tolerate and thirty percent of the time I work at the job I love.”

“And what is it exactly that you do at the job you love?”

He paused for a moment as if to truly think about what he was about to say. “I make people’s deepest desires come true.”

“So…you’re a genie?”

He laughed, “Well there are gold cuffs involved.” You were confused and your face must have shown that. He lifted the cuff of his sleeve and showed you the gold cuffs with a J engraved in them.

“J for Justice League? Oh my god the two jobs makes sense now.”

He leaned against the railing and turned to look at you, his gaze was piercing , “You’re not like most women.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” you asked slowly.

“Definitely a good thing, it’s a breath of fresh air. There is a natural sexiness to you but it’s like you don’t even know it. Did you even notice half the guys staring at you in there?” He tilted his head towards where the party was going on.

You looked down and shook your head, “No I’m pretty sure the dark lighting made you see things.”

You felt his warmth as he stepped over to you and tilted your chin up to look at him, “You are incredibly sexy and beautiful. Any man you give your attention to is very lucky.”

You felt your mouth go dry. His gaze was intense and you could see the hunger in his eyes. How he drank in the low cut of your dress. The want and the need he was conveying had your heart racing, “Are you calling yourself lucky?” you whispered huskily.

“Oh I’m very lucky.” He tucked some hair behind your ear his deep voice making your knees weak.. His hand dropped from your face and slowly ran down your throat, to your arm, and finally resting on your hip. He pulled you closer, his eyes never leaving yours other than to periodically glance down at your lips. You stood up on your toes and closed the distance between you. You grabbed the front of his shirt and he slid his hand to your neck pulling you closer. He took control of the kiss. He walked you back until you hit something cool, it was the metal railing of the balcony. You found your body conforming to his. He tugged your hair back to give more access to your neck and you moaned. You’d never been kissed like this, with such hunger. You could feel yourself starting to get wet. He left a trail of kisses that lit your whole body on fire and stopped to nip at your collar bone.

His hand left your hair and he slid his hands underneath the jacket and pulled your hips towards him. You felt his length through your dress. You gasped and he took that moment to crash his lips back onto yours. He kissed you hungrily. At some point you had dropped the glass from your hand and slid them up his chest fisting his shirt. He responded eagerly, his hands sliding from your waist to your ass and gave it a hard squeeze. The moan that escaped your mouth was loud.

You had always been reserved when it came to sex. You had a very vanilla sex life and you were okay with that. But you were losing yourself into the feeling of this mystery man’s dominance. Your body screamed for more. You broke away and looked at him. His eyes were so dark with lust and you could still feel his cock against you even though he had put a tiny bit of distance between you. God, he must be big.

“If you want to stop just say so.” He started breathlessly before you could even open your mouth.

You shook your head, “No. I was going to ask if you wanted to go somewhere a little more privacy.” Your chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Lead the way.” He gave your ass one more squeeze before dropping his hands.

You shifted a little your body craving the friction. Your panties were already soaked and all he had done was kiss you and touch you. He had stepped away and you took a minute to gather yourself. You grabbed his hand and led him down another hall. You hadn’t even made it to the next turn before he had your back against a wall his hips pressing into yours and kissing you. You had to catch your breath when he pulled back, his lips red from kissing. You were sure yours looked the same. His left hand was squeezing your hip tightly, “If you continue to sway your hips like that, next time I’ll be taking you against a wall.”

Your body shivered. You bit your lip looking up into his eyes. The look in his eyes darker than before. You were pretty sure he wasn’t joking about fucking you against a wall. You bit your lip and his hand came up to tug it from between your teeth, “Don’t do that.” He growled.

Your want for him was growing so you pushed him away and grabbed his hand and continued the maze of hallways within the huge building. You inwardly yelled in triumph when you came across the door you was looking for. ‘STAGE ACCESS" was written in huge block letters across the door. As soon as your hand was on the handle you heard his voice whisper right against your ear, “Are we giving a show beautiful.”

“Well one of us is.” You were shocked when the words left your mouth. This man was bringing out a whole different side of you that you didn’t know was there, a vixen waiting to be freed. His hand reached around you and opened the door ushering you in quickly. You only took a few steps in and then you felt him grab your arm and spin you around.

“You’re playing a dangerous game beautiful. If you continue, I’m going to end up fucking you until your legs won’t carry you.” He was walking you backwards and you felt something come into contact with your ass, but you didn’t have any time to think because he had already wrapped his hands around you sliding to your ass to your thighs and lifted you up. He set you down on a flat surface and ran his hands up your legs. He stopped abruptly his eyes burned into yours.

He slowly slid the bottom of your dress up to reveal your thigh-highs attached to the garter belt you had worn to keep them up. His moan was loud and he gripped your thighs hard and pulled you towards the edge right against his hips. His kisses harder and and passionate. You started grinding against him, his bulge pressing against your panties creating the friction you craved.

The only thing You could hear was the pounding of your own heart, your body felt like it was on fire. He was rough, yet gentle. He was dominant, yet respectful. He was everything every girl reads about in the trashy romance novels. Only he was real. You could touch him, and every time you did you would get a response. He continued to hold you in place as he started kissing down your neck. He bit rather harshly but you were surprised to find it didn’t hurt, it felt amazing. Your hands went to his hair, tugging it as he sucked over the spot.

“Do you know how incredibly sexy these are?” He ran his hand lower, running his thumb under one of the straps attached to the belt.

“Sexy and practical. Duly noted.” You breathed out.

“I’m resisting every urge to tear them from your body, but I like it. I think I’ll let them stay.” He was already to the low V neckline of your dress before he finished. His hands came up to palm your breasts over the fabric. He would kiss the exposed rounded flesh that peeked from behind. You felt his cock twitch in his pants against your panties and you moaned.

He took that as incentive to pull his jacket off of you so he could push the fabric of your dress aside exposing your right breast. You could feel his hot breath over your nipple before his lips covered it and sucked gently. Your back arched and you tugged his hair harder, “Holy shit.” You breathed out. He continued to suck on your right breast while exposing and massaging the other.

When he gently scraped his teeth across it your head fell back begging him not to stop. No one had ever sucked your nipples and frankly you were pissed you had missed out on something so pleasurable. He switched between each one never lingering on one for two long.

He ran his hand up your body and placed his hand on the back of your neck forcing you to look at him. He looked ravenous and you felt your panties significantly dampen. “If it sucking your tits gets that kind of reaction, I’m about to take you to another world.” He kissed your lips and tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth before pulling away fully and dropping below your line of site.

Your body was forcefully tugged to the edge and your legs pulled wide open. Your panties were pulled aside and you felt his finger run up and down your slit.

“You’re so wet.” The lust dripped from his voice, “I can’t wait to taste you.”

His tongue followed the path of his fingers and flattened when it came across your clit. You spewed profanities and your hand tangled itself back in his hair. You felt him blow against your slit and it caused a surge of pleasure. You didn’t know that was even possible. He replaced his tongue with his fingers and started running them back and forth over your slit. He never attempted to make contact with your clit again and it was driving you crazy.

“Please.” You found yourself begging.

“What do you want beautiful?” His rough voice sounded from out of your line of sight.

“Do it again.” You were pulling his hair hoping to bring his face back to your pussy.

“Tell me.” He sounded demanding and you felt yourself shiver.

“I want you to lick my pussy and suck my-” You weren’t able to finish because he slipped a finger inside of you and his mouth covered your clit and sucked hard. You fell apart at his fingers and your body shook with pleasure and you heard your voice echo around you as you came down from ecstasy. No one had ever made you come like that, truthfully no one had ever made you come at all. Your nameless man was causing you to come apart at the seams. Even after your orgasm he didn’t stop. Every part of you was extremely sensitive but he did it just right to where it was pleasurable.

After a few more moments he pulled his finger from inside you and you whimpered missing the feeling of his finger inside of you already. Your body was still  convulsing every now and then but you felt your need rise again as he stood and you saw him with pants unzipped and his dick in hand stroking himself and licking your juices off of his other hand. You didn’t know where the confidence came from but you sat up a little more and grabbed his free hand and pulled it slowly to your mouth and sucking on his finger. You tasted yourself. You tasted bitter but it wasn’t bad, He added a second finger to your mouth and you sucked and licked at it eagerly.

His eyes were closed and his strokes becoming faster, “I want to taste you.”

Your voice was low and barely heard but he stopped and his eyes opened and looked at you. The blaze he had set in you rose and you pushed yourself up fully before sliding yourself off the top of the object you had been laid across. He helped you make sure you wouldn’t fall and you dropped to your knees. It seemed even bigger now that you were so close. You knew you wouldn’t be able to fit all of it, but you were going to try. Your fingers wrapped around him and you ran your tongue along the head.

