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ikeukiss · 5 months ago

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ANYTHING FOR YOU | 전원우

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ꒰ MY FIC FOR JUPITER'S SECRET CUPID COLLAB

⟢ PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader ⟢ WORD COUNT: 3K ⟢ GENRE: slight comedy, fluff, smut ⟢ TAGS: best friends to lovers au, drunk confession, dirty talk, breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating ⟢ SYNOPSIS: Wonwoo has been your best friend forever. And maybe something more could be in the cards with a mature, sophisticated confession. Or a lot of alcohol. ⟢ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Inspired by LANY's song "anything 4 u"! Big thanks to my betas for this fic Tiya (@gyubakeries), Honey (@heesuncore), and Mitchie (@seokgyuu)! I love you all so much. And this fic is for my Secret Cupid Ally (@lovetaroandtaemin)!! I love you loads and you're an incredible friend. I'm so glad I got you so I could share a small token of appreciation for our friendship. I hope you love this story as much as I did writing it! ♥︎

Valentine’s Day weekend. The one weekend you have to suffer through everything being doused in red, pink, and white decorations. It’s everywhere: across your work office, all around the city you live in, and even plastered around the hole-in-the-wall bar that all of your friends are drinking in now.

It’s not one of your least favorite holidays, per se. But the intensity of it can be incredibly draining. The constant declarations of affection, the emotionally gooey visual representations of one’s desire for another person, it’s too much even for some of your own friends who are coupled up.

The reality of your loneliness pushes your mood down just enough that staring down your third bottle of beer makes you yearn for another, despite your alcohol tolerance being less than stellar. And to make matters worse, it sucks to be surrounded by others’ happiness when you’re so alone in love and in love with someone too enmeshed in your life as a friend, rather than a person of romantic interest.

Wonwoo sits with Vernon and Soonyoung at the high-top bar, nursing tequila shots and Coronas without bothering to look back at the rest of your table of friends. Yes, you were all celebrating Soonyoung’s new promotion and Vernon finally nabbing a girlfriend in time for Valentine’s this year, and they only stalked off a few minutes ago to share a few drinks on their own, but you wish Wonwoo was sitting next to you again.

You always mocked him for telling you to slow down. To drink water to avoid dehydration or to eat something to offset your alcohol intake. With all of his parroted wisdom that drives some of his closest friends crazy, you love him for it. You love him for a lot of reasons, really.

“Maybe you should just tell him, you know?” Seokmin says across from you, looking over at you from the rim of his Whiskey Sunrise. It’s a sickly shade of red, grenadine mixed in with the other ingredients to commemorate the holiday season. You wonder if it tastes like cough syrup, because it sure looks like it.

“You think I haven’t thought of that?” You ask with a slur, licking the remaining beer on your lips. “It’s not that easy to destroy seven years of friendship.”

“Come on. You act like nobody else has noticed when it’s plain as day, babe,” Seungkwan pipes up next to you, elbowing you softly in the ribs with an accompanying waggle of his eyebrows.

“And what is your best course of action, Dum and Dee?” You split your stare between both of your friends, your irritation peaking. “I just go over to that bar and confess everything to him. Then he’ll say he’s felt the same this entire time and we ride off into the sunset together?”

“One, you don’t need to be rude,” Seokmin responds. “Two, you don’t have to make it so dramatic. Get him alone tomorrow, maybe. Talk it out, see where it goes.”

“Exactly,” Seungkwan says. “It doesn’t need to be this big movie scene thing.”

“What movie?” Soonyoung asks, sitting back down next to Seungkwan and in front of his empty bowl of ramen. The other boys follow suit, Vernon alongside Seokmin and Wonwoo next to you once again.

It feels like torture and sanctuary in the same moment, so close but so far from what you wish the two of you could be.

“Nothing, just this documentary we all saw the other night,” you respond. You press your lips to your bottle again, pouting when the last droplets hit your tongue. “I’m gonna get another,” you say to nobody in particular. Wonwoo perks up once he notices you stumbling to get out of your chair.

“Not so fast,” Wonwoo says as you fall back into his arms. “I think I should get you home.”

“No, the night’s still young!” You whine into his jacket, your hair ruffling the skin on his neck. His chest rumbles with laughter, but nothing at the moment is funny to you. You don’t want to leave just yet, and he doesn’t need to treat you like a baby. “We still haven't even gone to karaoke.”

“Another night. Go sleep it off!” Vernon calls from behind you.

“You kids have fun!” Seokmin says with a conspiratory wink. You and Wonwoo walk towards the entrance of the bar, and you want to throw something at Seokmin to make your idiot best friend’s dumb smirk and even more ridiculous idea of confessing your feelings to your mutual friend blip out of existence.

Wonwoo has seen you at your lowest. He consoled you after you ran your car into a parked motorcycle when you were sixteen, your humiliation palpable the whole three hours you both waited for the police to show up. He’s held you in his arms after every failed romantic relationship, telling you it was always them and never you when it ended poorly. There’s nothing the two of you haven’t been there for each other for, no experience too vulnerable to share and overcome together.

But Wonwoo holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail as you throw up may just be the all-time low of your embarrassing moments. He whispers in your ear that you’re okay and rubs your back with a soft hand, and you feel all the worse for it. How could he ever love someone this prone to disaster, this cringeworthy?

“You should go home,” you cry into the toilet bowl. “I’m disgusting.”

Wonwoo says your name in a mocking tone, pretending to be serious but in no way critical of you or the situation. He takes off his plaid button up and throws it in some random corner of your bathroom, free to hold you as close as possible as you continue dry-heaving. “You’re not disgusting.”

“Of course you’d say that, you’re you.”

He laughs again, tucking what hair he can from your face so you can lift your head off of the toilet. “And what’s that?”

You look at him with puffy, half-open eyes. “Perfect.”

He helps you up from the tile floor and moves you to your bedroom on your weak legs. He sheds off your overshirt as you kick off your denim jeans. Your mind rumbles with a whirlpool of thoughts as his brain ruminates on the word you used when comparing himself to you.

“I’m in no way perfect, kid,” he whispers. The nickname he’s used on you forever feels like a backhand, a copious amount of salt in a wound you know will never heal. He’ll always see you at a distance from him, his feelings leagues away from yours.

“Don’t call me that,” you cry into your pillow, resting your cheek deep into the material to muffle the quiet sobs in your throat. He can’t be serious, talking to you so tenderly when you’re falling apart.

“Hey, can you look at me?” You shake your head and settle deeper into the pile of comforters and throw pillows. Wonwoo suddenly feels his gut turn into a dozen knots. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, how to fix it, or what to say to make things better, and it kills him. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Because you’re too perfect to love someone like me. But I love you so much, and it fucking sucks,” you hiccup, the darkness of your bed making you believe he’s not there, this isn’t real, and it’s okay to release all the words in your heart into the dark. “And every time I see those damn red and pink hearts all over the place, I think of you and I want to die.”

The force of your confession almost knocks Wonwoo on his ass. At the very least, he settles onto the desk chair near your bed and hears your whimpers give way to light snores.

He runs his hands through your hair again and tucks the covers up to your chin. He holds himself back from pressing a kiss to your forehead, the one thing he’s always done when you’ve passed out countless times before in his presence, but never recalled the next morning. This time, though, he prays you’ll remember your drunken admission.

“I hope you meant everything you said,” he whispers before retreating to your couch to fall asleep to the sounds of the cityscape below.

You wake up to low jazz playing from your living room TV and the smell of sizzling eggs. Each limb aches from the heavy sleep you fell under last night. You quietly pad out of your room to find Wonwoo cooking what looks to be the perfect mix of breakfast and hangover food. A makeshift Bloody Mary sits on the counter next to him, waiting for you.

Wonwoo turns when he senses you behind him, and he grins. “Hey, you’re awake. I was worried you’d be passed out until the afternoon. I wouldn’t blame you, though.”

You blush a shade deeper, still sporting your tank top and clad in a pair of boy shorts. You forgot you had taken your pants off before slipping into bed the night prior, but it isn’t the first time Wonwoo’s seen you half-clothed. You drink half of the concoction and set it down, your headache throbbing a little less. “How bad was I last night?”

He smirks. “Bad enough to throw up another three times.”

You groan into the back of your hand and hitch yourself up on the counter across from Wonwoo, his focus still on the over-medium eggs in the pan. “I’m sorry you had to take care of me again.”

“I wanted to,” he says without looking up at you. “I always want to be here when you need me.”

“I know, I know, it’s your job to say that,” you joke.

He drops the metal spatula next to him on the stove, and you jump up at the sound. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t say a word for a moment, and you’re unsure if he’s even breathing when you ask him if he’s okay. “So, you don’t remember then?” His question comes out almost like a statement, but the wavered edge of it proves he is concerned with whatever has slipped your mind.

“Woo, you’re freaking me out.”

He turns the stove to a low, simmering heat before facing you. His eyes look sad but expectant, waiting for the inevitable to come to you. “You really have no idea what I’m talking about?”

You tuck your hair behind your ear, and in that instant, you recall that last hour before you fell asleep. Wonwoo helping you into bed. Crying in your bed. And all the words that followed.

The memories bring tears to your eyes and your hands to your face. “Oh my god—”

Wonwoo takes your palms away and holds them to his mouth. “Stop running from me.”

“Don’t make me say it again, Woo, please.” Your bottom lip trembles. You fight every instinct to run from the kitchen and out of the apartment altogether, wanting to accept the continuous pain of hiding your feelings than the truth that this could be the end of the both of you as you know it, for better or worse.

“Fine, you don’t have to.” Wonwoo’s lips curl into that grin you’ve adored for almost a decade. “I’ll say what I need to first, then.”

He takes a deep breath and sets his jaw. “I’ve been in love with you since the minute you threw your ice-cream at that biker who almost clipped me in the foot on the way to school. Remember? I may have loved you long before that, but that’s the moment I realized.

“And I don’t want to lose you. I want to be more than just the guy you call your best friend. I want to be the only friend that matters, the friend that kisses you goodnight and tells you how beautiful you are because there’s no other way to describe you. I love you, too, kid, whether you realized it or not.”

A breathy yelp leaves your mouth before you kiss Wonwoo on the mouth. It’s a hard one, a clash of teeth and a bit of tongue, but you didn’t expect less from such an unexpected and perfect confession. Maybe this was the way you rode off into the sunset together. Sure, there was the smell of burning eggs instead of the sounds of a white stallion gallivanting off to the unforeseeable future, but it’s perfect. It’s yours.

Wonwoo shuts the burner off entirely before he takes you by the hand into your bedroom. When your bed is in full view, he kisses you long and slow. It’s nothing like the first kisses you shared a second ago, but it’s earth-shattering all the same.

You moan into his mouth when he presses a free hand to your breast, teasing the skin above your shirt until your nipple pebbles.

“Is this too fast?” He asks in a gruff voice. “We don’t have to do anything if you’re not comfortable, I just—”

You press a finger to his lips, effectively shutting him up. “If you do not take my clothes off right now and fuck me, I will never speak to you again.”

Wonwoo smirks and kisses you once more, only stopping to pull your tank top over your head and rip your underwear off of your legs. His fingers delve between your folds, and you shudder in his hold but refuse to let him take his hand away.

“You like this,” he whispers, the statement thick with his lust.

“Yes, it feels so good,” you whimper. You gasp when two of his fingers curl inside of you, his thumb still nestled on top of your clit to swirl around with the pad. The amount of pleasure he’s already given you is indescribable, and he hasn’t even truly done much yet.

You whine when he takes his hand away, but it’s to discard his own clothes and sit at the edge of your bed. He beckons for you to sit on top of him, and he doesn’t think twice about swirling himself between your essence and lining the head of his dick with your entrance. His tip is so swollen and covered in pre-cum, there’s no problem sinking it inside of your heat.

You share a mutual curse of pleasure when he bottoms out, his pelvic bone meeting your skin. You stay like that for a moment. You’re so full and unable to move from the size of him filling every empty space inside of you, you think this has to be a dream. Last night has not given way to day yet, and now is just a conjuring of your cruel mind.

You get lost in your thoughts for so long Wonwoo brings his hand to your face and traces his fingers over your cheek, staring at you lovingly. “Where’d you go?”

You smile shyly and kiss his nose. “I just can’t believe this is happening.”

“I guess I’ll just have to remind you it’s real.”

He takes your ass between his hands and spreads you out before thrusting up inside of you, making you gasp hard. He moves long and slow underneath you, almost taking his cock out of your pussy completely before delving back into you.

“I want to give you everything,” he pants. “All that I have—will have—is for you. You know that, right?”

“Yes, fuck,” you whisper, meeting his hips with yours as you try to set your own pace, sinking down onto him with every thrust where your skin meets with loud smacks.

“I love you so much,” he says into your neck before biting down on your soft skin. You moan loudly and press yourself deeper and harder against him. His cock hits you at the perfect angle as you straddle him, and you feel the start of your climax deep in your stomach.

Seven years of missed opportunities. More than too many chances for days and nights like this spent together so intimately gone to the wind. It’s easy to be regretful for all the time that you’ve wasted without each other, but you realize it’s not wasted at all.

Every step, every thread of fate that tied you two together, brought you here. Whatever comes of today is just an extension of what has already existed in your hearts. So what more is there to ask for?

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he growls in your ear. His balls smack against your skin as he continues to slam into you. Tears spring in your eyes as he moves even harder, trying to take you both to your peaks together. “Where can I come, baby?”

“Inside of me. I want all of it, all of you. Please,” you beg. You bounce harder on top of him, circling your clit with your fingers to fall off the precipice with Wonwoo by your side.

“You want to feel all of me, yeah? So full of my cum it’s all you’ll think about?” He smirks and replaces the fingers on your clit with his own. “Maybe I’ll fuck a baby into you with how much cum I give you. Would you like that?”

You see stars behind your eyelids as you listen to the beautiful, dirty words on his lips. You nod vigorously, wanting nothing more than for him to claim you in this way. It’s all you’ve thought about for years, truthfully.

“God, I’m coming,” you say into his neck, thighs quivering as the rest of your body goes slack from the pleasure. Wonwoo grunts into the shell of your ear as he orgasms himself, his seed spilling into you so deep you think there’s no way any remnant of him will slip out.

When he takes himself out of you, he swirls the mixture of both of your releases on his fingers before you take those fingers into your mouth, sucking them dry.

Wonwoo chuckles and kisses you deeply, the taste of the two of you on both of your tongues. “That’s one way to end Valentine’s weekend, don’t you think?”

You giggle and kiss him on both cheeks, too eager to see the rest of your future together. “You could say that.”

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @okiedokrie-main @brownbunnyb

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @lapydiaries @moadiarynet @/sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @deoboyznet @violetanet @whipped-kpop-creators

#kvanity #kstrucknet #keopihausnet #lapydiariesnet #wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo smut #wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen fic #seventeen fics #svt x reader #svt fic #svt fics #[ lw - events ]#— ikeukiss #ikeukiss — svt

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biteofcherry · 17 days ago

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Touch The Darkness

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary for this chapter: Accompanying Steve to a club goes terribly wrong. However, what follows may shake you even more. Certain self-discoveries are best left ignored and denied, right?