“Jesus!” He hissed in pleasure. His fingers threaded into your hair. He let you go at your own pace and you teased him by going dangerously slow. “You’re playing with fire Beautiful.” he struggled to get the words out.

You took the opportunity to take him as deep as you could go. You felt your gag reflex trigger but you pushed through and was only able to get him about three-fourths of the way in. He pulled your hair and you knew in any other setting it would hurt like hell, but all it did was make you want to keep going. It fueled your desire to please him and you felt yourself getting turned on again. You started bobbing your head up and down but would pull back to catch a full breath and stroke him as you did. You went back in to fill your mouth again and took him as deep into your throat as you could again. Both of his hands ended up in your hair and you felt him start to move his hips and took control of the rhythm. He gave you ample time to pull away or deny him but you never did. Soon he was fucking your mouth and you were enjoying every minute of it. He would moan and let out a string of curses. You tasted the precum and knew he was getting close. Your fingers had found their way between your legs rubbing your clit.

The man dropped his eyes down to watch his cock disappear into your mouth over and over, but this time was different. This time he saw your hand between your legs and you were looking up at him. You were wondering if he almost came because a surge of precum caused you to swallow. He growled primitively and grabbed your arms pulling you up. His lips crashed onto yours roughly, his need seeping into every kiss.

He pulled back “This is your last chance to stop this Beautiful.” You looked up at him and he searched your eyes for anything indicating you didn’t want this. When your fingers wrapped around his cock and started to stroke him he took that as a full blown invitation.

You were spun around and the zipper on the back of your dress was pulled down causing your dress to pool at your feet. He put his hands between your shoulder blades and pushed you over to where you were chest down against an equipment trunk. His hand ran down your back, over your garter belt, and grabbed your ass. “These need to go,” he tugged at your panties and you heard a ripping noise. He slid over to the garter belt straps, “But these can stay.” He palmed your ass and slapped it. It shocked you but a moan escaped you. You wanted more and it was as if he read your mind because his hand came down against your ass again. He pressed himself against you and you felt his cock right against your entrance and you grinded against him. He leaned over you, pressing his chest against you. “If at any point you want to stop you tell me. Got it?” You nodded at his request. His hand came down against your ass, “I said got it?”

“Got it.” it came out as a moan.

You heard rustling and you looked back over your shoulder to see him undoing his tie and lifting it over his head. “Hands.” He demanded. You put your hands behind your back and he placed his tie around them and closed it back around your wrists. He tested the tightness. You felt your body be pulled up by your hands from the tie. He pulled you against his chest, “Remember, if you want to stop you tell me.”

You nodded, “Yes.”

He grabbed his cock and ran the head of it against your folds, “Jesus, you’re fucking drenched. Do you like being tied up.”

You found yourself nodding, you could definitely get used to the idea. He grabbed your right leg and had you lay it on the trunk giving full access. He ran the head of his cock along your folds again. He grabbed your ass as he slid into you. You gasped at the feeling, your back arching.

“Goddamn you’re so tight.” He slowly slid himself until he was flesh against you. He grabbed your hip when you tried to start moving. He needed a minute to gather himself or he was going to come right then. “Do you like it rough?”

You weren’t completely sure. You knew that your previous partners had never been that way and you had always wanted them to be a bit more aggressive. So you took a chance, “Yes, but ease into it.”

He started moving slowly and you gasped. It still felt like your insides would rip, but you knew you would get used to his size in a few moments. His hands were at your breast rolling the bud of your nipple between his fingers. You could feel his breath against your neck. He started to pick up pace. He moved your hair from your shoulder and bit it before kissing it, “Enjoy the ride.” He placed his hand between your shoulder blades and slowly pushed you down where your chest was flat against the surface.

You heard the crack of hand against skin followed by immense pleasure. You could definitely get into ass slapping during sex. “More.” You moaned.

He gripped your ass hard before pulling back and giving your ass another smack. He started going harder and you could hear his ragged breath. His hand pushed you harder into the surface between your shoulder blades. You wanted to grip at the sides of the surface because the pleasure was so much but with your hands tied behind your back and with him holding the tie in one hand all you could do was start to lose control.

The sound of doors slamming shut caused them both to freeze even though your body screamed at you to keep moving against him.

“This is our new theater that was built just last year.” A voice echoed through the theater, but you could hear it was from the seating facing the theater. As long as they stayed in the middle of the rows they would never see you off into the wing with you being pounded against production equipment trunks.

You felt yourself get pulled up so you were against his chest. He never made a move to pull out of you. Instead his hand closed over your mouth, “Try not to get too loud.” He started fucking you slowly. You were terrified but the thrill was intoxicating. The people were still talking about the new theater when his other hand started roughly pinching your nipple and you moaned against his hand. “Shhhh, Beautiful.”

Your eyes almost rolled into the back of your head when he continued. The pleasure you felt before was magnified by ten it felt like. You could feel how rigid his cock was inside of you, meaning that he was enjoying this as much as you were. You wanted him to go harder, “Harder.” You quietly muffled against his hand. You thought you heard him growl when he stopped moving as fast but was taking each stroke to pound you even harder. You felt yourself bite his finger trying to keep quiet.

He hissed in pain, “You like that?” he growled outside your ear.

You nodded. You felt his hand slide between your legs and rub against your clit. Your legs almost gave way at the blinding pleasure it gave you. You heard him chuckle roughly before doing it again. You knew if he continued that you would end up coming while the other people were in here. The guy opted for fast instead of hard and started rubbing your clit. You heard the doors slam again and he dropped his hand from your mouth and pushed you down so you were flat against the surface. He started slamming into you hard and quick but never stopped rubbing your clit.

You were making noises you didn’t even know you could make. “Oh god. Yes. Harder.” When you didn’t think he could go any harder he pushed just a little more. He slapped your ass.

“You like that?.” His voice was loud and unreserved. “Take my cock. Take it all.”

It was almost as if you were crying, “Fuck. Yes! Oh god!” You fell apart and you started to shake. Your leg gave out but he scooped you up and held you against him as he continued to fuck you.

“I’m close. Fuck.” He buried his face in your neck, “Where do you want me to come?”

You hadn’t thought about that, but in your delirious post orgasm state you were able to form words, “Ass. Come on my ass.”

His animalistic noise almost made you come again as he laid you back on the trunk and started pounding hard and fast. When he pulled out you almost wanted to cry at the loss of him inside of you. He moaned and you could hear him furiously jacking off. You felt the warmth on your  lower back and part of your ass. You felt his body slump against you after gently pulling your leg from the top of the trunk. You knew you were going to be sore as fuck and you would be lucky if you could even walk after this.

After a few moments he pushed himself off of you and took a step back. He helped you stand up and he undid his tie from your hands. You rubbed your wrists when they were free and brought them around the front of you. You could see the pink lines around your wrists where they had rubbed against the fabric. You turned around to look at him and he look disheveled but what would probably be seen as a post orgasm high.

“Are you okay?” He seemed concerned that maybe he had gone too far.

You quickly squashed that, “That was the best sex of my entire life. I’m fine. I may not be able to walk tomorrow, or even tonight. But I’m definitely okay.”

He nodded with a grin, “It was pretty amazing.” He pulled his pants up that apparently he had dropped at some point during your sexcapade. You watched as he started getting dressed and putting his tie back on. Once he was done he bent down to retrieve your dress from the floor.

He helped zip it back up and he bent down grabbing your torn underwear, “Could I ask for a souvenir?” He had a devilish smile and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Only if I can have one of my own.” He smirked but nodded. He pulled the tie from around his neck and put it over your head and let it hang around your neck. He pulled your hair from underneath it so it rested on top of it.

He glanced at his watch and his brows furrowed and his mouth went into a thin line. He looked up at you and he had regret on his face and it caused your stomach to sink. “I’m really sorry to do this, because I never actually do this. But I really have to go, it will make sense in time but…” he trailed off and pulled out his wallet. You were about to go off thinking he was about to give you money like you were some hooker. Instead you saw he pulled out a card and handed it to you, “If this is something you’re into I’d like to help.” You took the card and he gave you a lingering kiss before pulling away. “It was nice to meet you Beautiful.” He grabbed his jacket that was thrown to the side and walked out the door.

You stood dumbfounded at the quick departure. After a moment you looked at the card he had given you.

Jeon Jungkook The Mansion Sex Club Dominant/Owner

You now knew why he had departed so quickly, he was due to speak because he was the CEO of the company, “Fuck!” you whispered to yourself.

AN: I hope you enjoyed this. if you did like or comment and let me know, I'm not sure if I'm any good at writing smut. For all that made it to the end, as always thanks for reading!

[w-sincerity]

hardships

Not going to lie to you, what is the point? I have a really hard week, like really hard, there has been some sunny moments but everything just seems really loud right now. I don’t know what to do, I can’t do anything right and I am constantly disappointing someone no matter what I do. I can’t do right by me, or my mom, or my sister, I can’t do right by anyone, there is always apart of me that is not enough and maybe I need to accept that and just live with it. Two and a half nights ago, 48 hours, or something close, the time to find a new place to live was beginning to close in and suffocate me. With the weight of the stress beginning to engulf my beloved mom, I stepped up to help her with finding a lease to sign into for the first time, maybe i wasn’t ready for it and it could’ve been a distraction to silence my screaming disordered brain. I still pushed on, 12,300 classified adds on craigslist. I combed the whole city, with Shaun’s job falling onto the ground and shattering into a million tiny irreparable pieces. We worked together for the first time in a while, it felt so sweet to feel valued again even if it didn’t last with the Saturday crashing in like a ton of bricks. Screaming, hopelessness, a man pulling out his hair in the passenger seat in front of me. In his rage, his shame, to hurt my mom, he claimed I should just kill myself then, Lorrie. Those words hit by like a semi-truck going 150kms, when I thought I was stronger than this, I was brought to tears by a man who isn’t with us anymore. 3 years and 4 months, he’s moved on, but it still bites like the cold wind in mid December. I fought my tears for Joonhyung, but without fail they still came, the idea of him couldn’t leave my mind for the next 30 minutes. I told myself over and over again that i was, and I am fucking stronger than this. This will be my time, I am not going there with him again. I am staying right where I am because IT IS my choice who I choose to fuck with, who I choose to live this life with, I am to live it peacefully and not give a shit. He will be there for me and if it makes me feel alive, fuck the rest. We parked on the side of the crowded street but nostalgic just outside of downtown, I lived there before when I was young, foolish younger, I had just met my ex lover, Luan, the memories of our first moments were mingling on the streets. It was bitter sweet as it was around the time when some of my closest friends were going to part ways until recently. (We said we would never grow up. Here we are.) It was not the place to look for a fresh start, still, I held my cellphone to ear, setting up a viewing for a laneway suite a couple blocks away from my hold house. A young, undeveloped, green flower bud fall down onto the windshield of my car covered with raindrops, in this small, almost meaningless moment, everything felt real, the good, the evil, my muse and my vice all appeared in my subconscious. It was only an hour and a half but it went by fast, three different houses spread out across the city, all too small, run down, or unsafe. The stress of managing the pressure of finding my family an inexpensive and suitable place to have a fresh start was engulfing me, along with the pressure of not aggravating my beloved sister’s anxiety disorder felt heavy on my already weak shoulders. One final suite to view, we arrived early, my exhaustion was worsening as I hadn’t slept more than 3 hours the night before. The suite worked out, our new landlord wanted to sign for a year lease right away. Something I haven’t had since I was a child, a stable place to love, a year lease, my own furniture. All these small things overwhelmed me, It’s working out, piece by piece, little by little, still the stormy seas of my mind crash upon the shore. I am fighting, baby. I am fighting everyday. But, never the less, something felt off with her, I couldn’t my finger on it, i felt the resent building. I kept my smile on because, I truly wanted to feel the joy behind it for a just a moment. I walked the familiar sidewalk to our favourite cafe, I laughed, made jokes as if I was fine, I was, feeling like I was worth something was a feeling I have craved for so long. I returned to my car with my family’s drinks, upon getting in the car I was greeted by noisy but pleasant conversation. I sighed, I wanted to be alone, all alone. She tapped on the lid of her plastic cup, smiling falsely at me with contempt. The resentment in her eyes was burning a whole in my chest. I don’t eat or drink when someone is speaking to me explicitly, especially these days. The demon inside me was starting to stir again, it’s claws scraping at the inside of my skin, my heart and soul beginning to become stone cold with unbearable pain. Still, I smiled through my overwhelmed, my mind was twitching as if I was about to burst at the seams. We continued on for the next 10 minutes as usual, the black hole of my aching heart beginning to become heavier and drop to the centre of my being. I had to know, I had to know how I was failing, how I wasn’t enough, enough for anyone, or anything, I had to ask, so I did. ‘What’s wrong, sweetie? Have I done something wrong?’.  ‘Yeah, actually, I just feel resistance, like you don’t want to eat with me. It feels like how it did back in Mexico.’ A place I never want to return, a personal endless hell that took everything from me, it stripped me naked, brought me to my knees. My lungs filled with cement in that hell, I couldn’t scream for help. A hell that almost killed me, turning me as frozen, and lifeless as the walking dead. Those words trigger the deepest need to flee like a child, I can’t describe how profoundly the agony pierces my soul. My heart fell out of my chest dropping to the concrete floor and shattering into a dust on the intense impact, the breathe sucking out of my lungs as if the air was drained completely of oxygen, the cold, sharp, burning pain was unbearable. I couldn’t take it, I am worthless, I have failed everyone, I am nothing but a burden, a lifeless, dead corpse to drag around behind them all, a pitiful excuse for a daughter, a selfish, stupid, bitch, I mean nothing to anyone, everything I worked for is meaningless if she can so carelessly speak to me as if i don’t fight everyday for my next breath. She smiled falsely once again, shoving the blade deeper into my shattered heart. I started to cry like the weak bitch I am, further humiliating myself and sinking deeper into despair. As if to try to fix things, I took a sip of my drink, the sugar rotting my already decayed teeth. My stomach clenching in complete disgust, I cried, she looked at me with contempt as if i was faking all of this for attention when all I want is to disappear forever. I couldn’t take it, I spit out my sugary saliva in my hand and shamefully wiped it on my blue jeans. I heavily weeped, the sighs of their disapproval and disappointment filling my ears, go away!!!! go away!!! she took of her drink, after spitting the boba pearls out in her hand, she looked at me with contempt, as almost laughing, she was amused by my suffering, her gaze throwing my already heart onto the concrete once again. ‘that’s what you did with yours right?” Her voice was laced with manipulation. As I write this, the pain is so fucking unbearable, help me. The slight smirk drawn across her lips pushed me across that very thin line, I broke down, it hurt like never before, my world spinning and going dark around me. Like the weak bitch I am, I buckled forwards into my seat, weeping from the deepest depths of my soul. Their judging eyes watching my every move, ‘what’s wrong with her?’ ‘what’s the problem? I can’t do this shit right now.’ ‘why can’t you just go back to the way you were, jesus christ! cmon!’ Through my tears I reached forwards for my mom, grasping onto the back of her jacket, I desperately weeped ‘please, please make it stop hurting, please make it stop hurting, i cant take it anymore, please make it stop hurting.’ She kicked everyone out of the car. I crumbled in her arms, I couldn’t let go, i needed something, someone, anyone, before the crippling loneliness consumes me entirely. The rest of the night kicked the shit out of me, the contempt, the judgement, the rage as if every little thing in the world was my fault when I try everyday. Ducted taped and nailed together, I push my way through each day so she and my mom can smile. I stared at the ceiling for hours last night, recounting every minute of the hours before. The walls of my sorry excuse for a life closing in around me, when each breath stings, there is no way out. Still, I must be stronger even if I can’t take it anymore, I must endure another day, over and over again.

[smuttyfairy]

Show You How (M)

Touch me til I follow in love / I wanna help him / Maybe we were better alone/ I wanna show you how - The Killers “Show You How” Genre: Smut/Angst Summary: Runaway lovers lost in bliss lose their way in the city of blinding lights. Mark likes killing for a living, Taehyung misses his rainy seattle home. The honeymoon is long over, and the fuse is running short. But for who?  (Mark (got7) x Taehyung (BTS), Mark x Youngjae (B.A.P.) , Kai (Exo) x Taehyung. Mafia!AU, Vegas!AU) Warnings: Character Death, Cheating, Alcohol and Drug use. Word Count: 4,529 Written by: Admin Jaefairy A/N: So...this is a hella late birthday gift to my little sis, my kakao wife #2, and overall best bad bitch @kpopanddrama! Happy Birthday Skyler, you’re an awesome person and I love you very much!

Sunday, 7:34 am The Nevada sunrise was unfamiliar, and somehow so calming. The sun burned with a fire-like intensity, waking eyes and showing sins better left in the dark. When it wasn't night, Las Vegas looked like a cheap tourist attraction from the wide window Mark gazed out every morning. Cars flew by, going in and out the city. He never went into the city during the day. Mark felt like seeing it like this, wide open and exposed, it lost much of it's magic. At night, the lights mingled with the sky. It was bright and hid all the ugly things. Mark glanced at an half empty bottle of gin near the door. That too, hid the ugly things.