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; forced marriage; violence; being turned on by violence (not against the Reader); hurt her and you die trope; hurt/comfort of sorts; smut; gun kink; oral (m receiving); fingering; anal play; double penetration; dirty talk; praise; D/s undertones;

word count: 6.2k

Author’s Note: We're on the penultimate chapter! It means certain discoveries and revelations about Princess and Steve's dynamic. Personally, I'm happy that I've written it all exactly like I imagined when I created the outline for all ten chapters of this fic 😎 Also, just to calm you all down, the main story will end on chapter 10, but it doesn't mean I won't write some fics and drabbles for Steve and Princess in the future.

Also, in this chapter, there's a tiny blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to @krirebr's vampire Steve 🤭 No, he doesn't appear. There's just a particular innuendo.

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 9. Eruption

~ * ~

A myriad of colorful splashes chased each other along the dark, cathedral ceiling. Following their drugged dance felt both tiring to your eyes and childishly relaxing.

When Steve informed you of the opening of a new club - one that was officially owned by someone else, but in reality fell under Steve’s command in that twisted dark web of connections you learned intertwines the city and the whole fucking coast up to the Capitol - you snorted at him that you’re not a college girl interested in spending her Friday evening skanky, drunk and groped.

The last word you should’ve skipped, because of course your husband grinned that lethal way that wordlessly reminded you that you’d most certainly be groped and ruined by him anyway.

Thankfully, Steve didn’t utter a word about the importance of that club opening to his business, or reputation, or whatever. You didn’t give a damn about any of that. Honestly, you doubted Steve did either.

It was probably an opportunity for him to remind someone that he was still the biggest predator, or to put deep fear in them. For you, it was a chance to get a migraine.

However, Steve had one argument - the only one he used - that won you over.

Pepper was going to be there.

Apparently, her husband loved all kinds of extravagant parties and had a solid chunk of the club’s profits. Considering the interior design of that monstrosity, you suspected Tony also had some influence on that matter. It was gothic meets the 80’s disco, though you couldn’t exactly imagine a gothic staple in the form of a vampire preying through the glittery crowd to sink its fangs into someone’s neck under the disco ball sparkle.

But Pepper’s company was always welcome. Not only she became a true, honest ally in this murky underworld, she also helped you remember there were pieces of your life worth enjoying, instead of just drowning yourself in bitterness and hate.

She was exceptionally smart in assessing you, too. She never pointed out money or status as something of value, but rather opportunities to use to help others and small bits of care you refused to see on your own.

She also had a hilarious evil pixie side and roped you into making sassy, judgmental comments on the people dancing the night away on the dancefloor below.

You both leaned on the wooden balustrade of the choir balcony of the former church that now served as the VIP lounge, watching and laughing as the colorful crowd swayed on the shiny-tiled dancefloor. Behind you, Steve, Tony and some two other men whose name you chose to ignore, had a business conversation. Bucky and Nat were off to the side; partially on duty and partially off of it, having some almost-silent conversation with Tony’s man, Happy.

Despite your vehement reluctance at first, you found yourself relaxed and having fun (which you assigned mostly to Pepper’s influence).

Steve didn’t attempt to show you off in any way; he didn’t suggest you go dancing, nor did he send you away when he started talking business. And when you walked back to the sofa, his body shifted your way without him losing his focus on the conversation.

His hand landed on your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze, but thankfully not moving upward in a bold, inappropriate way you knew he was capable of.

Pepper smirked at you when she noticed the gesture, then grinned unrepentantly when you shrugged but made no move to knock off Steve’s hand. In a way, it was comforting to have him acknowledge your presence; even if a part of you was irked at the possessive side of it.

Not to mention the third, unsophisticated inner goblin, who wanted you to spread your legs a bit and have Steve’s fingers glide up your thigh.

With a sigh, you relaxed against the soft cushions and let your gaze roam the ceiling for a moment, chasing the spots cascading off of the disco balls and chandeliers. You shifted your attention back to the table when a hostess brought fresh drinks.

She set the glasses on the table, perfectly balancing the smoked-glass trey on one hand. The hostess behind her held the trey more wobbly, though still gracefully. You suspected she had experience in the job, but not necessarily in serving a group that had to at least be rumored to be criminals.

You glanced at her face, noting the perfectly maintained calm, polite smile. Not a drop of sweat, nor a tick of nervousness. She actually reminded you of Natasha, once her mask was torn off and her true identity was revealed.

That realization made you pause.

You weren’t a behavioral psychologist, but that level of composure and control of the smallest muscles in the body rang alarms in your head. Your own body shifted, your back straightened and your muscles tensed.

You felt a twitch of Steve’s fingers against your knee.

It seemed to be less than a blink of an eye when the hostess tilted the glass trey and a glint of metal was seen before sparks ignited.

At the same moment brutal force knocked you off the sofa and down onto the floor. Heavy, suffocating weight landed on you, crushing you and stealing your breath.

Though it was possible that the sudden burst of panic locking your lungs in place was responsible for the trouble with breathing.

You squeezed your eyes tightly as your ears filled with noise that mixed with the still beating music. A crash, yells, another echo of a bang. Two, three heartbeats and the heavy mass was lifted off of your body. It didn’t quite help with your breathing. Quite the contrary, its lack seemed to steal away the sense of warm safety.

Forcing your eyes open, you dared to look around and up.

You were curled between the sofa and the knocked over table. It was kicked onto the side, the wide table top forming a wall in front of you. The floor on its other side was now covered in a spill of drinks, shattered glass, and redness that surely didn’t come from any juice.

The tight spot you were pushed down into provided a semblance of shield.

As did the looming shadow over you - the tall, broad form of your husband, standing in a way that hid your body from the only open angle through which someone could reach you.

Steve was the one who pushed you down to the floor, you realized. The heaviness that pressed into you was the weight of his body.

The music was still loud and you couldn’t hear the exact words, but Steve was spitting out commands. His fists were clenched, the muscles in his forearms tense so much that his veins protruded visibly even through the dark swirls of ink on his skin.

Slowly, you dared to lift your upper body, bracing on your hands to peer over the table. You saw Tony rush Pepper down the stairs, his hand laid protectively on her head. Their security formed a tight cocoon around them. The other two men were nowhere to be seen, probably rushed away into safety by their own guards.

Natasha and Bucky were gone at the moment, as well, though you suspected it was to deal with the would-be assassin. Through the carved balustrade you saw the sway of bodies still dancing to the music, oblivious to what had just happened on the VIP balcony. Your civilian logic told you all these people should be evacuated, but apparently your mobster husband saw it differently.

With your heart hammering wildly in your chest, breath still shallow and burning your lungs, you ungracefully scrambled to your feet. You moved closer to Steve, keeping yourself at his back when he remained unmoved.

You noticed one of his arms tensing and slightly rotating in a micro-move to keep you shielded behind him. You barely stopped your own fingers from clutching onto the fabric of his shirt.

You didn’t want to lean onto him for support as panic threatened to take over you.

“No,” you heard Steve’s steely voice as he spoke to one of his high ranking men, “if we sound the alarm and start evacuating people, any accomplices might slip out with the crowd. This way we have more control.”

“Right.” The man (Sam, if you remembered correctly) nodded. “I’ll check the security feeds and see if anyone left in the last fifteen minutes. Nat and Lena will swipe the crowd.”

When Sam walked away, you finally moved to stand beside Steve. He didn’t even look at you, yet you were sure he was aware of your every little move. His jaw was set in a hard grit. He had to be angry as hell, which was understandable considering he was just shot at.

You were closer to breaking into heaps of crying and screaming, so you did what usually helped you keep yourself together - you refocused.

Unfortunately for Steve, he was the only close object your attention could stick to for longer.

You watched him survey the crowds dancing below then sharply assess the VIP lounge. Not even out of breath, he remained composed, hard as a granite statue. His clothes weren’t even that much rumpled. Though the sleeve of his shirt sported a splash of dark liquid. It wasn’t growing rapidly and the fabric wasn’t torn, so it didn’t appear to be a wound to his shoulder.

As your gaze traveled up, however, you registered the source of the spill. It made you gasp aloud, a wheezing sound that felt near painful as your chest constricted in rising panic.

Steve’s temple was smeared with blood. Redness matted his dark gold hair around it. A thin trickle of blood dropped down from his earlobe and splashed on the sleeve of his shirt.

“Jesus fuck, you’re shot!”

Your palm cradled the side of his face, fingers pressing against the wound. To which Steve reacted with a hiss and childish tilting of his head away from your touch.

“It’s just a scratch.” He grunted, acting like his brain wasn’t just inches from being blown out.

Steve was more interested in Bucky’s return and a short report on first findings, which you didn’t even listen to, still focused on the bleeding wound. So much, you didn’t even pay attention to your own increasing worry for the man you were supposed to hate.

“Just a scratch my ass.” You spat in annoyance, frantically looking around for something that could help you form a makeshift dressing.

Finding nothing of the sort, you reached to the underside of your own dress and, cursing, ripped a piece of the lining.

Folding it in a big square, you lifted on your tiptoes and pressed it against Steve’s temple. This time you held yourself steady on his arm with one hand, so when he tried to lean away you easily followed the movement.

“It needs to be checked.” Not caring that Bucky and Steve were in the middle of organizing next moves, you interrupted. “You could have a fractured bone, or internal bleeding. If the pressure on your brain grows, it could lead to-”

“Princess.” Steve growled in a warning tone, gripping your wrist.

“I’m not doing you a trephination at home when your brain matter drowns in your own blood!” You spluttered angrily, hitting at his hand.

That made Steve pause and look at you. Or maybe it was the pitch in your voice, the quiver of your lips and tears brimming your eyes. He studied you for a longer moment, unbothered by your fingers trying to pry his fingers off your wrist.

“Fine.” He conceded and turned back to Bucky. “Call Banner. Tell him to be at the clinic in thirty.”

Bucky didn’t comment on the interaction between you two, though if you weren’t so focused on your self-appointed task you might’ve noticed a spark of amusement in his eyes. Still, his face betrayed nothing, as usual.

“Come on.” Steve’s arm slipped around your waist. “We have to get going if you want the good doctor to tell you the same thing I said, that it’s just a scratch.”

“You have to put pressure on the wound.” You directed him to hold the improvised wound dressing, but Steve made no move to follow your instruction.

“That’s your job.” He shrugged.

“I can’t exactly walk and keep my hand at your temple at the same time.” Not with the height difference between you two.

Suddenly, his arm around you slid lower. In a swift move, Steve gripped your ass and hoisted you up. Your legs wrapped around his middle instinctively as he placed both palms under your buttocks.

“Easier now?” He grinned at you as he started walking toward the hidden exit at the back of the lounge.

“Have you lost your mind?” You gasped, more shocked than outraged. “You’re wounded, you shouldn’t be straining yourself. It might increase the bleeding.”

“Having you on me is no strain, Princess. Besides… my blood is about to abandon my head for the more exciting ride down south. With the way your warm pussy is right against my dick.”

You wanted to yell at him to stop diminishing the seriousness of the situation, but you figured it was serious only for you. To think of it, your husband probably had a lot of experience in being shot at. Perhaps, his assessment was more accurate than yours and this was, in fact, a minor scratch.

Still, your worry didn’t decrease. Your fingers were slightly trembling as you held the lining of your dress to his temple. It was soaking up blood, though thankfully not a deadly amount of it. Given that Steve was still able to walk and not get dizzy should be reassuring, as well, yet your brain didn’t accept it and demanded a hospital check-up anyway.

In the car, Steve kept watching you curiously, as if your behavior was an intriguing novelty to him.

It was to you, too.

Was it that fear of falling prey to bloodthirsty rivals of his if Steve died? Just an empathetic reaction because you were a caring person in general? Or were you truly worried for a husband you hated?

The hate part was crumbling to pieces, it appeared. There wasn’t a single flicker of joy, or malicious satisfaction that he got hurt, that someone might have killed him and released you from the forced marriage.

Like there was no repulsion whenever Steve put his hands on you; be it when dancing at Tony’s ball, rousing each inch of your body as he fucked you into unconsciousness, or simply passing by you when moving around the house.

For a few weeks you told yourself it’s simply desensitisation grown out of habit, since you were exposed to that touch constantly. However, there wasn’t only indifference to it. There was a certain, fucked-up warmth. And pleasure.

It grounded you even at that moment when you pressed to his side at the backseat of the car and Steve smoothed his fingers along your thigh, as if he was the one soothing you in distress.

Scared of what else you might feel, you abandoned the makeshift dressing when you reached the private clinic ran by doctors Banner and Cho, choosing instead to walk side by side with Steve. The clinic catered to Steve and a plethora of his criminal minions, but was also veiled with pretty bows of free service for the homeless and at-risk citizens. Bruce was already waiting in the hall when you entered, ready to get right into saving mode.

Instead of rushing towards you, like the doctors in the ER might, he scanned Steve’s body head to toe as you approached, then released a single (relieved, or disappointed) “Oh.”

“It’s just a scratch, but my loving wife got really worried.” Steve informed briskly, gently pressing his hand to your lower back. “Check her first.”

“What?” You almost stumbled in your steps.

You were about to protest that you didn’t need any checking, because you had zero injuries. It would’ve fallen onto deaf ears, because Bruce nodded and guided you forward to a room stocked with top quality equipment.

“Are you worried your massive body broke my ribs when you laid on top of me?” You snorted at Steve after doctor Banner checked your pupils.

“Nah,” Steve sat on the gurney opposite of yours, “you have my body on top of yours quite often and sustain no injuries. Can’t be sure about shards of glass, or ricochets, though.”

He said it nonchalantly enough that you suspected he wasn’t really worried, but more likely a little petty. Since you forced him to come here, he would subject you to medical treatment as well. Steve couldn’t be worried about you. Not when he was the one making sure to cover you from any bullets and the table he kicked over to provide a shield knocked all the glass on the other side of it. There was no chance anything hit you.

“All good.” Bruce announced then swiftly turned around to finally check Steve’s wound.

With wide eyes, you observed his every movement. How he checked Steve’s vitals and went through the basic neurological examination. Then how he cleaned the wound and dried blood on Steve’s earlobe.

When he said no stitches were needed, only strips, you felt both a relief and suspicion. You pressed your lips tightly to prevent yourself from questioning Banner’s decision. Or from demanding a CT scan.

You refused to look at Steve for longer than brief glances on your way back home. And when you were at home, too. Since he and the doctor claimed he was fine, you wouldn’t give a damn anymore. No matter that it still gnawed at you. There was that growing itch to check if the wound wasn’t bleeding, if he didn’t have a headache, if he wasn’t dizzy, if…

No! Don’t! You inwardly scolded yourself as you rubbed your freshly showered body with a towel.

In the bedroom, Steve was already in bed. He showered before you, since you decided to distract yourself from thoughts about him by calling Pepper and checking if she’s all right. Leaning against the headboard, he simply read something on his tablet. Probably one of the variety of articles on economy, science, or politics. It still shocked you that someone so primitively brutal was so fucking smart.

Just check once, the voice in your head goaded as you slid under the covers. One quick check and you can go to sleep. You won’t fall asleep if you don’t check.

Cursing under your breath, you rolled to the side and then sat up. Steve tilted the tablet down as you leaned over him. Without a word of explanation, you scanned his injury. Your fingertips traced gently along his hairline, close to the wounded area but not touching it directly.