Mark looked down, his round lips parting. He looked at the boy sleeping next to him. The dirty sheet covered his face, tuffs of bleached hair feathered out. His long fingers reached out, grabbing the hair gently. Mark tugged, a soft groan from the sheets broke the silence in the room for a moment. He tugged again, a head emerging from the sheets. The wide brown eyes of his bed buddy met his, a yawn escaping his mouth.

"I'm up, I'm up." The sleepy boy rubbed his eyes and sat up, smacking his mouth together some. Mark waited for him to be somewhat attentive.

 "You sure?" Mark leaned into the boy's ear, his soft voice planting warmth. The other laughed and looked at Mark with a wide smile. It was so hopeful, so bright, it could have envied the sun. For a split moment, Mark had a nasty feeling in his stomach. A sudden chaste kiss, hands lifting the younger boy into his lap and a tongue exploring salty flesh was enough to make him sink the feeling down. His tongue lapped slowly at the exposed neck, and soft moans sounded like sweet music. Mark grabbed a handful of ass, and the volume rose. "Are you awake, Tae?"

"Uhn.." Taehyung grinded into Mark, showing Mark how aroused his tongue was making him. "Yeah, I think I'm wide awake now."

 Mark smirked before giving his neck a deep kiss. He released his ass, giving it a quick slap before pushing him off. "Great. We have a collection today. Boss wants it to be done clean."

 As he lifted himself off the bed, he saw the cute pout that graced his boyfriend's face in their mirror.

 "Do we have to go now?" Taehyung asked grabbing the long sleeve of Mark's shirt. Mark looked back, his eyes facing Tae's. Taehyung gave him that wide smile, getting on his knees and kissing Mark's lips. He broke the kiss quickly, kissing him again. Mark reciprocated, grabbing Taehyung's waist and crawling back on the bed. Morning breath and liquor was not the best combination on the tongue, but Taehyung could forgive it. Feeling Mark's lips against his own was a special brand of drug no one but him knew. Oh, how in love he was with Mark Tuan. His hands played with the older's brown hair, combing his hands through the dry strands. He made a mental note to buy him conditioner later. With his back on the bed and Mark inching his black briefs off slowly, he could have swore he hit the jackpot. His erection was released from the cloth, and Mark's lips  didn't hesitate to kiss the pink head. The pre cum moistened his lips, and he opened his mouth. Taking in Taehyung's erection, Mark took care to suck his cock slowly. The buildup, the way Taehyung's head would lean back and he'd gasp Mark's name, it drove him crazy. When he was sober, he remembered how fast the blood rushed to his cock seeing Tae like this. Coming undone by his every movement.

 "Mark..." Taehyung gasped, feeling his boyfriend's tongue lick under his cock before taking all of him again. A hand played with his balls, stimulating his body. A warmth grew in his stomach and it spread throughout. He looked down to see Mark sucking his cock with hunger, those beautiful eyes of his gazing into his own. Mark released his cock from his mouth with a 'pop', a deep moan rumbling from his chest. He gripped the cock, spitting all over the tip. Pumping and lubing up Tae's erection, his eyes never left Taehyung's. He resumed, and the buildup in Taehyung's stomach got worse. He felt himself rising.

 "Faster, please...fuck, go faster." He begged, his head leaning deeper into his pillow. Mark complied, and Tae felt his body grow hot. His arm covered his eyes and uncontrollable groans escaped his lips. He felt it rising and before he could warn Mark, he felt his cum shoot into that warm wet mouth. Mark froze, moaning with every load of cum he was fed. He swallowed, Taehyung caught his breath. The taste in his mouth made him think heaven was real. Taehyung's blissed out face made him wish it was.  A glance at the clock on their night stand and all he could see was hell.

 "Shit, we're late! Get dressed and get your fucking gun. We have to go, now. " Mark threw off his clothes and found a pair of clean jeans, a black button up. While he grabbed his silver barretta from under the bed, Taehyung was coming out of the bathroom. He wore a black suit, leather shoes and a cobalt blue tie. Taehyung was always better at presentation than Mark. Taehyung was buttoning up his jacket, watching Mark get up from the floor, gun in hand.

 "You should get ready the night before."

 "You should get in the car. " Mark answered, a frown on his face, embarrassment laced in his words.

 Taehyung nodded, giving him a smirk before heading out the hotel room. Mark looked at the disheveled room for one moment before leaving. Mark's clothes were askew on the floor, Taehyung's hung nicely in the closet. Mark left empty bottles of soda and gin around. Taehyung had his things neatly in one place near the bathroom. How did they live without killing each other, Mark would never know.

  Sunday, 11:49 am

The air in Nevada was stale and humid. It could never compare to the muggy, damp mornings in Seattle that Taehyung missed. He missed his family and his friends. He missed waking up to the sound of rain on his windowpane and the screams of his parents fighting downstairs. In all of the chaos, and madness, life was somewhat beautiful. Taehyung knew from a young age that even though the sun shined bright, rain clouds would always come. He took the good with the bad, and thanked god everyday he was alive.

As Mark drove them into a nearby suburb, Taehyung gazed at the dry grass. The cookie cutter houses with peeling paint seemed drab and dull for the younger boy. They pulled into a house, the dusty white mailbox in the front had faded numbers painted on the side.

 "1124 Pearl Street, Boulder City. " Mark repeated from the screen of his phone. He looked at the house for a moment, then at Taehyung. "You ready to go? Boss says he wants it clean and quick. Don't get cold feet and freak out like last time. I can't always save you."

Taehyung looked at Mark's blank face, watching how Mark kept his eyes on the front door. It's been awhile since Tae could actually read what Mark felt or what he was thinking. Some moments, he felt like he was with his best friend. Sometimes, he thought he was with a stranger. He nodded to Mark, opening the glove compartment and pulling a silencer out. He quickly screwed it to the top of his 9mm and concealed the gun. Mark left the car first, Tae following after him. The chirp of the doors locking alerted him to inhale and to be stone faced.

The two walked to the door of the terra cotta colored house. Mark knocked slowly and a shuffling sound inside grew louder. The lock clicked, and a short man answered the door. His cheeks were sunken in, his brown hair askew as he scratched his head. The look in his eyes were lost, almost as if he was in another world. He wore a dingy black shirt, and jeans that looked like they needed a few cycles in the wash. Sweat and cinnamon filled Mark's nose, and he reminded himself to stop staring and to say something.

"Are you Park Jimin?"

The young man in front of them nodded, still lost in his own mind. He scratched his neck and let the two inside. Mark followed Jimin into the living room, Taehyung making sure to go through protocol. He locked the doors, letting his feet shuffle through the dirty clothes and trash carefully. Mark and Jimin walked towards the living room, Mark sitting across from the young man. Taehyung closed any blind or curtain that he could find. He let the conversation in the room sink into his ears, he had heard this same conversation many times. Different in every situation, but the ending was the same.

"Boss man says you haven't paid him for the last two months. Says you haven't returned the supplies either. " Mark crossed his legs as he spoke, Tae inspected the room.

"Oh." Jimin's eye twitched slightly.  Hands balled into fists, his eyes never leaving Mark's gaze.

Mark pulled his gun out, leaving it on the table. His subtle approach was what Taehyung admired. He knew Mark was annoyed. He could just shoot the boys brains out, clean up and call it a day. Honestly, their boss would enjoy that better. Mark liked the buildup, he liked watching everything unfold into a beautiful mess. He knew, and Tae knew that Jimin wouldn't leave the house alive. Mark liked a little suspense every now and then. Tae wasn't one to deny him a little fun.  

"Look, Jimin. We're ordered to come back with whatever you haven't used up, or your body in a bag. We can make this easy, or we can make this hard. "

Taehyung's eyes stopped at a menagerie of picture frames on the wall. Family pictures, one of Jimin in a graduation outfit. He concluded this was a family home. Looking back at the disheveled state of the home, he concluded that it was once a family home. The conversation became background noise, in his periphery he could see Jimin walking out the room for a moment and coming back with a reusable shopping bag.  

In a faded brown frame, Jimin wore a black tuxedo. He held onto a smaller girl, a corsage on her wrist. Taehyung wondered what Prom would have been like if he went. Instead he ditched and drove to the abandoned drive in theater with Mark and talked about what they would do after senior year. He got lost in the old memory. Rusty pillars, and shining stars. Empty bottles of beer and drunken kisses. A confession and lost virgintiy. Somewhere in the depths of his heart he wished he could stay in that memory. He touched the old picture of Jimin, wondering if Jimin could go back to this moment, would he.

"That's all that's left."

Jimin's words brought Taehyung back to earth, his attention going to the two men in the living room. Mark was looking into the bag, counting the drugs. Taehyung knew if Mark was counting that slow, it must be a large amount that was missing. All Tae knew was Jimin was a dealer for their boss, and he slipped off the radar recently. He looked at Jimin, tears laced in the corners of his eyes. Mark sat back down and shrugged. He looked dissatisfied, and it was probably for show.

"Well, where the other half? You were given more than that, and from what we know you didn't sell any of it. " Mark said, his eyes meeting Taehyung's for a moment. Tae got into position behind Jimin.

Jimin lifted his hands up, a half hearted laugh coming out of his mouth. "I'm not sure." The sarcasm in his voice wasn't missed, a tear falling down his cheek. He sighed, his elbows resting on his knees as his fingers interlocked each other.

"Look whatever you're gonna do, just do it. I'm tired of living."

Mark leaned his head to the side, clicking his tongue. "That's pathetic. " He looked at Tae, nodding into him. "Tae, call it in."

Tae pulled his phone out, taking the cue. He watched Jimin's shoulders shake, soft cries filling the room. He called his boss, waiting for the ring. As the first ring finished, he swiftly took his gun out and lined it up with the back of Jimin's head. "I'm sorry Mom.." Jimin whispered. The second ring went off. Taehyung cocked the gun and pulled the trigger. Someone picked up, a sigh being heard on the other side. "Is it done?" The familiar voice wasn't their boss, but his second hand man, Kai.

"Yes sir. " Taehyung answered. Tae was nothing but professional with the higher ups. He left conversations and small talks to Mark.

"Stiff as usual, Taehyung. Alright, clean up and bring the body with you. You got two hours. "

"Yes sir." Taehyung hung up. When he looked up from his call, Mark was pulling the car into the garage. He watched the limp body that laid on the couch lifeless. The last words he said replayed in his head. Those words weren't foreign to him, whispering them as he drifted to sleep more nights than he liked to admit. Mark walked into the room with a black bag and cleaning supplies. Tae helped him get the body in the bag, spilling as little blood as possible on the floor. Mark had no trouble looking at the dead body, but he felt the guilt grow in his stomach. Tae never looked at the faces of his kills, it was too haunting for him.  

"You wanna clean up while I pack it in?" Taehyung asked, watching Mark slip on latex gloves. Mark nodded and grabbed a spray bottle. He didn't say anything much to Tae since this morning. Since they were working, Tae knew better than to bring up personal stuff during business.  Mark looked as if he was in a different place, but as Taehyung dragged the body bag out the garage door, He gazed at him. Mark felt the uneasy feeling bubble in his stomach, and realized he was feeling regret. Sunday, 12:30pm

"What are you thinking? " Taehyung asked, watching Mark drive with one hand gripping the steering wheel. The empty highway rolled out for the both of them, the stale humid air creating discomfort. Mark groaned and tilted his head, his other hand unbuttoning a button on his shirt.

"I'm thinking about the drive-in. " He murmured, a smirk growing on his face.

The empty parking lot where they still showed movies back home in Washington. It was the first place Taehyung met Mark Tuan. It was a part time job he took in the summertime. A wonderful place filled with chipped paint, friendly mosquitoes and damp dirt. In rain or shine, day or night, Mark Tuan would drive up in his busted down silver Cadillac and lean over to Taehyung, asking him for a ticket to the first movie that his eyes laid on. Sometimes he brought girls. Sometimes guys. Mostly guys. After the tickets were bought and the five or six attendees were parked, snacked up and settled, Taehyung would roll the dusty films into the projectors.

"What was the first movie we kissed at?" Tae asked, looking over at his partner. In his eyes, and his question, he was searching for some last confirmation. Some hope that he wouldn't regret ever falling for Mark Tuan.

He shrugged, his hand gripping the wheel as he took exit 6. His tongue licked his bottom lip, a sigh escaping his mouth. "Breakfast at Tiffany's."

At least he got it right. "That's right." Taehyung said, not impressed the least bit.

"What's with the pop quiz? Not everything is about you, Tae."

The indifferent tone in Mark's voice sparked a match, and Taehyung found himself yelling at him.

"Nothing is about me, Mark! You wanted to come to this hot ass town, you wanted to trust some shady guy in a black suit with a wad of cash, even if that meant killing people."

Mark's fingers grabbed the pack of red newports off the dashboard, placing it to his lips. As he drove off the exit his teeth bit down on one and threw the pack back on the dusty dashboard. The dust lingered in the air, Mark's car speeding up down the streets. He forgot about the dead man in his trunk, he tuned out Taehyung's vents. Taehyung was tired, Mark was tired. Mark felt bile growing in his throat everytime Taehyung smiled at him. In the grand scheme of things, Mark knew he was selfish. He loved Tae, and he wanted him to himself. He didn't care what Taehyung wanted. He fished a lighter out of his pocket, lit his cigarette and drove. He let Taehyung yell, slam the dashboard. Do anything to get his attention. As they drove into the parking lot of their rundown hotel room, the burning heat of his cigarette reaching his lips, He screeched to a halt. The volume in Mark’s mind began to rise, his breathing steadied. As the cigarette stung his lips, spitting the butt out the window, Taehyung’s voice finally reached him.

”Why do you love me one moment, and hate me the next? Why don’t you just shoot me and give the boss two bodies, huh?”

Mark let the tense air in the car grow and suffocate the both of them. Taehyung’s breathing was heavy and erratic. His large hands trembled and he swore if Mark stayed any more quiet, he’s strangle him. Then he really wouldn’t be able to talk. Instead of an answer, he unlocked the doors, throwing the car keys in Tae’s lap. Mark got out of the car, walking towards the sunset. Walking towards the city of flashing lights.

Sunday, 9:40pm

The Vegas strip was full of liars, clowns, and the wrong kind of people. As the moon rose and let the sun sleep, Mark found the closest thing to home in this city. The bright neon colors burned his eyes, but after a few swigs of Gin, he felt euphoric. The lights led him to a small bar. The brick building stood between a cigar shop and a casino, a bright yellow sign with a word he couldn’t make out. Downing what was left of his small bottle, he threw the bottle on the ground, the shattering sound making him jump.

Inside the mystery bar, smoke cloaked the air. He inhaled, the familiar smell of cannabis and cigarettes relaxed him, slumping into a bar stool. The bartender walked over to him, his slightly sunken eyes twinkling as he handed Mark a martini glass.

”You look like you need to get fucked up.” He said, his plump lips growing into a wry smile.

”Just trying to run away from the demons til the morning.” Mark murmured, nodding a thanks and downing the drink. He fisted his pocket, throwing a few hundreds on the counter.  “If you wanna help out I’d appreciate you, man.”

”The names Daehyun.” He grinned, grabbing the money and walking off. “Manhattan, and keep em coming?”

”Sounds good.” Mark nodded once again, his eyes wandering around the bar.  Alternative rock music filled the air, patrons lounging in the plush seats bordering the bar, some dancing in the center. Bodies pressed against each other, sweat dripping down salty skin. The lust was as thick as the smoke. His mind drifted to a simple thought. Taehyung would find this place fun. Daehyun slid the glass gently on the table and Mark drank it down. He didn’t need to think about Taehyung, not right now. The fight this afternoon was in the back of his mind. The words he really wanted to say. I don’t hate you… I just-

A loud laughter cut through his thoughts, and a young man ended up in the seat next to him. His raven hair was a short bob, heart shaped lips that begged to be devoured. His face was almost angelic, almost dangerous. He grinned towards Daehyung, the bartender leaning over to hear the attractive boy.

”Dae~ Buy me a drink. I’ve only had six. “ He mewled into Daehyun’s ear. He didn’t seem the slightest bit drunk, and Mark loved a guy who could hold his liquor.

”Youngjae…” Daehyun’s plump lips curved into a smile and he leaned back. “You’re know you’re like my brother, but I’m not gonna enable you. Find a nice guy or girl and charm your way into one.”

Youngjae pouted, his lips looking so sweet and inviting. Before Mark could think it through he was telling Dae to give him a drink on him. It was the perfect catalyst to get Youngjae’s attention. They exchanged pleasantries and asked what they other was doing. The two said nothing, but knew otherwise. Underneath Youngjae’s black mesh shirt, Mark could see a bruise on his ribs. Youngjae mentioned Mark’s dark rings under his eyes. When he got those, he didn’t know. A few drinks later, Youngjae and Mark were thigh to thigh. Youngjae murmuring to Mark, as if he was telling him a secret.

”You know you’re kinda cute.” He said, smirking as his eyes wandered to the exposed skin on Mark’s shirt.

”You know I’m kinda drunk.” He replied, his toothy grin slipping into another glass of bourbon and aromatic bitters.