Steve’s warm, steady breath tickled your skin. He made no comment as you silently fussed over him. Not even a sassy remark.

It looked good, the injury. With the strips in place and all blood cleaned off, it really appeared to be just a scratch. Yet the tension in your body rippled with the potency of an eruption. You swallowed hard.

Steve’s fingers circled your wrists gently. He tugged your hands down. With another nervous gulp, you tilted your head to look him in the eye. For a moment he didn’t say a word, just studied you with a frown.

When he spoke, it was with words you didn’t expect to hear. Not from him.

“You’re okay.” It wasn’t the softest shush, but a firm declaration.

You shook your head, feeling the sting of tears gathering beneath your eyelids.

“You are.” Steve repeated calmly. His frown deepened when you closed your eyes and shook your head again.

It was another life-threatening situation you found yourself in since Steve barged into your life. A part of you was shaken to the core by it. But it wasn’t that part that tightened the iron grip around your chest at the moment.

“I’m okay.” Steve’s assurance opened our eyes.

You looked at him, teardrops swaying on your lower eyelashes. A heartbeat, a stuttered breath, and then the tears fell freely.

Strong arms wrapped around you, crushing you down into Steve’s chest. He didn’t coo at you, didn’t whisper any soothing reassurances. He simply held you.

And it scared you so fucking much how good it felt, even though it shouldn’t provide any form of security when he was the monster who forced you into all of this.

You fell asleep in the monster’s embrace. Woke up with relief that his warmth was still there. Neither of you made any comment about your breakdown last night. Aside from briefly watching Steve move and dress, you didn’t feel the desperate need to check his wound again.

It was easier, getting back to the routine of daily life and ignoring the uncomfortable revelations about the messy tangle of emotions you felt. The fact Steve was his usual self, one that felt nothing beside rage for vengeance and desire, helped to pretend that nothing has shifted.

Natasha’s presence also reminded you of why hate and disdain should be your main operative modes with your husband. With occasional need for a good fuck. Nothing more.

When less than five days after the shooting Steve came to pick you from work himself, you greeted him with a suspicious glare. Then, when you realized he was taking you back to the club, you cursed the fact you were already trapped in the backseat of the car, which meant you had nothing but your own fingernails to attack him with.

Which also didn’t happen, because you weren’t in the mood to be fucked hard while Bucky sat in the front seat.

The club was empty and thus eerie.

The VIP lounge was cleaned so thoroughly nothing suggested it was chaos and mess a few days ago. Even the table Steve kicked over was fully polished, or maybe it was replaced with a new one.

Steve left you there and walked back downstairs, onto the main floor. Soon after, you heard the door open and the sound of some scuffle. Hesitantly, you walked over to the balustrade and peeked over it.

Heart lurched to your throat, your fingers tightened on the wooden beam so hard you almost broke your nails.

In the spotlight on the floor knelt a man - bruised and weak, meaning he already had a meeting with some of Steve’s people. Bucky was a few steps aside, having dragged the man in. Steve was standing right in front of the man. In all that dark, scary glory.

Back straight, sleeves of his shirt rolled up, a display of tattoos and glinting rings. It reminded you of that first moment you saw him stride into the health center.

This time, Steve held a gun in his right hand. Fingers firmly wrapped around it, with confidence of a man who used it hundreds of times. Not flamboyant showing off. No tremble of uncertainty or fear. He held it like an extension of himself. Like an experienced surgeon might hold a scalpel.

In the empty cathedral belly of the club, Steve’s voice carried easily.

“You know,” Steve started almost conversationally, “I often admire the gumption of some gangs who go for what they want. Sometimes, if I’m really impressed, I even offer them to work for me.”

“I’m not even bothered you went bold with your attempt to kill me. Not the smartest move, but I can see what you hoped to gain. However-”

You didn’t hear the click of the safety being switched off, but you assumed it had to be that moment, because a visible shiver went through the man’s body.

“ -you made a huge mistake-” Steve lifted his hand and aimed the gun at the man.

“ -scaring my wife.”

The gunshot echoed.

Steve didn’t toy with the man. Didn’t prolong it like a game, but simply executed the kill order he’d have placed on the man’s head anyway.

You felt the reverberation of that shot through your bones, yet no nausea followed. No urge to turn away and hide your face in your hands. Your fingers clenched tighter on the banister, but you kept staring ahead. At the spot where blood was pooling around the dead man’s head in a creepy halo.

Slowly, you moved your gaze from the wide splatter of blood to your husband. The way Steve was standing as confidently and unshaken as before. Your eyes dragged up his form, taking in the gun still in his hand, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. His insanely handsome face and eyes looking up at you.

He said something to Bucky, but you didn’t listen to the words. You were too focused on watching Steve and the way your body ignited with terrifyingly hot excitement.

When scenes like that played in your dreams, you could easily blame them on brain chemistry going awry in sleep. Getting wet because your dream subconsciousness liked being made to ride the handle of the knife while blood covered the floor was something you could assign to haze beyond your control, since it happened in sleep.

But now it was happening in reality.

It wasn’t the killing that pooled warmth low in your core, but the way Steve held that gun, the way he didn’t hesitate. The way he fucking moved toward the stairs and up to the balcony you were on.

Your walls clenched as Steve stepped into the lounge. Your breath quickened with each powerful stride towards you.

He still held that gun in his hand and your body nearly toppled with need, remembering how it felt still warm and lethal when he rubbed it against your pussy that one time.

Though at the moment you didn’t want it inside of you. No, there was a different desire blooming and spreading its demanding branches.

You wet your lips with your tongue as Steve stopped right in front of you. Icy blue eyes so intense as he studied you. He was the magnificent iceberg in a sea of sunset red ripples and you were the sun warmth about to melt yourself all over his jagged edges.

When Steve touched your cheek with the muzzle of his gun, you didn’t even flinch. You were bravely holding his gaze. He traced a line from your temple, over the roundness of your cheek and down, pressing under your chin.

“Take what you wish, Princess.” His tone was underlaid with hunger that resonated with yours.

Because, for the very first time, you weren’t playing down the sudden eruption of dark desire you felt for Steve.

He put his arm down, holding the gun at his side, as you reached for his belt. Steve’s chest seemed to expand when you didn’t hesitate to unbuckle it. Your fingers worked swiftly, any previous tremble gone, as you lowered the zipper. Then you were dragging his jeans down along with your descent to your knees.

For all the times Steve had his mouth on you, wrecking you completely, it was the first time you were going to fill your mouth with him. You had your hands around his cock many times, but strayed away from tasting him. Especially out on your own volition.

You didn’t only want to do it now. You needed it.

Every inch of your body was thrumming with that irresistible craving to worship the scary power that was Steve Rogers.

A man who fucked up your steady life. A man who showed no remorse. Who was never soft, or empathetic. A man who protected you with his own body. Who held you as you broke down. Who killed someone for scaring you. Who would do many more unholy things.

You ran your hands up Steve’s thighs then gripped the back of them to steady yourself. Your breath puffed along the hardening length of it as you admired his cock for a moment. You’d never say about any dick that it’s pretty, and you wouldn’t say it about Steve’s either, but there was something about it that was so fucking attractive.

Maybe it was the man it was attached to.

With a little hungry growl you opened your mouth wide and swallowed as much of it as you could. You felt too impatient to play with it this time. Though, with the pleasure that zinged down your spine at the velvety heaviness pressing on your tongue, you could see yourself doing it in the future.

What you couldn’t take in your mouth you wrapped your fingers around. Smearing your own saliva along it, you set a mild rhythm. Suck and stroke. A little twist of your hand as your tongue swirled over the crown.

The feeling of a gun gliding along your scalp like a caress pinched your nipples and clit into throbbing attention. Your shameless moan vibrated around Steve’s cock, making it swell in your mouth.

Steve didn’t hide his groans of pleasure, either. They spurred you on even more.

“Is it the gun, or is it my cock that turns you into a needy, slutty princess?” Steve’s voice was the most shaken you’ve ever heard him to sound.

A garbled whine was your response as his dirty words added to the mess between your thighs.

You were wet the moment he walked up the stairs and towards you. Every second of what followed only worsened your state.

“You can have my gun in your mouth too, if you want.” Steve teased, weaving his free hand into your hair. “But you’d have to let go of my cock. And with your eager sucking I’m not sure you’d like to part with it anytime soon.”

Glaring up at him, you pressed your fingernails into the skin of his thighs. It only made him chuckle.

When he lightly tapped the gun over one of your cheeks, you jerked forward with a muffled moan, taking more of his cock into your mouth. Too much. It hit the back of your throat and made you gag. Tears sprang to your eyes as your body tensed. Steve’s fingers in your hair tightened. He let out the sexiest moan.

And it was the hottest thing you ever experienced when sucking a man off.

You didn’t try to repeat that, but it doubled your eagerness and efforts. Your own hips started swaying in desperate need. You were so hot and wet, and aching to have your pussy filled.

“Princess,” Steve grunted; you felt his muscles tensing.

“I’m about to come. Do you want me to paint your beautiful face, or do you want to swallow every drop like a good girl?”

You paused for a second, holding just the tip of his thick cock in your mouth. You considered the options for a moment then, holding Steve’s gaze, you slowly took him deeper. As deep as you could without tipping that gag reflex again.

“As you wish, Princess.” He huffed, half amusement half all pleasure.

When you hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder, at the same time moving your spit-slick fingers to cup Steve’s balls, he growled a curse. It stretched into a long moan as his cum filled your mouth.

Each time you swallowed small gulps of it, your tongue moved under his throbbing cock, drawing out more.

Your chin and mouth were glistening with saliva and white streaks of cum that dribbled out. Steve’s grip on your hair didn’t ease as he slipped out from between your lips. He held your head in place as he brought his gun and rubbed the muzzle in the shiny mess on your chin.

Then he was tossing the gun aside and lifting you up onto your feet. Steve’s mouth was devouring yours even before you steadied on your legs. His tongue dipped in, unbothered by the remnants of his own cum.

You gripped at his shirt, eagerly responding to the dirty kiss and mad passion that erupted. Steve’s chuckle melted against your mouth when you rubbed yourself against him.

“Did sucking my cock make you wet, Princess?”

All of him made you wet. But you weren’t going to admit that.

You didn’t have to answer his question, either. Steve found out himself, driving his hand beneath your skirt. His fingers pressed against the soaked fabric of your underwear. Not just a wet patch. A sticky mess.

“Fuck!” He groaned, his hips bucking against you.

Suddenly, he was turning you around and pushing you forward.

He bent you over the wooden balustrade, pulling up your skirt and kicking your legs wider apart.

Your glazed over gaze landed on the floor below. The dead body was gone. So was Bucky. Only the dark pool of red blood remained, flashing at you with memory of ruthless brutality. Still, your ass rubbed against Steve’s hand eagerly, your desire not the slightest diminished by the memory of horror.

Steve ripped your soaked underwear. He tossed it over the balcony, making you watch the ruined garment fall down.

You didn’t have time, nor brain capacity, to see the metaphor of your own innocent life falling down into his evil clutches.

You moaned, back arching, as Steve’s fingers swept between your swollen, wet folds.

“I’d give you the gun, but I want your tight pussy all to myself. Not going to share it even with your favorite, lethal toys.”

His fingers were more deadly, you wanted to say. But no words fell out, only a strangled cry, when Steve pushed two of his thick fingers in. Eased them in and out a few times, before suddenly rotating and curling. He pressed against that spot that made you keen and arch onto your tiptoes.

“That’s it, Princess.” He praised, wrapping his free hand around the front of your neck. “Getting all messy on your husband’s fingers.”

A guttural cry ripped from your lungs when he forced a third finger in.

It felt almost too much. Almost as stretched and full as when he had his cock buried to the hilt.

Then it was really too much when one of his fingers, now all slick with your juices, withdrew from your pussy and pressed against your rim.

“Ohgodohgodohgod-” you babbled, clenching your eyes shut.

But you didn’t jerk away. Didn’t plead with Steve to stop. Instead, you shuddered and moaned when he slowly, but mercilessly pushed that finger into your ass.

“So fucking tight, Princess,” Steve panted against your ear. “You’re making me hard all over again.”

He fucked both of your holes, increasing the rhythm until your cries were growing louder. Until you broke like a string stretched too far and your wetness coated his hand up to his wrist.

You were a boneless mess, held up only by his hand on your throat and the sturdy balustrade. You felt his pulsing cock against your thigh, getting hard again just like he said. Slowly, he withdrew his fingers from your fluttering pussy. Squelching sound of it made you scorch with embarrassment.

But then there was another pressure. Right next to the finger already knuckle deep in your ass.

Steve was pushing another finger there.

“Nghhh!” You whined, tensing against the bigger intrusion. It was somewhat uncomfortable, yet seemed to rouse your spent body anew.

“You can take it, Princess.” Steve breathed against your neck as he shifted his position behind you. “Today you’re daring. Taking what you want and not shying away from it.”

His second finger sank deeper and the head of his dick nudged at your pussy. Your hips rocked back against him. You weren’t sure you did it consciously. Your mind felt too scrambled at the moment. It was more an instinctive chase after another shattering completion.

With two fingers in your ass, the fullness of Steve’s cock stretching you felt nearly overwhelming. And so fucking good.

You bucked against him with a whine when Steve remained still for a longer moment. His fingers around your throat clenched slightly before he finally gave you the friction you wanted, pulling slightly out then slamming back in.

At first he fucked you only with his cock, holding his fingers in your tight hole. When your cunt spasmed around him, betraying your heightening peak, Steve amped the ruin by thrusting in and out of your ass.

Your gaze was no longer on the pool of blood. It became foggy, unfocused. Your eyes rolled back, your vision filled with a kaleidoscope of colorful shards. Your hands let go of the wooden banister; one clutching onto Steve’s arm, the other reaching behind you to grip and twist the fabric of his shirt.

“Going to come for me again?” Steve rasped, scraping his teeth along the skin of your neck. “That’s it. Go on. Come from having all of your holes owned by me.”

“Come from loving it.”

And you did.

Your cry echoed under the cathedral ceiling. A spilling of high pitched keening forming a lewd choir as Steve kept fucking you through your orgasm, tipping it into another peak as he followed soon after and his cum filled your clenching cunt.

His own ragged breath sank into your skin. He eased the hold on your throat and instead wrapped that arm around your chest. After easing ers out of your ass, he wrapped it around you as well.

Excess of his cum dribbled out of you when his softening cock slipped out. It was forming a glistening white splatter on the floor between your legs.

A contrast to the dark red blood on the other side.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #dark mafia!steve rogers #dark mafia!steve rogers x reader #mafia!steve rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers smut #chris evans smut #steve rogers imagine #chris evans fic #touch the darkness

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wife-of-all-dilfs · 1 year ago

Text

from the flames | b. blake

masterlist

summary: season three — to signify the newly recognised alliance between the sky people and the grounders, a celebration is held within polis’ market square. a bonfire, alcohol, and the bawdy pulsation of drums is a sure-fire recipe for a stimulating night. add a watchful bellamy blake and his dancing muse into the mix, and, well… i’ll show you the consequences of such a potent combination.

pairing: bellamy blake x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption/intoxication, sensual dancing, jealousy, sexual desecration??, mild possessiveness, arguments, bellamy speaking in trigedaslang (giggling and kicking my feet), dialogue-heavy, manhandling, mild angst, smut, unprotected p in v (do not), reader is short because i’m short, deal with it <3

notes: i haven’t recently been watching the 100 so the timeline and characterisation may be a little off. also, ik this took me a long ass time, but i’m gonna try and make sure the next two parts come out a little quicker <3 i love y’all!

word count: 2.5k

“People of Kongeda and Skaikru, tonight we gather as one, united by a common purpose and a shared future of alliance. Before us, this bonfire symbolises more than just a flame; it is a beacon of hope, an opportunity to cleanse old grudges and pain that has divided us for far too long.