”Who isn’t? Everyone is drunk on something. You’re drunk on alcohol, Dae on money, Me..well.”

”On attention.”

Mark’s response broke the spell for a slight moment. The look on Youngjae’s face was as if he was caught. As if he regretted something. It felt familiar.

Why don’t you just shoot me and give the boss two bodies, huh?

His hand reached out and squeezed Youngjae’s thigh, a shiver running down his spine as Mark bit his lip.

”Come with me  and I’ll show you how drunk I am.”

Sunday 11:11pm

The brick building scratched against Youngjae’s back as Mark crashed his lips into his dark haired angel. His hands gripped the slender waist, their tongues dancing against each others. He loved the taste of alcohol and drugs on Youngjae’s tongue. It was an alien taste from toothpaste and caramel taste of his lover. His lips left soft kisses on Youngjae’s cheek, trailing down to his neck. He noticed a healing scar across his neck, it was too dim in the club to actually see the details. Mark didn’t want details. He disregarded it, and bit into his neck. Mark’s hand skillfully unzipped Youngjae’s jeans and slid them down with his boxers. Youngjae’s voice was a chorus of moans and curses, his erection bouncing in the air as Mark’s hands roamed his exposed skin. The softness made Mark growl, he wanted to take this beautiful thing he had found and make it suitable for this town.

”Turn around.” Mark ordered.

Youngjae, stumbling in the pool of his clothes, turned around. He bent over, stroking his erection as his ass stuck up in the air. This stranger, taking him like this, made a warmth burn in Youngjae’s chest. He loved being used, even if he didn’t admit it to himself. Mark spitted in his hand, smearing and lubing his fingers. He pressed one against his warm hole, earning a loud whine from Youngjae. His nails dug against the wall, Mark slowly entering his asshole. Inch by inch, Youngjae’s cock twitched. His mewls made Mark chuckle deep in his throat, going faster and adding a second finger. Youngjae backed up into his fingers, the rising feeling in his stomach becoming more prominent. He wasn’t new to this, and Mark welcomed the experience. He took his fingers out, smacking his cute ass. Youngjae giggled, wiggling his ass for a moment. Unzipping his pants and pulling out his cock, he lined it up against his new friend.

”Beg.” He said, rubbing his redden tip against Youngjae, coating his hole in pre cum.

”Please…please Mr. Mark. Please fuck me. I’m all yours, I’m your fucking bitch. Just shove your cock inside me. Oh god I need this, I need- “ a loud moan cut him off as the cock stretched his opening. Mark bit down into his lip and he inched more into him. He was so warm, and so tight. Mark missed sex. He missed fucking the ever living shit out of Taehyung. Blow jobs were nice, but it wasn’t anything compared to fucking. That mop of bleached hair, the sexy groans he made.

He pulled out and shoved his cock back into Youngjae, and began thrusting into him at a moderate pace. He felt warm growing inside him, chasing his orgasm. Mark grabbed a fistful of black hair, pulling Youngjae’s arm behind him. If he didn’t cum, he wasn’t going to let him.

He held onto his forearm, slamming his cock in slow harsh strokes into Youngjae. He was in utter ecstasy. One hand pulling his hair, the other pulling his arm. This was the feeling he came to the bar for. He needed to be used by someone, anyone.

Mark quickened his pace, shutting his eyes. As stars danced across his vision he released Youngjae, gently grabbing his waist as he came inside him, pumping more cum into him with every sloppy thrust. He froze, letting the boy beneath him catch his breath for a moment. As he was coming to, Mark swerved him around. With his back pressed against the wall, He grabbed a handful of Youngjae’s erection, pumping the hard flesh. He watched Youngjae’s tired, overspent face, his moans rising and falling. Then, a sudden warning.

”Ah, fuck. I’m gonna cum.. Mr. Mark I’m gonna-”

It could have been the alcohol, but watching Youngjae’s cum shoot onto his hand was mesmerizing. It was warm and opalescent. He was lost in how much was spilled, he hadn’t seen that much in so long. Not since he left Washington.

Youngjae got on his knees, holding Mark’s hand and licking every drop off of it.

Then the silence settled in. Youngjae got dressed quickly. He didn’t have anywhere to go, but he could never keep anyone waiting. When his gaze met Mark’s, he was frozen. Mark stuffed himself into his pants and patted Youngjae’s shoulder.

”That was fun, gotta come here more often. “ He walked towards the outer alley, giving a chaste wave to his temporary friend.

Into the street, and down the strip Mark ran a hand through his hair. A sudden pain in his chest appeared. So this is what cheating felt like. Mark began to blend in more and more. Hiding more secrets, more than he could handle. But underneath the neon lights, who could care? He smirked to himself, as a sudden thought entered his mind.

Taehyung would care.

[stereksummerexchange]

Before The Me and You

@hashtag-hale - I really hope you enjoy it! First time doing something like this so I hope it doesn’t show too much.

by @shaggii-murder

Not Rated - the only warning is fluff. 

Derek reminisce, Stiles is a loving, if not, sarcastic boyfriend. That’s all that needs to be said.

“Derek,” Stiles whispers causing Derek’s eyes to flutter open. His brain waking up slowly.

“Der-Bear.” Stiles softly sings from behind Derek. Placing his hands on Derek’s shoulders, gently leaning over the couch he was napping on. Stiles slides his hands down his chest to rest them there. Derek looks up to his boyfriend, regaining his senses.

“Dinner’s ready sleepy head.” He says with a mischievous grin.

“Already?” Derek says surprised, staring at his sly smile. He turns his head to look at the clock on the wall of their apartment seeing that it’s already 7:30pm.

“I was out for two hours?” He said, voice croaking a little.

“You were tired, I figured I’d let you sleep while I cooked dinner. You needed it man, you’ve been riding around in that ambulance since last night for your shift.

“Now, try and stay awake while I’ll go grab dinner. We’ll eat it here.” Stiles said leaning up off of him walking towards the kitchen.

Smiling softly, Derek looked towards his boyfriend thinking how lucky he got. Derek raised his arms above his head to stretch, arching his back, he felt joints popping, reawakening his body. Now that he’s up and awake he realises how hungry he is. Just when his stomach started to growl Stiles re-entered the room with two bowls of vegetable curry in both hands.

Instead of going around the couch he just climbed over it slowly. Being mindful of the food, he plopped down close to Derek snuggling into his side. “And here we are,” Stiles said passing one of the bowls to Derek. “Our dinner is served.” He continues. Before Stiles can dig in, he feels Derek’s fingers comb through his hair, settling at the back of his head, guiding him for a quick chaste kiss.

“Thank you.” Derek said “I really do appreciate you doing this.” “No problem-o babe. You’ve be working so hard lately, you deserve a small break once in awhile.” Stiles says casual like he didn’t make Derek’s heartbeat just a bit faster by saying that. Stiles leans over to him, kissing him on his brow, like he knows what Derek is thinking.

Derek can feel Stiles smile on his skin. He feels his blood rush to his ears, making him feel like they haven’t been doing this for years, and more like a first date. Turning to face forward, Stiles grabs the remote off the coffee table to turn on the TV putting it on a random channel that caught his eye, he starts in on his dinner finally. Derek smiles to himself, no more words needs to be said. Just having Stiles by his side has made life just that much better. Not to say he didn’t have a fantastic life before he met him. He has a huge, wonderful, and supportive family. And dear friends that, some (at this point) are part of his ever growing family. Like his best friends, Erica and her, now fiancé Boyd. They have been his close’s friends since high school. Erika, that shy girl that only spoke a few sentences at a time, always worried she’d get notice by the kids that bullied her for her epilepsy, might hurt her again. Is now a drop-dead gorgeous feminist, rally organiser that get women together. Not to tear each other down for their differences but to push each other up because of them. So confident and humble. Always there to talk when he’s feeling down or lost, offering her advice when he needed it. She is the best person he’s ever had privilege of being friends with.

And Boyd was pretty much not a speaker at all in high school, unless it was to Derek or Erika. Always so quiet but quick with a joke. Since Boyd and Erika started dating in the 11th grade, it helped them both to break out of their shells to become the people they were always meant to be.

And they were all fortunate enough to get into the same University. From there, he met Isaac. A hipster kind of guy that had impeccable fashion taste. They really got to know each other through their course. Studying together, then becoming house mates before the start of the second semester.

With Boyd and Erika, all four of them were able to rent a small three bedroom house just off campus. Perfect size for them. And for Isaac to dub the perfect party house.

Isaac, in University, was a party animal. (Not that he isn’t now but mostly back then) Almost every weekend there was always something going on. From a small study group to full fledged party.

Even though Derek was kind of a shut in when it came to parties, he’d come out from his room to mingle every once in a while, to keep Isaac from busting down his door.