“Let this fire signify a new beginning and serve as a reminder that unity is not our weakness, but our strength. Let it be known that from this day, we join not as enemies, but as allies, and anyone set upon spilling the blood of our allies is spilling the blood of us all. Let it be known: Jus drein, jus daun!”

“Jus drein, jus daun!”

As much as Lexa’s words intended to inspire harmony, the crowd massed below the second-floor balcony of the dominating tower she resided on reacted in any way but. Fierce declarations of worship were cried out; large fists were pumped in celebration; and misty clouds of brew and saliva were sprayed into the tepid night air.

All was well, for the first time since we landed on Earth.

“Happy Unity Day,” I murmured to myself, taking a sip from the metal cup in my hand. I was standing on the outer edges of the unruly crowd of dark, rugged figures, who were surrounding an unlit wooden mountain and raving as it abruptly burst into vociferous flames.

The monstrous tepee of sticks was raging at the centre of Polis’ trading square, an open area bordered with stalls and operating food vendors that infused the air with a salivating meaty aroma. Glimmers of light chipped away into the familiar starry night above and an orange ambience was cast throughout the square, seeming to blaze beneath the skin of those who orbited the fire.

It was a somewhat perplexing scene: to be together as one people, celebratingratherthan being at war with one another.

A pensive mechanic stepped in beside me, eyeing the mixed crowd of Grounders and Sky People.

Raven folded her arms over her chest. “Don’t you think the fact that the Ark originally had thirteen stations and the coalition now has thirteen clans is kind of…”

“Unsettling?” I finished for her. “Yeah. Probably best not tell these guys the story of how Polaris got blown out of the sky. Don’t want to give them any ideas.”

“Polaris… Polis…” she continued contemplating. “Think there’s anything equally unsettling about that?”

I looked at Raven. She looked back at me.

I sucked in a sharp breath—“I’m not drunk enough for this conversation”—and tipped the harsh contents of my cup down my throat. The liquid was molten in both its ferocity and colour and was infused with some potent earthly spice; it was a blow to the stomach upon consumption.

“Is that such a good idea?” Raven asked, judging me as my head craned back to capture the last few drops of throat-scorching goodness. “I’m all for pouring a glass when the occasion calls for it, but these people have stomachs lined with steel—what do you think yours is made of?”

I grimaced at the taste. “You tell me. You’re the genius.”

The roll of her eyes was deafening. “I’m just saying, they’ve probably spent decades perfecting their drinks to suit them, to match their tolerances. I mean, even that human fountain over there couldn’t handle it.” She nodded towards a cluster of barrels where a titan of a man wearing armoured shoulder pads and breastplates was hunched over, violently emptying his stomach onto the cobbled ground.

I swallowed my own stomach at the sight.

“I just assumed you wanted to spend the night somewhat differently,” she said, a sweet undertone of provocation twisting her words.

My brows furrowed, and I turned to face her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her lips twitched at the corners—never a good sign.

The thing was, I knew exactly what she meant. Her unspoken words had already been circling my mind for days, weeks, months even, increasingly accumulating with both heat and fervour.

As ironic as it was, I think it’s fitting to compare my situation to that of a star’s formation.

There I was, a delinquent sitting stagnant in a cold nebula of misery in the Sky Box, parted from my family and friends, sent hurtling to Earth to die, only then to have my cold, miserable cloud intruded upon by a fiery presence, a head of tousled brown waves and a pair of rich, dark chocolate eyes.

An awakener. An activator.

This intruder began filling my head with his words, his laughter, his brooding stare. The weight of his presence began to grow; thoughts of him consumed me. From the most surprisingly vulnerable conversations to even the tensest arguments, he had a heat inside me swirling and it was sweltering to unfathomable heights. It showed no signs of stopping.

Raven’s malevolent brown eyes were pointing plainly at something far behind me as if to answer my question. I knew what I would see even before turning around to look, but moronic as I was, I looked anyway.

Chin hovering over my shoulder, my eyes wandered through the scattered crowd of Grounders and Sky People alike that loitered the bonfire’s outskirts. There, sandwiched between Lincoln and an unoccupied trading stall, was a face that not only had my stomach contents lodged in my throat, but my heart as well.

Bellamy.

He was standing with his arms crossed, each one concealed beneath his distressed guard jacket. And although his stance screamed ‘Don’t talk to me,’ his face said otherwise. He and Lincoln were engaged in some high-spirited conversation, much unlike themselves (although the supply of drinks may have been to blame). Bellamy was speaking through one of his overconfident half-grins while alternating between gesturing to-and-fro with a single hand and tucking it back under his opposing bicep.

My chest was burning; the bonfire somehow must’ve seeped into my heart.

It should be stated here that when a nebula accumulates enough particles, it turns into a protostar—not a main sequence star like our sun, but something that holds the potential to be. At this point, the formation is at its most precarious. If a sufficient amount of mass is not acquired, the protostar will fail to stabilise and will cool into a brown dwarf, forever existing in the cold, lonely expansion of space as a reminder of what it could have been.

Bellamy’s head gravitated in my direction. Our eyes met through the asteroid belt of rugged figures between us. My breath caught in my throat, and I turned back around.

A reminder of what it could have been.

Sometimes I worry my insufficiency has damned me already.

“Oh, my god.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Oh my god, Raven, why would you put me through that?”

“In the hopes that you’ll finally grow a pair and do something about it,” she replied, taking a sip of her drink to conceal her smirk.

“About what?” Now I was just being evasive.

She let out a frustrated huff and folded her arms over one another. Her countenance was a reflection of impatience: the raised eyebrows, the slight downward tilt of her head, the pursed lips. I almost laughed at her theatricality; then again, I almost cried because I didn’t want the reason behind it to be true.

I wanted Bellamy Blake.

The confession was boiling inside me; it was burning the tip of my tongue, and I knew I had to let it out to cool. And if the words were never spoken to him, then they at least had to be expressed to someone else, even if I never admitted them in the exactness I felt, for the exact words would be so heinous, so—hedonistic, that if anyone were to hear them, I’d be thrown into lock-up for the rest of my days.

“Fine, I guess I’m… attracted to Bellamy,” I spoke slowly, cringing at my own words. Raven’s face immediately lit up like an overzealous Christmas tree, her smugly curved lips parting to no doubt release an incongruous stew of condemnation and encouragement, which I stopped before it could even start. “Anattraction that I am not going to act on, Raven; our friendship is rocky enough as it is. I mean,” I scoffed, “have I even told how we first met? I held a pocketknife to his neck our second night on the ground because he threatened to pry off my wristband in my sleep. And he actually tried! You know that tiny scar he has on his cheek? That was from me!”

“Yeah, sometimes I forget how much of a self-righteous dick he was for a while there,” Raven mused. Her face then screwed with confusion. “Wait, how did you two even become friends? Because when I came down, you were at each other’s throats every single day over one thing or another, and then out of nowhere, it was as if the slate had been wiped clean.”

Ah.

The day the slate had been wiped clean.

A thick blurriness blanketed my vision as my mind withdrew from the present. You know when you get run down with some kind of sickness and your mind gets all scrambled and foggy? Like a fever dream? That’s what that day seemed like to me. Too many unimaginable things had happened, too many emotions and losses were felt, and I’d only shared them with one person before.

“You still there?”

My gaze flickered to Raven momentarily. She was staring at me, half with impatience, half with concern. “Just—” I raised my hand slightly in front of me “—give me a second.”

I inhaled. One, two, three. And I exhaled. Three, two, one.

A vulnerable creature of some sort nestled in my brain, softening the tone of my voice as I hesitantly began, “It was the, uh, the day the Exodus Ship crashed. My dad was on it,” I said, my last words barely audible. “Knowing that he was gone was one thing, but watching the ship crash? That messed me up for a good while.”

Raven, taken aback, muttered her apologies. I just shook my head in return. I sucked in a sharp breath, forcing the memory into the cobwebbed corners of my mind, and then continued, “Bellamy had found me in the woods that night. It wasn’t exactly a pretty sight. I think that seeing me in such a vulnerable state forced him to set aside his asshole-ry for a while because he actually managed to… comfort me.”

I remembered the tone of his voice, so shockingly gentle yet hardened in his trademarked sort of way as he reassured me endlessly that I would be okay. I remembered the warmth of his body as I lay crumpled and sobbing in his lap on the forest floor, clinging onto his arm as if it kept me from plummeting into a bottomless pit. I remembered his hands, swiping away the thousands of tears that streaked my face, the hair from my eyes.

I remembered our brief conversation as we walked back to camp: “I won’t tell anyone. I promise,” he had said, to which I whispered, “Thank you,” and after a short pause, he spoke again, “We all need someone sometimes. I know we don’t have the best history together but… I can be that someone if you ever need,” and then, once more, with an unwelcome flutter in my stomach, I whispered, “Thank you.”

A small, bittersweet smile lifted my lips. My voice sounded distant to my ears as I continued speaking. “We still nicked at each other here and there after that—that tension between us has never really disappeared—but there was also this new mutual understanding. And somewhere from mutual understanding came a rough-around-the-edges friendship, and then friendship turned into something else.” I paused to recollect my thoughts. “Well, for me, at least.”

Between the moment I started speaking to the moment I stopped, my gaze had wandered sheepishly to the toes of my boots. I felt so exposed, like the outer layers of my being had been cracked open to reveal a part of my soul to a girl I hadn’t even known existed until two months ago. Suddenly I remembered why I didn’t drink often.

I stood awkwardly, waiting. The weight of my confession and vulnerability were looming above us.

Raven was quiet; she made no witty remark or tease. Her eyes had only softened with understanding, shifting back and forth as my words were mulled over in her brain. And it was only from her foreign silence that I realised what her next question could be: why don’t you just tell him?

I began, “I don’t want to ruin—"

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she finally interrupted, shaking her head as if to dismiss my unspoken sentiment. “The age-old ‘I don’t want to ruin what we have right now’. But what exactly is that?” Her eyes once again interrogated mine. “Because I’ll make it clear to you right now and say that what you two have is not just friendship. Come on. You and Bellamy?” She shifted her head to catch my drifting gaze. “Anyone with eyes can see something is there, but clearly, neither of you have a pair.”

Talk about tough love.

A harsh outflow of air exited my nose, and I pushed my hair back out of my face. Everything was much more complicated than I thought it was. Was I really as blind as Raven said? I would have already seen what she does if it were true, right? Did Bellamy really feel the same?

Am I drunk?

I glanced behind me once more, catching a glimpse of Bellamy tilting his head back to finish his drink, exposing the sculptured column of his neck. Heat flushed through my cheeks.

Christ. I couldn’t let this one go. There wasn’t a chance.

“What am I supposed to do?” I asked, still watching him.

An uproar of hoots and howls exploded throughout the square as the sound of drums and horns began to play, bringing my attention to the second-floor balcony of the Commander’s Tower where the noise floated down from. Drums pulsed with bawdy rhythm; horns bellowed with lewd backbone; a woman purred tribal vocalisations.

Bodies began swaying in disharmonious synchronisation around the bonfire, in pairs, in groups, individually. What tethered them was the raunchiness of their movements and the subtle carnality of their interactions with one another. I’d never seen anything like it; as I looked over at Raven and saw her similar intrigue, I knew she hadn’t either.

That was my mistake—to even acknowledge her in such a moment, especially after speaking about our previous topic. Her lips began stretching and stretching into a particularly wicked grin, and she turned to me. The devil was burning in her dark eyes.

Her answer to my question: “Give his eyes something to look at.”

part two

#bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake smut #bellamy blake fluff #bellamy blake imagine #bellamy blake fanfiction #the 100 #bob morley #bob morley smut #bellarke #bellamy blake x clarke griffin #wife of all dilfs ✍️#bellamyblake #raven reyes #bellarke fanfiction #bellamy blake x you

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drsantosgf · 6 months ago

Text

Forever Love

General Audiences | Words: 3,753 | TW: Sexual Harassment

Buck misses Tommy. He always misses Tommy. He misses him when he’s in the bathroom, when he’s at work, when he’s sat across the table and their feet aren’t touching. Buck is self-aware enough to know that he has a problem. But this time, it’s serious.

He’s drunk. And Tommy isn’t here.

And they’re fighting.

He’s just a little past tipsy in a gay bar where the music is too loud and the floor is too sticky but the rainbow flags in the window give him this fuzzy feeling in his chest. It’s nice, knowing he has a community, having a sense of belonging. Having something he didn’t know he was missing, being with people who are like him. It’s queerness and tacky rainbow tank tops and seeing color for the first time and breathing in and out without the weight of something missing sitting on his chest.

“Dude, this place is great!”

Oh, Eddie’s here too.

They started the night at Eddie’s house. Buck ran to Eddie the minute he slammed the front door of his and Tommy’s new house and jumped in his Jeep.

He doesn’t remember what the fight was about, not just because the alcohol was kind of making it hard to remember details, but because it was really about nothing in particular. Or maybe it was about everything. All the little things like Tommy leaving his shoes in the doorway and Buck forgetting to load the dishwasher. One bad shift, a few small jabs, and then suddenly they were screaming at each other. And then Buck ran.

They had moved in together three weeks ago. The first two weeks were bliss, but now a heavy storm cloud has settled over their home. Buck thinks about the honeymoon phase everyone was warning him about and he aches to go back to it. He remembers when he used to think Tommy had never done anything wrong and if he had, there were perfectly reasonable explanations for it. But now he’s seeing him in more varied colors than just rose-tinted ones. And he’s realizing Tommy is having the same revelation. They're more themselves, more adult, messier and complicated. And Buck’s terrified.

But he’s also pissed.

“Can you fucking believe he yelled at me for something so petty?” Buck had said, pacing around Eddie’s living room, “It’s like he wasn’t even listening to me.”

“Well, didn’t you also yell at him?”

“Who’s side are you on?”

A small, petty part of him was smug about getting to Eddie before Tommy did. The last few fights they had, Tommy had been the one to storm out and seek solace in the Diaz home. This time, Buck ran before Tommy had the chance. He had been happy to share his side of the story and Eddie was a kind enough friend to realize Buck needed to vent his very biased account of things, nodding along and giving support where it was needed.

Then came the beers. Then the bars. Then Buck spotted those rainbow flags in the window while stumbling along the sidewalk and told Eddie that if he was a good ally, he would follow him in and let him blow off some steam.

Except now, he’s kind of running out of steam. He misses his boyfriend and the guilt of raising his voice is starting to dampen his mood. He feels regret souring on his tongue and it’s diluting all the endorphins that were released from doing shots with Drag Queens earlier in the night.