And from there he’ll be forever grateful that Isaac threw a get-to-know party inviting heaps of people around campus.

Which that including Kira Yukimura who, in turn, brought Scott McCall, Allison Argent, Lydia Martin and the one and only, Stiles Stilinski. As soon as Derek saw him from where was sitting, a drink in his hand, Derek was transfix to the young man that just walked in. Talking with his hands in an almost comical way. His eyes twinkling with mirth and a smirk on his lips. Making a beautiful redhead roll her eyes. And by the way her lips were twitching up, she was amused at what he was saying.

While the group made there way in the room Derek leaned over to Isaac who was perched on the arm of the couch.

“Who’s that?” Derek said, subtly pointing to Stiles. Isaac twist to look at where he was pointing.

“Ah he’s Kira’s friend, his name is Stiles? I think? Kind of a spaz but a nice guy. Talked to him a few times.” He says as he twists back around.

“Stiles huh.” Derek repeats.

“Oh I know that look.” Isaac smirks. “Just never seen it on you before.” He lets out a small chuckle. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Derek sips his drink. His ears burning. Later that evening Derek was making his way to the kitchen to grab another drink, and maybe something to eat, he thinks to himself. But before here can, he runs into a body when rounding the corner. Making said body spill his own drink on himself.

“Whoa!”Body said. Catching the cup before it hits the ground. Derek squeaked. “I’m so sorry! Here let me grab a towel!” Moving around him, he starts to grab a tea-towel off the kitchen island. Handing it to him.

“Hey don’t worry about it man, it was bound to happen sometime tonight. If you knew how clumsy I am you wouldn’t even think it was your fault.”

Derek let out an embarrassed gasp when he finally gets a good look at the owner of the shirt he ruined. “Seriously it’s alright. I’m Stiles by the way.” Holding out his hand. Looking at him in the eyes. “Not just clumsy shirt guy that you’re probably calling me in your head.” Stiles lets out a small pathetic laugh. Looking away, thinking to himself he’s made the situation a bit awkward. Well a bit more awkward, what with having his shirt drenched, looking like damp rat. Coming back to himself Derek takes Stiles hand trying his best to look suave. Gaining his eye contact again. “Derek. Hale. Derek Hale.” Closing his eyes he takes back his hand. Completely feeling embarrassed. He goes to take a step back. “Wait!” Stiles grabs his hand again before he can get out of reach. Clearing his throat Stiles smooths over his face with his other hand to look less panicked. Moving it up to his hair, smoothing that also but making it look like he just rolled out of bed. “I’ve been wanting a reason to talk to you all night.” His voice getting softer as he went on. “Um, I mean.” Stiles continued. “Did you want to get to know each other? Like talk, for a bit? I’ve seen you around, and Isaac talked about you.” His eyes widened. “In a super positive way!” He quickly corrected himself. Dropping Derek’s hand. Stiles sighs.

“I’m blowing this aren’t I?” Sounding dejected. Derek laughs “No not at all. In fact, did you want to come up to my room? So we can talk privately?” Derek says with a blinding smiling gracing his face. No longer feeling embarrassed or unsure.

Stiles says later, that as soon as Derek gave him that smile, he half fell in love with him right then and there.

Derek thinks the more accurate moment was when they got to his room and Stiles saw a Star Wars poster on his wall declaring his undying love for him and saying he going to marry him someday.

“Hey,” Stiles poking him over his heart to gain his attention. “Penny for your thoughts?” They’re now lying down on the couch, dinner bowls on the coffee table empty, and (in Stiles case) licked clean.

Stiles is draped over him, using both his hands as a pillow on his chest.

“Hmm?” Derek hummed.

“Don’t hum me young man. You’ve been lost in thought throughout the whole movie. Is something wrong?” Stiles starts, jokingly at first but growing more concerned as he finished. Derek just yawns, rubbing a free hand up and down Stiles back. “Just thinking how lucky I am that Isaac was trying to bang Kira in Uni.” Derek says focusing on trying to remember the movie he just watched. Man, I really was lost in thoughtwasn’t I? Stiles squints are Derek’s face.

“Should I be concerned about our marriage?” Derek huffs, “Of course not. Was just thinking about the night we met, and why the whole reason we had that get-to-know party is so Isaac could try and get into Kira’s pants.” he frowns, scrunching his nose trying to get that image out of his head. “Oh, perfectly normal things then. Just the usual stuff that’s going around in your head.” Stiles says sarcastically. Rolling his eyes.

Derek stops his rubbing to give Stiles’ side a pinch, causing him to yelp and pull away.

He quickly grabs hold of him tight, using both hands around his waist making sure doesn’t get away. “Was just thinking how beautiful you looked and how we spent the night talking.” He continues.

Stiles snorts, “Sure. How gorgeous was I with drying beer down my shirt? And as I recall we did a lot more kissing than we did talking.” Derek choosing to ignore that last part, “Well maybe it was all part of my elaborate plan to get your shirt off?” Derek says, moving his eyebrows up and down.

“God you’re such a dork.” Stiles says putting a hand over his eyes so he doesn’t have to see that any more. “I thought I was your dork.” Derek pouts, giving him his best puppy dog eyes. “Please, you know you’ll never be as good as Scott using those things.” Derek growls playfully. “I can still use them. There’s no copy right claim on them by Scott.” “He may as well have one. No beating those treacherous eyes.” Stiles sighs softly. Laying his chin back on his hands.

“Should I be the one that’s worried about our marriage now?” Derek says, putting the back of his to his forehead, pretending to faint.

Stiles grabs the hand, cupping it between both of his.

“Never. I’m keeping you till the end.” Kissing his fingers softly. He closes his eyes and smiles. “You were pretty cute back then. What with your dorky ways and red blushing ears. I couldn’t resist. The muscles helped too.” Stiles winks.

Derek glowers, completely unimpressed.

A silence passes over them now. Both just taking in the other. Memorizing each other. Never wanting to forget moments like these.

“I love you.” Derek whispers with a soft smile on his lips.

“I love you too.” Stiles response back. A smile of his own.

Stiles leans forward closing his eyes. Derek meets him halfway for lingering kiss. Tasting one another, always feeling like it’s the first.

Kissing once more Stiles pulls back to snuggle into Derek’s chest again. Getting comfortable to take a nap.

Derek kisses the top of his head, also shuffling to get comfortable too. Arms never moving from around Stiles.

Derek thinks, before he follows for a nap too. Yep, so lucky to have him in his life. He couldn’t ask for more.

[pendragonfics]

Mr. I-Abandoned-You-To-Take-Over-Your-Home-Planet-And-Got-Jailed-Indefinitely

A Gem in a Rare Trove of Treasure: Chapter One | Chapter Two

Paring: Loki/Reader

Tags: female reader, reader is a waitress, reader is cousins with Maria Hill, canon compliant, set vaguely around Avengers (2012), set in both Midgard and Asgard, fluff, healing, angst with a happy ending.

Summary:  When most people say they have taken a lover, it sounds almost Bond-ish; like they had a day job, and a classy uptown life and had to splash out one day and find a person to warm their sheets by night and heart by day. But for you, the waitress who worked downtown by the train station in your little old town, when your friends suggested that’s the label to put with you and the handsome stranger who won you over, they laughed.

Word Count: 2,253

Posting Date:  2017-04-12

Current Date: 2017-06-18

When most people say their boyfriend had to go long distance, there's a lot of sympathy. Hugs and kisses. Warm cookies left at the door, pretty notes in pretty cards saying how sorry they are for you. But for you, you had no choice in it; the love of your life had once been laying beside you in the sheets, yes, but was gone, was brainwashed, was whisked away to the land where he was raised. Fathoms away from where you stood. But when people heard that you were in love with Loki, the guy who tore strips out of New York city and destroyed their favourite cafe downtown, they frowned, and didn't care for conversation anymore.

You didn't care for conversation, either, because talking of him hurt more than dreaming. You'd see the way his eyes were ice blue, and wicked, staring deep into your soul, taunting, treachery leaching from within. You'd see the verdant green, which was always his, would always be his, but were poisoned by the blue, treacherous blue.

If it weren't for your connection to the Avengers through your cousin, you would be sure that you'd never see Loki, son of Odin ever again, and be forever scarred by the memory of the lover from out of the world you knew. But you cradled the books he had shared with you, and graciously moved into the Avengers tower in New York, and got a job down the street from where you lived. It was lovely, for the first few months, but with every passing day, every passing holiday, you felt a growing sadness inside your chest.