Eddie’s still going strong though. His hair is kind of messy, glitter decorating his pink cheeks, a goofy smile plastered across his face. He lost the button up he started the night with so now he’s rocking a white tank top that shows off his arms nicely. Needless to say he’s getting a lot of attention- attention that he’s either ignoring or oblivious to.

“Dude, dude, why don’t we come here more often? Why do we go to the sad bar for straight people when we could come here instead? Everyone’s so nice!” Eddie is starting to shout in his ear a little bit.

“You can just come here on your own, you know,” Buck suggests.

Eddie shakes his head, “I don’t wanna… um-” he cuts off, snapping his fingers, “intrude! I don’t wanna intrude. Do you think if I ask Josh, he’d take me? He talks about feeling weird coming to bars alone all the time! OH!” Eddie gasps, like he’s had a great idea, “Should I text Josh? He could come down here, it’d be great!”

Eddie starts to take his phone out before Buck stops him, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Eds.”

Eddie waves him off before the song changes and suddenly he’s disappearing back into the crowd of swaying bodies. Buck should probably try to keep an eye on him but he’s busy silently mourning the quiet night in with his boyfriend he was going to have. Then he starts to mourn the night he wanted to spend distracting himself from his own grievances with said boyfriend, trying to drown out the voice telling him how badly he fucked things up. Now, he’s playing babysitter to giddy-drunk Eddie.

“Don’t you look lonely.” Suddenly there’s a body pushing against his side and alcohol-ridden breath wafting over his ear.

He reels back, cringing at the close proximity. He huffs and takes another sip of his beer.

“Oh, what, you’re gonna give me the cold shoulder?” The guy moves closer again. “Come on, what’s got you so down?”

He ignores him again, trying to turn his body away. The guy slides a hand against his side and fingers the hem of his shirt. Buck shoves him off.

“Fuck off,” Buck growls, and then for good measure, “I’ve got a boyfriend.” Who he misses. God, he wishes Tommy was here.

“Well, I don’t see him anywhere. Must not be a very good boyfriend, then.”

Buck starts to get defensive, opening his mouth to speak, before the words jumble in his throat. It’s a little hard to think coherently, but what comes to mind are images of Tommy making him dinner after a long shift, scrubbing his hands through his soapy hair in the shower, kissing his birthmark before bed every night. He’s not sure how to articulate it, all the feelings rising in his throat at the claim that Tommy isn’t a good boyfriend, a good partner, a good person.

“Buck! Buck, listen, man, you gotta try this drink- oh, who’s this?”

The guy scoffs as Eddie suddenly reappears from God knows where, “Really? This guy?” He points at Eddie.

Eddie looks behind him wildly, “Who?”

Buck thinks briefly about drowning himself in one of the bar toilets. Then decides he’d be getting out of this too easy, and this is probably karma for ruining the great thing he had going with Tommy.

“So you’re his boyfriend?” The guy is now directly talking to Eddie.

There are several looks that pass over Eddie’s face. He looks like he’s solving a puzzle for a second then there’s a little twinkle in his eye and then he straightens his back with determination and pride, “Yep!”

Buck chokes on his own spit, “What?”

“Hey, I’m Tommy, Buck- no, Evan’s boyfriend.” He looks immensely proud of himself, “So, bye. He’s taken. By me, Tommy, I’m a great pilot and subpar at Muay Thai. So leave us alone.”

The guy apparently has decided to double down on being an ass, though, “Really, you could do so much better.” He’s turned back to Buck now. “Why would you ever choose to be with a guy who can’t hold his beer and makes an idiot of himself in public?”

“He’s not an idiot!” Buck throws his hands in the air. He’s not sure if he’s defending Tommy or Eddie here, but they’re kind of blurring into one person right now.

“What do you have going for you anyways, bro? I’m a pilot!” Eddie decides to puff his chest out a little now, shoving his hands in his front pockets. Buck realizes he’s trying to mimic Tommy’s mannerisms, much to his own horror. Now is probably not a good time to mention that this guy doesn’t actually know what Tommy looks like, therefore he doesn’t actually need to pretend to be Tommy. But his heart clenches at how hard Eddie’s trying anyways. “A firefighter-pilot!” Eddie continues, “Those are like two of the hottest professions you can have. I also do Muay Thai, although not as good as my amazing friend, Eddie, but still very good.”

“Wow, self-obsessed much?” The guy tries to touch Buck’s arm, “Come on, don’t you wanna ditch him? Do you really think this guy is gonna give you what you need?”

“What do you know about what he needs? I’ll have you know that we live together, actually!” Eddie is starting to shout again, “It’s going great. Or well, it is, isn’t it?” He turns to Buck.

“What?”

“It is going great, right? Like we’re still happy, aren’t we?”

Buck thinks of Tommy at home right now, sitting on the sofa in his stupid, sexy reading glasses. He’s probably still fuming from the fight. Buck pictures him biting his nails, a habit he’s tried to kick. He whines a little in the back of his throat at the thought of being his point of stress. His bones ache to curl up in bed, head tucked into Tommy’s shoulder, feeling Tommy’s arm gently graze over his spine. He thinks about moving around the kitchen with him, seamlessly in tune with his every move. He thinks about coming up behind him and pulling Tommy back’s flush against his chest and kissing his hairline.

“Yeah, of course, we’re still happy.”

“Do you really have to ask?” The guy asks smugly, quirking an eyebrow.

Eddie’s still looking at him though, eyes searching, “I worry about that sometimes, you know? Like,” he breathes and makes a decision, “sometimes I’ll talk to our friend, Eddie. And I’ll tell him how much I love you, but how scared I am that I don’t make you happy enough. And it doesn’t matter how many times I-or Eddie tells me that you’re the happiest you’ve ever been, I’m scared you’re gonna wake up and realize there’s something else out there for you. At least, that’s what I tell Eddie. And I swore him to secrecy too, I made him promise not to mention that to you because I don't want you to think I’m a burden or anything. And because Eddie is such a good friend, he promised he wouldn’t say anything but I think now Eddie is getting tired of watching us both think the other one could do better. That’s how Eddie feels. Cause we’re both great, you know. Best friends he’s ever had.”

“Is that how uh- you really feel?” Buck asks, “You think I’m gonna find something better?”

Eddie nods, lips pursed, “Well, it's not like- I don't think you're gonna just walk out with some fuck-face you meet at a bar,” he gestures to the guy still standing there confused, “but I think I’m more worried you’re going to realize I’m not what you want. That it's too hard, I guess. And we've been fighting more and more recently and it's really getting to me, man.”

“I just feel like you keep shutting me out, though. It's not the little things that get to me, it's the fact that every time I try to talk to you about it, you just shut down.”

“Okay, I get that. But I think if I had to say why I do that, it's because I’m scared that if we really start to talk about it, you’ll come to the conclusion that you won't want to put up with me.”

“Tommy, I’m trying to build a life together, I’m in this, all the way. And don't you think I’m scared, too? It's like you’re not listening to what I’m telling you.”

“You talk about how you don't feel listened to, but it’s never really clear what you’re saying,” Eddie throws his hands up and clears his throat awkwardly, “I think.”

Buck stops to consider that. He’s tried to tell Tommy how he feels, how scared he is he’s gonna fuck it up. He still feels like he’s a guest in Tommy’s home, not because of anything Tommy’s done per say. He thinks maybe he’s still trying to walk on eggshells, not make too many waves. So he beats around the bush. He points out Tommy’s shoes in the doorway when he’s made a point to put his own in the closet, clearing his throat when he picks them up and puts them away. Tommy glances at him and hums, looking away.

It always made Buck feel like Tommy’s just tolerating him- putting up with his “clipboard” tendencies.

“Okay, I guess you have a point. I’m not actually that mad that you leave your shoes wherever you take them off, or how you leave dirty clothes on the bathroom floor, or that you always make the bed too tight. Like, I don't care about those things. I just- fuck, I don't know. It feels like it's still your house, and I’m still living out of a few drawers and an overnight bag.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows, “Do I make you feel that way?”

Buck sighs, “Not on purpose, I don't think. I think it's just a lot of other bad experiences with living with people I’ve dated and yeah, maybe, it feels like you keep erasing the mark I’m trying to leave. I keep trying to get you to put your shoes in the closet, and you just won't.”

“I thought you said you weren't really mad about that.” Eddie seems like he’s having a hard time following their relationship lore.

“It's not that. It's more that all of the little things I’m trying to do to make it feel like ours, you’re just not having.”

“Have you ever told me that? Like in those words? Cause from where I’m standing, I think I’m just trying to give you your space and stay close to mine.”

“I don't just want my space and then your space, I want our space. I want to have things we do together, systems we can agree on. Not just because it annoys me when you don't follow my rules, Tommy. I don't want you to feel trapped with me.”

“Well, I don't want you to feel suffocated. That's what I told Eddie.”

Buck breathes in a small sob. He’s always been an emotional drunk.

“I love you, all of you. Even your messiness. I just want to feel like you're in this too. I’ve had a lot of shitty relationships where I'm the only one putting anything into it. And you’ve always felt different. Like I could actually get attached to you. And it feels like you're pulling back.” Buck sinks in on himself, heart breaking at the idea that Tommy’s falling farther away.

Eddie looks pained, but enlightened, “I think I’m pulling back because I don't want to pressure you. I think I’m really, really into you, dude. And it's scary to put so much of yourself on the line. I think I’m afraid I was putting too much of myself into this, and you're gonna get exhausted.”

“Exhausted with what?”

“With how much I love you. With how amazing I think you are. With how I think I’ve decided I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.” Eddie finishes.

“Okay, what the fuck does all that mean?” The guy is still just standing beside them.

“Bro, go away.”

“Like why are you even still here?”

The guy walks away, muttering something about them being exhausting and a waste of his time.

“He’s said all to you?” Buck ducks his head, not wanting to look Eddie in the eye.

“Some of it, yeah,” Eddie nods, wrinkling his forehead, “The feeling like you're too much of a good thing, wanting to spend the rest of his life with you, generally feeling like shit whenever you fight, yeah, we talked about all that.” He hiccups, “Some of it I improvised. I know both of you pretty well by now, and I’m tired of constantly going back and forth between you whenever you fight. Especially when you're saying the same thing. Do you know how frustrating that is?”

Buck waits for him to elaborate. Eddie rolls his eyes. “You guys are committed. It's just that you're both being really, really stupid about it. And living with another person is hard, especially when you’re trying so hard to keep so much of yourself in. You’ve got to open up a little, man. And so does he, but I think the first thing you gotta do is talk.”

“Hm. I should probably go home.” His head is starting to hurt and he feels like throwing up or passing out or crying, and he doesn't want to do any of those things outside of the comfort of his own home.

His and Tommy’s own home.

Eddie's eyes light up again and Buck had the exact same thought at the exact same time, “Uber!”

Eddie falls dead asleep on the ride to Buck and Tommy’s house. When they arrive, Buck profusely apologizes to the Uber driver for all the snoring and retching.

Eddie leans against his shoulder as they walk up to the door. Buck notices a wreath that wasn't there before and remembers talking about decorating the house for the holidays early. Tommy hadn't been completely sold on the idea at the time but there it was, displayed on their front door. It felt like a peace offering in of itself.

He fumbled with his key and accidently locked the already unlocked door, which Eddie laughed at for the full minute it took him to realize and then unlock the door again.

“Shhh. He’s probably asleep.”

“Evan?”

“Oh shit.” Then Eddie falls on the floor somehow. Buck isn’t really paying attention to whatever Eddie’s issues with gravity are. The moment he sees Tommy standing in the hallway in his sleeveless red top and sweats, he bolts and throws his arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry.” Buck mumbles into his neck.

Tommy sighs and hugs back, “I know, baby. I’m sorry, too.”

Eddie stands back up, celebrates quietly to himself for a second, and then redirects his attention to Buck and Tommy, “Hey, Tommy.” He waves politely.

“Hey, Eddie.”

“I don’t wanna be Buck’s boyfriend anymore. You can have him back. You’re both so complicated. Josh wouldn’t be so complicated.” Eddie starts mumbling to himself, swaying back and forth on his feet while fiddling with the leaves on the plant they have in their entrance.

Tommy seems to take a second process of what he just said and is doing mental gymnastics to decipher it, “What?”

“There was this guy, right? And he was kind of an asshole about it. So I pretended to be you, so he would leave Buck alone.”

Buck feels Tommy’s chest rise with jealousy, “A guy was messing with you?” Buck is man enough to admit that the heat in his voice does something for him.

“Mostly just being annoying.” Buck shrugs, arms still tied around Tommy’s neck.

“Hey, don’t worry. I defended his honor.” Eddie pounds a fist to his chest and then stumbles over to the couch.

Tommy worms his way out of Buck’s grip so he can close and lock the door and then turns back, “So, we’re good, then?”

Buck smiles, shoulder’s rising to his ears, laughing a little. He’s back to feeling giddy, a rush of love flooding through his chest, “Yeah, we’re gonna be great, Tommy, I promise.”

Tommy smiles and gravitates back to him, slipping an arm around his waist and kissing his collar bone.

“No funny business while I’m still here.” Eddie turns over on his side, tugging the throw blanket off the back of the couch.

“We gotta talk, though.” Buck traces a finger down Tommy’s chin, parking it in the little divot that used to taunt him. He has a cleft, Buck giggles again.

“About what?” Tommy goes still. His arm freezes up and the soft, gooey feeling in Buck’s chest gets a little chillier.

“I know about your annoying habits and you know about mine. We need to talk about ‘em to move past ‘em”

“And what if when we talk about it, we can’t find a way to move past it.” Tommy says quietly. For a second, Buck feels like he’s looking at himself. The facade of confidence cracks and suddenly there’s a lonely boy in a cold, empty house that starts to leak through. Buck’s chest hurts thinking about little Tommy. He was lonely and afraid. Buck remembers that feeling like a ghost whispering up his spine and he hates it. He hates that he ever thought this wasn’t something he could have. He hates that Tommy thought he’d be lonely and afraid forever. He hates that they both did.

He hates that Tommy feels like that right, standing in their home, in each other’s arms, where it should be safe from old wounds and lingering ghosts.

“Hey,” Buck’s finger on Tommy’s chin tightens and he brings his thumb up to force eye contact, “Don’t do that, please.”

Tommy shudders.

“Tommy, I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with you and you,” Buck grabs Tommy’s face with both hands, “Tommy, you are my forever love, okay? Your bad habits are not going to get in the way of that. You’re not getting rid of me any time soon.”

“Forever love, huh?” Tommy muses.

“If you let me, I wanna be your forever,” Buck places his index finger on Tommy’s lip, swiping. He wants to reach forward and never let go.

“Gladly,” Tommy leans over to bridge the gap, connecting their lips. They kiss for what feels like an eternity, with Eddie's snores as background music. Tommy slides an arm around Buck's waist and gently guides him to their bed.

Tommy kisses his birthmark and covers him with their warm cotton sheets they had picked out together. The bed is still too tight but he’ll tell him in the morning. They’ll talk, fight a little more, cry, and make up. They’ll fight for it, even when things get hard.

They fall asleep wrapped gently in love. Forever love.

#3000 feels like a lot for a tumblr post but ehhh i want it here too #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard

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ddeonghwa-s · 5 months ago

Text

「 ♥ 𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐰𝐚-𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛 ♥ 」

𝓒𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓥𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓮'𝓼 𝓭𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓵; if you don't have a Valentine's date, don't worry you're not alone! regardless, grab a drink and settle in this Valentine's week because I am thrilled to present my first ever collab: Secret Cupid!