You understood that he'd committed a crime, and you in no way were in love with the man who had committed it, but there was something inside you which made you want to have him beside you at night, to hold onto, to greet upon coming home, to take to Thanksgiving and share a present with on Christmas. You watched as Tony moved from Pepper to May Parker, Clint leave to visit his family, Nat take to internet dating and miraculously match up with Matt Murdock, the lawyer who helped around the legal matters of the tower.

When Thor came back from a long vacation with Jane, you snapped, rising from the sad stupor you put yourself in for all of that time, and did your best grovelling to the first in line for the Asgardian crown. Thor smiled, soft and small, his beard accentuating the sadness in his eyes. It had probably been a while since he had thought of his brother, having been away with Jane, and it showed.

But, unlike other unyielding attempts to access Asgard, this proved fruitful - as he was to return in a day, and you were more than welcome to come. At that moment, all you could do was thank him in less than coherent words, and run off to your little room to pack things in and try to not forget unimportant things. Before too long, the case was full, and all but the book Loki had shared with you, the fantastical one of which you loved just short the same amount as you did he, was in your arms. And not a day later, there was you biding goodbye, or at least, a temporary goodbye to the Avengers, and riding the rainbow bridge to Asgard. 

It was all you'd dreamed it to be - the city afire with gold, the aura of stars above the skies staring down upon your skin, the white-eyes of the gatekeeper Heimdall - all that Loki had whispered in your ear, had told you of. While Thor went on his way to the war rooms to debate with his father about tensions in the nine worlds, you were escorted down below the royal castle, where the prisoners of the King were kept.

There, sat Loki. 

His hair was a mess, long and bedraggled, his skin pale and eyes hollow from emotion. His feet were bare, his clothes ripped, trickles of blood staining his sole. It had only been a year and four months since he had been taken from you, but the God before you looked like he had aged twelve, and hadn't seen you for as long. He was a dying man. Small. Hurting.

But also, Loki was standing, his hair neatly combed; regal. Long. His jaw was held high, eyes regarding all with the air you'd expect of royalty, above it all. He wore the colours of his house, the bright emerald green that you loved on him, haunting leather ensemble that caught in your mind. He was a warrior. Tall. Strong.

Those escorting you stopped, but you did not. Slowly, you approached the transparent golden wall that separated the both of you, and bent to sit upon your knees at the gate. Neither of the Loki's in the prison turned their gaze to you - in fact, it would seem that they turned their nose elsewhere, in the direction you were not present. Without realising, a tear fell from your eye, as you raised your hand to touch the barrier. The gate stung upon your skin, an irritation that would surely increase if you tried to push through, you were sure of, and the tear, the little droplet that came from within you, splashed upon the marble floor.

"Of all your tricks, Odin, this is your cruellest," His voice was thick, yet weak, sad, but without emotion. "Leave me to rot." 

Your brow furrowed, and turning to the guards, "Let me in," you whispered. "Please." 

On one of the guards' belts, they pressed a button, and the wall before you descends. As soon as you step inside, it resumes its place, and you are isolated in the room where there are two Loki's inside, where the furniture is both regal and tidy and splintered around the floor. One of them watches you intently, his green eyes following you as you navigate around the broken stools and tables over the ground. The leather-clad Loki has a haughty air to the way he holds himself, the way he regards you.

"It has only taken you years to get here," he snarks.

You raise your chin. "Sixteen months. But you cannot judge me, Mr. I-Abandoned-You-To-Take-Over-Your-Home-Planet-And-Got-Jailed-Indefinitely." You snap. "So spare me any snark and angst, Loki, because I have gone through hell and back for you. I travelled to a new world! I've been exiled from my familiar circles for associating with you!" You scream. "So, please, give this mimicry up and talk to me through your own mouth," you turn to the Loki who sits on the floor, and grabbing a short plank of wood, you throw it through the illusion before you. 

He frowns. "How did you know?" 

You smile, but it is not a happy smile. It's wan. Tight. "I can see you both. Either I'm sort of magic in a mundane way, or you're getting slack, Loki." He does not laugh. You add, "It might have taken sixteen months, maybe because my mind is at war with itself over a male who has torn my soul and taken a piece for himself, and left me to fend for myself. You know what it's like to be rejected, from your own people, now imagine it for me, who has never had it happen! All because I dared to lay in bed and love the man whose brain was washed to take over Earth." You take a shaky breath, and feel a tear slip. "Forgive me."

Adjusting himself against the wall, he glances to the space beside him, bare of splinters and unpleasantness scattered. "Will you sit with me?" It is not a question. It is a plead. You do sit, but not close, keeping an eye on the two guards that stand on watch as you mingle with their prisoner. "Forgive me."

You lay your head upon his shoulder, feeling the essence of Loki there, present, warm, alive. It can't be a dream, because you can smell his scent, can hear his breathing, the pitter-patter of his heartbeat's pulse under the hand on his wrist. 

"Aren't we a pair," you sniff, looking to his distressed hair, "The common waitress, and the alien prince," your hand on his stroked his skin, his fingers intertwining with your digits. "Don't tell me it sounds like a good story," you warn him, inhaling his scent. 

"It sounds like a good story," he repeats, despite your cautionary words, "But I should always think of that tale to be of the dreamer who watched the stars, who wanted to touch them upon her skin, and the globe-trotter who wanted nothing more than to make just one place his true home," Loki's eyes turn to you, their bright green aura stirring you with their beauty, their grace. "I have done so much wrong, have done too much bad in the world to keep this weight upon your chest."

You withdraw from his side. "Don't - don't you dare," you whisper. "If you leave me, I will haunt you until the day I die, and even then, will never cease," you threaten. "If loyalty, or devotion was defined in the dictionary, there would be a picture of me right here, right now, beneath those words. I will always love you, even if you are the monster under children's beds, even if you are a shattered mirror."

"Really?" Barely a whisper. Barely heard. But only by you.

You nod. "Honest."

There is a silence between the pair of you, but unlike before, it does not chill your bones, or break your heart. It's kind. It's healing. He clears his throat, and nodding, affirms your words, and wraps his other hand over his, and yours, and that is where you stay, silent, and, with each other's company. You're not sure whether it is half a minute, or half an hour later, but the thud of boots came, and from your heavy eyelids, you saw the dark maroon of Odin, and the crimson of Thor's cape appear. Loki shifts, aware of his brother's and father's scrutiny, but squeezing his hand, you compel him to stay seated, to stay beside you, to not fight this fight. 

The silence is broken when Odin clears his throat. "I have been in council with the lords and jury of Asgard, and heard word from your brother of this development," His voice is deep, and regal, and you cannot help but not maintain eye contact with him - it's almost like a primal fear of the peasant vs. royal complex. "I must say, Loki, my son, you have shocked me more than I believed you ever could."

Beside you, Loki narrows his eyes, but before he can spit out a burning retort, you interject. "Inciting a war while waiting for peace is not a tactic most fruitful, King Odin." 

You don't know where the fancy words have come from - you're just a human. A barmaid. A little ant in comparison to the gods you are surrounded by. But adrenaline is a funny thing, and yet here you are, and you're staring down the one-eyed bearded man you know from mythology as the ruthless King of the Gods. 

He cracks a smile. "I like this girl, Loki, she will be good for you, for all the trouble you have put yourself through." He glances to Thor, and adds, "In the discussions, we have deliberated a punishment more fit for you than solitary confinement - ten years without your seidr to live a mortal life until the next court will come to session to review the next phase. You are fit to live with the watchful, honourable gaze of the Avengers on Midgard, and with your lady, the fierce _______." 

Loki nods, agreeing with his father. "I agree to these terms, my King." 

You bow your head, heeding the words, of both your lover, and your most likely, future father-in-law. "Thank you for this offer, King Odin."

---

It is light outside, but through the thick glass of the new Avengers Facility the birdsong heralding morning have not woken you. The bedside alarm is turned off, and reads to be nearly eight o'clock, but thankfully, you do not have work today. Turning in the sheets of your bed, you're still not sure what has woken you from slumber. But as you turn, you see him - the man you have fallen for, had fallen for, will always fall for, curled onto his side, his wide green eyes taking in your face in the morning. 

"It's early, you can sleep in," his voice in the morning incites something in you, a flutter in your chest. "What is it? Why are you staring?" He asks.

You can't help but smile. "I'm just ... I'm just in awe of this, of you, of ... being here," your grin widens, and reaching out, you cradle his face in your hands, and just touching his skin, you feel a fire building beneath your fingertips. "Gods, you're beautiful." 

Loki laughs. "But darling, that's what I'm supposed to say to you," he protests, and shifting beneath the bed sheets, he is closer to you, close enough to smell, to see every eyelash on his face, "Since we have nowhere to be until later, I can suggest a method to make it up to you," he offers.

"Oh, silver-tongue," you grin, carding your fingers through his raven hair. "Show, don't tell." 

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