Secret Cupid is an event dedicated to gaining new community and interactions. Within this event I have assigned each writer a random fellow writer to curate a fic around. They were given some guidelines, such as what their giftee's favorite tropes were, but other than that were given full creative freedom. So you can expect to enjoy a wide array of stories, from smut to angst to romance.

This project was launched back in November to help expand community, to interact with writers you wouldn't have interacted with otherwise. And so please take advantage of the variety of stories below and enjoy!

The fics will be released during the full week of Valentine's. Each fic will be added to the masterlist below as it is released. If you would like to be tagged with each addition, please leave a comment below!

Thank you, and have a happy Valentine's!

𝓭𝓭𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪-𝓼

「 ♥ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ♥ 」

✎ @bitchlessdino for alta 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

˚ ⋆ ୨୧― title: good roommates don't ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― xu minghao x fem!reader ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― tags: meet-ugly, strangers to roommates to lovers, college au, barista au, down bad!reader, mentions of band, brief bdsm, mc fell first he fell harder, cum swapping, spitting, oral (giving and receiving), face riding, unprotected sex ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― synopsis: Xu Minghao had been the most ethereal being you've ever laid your eyes on to the point being unable of functioning like a normal person, but now you're roommates. Only time will tell when you lose your mind keeping your hands to yourself, so there needed to be a list of things you don't do if you wanted to be a good roommate.

✎ @chanranghaeys for lexi 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

˚ ⋆ ୨୧― title: complementary wavelengths ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― chwe vernon x fem!reader ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― tags: professor vernon x teacher reader, non-idol au, distant college friends to -, first love ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― synopsis: wouldn’t falling in love with your research partner compromise the integrity of the research study? you had no idea. but if that were the case, then you were in for some major trouble.

✎ @ddeonghwa-s

✎ @diamonddaze01 for adrianne 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

˚ ⋆ ୨୧― title: bound by blood and fate ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― joshua hong x fem!reader ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― tags: assassin!shua, hacker!reader, red string of fate au ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― synopsis: “Tell me something, soldier,” you whispered, your voice low, carrying just enough venom to draw blood. “Does your fate feel like a noose?”

✎ @gyuhanniescarat

✎ @haologram

✎ @heechwe for ally 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

˚ ⋆ ୨୧― title: anything for you ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― jeon wonwoo x fem!reader ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― tags: smut n romance, best friends to lovers au, drunk confession ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― synopsis: Wonwoo has been your best friend forever. And maybe something more could be in the cards with a mature, sophisticated confession. Or a lot of alcohol.

✎ @jenoslutie

✎ @kpopflowerfield

✎ @kwanisms for cherry 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

˚ ⋆ ୨୧― title: HELP! My Neighbor is an Alien a Porn Star ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― hong jisoo x fem!reader ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― tags: fluff (in the form of comedy), smut (hella); sex work, porn industry, neighbors to lovers; non idol au, alien au, porn star au ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― synopsis: Neighbors come and go and for Y/N, this is inevitable. Which is why she never bothered to get to know her neighbors. She owns her townhouse while the two on either side of her are rentals. When a new neighbor moves in, she doesn’t think much of it until she sees the extremely attractive and single man moving in next door. She learns his name is Joshua and that there’s more than meets the eye; a whole lot more.

✎ @lovetaroandtaemin for bambi 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

˚ ⋆ ୨୧― title: team building ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― kwon soonyoung x fem!reader ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― tags: Smut, angst, fluff, some crack ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― synopsis: When Y/N and her annoying coworker Soonyoung are forced to share a hotel room during a business trip, tensions are high.

✎ @nebulousbrainsoup

✎ @seokgyuu for eunha 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

˚ ⋆ ୨୧― title: hate u love u ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― choi seungcheol x f!reader x yoon jeonghan ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― tags: smut, comedy, established relationship, enemies/rivals to lovers, academic rivals ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― synopsis: Before you started dating Seungcheol, you had been best friends with him for all of your life. Simultaneously, Seungcheol has been best friends with Jeonghan - whom you despise. He has been your rival since first grade and not just in terms of Seungcheol’s friendship but everything else too. Academics, sports, and now the attention of one very special professor who could open every door you ever wished to open…

✎ @shuadotcom for jessi 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

˚ ⋆ ୨୧― title: strawberry sunday ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― yoon jeonghan x fem!reader x kim mingyu ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― tags: smut, best friend’s brother, fuckbuddies (is this a trope???) non!idol au, pwp ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― synopsis: When your best friend is away, you and Jeonghan always find time to play. This time he invites his friend to play along and things get a little messy - in the literal sense.

✎ @soongyeopsal for sky 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

˚ ⋆ ୨୧― title: friends & family ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― chwe vernon x fem!reader ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― tags: humor, smut, pwp / best friend’s brother, friends to lovers ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― synopsis: Hansol gives you a deal that you didn’t even need to bargain for.

✎ @strxwberry-skiess

✎ @svtiddiess for hanuel 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

˚ ⋆ ୨୧― title: the fae in my heart ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― xu minghao x fem!reader ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― tags: fae husband hao, fluff, hurt/comfort, slight angst, happy ending, established relationship, non-idol! au, fantasy! au ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― synopsis: Overwhelmed with work, you begin to neglect your husband without realising it. Ignoring his quiet efforts to care for you and accidentally destroying something he poured his heart into creating, you wound him deeply. Can you mend the rift, regain his love, and earn his forgiveness?

✎ @tusswrites

✎ @uhdrienne for jasmine 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

˚ ⋆ ୨୧― title: the embodiment of grace and deviousness ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― choi seungcheol x fem!reader ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― tags: sfw, fluff, angst, mafia au, soulmate au ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― synopsis: as an author, it's almost poetic that your soulmate tattoo would be a flower. actually... half a flower. a snapdragon, to be exact. the petals on your arm, the vines on seungcheol's. it's even more cliche when you meet him on valentine's day. to you it means grace, but for seungcheol, he still has zero idea on what flower his tattoo is. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious at all, but during this season of love, you're about to figure out exactly what this all means for you and him, the leader of the city's most dangerous mafia.

✎ @yoonguurt for rachel 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

˚ ⋆ ୨୧― title: shit, i'm a simp too ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― lee jihoon x fem!reader ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― tags: fluff, smut, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers ˚ ⋆ ୨୧― synopsis: Jihoon always joins in when his group of friends makes fun of Mingyu for being a simp for his girlfriend. It isn’t that he thinks that a man shouldn’t go above and beyond for their significant other, it’s just that he hasn’t had a girlfriend that makes him want to go that far. Maybe one day, though.

#{💘 — Secret Cupid }

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webslingingslasher · 6 months ago

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okay i just had an epiphany…

the ‘we listen and we don’t judge’ trend with trouble and peter. i feel like she would say the most outrageous things and then just sit there and smile.

also if you’ve already done this i apologise

-🦆

trouble is just so happy the trend came out when she was an offical gf™️ bc situationship trouble would've terrified peter.

'we listen and we don't judge.'

peter: when i slept at your dorm that one night i got really drunk when we first started dating, i lied, i did use your toothbrush.

'we listen and we don't judge.'

trouble: when we broke up i made a pact with may and she told me everything you would say about me when you were with her.

'we listen and we don't judge.'

trouble: when we broke up i made ally go through your trashcan after we started talking again to try and find used condoms.

peter: i don't like this game anymore.

#frat!peter

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orangeocelotmartyn · 9 months ago

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The start of something new (Garbage Rat, Martyn, and Ren triangle)

trancript under the cut

Oli: Have you seen a Rat-tic around here, because I told one of them there would be one. Water: I don't know what that is-- Eloise: No, but you know who I have found? I found Mratyn-I found Mratyn, and Will! Oli: Marty! Eloise: Everybody's here, yeah, Marty-- Oli: Marty's here. Marty from the good ole days! (begins playing a quiet clip of applause) Eloise: He looks a bit different, though, he looks a bit different, and I think he's got-I think he's got a boyfriend. Oli: (shuts off the sound of the applause) Wait, what. Eloise: I don't know, he just kept calling him all these pet names like "Big J" and "Captain," but I might be misinterpreting that. Oli: But he didn't call him anything like "O-Dawg," or-or "Garbage Rat," did he? Cause that's my names, he wouldn't use those on someone else. (he plays a clip of an audience 'aw'ing) Eloise: No, he didn't call him that. Oli: Oh, well, that's good, that's nice, I'd love to see Marty.

---

Oli: Don't worry guys, I'm gonna free you! Bek: Help me! Martyn: (through disbelieving laughter) You've gotta be joking--you've gotta be kidding, Garbage Rat! Oli: (joyously) Marty! Martyn: (laughing) What are you doing here! Oli: I've been here the wh--two weeks now, getting drunk on wine! And forgetting stuff. Martyn: What is the--right-- Oli: What happened to your eye? It go the same way as mine? Martyn: I don't wanna talk about it. Captain, if we're gonna recruit anybody, this is our guy-- Ren: Who is the loud one? Martyn: --This is our guy! Oli: You've not found another-- Ren: Reveal yourself loud one! Oli: Hello its me the Garbage Rat I eat the garbage. And what is your name sailor? Ren: Hello Garbage Rat, I am Admiral Jaque Levy La'rat. Oli: No way. And what are you doing with my boy? Ren: (clears throat) He's the Lieutenant on my-my vessel. I picked him up a few weeks ago out in the middle of the ocean, he was in half a tennis ball floating around and it was quite pathetic. Oli: No way...that's quite the step up from being a highway rat. Martyn: Ehh--that's the first time you've described it as pathetic, I don't think I like that. Bek: Bit embarrassing Martyn. Ren: Highway rat, what--? Oli: I actually never called him pathetic--

---

Oli: -friends everywhere we go-- Martyn: Garbage Rat! Oli: Oh my god, Captain, my Captain. (Martyn: Oh.) Hello. Ren: It's the Garbage one again, hello! Martyn: Oh, two seconds, Will! (Will: Okay!) Oli: Hello, you found yourself--you guys find yourself a ship to commandeer yet, you found yourself a highway to man? Martyn: Ah, we-- Ren: We find ourself a perfect spot to rebuild. Martyn: Yeah, we found a plot. We got home and a plot. We're gonna go to the kitchen with Will, wanna come? Ren: I would like, I would like to add, Mister Garbage, that you look magnificent on our boat. I mean, look--the three of us together, side by side, as the pirate crew is there no better-- Oli: Yeah...ey, ey now, I love pirating, I love stealing, I love robbing, I love eating. I'm all those things, but water is not a thing that I enjoy, my sweet croissant. Yeah. Water-- Martyn: Yeah, he's got a past with, uh, flushers. Oli: Drowning, flushes, the whole-- Ren: I understand. Oli: --nine yards, yeah. I shall not be going anything that could have whirlpools. Ren: Out on the high seas, some might call you a Coward. Martyn: Ooh. Oli: Well. In the garbage bin, somebody might call you a corpse. But I ain't gonna make it happen. (Martyn laughs in surprise) Martyn: Yikes. I should step in here, but I don't wanna, I wanna see what happens. Ren: My words. I've never heard such intimidation before. Oli: It's been a good few years. I've faced a lot of creatures in my time. I remember when we were-- Ren: Alright, well Mister Garbage, I'd be happy to have you as an ally on shore, in that case. Oli: I would love to be an ally on shore. And if you--

#theorionsound #oli theorionsound #rendog #inthelittlewood #video #transcribed #ripsmp #rats in paris #ratchanting #treebark

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sombra7567 · 2 months ago

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Passages from audios that have stuck with me, pt. 5 (sappy edition okay...)

Escaped Audios

"I can't do it! I just... I can't hurt you. Because- I can't let you go. There has to be another way. I don't know if I'm delusional, I don't know if I'll be making everything worse, but- I just can't do it. Because- because I want you. I want you so badly. I don't know what I'm doing, but I've never felt this way before. I want you so badly, I feel like I'm going crazy because even though the whole world is crashing down around me, all I can think about is- kissing you." (Matador Gothic Part Five: Rescuing Your Vampire Ally)

"No- don't leave yet. Because I- I've been thinking about a lot of stuff. About the things I regret. About the things I'm afraid that I'll regret if I do them. [...] I think that's all just me coming up with excuses, because I don't know what would happen if I- if I told you- I want you. [...] I haven't stopped thinking about you since the day we met. Ever since you came outside and brought me that to-go box. [...] Whenever I think of the future, all I do is wonder what I'd have to do to keep you in it. Every time I try something new, the first thing I do is imagine sharing it with you. Every time I listen to a song, all I can do is imagine it being the soundtrack to our first kiss. [...] I wasted so much time worrying about what I might regret doing that I never stopped to worry about what I might regret not doing. And I've taken chances on so many stupid things that I might as well take a chance on something that really matters. And I know- that no matter what- I'm going to regret not taking this chance." (My Greasefire Life Episode Six: Pancakes for Dinner)

"Hush. Don't cry. Everything is gonna be okay. [...] I know I'm dying... but I won't be gone. I'll still be out there... somewhere. Somewhere, there's a guy who doesn't know you yet, and his name is Benji, and he works at a Blockbuster on 4th Street. He doesn't know you yet, but he's gonna meet you and fall in love like he's never been in love before. He's gonna see you and realize that very second that he'd do anything for you. He'll drive across the country with you, start a new life with you, and never feel regret or fear again because he knows that, no matter what, you'll be there with him." (Chronus Seven: Part Eight- Finale)

Good Boy Audios:

"But... I don't expect... you could ever understand. And I don't want you to either. You mean too much to me. Because even if- I know- it's never gonna happen- even though- you have no interest in me... I'm in love with you. Isn't that the best joke you ever heard? [...] She's- she's crying. What's- what's the matter, Faithful? Eh? Why aren't you- smiling- you're supposed to- laugh at a bastard like me... right?" (Bastard Warrior: Treasure Hunt with a Bastard and an Artificer)

"But ah- yeah. He loves you. A lot as well. How much? Well, let me tell you. He looks at you, and he sees an angel. And he won't make a move... because he's unworthy of you. You're a lot stronger than he is. Ah, shut up. We both know you don't need to fight monsters to be strong. Being strong is sticking to your beliefs. Even when things get rough." (Bastard Warrior: Saving Your Bastard Warrior)

"When are you going to be a fucking man and admit your feelings for her?! I see the way you look at her. I see the way she looks at you! You're both so perfect together. And yeah, I have feelings for her, and sure I fantasize a little bit, but you know what? I am rooting for you guys! You're both... you're both so cool and... and I love you guys..." (Bastard Warrior: Getting Drunk with Your Idiot Lovers)

ZsakuVA:

"I'm not taking pity on you! I love you! Yes, I do. I don't love anyone I come across. I'm capable of a lot, and I can love many people at once, but you fill my heart the most. As of right now, yes. So I'm more than happy to give what I have to you if I don't end up coming back. [...] It's okay. Maybe you'll see me again. And if you don't... I'll still be with you. [...] All I want is for you to be happy. To wake up in the morning and smile that you live for another day. I want you to go out there and find what you've forgotten. Catch up on things you missed. You deserve that much at the very least. Like I said... I love you. I always will love you." (Dontis: Sharing Secrets with an Incubus)

"It was the worst mistake. He did what no being should have done. That even the wisest cannot control. He loved me. And I could not give it to him in return. In his eyes swam a pain I had never been allowed to see. A secret he kept closest to his heart. He knew what I would do if I found out. And I was ready to run in that moment. But for the first time... I was stopped by a strange yearning to heal him... comfort him... to embrace the unbreakable and soothe his fears of being alone once again. And despite my own warnings... despite my mind yelling at me to go... I realized it was also my fear." (Dontis: The Incubus and the Vampire)

First ~ Previous ~ Next

#escaped audios #good boy audios #goodboyaudios #zsakuva #audio roleplay #OK BUT REAL TALK.#I *LOVE* AND ADORE HOW ESCAPED WRITES HIS ROMANCES OKAY #specifically the “want” part #i mentioned this before but i get so TIRED of seeing “i love you!” in movies #Y'ALL MET THREE DAYS AGO #THAT'S NOT LOVE #IT CAN BECOME LOVE BUT YOU DON'T KNOW ENOUGH EACH OTHER TO TRULY LOVE EACH OTHER YET #and as someone who actually fell for that SMH i was so dumb ugh #also i cannot stress freaking ENOUGH.#HOW GOOD SAKU'S WRITING AND ACTING FOR THE INCUBUS AND THE VAMPIRE WAS #THE PAIN AND ANGER IN DONTIS'S VOICE I CANNOT.#THERE ARE SO MANY MOMENTS THAT RELATE TO THE WORLD TODAY THAT ALMOST BRING ME TO TEARS WHEN I LISTEN TO IT NO LIE #ok i'm done ranting in the tags bye until next time i wreak some slight havoc

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tinfoil-jones · 21 days ago

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Jerk Ford AU: Obligatory Stan Twins Birthday Post

During the thirty years they were separated, neither Jerk Ford nor Stanley celebrated their shared birthday.

They did however, form the same yearly tradition simultaneously, and completely independent of one another. Showcasing how they manage to mirror each other even when their twinstinct was gone.

While Stan is well liked, he didn't have to worry about anyone trying to do a surprise party for him. Most of his peers are teachers who wouldn't work at the school during the summer unless if they were staffed for Summer School that year. His part time job during summers is working at the Water Treatment Plant, but he always kept a low profile that day and made sure none of his coworkers knew his birth date.

Even when he adopted Soos, Abuelita respected that Stan did not want to celebrate his birthday, because she knew the reason why he didn't. And considering Soos still hates his own birthday just like in canon, Soos wouldn't question his dads lack of birthday celebration.

Jerk Ford is out in the multiverse, and not celebrating birthdays is common in the Fordverse. Most of them resent (but 'secretly' painfully miss) their twin, and the most common goals out in the multiverse are survival and killing Bill Cipher. Jerk Ford's lack of resentment towards his brother is not well known, so him also not celebrating is no surprise.

Even as he starts to steadily gain more friends allies during his thirty year exile, he maintained his refusal to celebrate the occasion, and most likely kept to himself that day. Which they do not question; Anti-Ford and Watchdog Ford have the same birthday and could understand why, meanwhile The Archivist is a few centuries old so birthdays don't have as much meaning to him compared to a regular human or shorter lived species.

But what same yearly tradition do Jerk Ford and Stan do in place of an actual celebration or event? Well...

---

Dimension-???

Unknown bunker, unknown city. 15 June 2011

Jerk Ford makes sure he's absolutely as secure and far away from others as possible; there's statistically a very low chance of anyone finding him anytime soon, but just in case he has a syringe of his patented Drunk-B-Gone with a capped needle readily in his right overcoat pocket.

He reaches into his extradimensional bag and pulls out two items - a snifter glass, and a dark bottle of Seagrams Seven Crown.

He'd remembers back in their Backupsmore days, he and Fiddleford used to tease Stanley about his so-called 'sophisticated' taste, how he wasn't more manly than them just because he kept his drinking habits on the plain and simple side, but Stan would continue to insist he wasn't trying to make a statement, he just preferred it that way.

Sometimes Jerk Ford wondered if Stan was emulating their Pa or if it was just coincidence and genetics they both happened to prefer whisky and refused mixed drinks of any kind. Laphroaig was Filbrick's poison of choice, and just like Stanley he only ever drank things as they were, nothing 'fancy' like simply syrup, a lemon garnish, or God forbid, ice.

Jerk Ford, for one, preferred not consuming the equivalent of potable acetone, but...

"At least I didn't have to try to smuggle ice or citrus fruit." Jerk Ford mused out loud to himself as he poured from the bottle into the glass what he eyeballed as 4.5oz of whisky, the equivalent of three shots.

Fine whisky is supposed to be drunk in small sips, but Seven Crown is cheap and bottom shelf, it could be knocked back, and that's what Jerk Ford was planning on. He knew it wasn't the wisest thing to do, he wasn't unaware of his steadily declining constitution. It was the same reason he generally didn't drink anything bigger or stronger than a singular beer even when going out to drink.

"Happy Birthday, Stanley." Jerk Ford murmured to himself before swigging the whole thing down even though he hated it.

---

Dimension-PJC311

Gravity Falls, Oregon. 15 June 2011

Stanley Pines walks into Skull Fracture, the toughest bar in town- mainly because it was the only bar in town. The heavily tatooed biker serving as the bouncer tended to roll his eyes whenever Stan came to the bar, because of how much a school teacher like himself stood out amongst these self-proclaimed extremely tough people and bikers, but this time he just nodded at Stan and allowed him inside with no words.

29 years of this, Tats had of course expected him.

However, it appears tonight there was a different bartender than normal, or at least one Stan didn't usually see. A large biker with a bald head, and a red bandanna tied around his forehead like a headband.

"Mr. Pines?" The bartender asked in surprise "Monthly Cigar Night isn't until-"

"I know, I just need a drink." Stan interrupted him as he pulled out a stool in front of the counter and promptly sat down.

"The usual?" The bartender asked, already reaching for a Glencairn glass from the cabinet, but Stan raised one hand in the 'pause' motion.

"A mixed drink." Stan explained, internally rolling his. The establishment and its usual patrons prided themselves in their toughness so much, they refused to have cocktails because 'those are girly drinks'.

However, there was an easy work around; just call it a mixed drink and explain exactly what you'd like in it. A person can't ask for a Rusty Nail cocktail, but they can ask for a mixed drink equal parts scotch and Drambuie, served on the rocks in an old fashioned glass.

"What do you want in your drink?" The bartender asked him, and Stan recited it from memory

"Equal parts vodka, tequila, white rum, triple sec, gin, two parts lemon juice, one and a one-third parts simple syrup, and top it with cola. On the rocks, and in a highball glass, please." Stan instructed carefully, and the bartender nodded along as he put said drink together.

"You sure about this, Mr. Pines? This is five shots." The bartender pointed out, but Stan simply shrugged, and switched a ten dollar bill with the bartender for the drink.

Stan for one, didn't like most cocktails. He liked sweets just fine, but he always preferred things with a robust, earthier taste, and overly sweet things gives him headaches. But his long lost twin brother, Stanford? A sugar fiend.

In the early years of their adulthood, he used to pick on Ford about how he might as well just drink club soda and simple syrup, with the types of cocktails he'd usually order.

It made Stanley wonder how similar Ford really was to their Ma, considering that the glass of wine she had with all three meals of the day were typically dessert wines. Stan personally didn't know if she ever drank anything harder when she wasn't around her children, but he did know her favourite was Graham's Six Grapes.

Long Island Ice Tea was one of the most basic bitch cocktails someone could get. And for some reason, it was the one Ford ordered the most frequently.

Drinks served with ice should be drunk quickly, because of the ice melting, diluting the drink and the taste. But Soos, alongside his fiancée Melody, were currently chaperoning Wendy and her friend groups camping trip near Lake Gravity Falls.

Meaning his home was currently empty. Like many nights before Soos, it was just Stan alone with the non-functioning portal that had taken his brother away all of those years ago.

He could nurse this drink for a bit, just to give himself a little bit of time and distance from the source of his despair, which also served as his only hope for the future.

"Happy Birthday, Stanford." Stan said quietly to himself when he was sure the bartender and any other patrons were far enough away no one could hear him. And then took his first sip for the night.

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eustassslut · 10 months ago

Note

🌈~

Hi c': I saw that your requests were open! I was wondering if it's possible to request a Luffy, Law, Kid, and Zoro(separately)(if you can't add Zoro, that's fine!) with a s/o that's basically deemed a Nobody? They have no devil fruit, no special Haki skills or some super power hidden gift. The most they can do is doodle every now and then and that's it.

The main prompt is basically their "Nobody" s/o doodles their boyfriend(s) in their spare time, and gifts them the drawings c': They know that it may not do much, but their love language is showering them in drawn sketches of them(almost like a little kid aha)

Luffy is the biggest hype-man and supporter of any hobby you might have.

He regularly asks the other Strawhats for advice on what art supplies to buy you with his left over money.

He also keeps every sketch you've ever given him in a special box that he asked Usopp to make him so they're kept dafe. Will ask you to paint on the box so its extra special.

If you ever showed him any new sketches or doodles you've done, he'll beg you to let him keep them as well.

Whenever you draw him, he gets really happy and becomes even more hyper than normal. He'll be desperate shows everyone on the crew the doodles you've made of him.

Wants you to draw him doing literally everything, from going to the toilet and holding a bug to him as a bug and eating meat.

Repeatedly makes you promise you'll draw him reaching Laughtale and becoming King of the Pirates.

Luffy also boasts to everyone who will listen about you and randomly starts up conversations with strangers or his allies about you and your art supplies.

Frames everything...or he tries to before Nami tells him they have no space to store it all.

Carries some of drawings and doodles you've done of him everywhere so he can show off if he has a chance, he'll be fighting an old enemy and will pause to ask if they want to see something cool.

You have a fan in Crocodile now though who is quite invested in your art journey; but you're not sure if that's because of the rumours he's your boyfriend's parent or if it’s because the older man just enjoys art.

But if anyone was to interrupt or insult you by calling you a nobody or implying he deserves better, he'd go completely feral and has to be pulled away by you so he doesn't try to fight them.

Strong believer in earning the right to have dreams and earn a reputation for your skills so he doesn't really care if you're seen as a nobody (he still hates hearing it said to you or him though) because he used to be one as well when he started his journey.

Luffy is nothing but your biggest fan and he hopes everyone will one day see the same value and talent he sees in you.

Law acts like nothing you do effects him and that you don't get under his skin, but it's always obvious upon looking closely at him just how flustered he gets each time you hand him one of your drawings.

Will just say "thank you, it's lovely" or "thank you, you're so talented my love" and give you a kiss before putting it in his desk draw, showing he appreciates it but not on the same scale as Luffy or Kid.

However, you will later find your drawings pinned to his fridge or tucked away in medical textbooks as Law uses them for motivation to work hard so he can impress you in return.

Law struggles a little bit to show love for you, having lost so many loves ones so young but he tries his best to show through his actions that he thinks you're talented and that he really appreciates being given anything you do.

Gets drunk on one occasion and cries to you about how he's scared he'll forget what his family looked like overtime, then cries harder when you ask him to describe them so you can draw them for him.

Keeps the sketches of his family and Corazon on his desk, next to a drawing of you and him since he wants everyone he loves to be together in one place.

Very much a man who uses his actions to prove he loves you and sees your talent. He'll clear out some of his medical books for any books on art he can find and always makes sure he cares a sketchbook and materials for you in case you want to draw.

At the end of the day Law loves you for you, he doesn't care if you have no devil fruit or if you're perceived as a 'nobody'. He probably even prefers that you prefer quietly sitting nearby or on the Polar Tang because it means he always knows you're safe.

He's not like Luffy though and he will not try to fight anyone if they called you one to his face but he would threaten them and reassure you in private that you're not a nobody, instead you're the most important person in his life to him.

The king of insanely loud cringe worthy support and also gift giving back to support your hobby.

When you first show you like to draw, Kid would clear out some space in his workshop so you can have your own studio to quietly draw if need.

He sees quality time together as very important so he wants to quietly sit and do your respective hobbies together; pausing to show each other what you're both doing and exchange compliments.

Will try to copy any doodles you do and make metalwork versions out of them. Definitely makes you a necklace with a metal copy of a doodle you drew of you and him kissing.

Encourages you to paint on his bedroom walls if you want to and also to draw on tables.

Insists you sign all of your sketches and doodles so they're official.

Claims he needs to make sure he has the biggest art collection so that when you become famous he will be extra rich and he can add art collector to his long list of achievements (aka his crimes).

Definitely calls you the worst nicknames you've ever heard in your life, like his gorgeous talented artistic boopsie bear and the ball wrangler of all art. Genuinely means them as compliments to uplift you as well.

Loves giving you excuses to draw so he gives you awful prompts out of the blue and a time limit.

Kid will ask you to draw his crew so he can always have proof they sailed together and keeps those drawings in his bedroom.

Will try to frame everything he can like Luffy would, but he does have limits and eventually just invests in a big set of drawers designed for storing art.

Refuses to steal art supplies because he believes in supporting artists so he makes sure to take you art supply shopping and then leaves tips.

Casually has a very good reputation now in the art world and they all really admire you for winning him over with your art.

But thoughts and prayers for anyone who ever calls you a nobody, they're about to get beaten up almost to the brink of death. It's a bold decision to say anything about you in front of him.

Kid doesn't care if you're seen as weak or powerless and art is seen as the only thing you have going for you. He likes being able to keep you safe and protect you but recognising you're not strong (especially compared to him since he's literally a beast) is very different to seeing you as a nobody.

Zoro is probably such a mess when it comes to supporting your hobby but he's trying his best for you and at the end of the day you know he sees you as the most important person in his life.

I feel like the first time you draw something and give it to him, its a doodle of Chopper and him on a napkin at dinner and when you sheepishly give it to him as a way of showing your affection he'd accidentally use it.

Just so oblivious that he does not realise why everyone at the table is staring at him in horror and you look like you might laugh or cry. Eventually looks down and apologises so much when he notices, claiming the stains on it make it even more special because it adds to value??

Does not understand art at all.

Zoro can tell that you're talented though and recognises your passion so he tries his best to support you with verbal praises and his actions.

However, he's so emotionally constipated its insane; literally does not how to express his affection for you without either being a sassy little bitch or just coming across insane.

Like you could mention you like roses and he'll come back the next time you dock with a full rose bush he's torn out of someone's garden by its roots, but then say you can throw it away if you want. He's just a weird feral man.

He'd probably learn how to make paper so you could have drawing materials (he also has no money so he has to adapt to the obstacles ahead).

Commissions you to draw several new horrific wanted poster versions of Sanji to torment the blonde with. Sanji can't get mad at you though because he thinks you're talented and likes that you get to practise.

Is very similar to Kid and likes when you sit in the lookout nest and quietly draw whilst he trains beside you. He does pose a little because he knows sometimes you like to draw him and he wants you to get his best angles.

Tries to call you talented every time he talks about you or talks to you. Zoro is very verbal about how incredible you are.

Will not tolerate anyone calling you a nobody (he will beat them up if you want him too) and it hurts him the most if you call yourself one because he knows what its like to feel inferior to those stronger.

You don't need to fight anyways since you have him but if you want to learn he'll teach you in exchange for more horrific Sanji doodles.

Your talent is more then enough to eventually earn a reputation anyways so who cares if you can't fight or you're weaker.

King of pep talks and reminds you constantly you don't have to be strong to be important, you just need to believe in yourself.

No matter what he's always in your corner and supports you in his own silly weird ways.

buy me a coffee | ao3 | tiktok

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ikeukiss · 3 months ago

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⟢ PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader ⟢ WORD COUNT: 11K ⟢ GENRE: angst, smut, sprinkles of fluff ⟢ TAGS: heavy themes of grief/death including a mentioned drunk driving incident (do not tread lightly if these topics are difficult for you to read), minor character death (including a child, but it is all offscreen), coworkers au, pet names (baby, doll, etc), light breast play, fingering, protected sex. ⟢ SYNOPSIS: Wonwoo is the last person you expect to find at a grief support group, but he may just be the peace that you need to weather all of your storms. LINK TO FIC PLAYLIST -ˋˏ✄┈┈ AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is an incredibly personal story for me, as I have suffered parental loss and it is one of the hardest things I've gone through, but in a way, writing it out has helped heal a small part of me, so I am happy to share this with you all. Bless to my friends beta-ing this for me—Allie (@lovetaroandtaemin), Raven (@shadowkoo), Lily (@prkhaven), Sulkie (@innocygnet), and Tiya (@gyubakeries), and everyone else who read snippets of this before it became what it is now. The fic's title inspo is from a song by Lizzy Mcalpine!

GRIEF DOESN’T END, BUT IT CHANGES SHAPE OVER TIME.

The white text over the image of a pastel sunrise initially made you gag when you stepped into the room, the church’s banner haphazardly put up to prepare for today’s session. Now, it’s all your brain can focus on as the surrounding attendees share their stories. The initial greetings stopped thirty minutes ago, with many at the waterworks now to your secondhand chagrin. Others nod and provide supportive commentary, but you don’t have it in you, silence the only usable response. A few people you recognize from the first few weeks surround you; others are brand new, red-faced as they meander through the reasons for their attendance.

The four walls reek of silent regret and raw sadness, the sniffles and coughs of those trying to hide their pain sticking to the air like heat on a summer day. You’d prefer it to be a hotter season, if only to focus on something else but the ridiculous text looming over you. But the winter chill that accompanies the gloomy atmosphere is another unpleasant reminder of the dangers of wishful thinking.

You could say all the stories and puffy expressions don’t hit a nerve somewhere deep inside of you, but then you’d be a liar. As you’ve learned in the past year, though, you’re getting very good at hiding and denying.

It’s been forty-five minutes of passive listening on your end, but your attention remains on the chalky slopes of text against the yellow sun disappearing into the mountain formation.

“It’s been six months, and I still don’t know what to do. When I think I’ve gotten over one stage, I’m reminded of something that sets me back.” One attendee you’ve known from the start, Suzy, continues on while staring into the coffee cup in her hands. She’s typically meek in tone, solemn while her hands stay in her thick coat as she recalls the details of her twin sister’s battle with leukemia. But today, there’s a new aura about her, something clipped and biting that is unique to see in this place.

Maybe she’s on the stage of anger this week.

“You know I’ve said healing isn’t linear, Suzy,” Seungcheol, the director of the group, says in a supportive tone.

“I get that, but can I get a break from feeling more than one stage at once? For the love of God.” She blanches immediately and mutters out an apology, making you chuckle to yourself.

You used to think that the phenomenon was a myth, a way for people to rationalize their pain by separating all of it into clear, definable chunks. While you’re now well acquainted with each piece of grief, they all remain a mystery in your eyes. You’re unsure who to ask for the right answers, and you’re not opening your mouth now to humor the group with questions.

The plan has always been the same: attend each session like you’re supposed to, get your slip signed off, and go home. That was the routine for the past two weeks, nothing more to add or subtract. When people addressed you, you weren't unfriendly, but you didn't offer any information. These things considered, you’re adamant about keeping with tradition for the remaining six meetings, including this one.

Yet, the second the door of the church opens, and you see Jeon Wonwoo enter, you know it’ll be impossible to continue staying under the radar.

Wonwoo apologizes profusely as Seungcheol pulls up a chair for the newcomer. Wonwoo’s wearing a scarf that covers a substantial amount of his face, but you’d recognize his wire-frame glasses and that black mop of hair anywhere. He may barely be an acquaintance, but he’s not terrible to look at. “My car was giving me trouble this morning, so—”

“No problem, man,” Seungcheol cuts him off. “Nobody’s late here. You’re always arriving somewhere at the moment you’re meant to, I always say.”

You roll your eyes and tuck your arms tighter into your chest. The older guy always has a plethora of slogans for personal growth up his sleeve. You reckon he probably made the fucking sign with the awful font and stereotypically hopeful photography? It’s anyone’s guess, but you have a good one.

Some hair falls into your face just as Wonwoo sits across from you in the large circle. You think that just might save you from being seen, but recognition crosses his face out of the corner of your eye, and you curse under your breath, knowing you’re fucked.

Jeon Wonwoo, from the legal team at the publishing house you both work for, sees you, the quiet girl from the marketing department. He must have some idea why, given his department’s close relationship with your higher-ups, and that makes your intestines twist in a way akin to food poisoning. You think it may be the perfect time for the world to split open under your feet and take you away, but that’s only a dreamer’s level of luck.

“So, Wonwoo, you’re a newcomer, as we can see. What brings you to the group?”

Wonwoo stutters on an explanation, his cheeks turning a shade of pink. “I think the lady before me was in the middle of her story, but maybe I can share after.”

Seungcheol winks in acknowledgement and goes back to Suzy, continuing where they left off in their discussion. “So, for the stages…”

You feel the heat of Wonwoo’s gaze from across the circle. He’s probably trying to decipher just exactly what led you to this place. Not the church, per se, but the situation at hand. Tired of the burn of his irises on you, you turn your stare on him. His eyes look small under the guise of his glasses, but they enlarge considerably when you make it known you’ve caught him ogling. With your mouth in a thin line but your eyebrows quirked up, you send him a silent dare to continue staring. To your pleasure, he pales and turns away, looking in the same direction as everyone else as Suzy continues on with her rant.

Any secondhand inkling you had to share with the group before the end of the program dies with the turn of Wonwoo’s head, and you prefer it that way. His presence gives you an excuse to not break from routine. Not like you were going to, anyway.

“He was there?” Wooyoung ruffles his hair in secondhand embarrassment, the sound of his nervous expel of breath drowned out by the music in the bar. The local hotspot was a mere five blocks away from your work, and it rarely became overcrowded before you guys had the chance to leave, so coming around now and then with your best friend was still doable, even under your circumstances. It was hard to say no to Wooyoung when he gave you such toothy grins and pleading words. “You barely come out anymore, at least try to spend some time with me for a bit? It’ll be good for you.”

He had to be the only person left you could stomach being around, and the last man on the planet who could handle your latest less than sunny disposition.

Wooyoung immediately goes back to making his shot for the solid blue ball close to the top left-hand pocket when you shoot him a glare that even he can’t joke himself out of. “You think he’ll say anything?” he asks as he moves his pool stick back and forth, testing the waters of the angle he’s chosen to hit the cue ball from.

“I hope not.” You groan and knock your head against your pool stick. Replaying yesterday afternoon in your head, you barely could get through the workday filled with pitch proposals and strategy meetings. You couldn’t help but wonder if Wonwoo was lurking around every corner of the building, waiting to discuss how he saw you and tease you for something not meant for teasing. He didn’t seem like the type to do so, but you expect less and less from the male population with every passing day. “He probably already knows about what happened anyway.”

Wooyoung hits the ball, but it veers a little too far for the shot to be completed. He swears, an audible “fuck me” rolling off of his tongue. You make haste going for the striped orange ball, and with no seconds to spare, you hit it into the center right cup. You land another two before your best friend has a chance again, but it doesn't matter. All that’s left for you to shoot in is the eight ball.

“One day I’ll manage to get close to beating you.”

“The night’s still young,” you respond before chugging down what’s left of your bottle of soju. The alcohol goes down your throat smoothly, but it doesn’t soothe the itch that still sits under your skin. With another few drinks, and you teetering on the line between buzzing and full-blown drunk, you think you’ll be able to forget the feeling exists.

That sting only intensifies when you see a handful of guys from the legal team walk in, Vernon and Jihoon trailing behind Wonwoo’s towering form. Their presence causes you to miss the eight ball entirely, the cue ball slowly rolling towards a pocket until it falls in.

“Goddamnit, man,” you curse. You reach for your drink, but you curse again when the empty bottle touches your lips.

Before Wooyoung can ask, he turns his head to see the men going up to the bartender and gnaws at his lip. “Maybe they won’t notice us?”

“That’s as likely as you getting a girlfriend,” you tease. You pull a couple of dollar bills out of your pocket and set your pool stick down when you see the men edging away from the bar-top. It may be a risk when they’re still so close by, but your dry mouth tells you to take the chance. “I’m gonna get us another round.”

You place your hands firmly on the shining wood of the bar, the gloss of it contrasting with the rough calluses and paper cuts across your hands. A few fingers beckon the bartender over with a new set of soju bottles. The green glass that holds the liquid refracts against the overhead lights. It’s so bright, you don’t notice the figure whose shadow mars their outlines.

“Didn’t think you were the drinking type,” Wonwoo finally pipes up. Where his voice yesterday was quick and bashful, and his typical tone at work is clinical to the letter, the cadence of it now is warm, like a smooth pool of honey.

His arm brushes yours as he places a few bucks of his own on the bar for the bartender to take. The contact raises gooseflesh across the space where his skin met yours for the briefest of moments. It sends a new itch up your spine, one that’s barely familiar and on the cusp of foreign. You lie to yourself with careful precision, swearing in hushed tones inside your brain that it doesn’t ignite a long, burnt-out flame somewhere inside of you, and you almost believe it.

Almost.

“I also didn’t used to go to work-mandated support groups, but here we are.” You aim your bottle in his direction with the slightest of tips, a sarcastic salute that doesn’t make your secret any easier to address out loud. You sip gingerly, the pull of your lips from the bottle long and slow, but the alcohol holds no solution for your bitter tongue or sick stomach.

You know this, and you drink anyway. It’s better than the alternative.

Wonwoo’s the one who takes the bottle from your mouth. A few dribbles of soju trickle down your chin, but before you can snatch it back, he says, “I’m not going to say anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I wasn’t worried to begin with.”

He nods with a close-lipped smirk, in no way believing your glib. The bartender brings three gin and tonics for Wonwoo’s troupe, and you can’t hold back the giggle that erupts from deep in your throat. “Typical.”

“What? G and Ts are too good for you, miss marketing expert?” Vernon and Jihoon call their coworker with a loud shout of his name when they see their drinks are ready, but Wonwoo throws them an expression that shuts the younger men up.

“Who said I was an expert? That’s Soobin’s role, anyway.” You tut your head in a random direction. You have nothing to prove to Wonwoo, but you take pride in your job being higher than one of meager content creation. He chuckles, and the sound tickles your ears in a way you push down. “I’m a trend analyst.”

“Oh, really? Is that why you don’t speak during the meetings? You’ve already predicted that sharing is a waste of time?”

You sober immediately at his questions. You grip the neck of the soju bottle tighter as you try composing an answer, anger prickling the base of your neck. What can you say that gives nothing away and keeps with the pre-set banter, all while you remain even-keeled? You land on, “It’s not like that,” and make your move to walk away, bored with the conversation now.

Wooyoung looks over at you like you’re crazy, and you know the thoughts immediately swirling in your best friend’s head. You haven’t flirted with a man in probably half a decade, at least, but if the nerd isn’t getting any, the very least you could do is entertain some sort of romantic attention for the two of you.

Wonwoo grabs your arm softly, his fingers setting the same fire the contact from before did, but it holds an entirely new scope and set of stakes. “Humor me. What’s it like, then?” His voice is featherlight, gentle in its prodding. He holds no judgement, his earlier words only teasing but clearly striking a nerve in you he’s trying to amend with his new tone.

You avoid his gaze, finally landing back on the pool table where Wooyoung awaits. The kernel of an idea pops up alongside your smile. “Play me for it.”

“What?” Wonwoo chuckles, perplexed. You point towards the table with your index finger, and Wooyoung immediately turns his head, attempting to hide his spying to no avail.

“You win, I’ll tell you why I’m in that group.” Your smirk grows, the cheshire cat smile that now adorns your face growing with every word. “I win, you tell me what you were doing there yesterday in the first place.”

You put a hand between your incredibly close bodies, a fact you did not realize until you offered some ante for Wonwoo to chew on, and he takes the bait like you expected him to. “Deal.”

He shakes your hand firmly. It’s another set of touches that warms you to the bone in a way liquor never has before. You shuck that information to the side as you walk to the pool table with Wonwoo hot on your heels. He stops to deliver the drinks to his awaiting team, but he makes it to you with a few quick strides.

“Want me to break, or do you need to prove you can play first?” you ask with the same tantalizing smile you wagered him with.

He takes a hefty sip of his tonic and licks his bottom lip to catch the alcohol that threatens to spill over. “By all means.”

If only he knew how stupid it was to let the lady go first this time.

Wonwoo stares down into the pocket the eight-ball just flew into. While he’s mystified how you managed to just destroy his record and prove him wrong in a matter of ten minutes and three plays, you smirk openly. It always used to bug ex-boyfriends and situationships when you were better at a more masculine task or hobby than they were, but you always flicked their comments back with a middle finger and a nonplussed demeanor. It’s a delightful change of pace for someone as attractive and confident as Wonwoo to be mystified by your capabilities, even at the expense of his pride.

“She beats me all the time, man. Don’t sweat it.” Wooyoung tries to walk up and rustle your newly defeated opponent on the shoulder. He thinks better of it when Wonwoo gives him the same glare you threw at the younger guy a short time ago.

Your best friend offers to grab you another drink as you laugh, but you shake your head. “Gotta head home. Carat can’t feed herself.”

Wonwoo gives you a quizzical expression as Wooyoung leaves, and you respond with, “My fish. Very adamant about her feeding schedule.”

He flashes a high-wattage grin, and the feelings he’s stirred in you tonight try to scratch their way back to the surface, but you repress them once again. It means nothing, anyway. You won’t act on it, and the guy is probably ready to hightail it back to his friends by now.

He offers to walk you out, and all your preconceived notions upend themselves into the air. Wooyoung pulls you by the shoulder when you say goodbye and whispers, “If you miss out on that guy now, you’re even more ridiculous than I thought. And I’ve seen you suck your thumb while you sleep, remember that.”

When you make it to the driver’s side door, you remember it’s time to collect your payment. Now or never. “So, gonna tell me why you were in the group yesterday? Or will you chicken out with the best two out of three rounds?”

“Easy, I’ll tell you,” he says, concealing a grin until his next words come out. “But, it’ll be during dinner tomorrow night. My place?”

You gulp down heavy air, again recognizing the clear proximity of your chest to his. You can see the slow rise and fall of his upper body, his heart steady but clearly put on edge. He’s patient but barely, waiting for you to either accept the invitation or decline with bated breath.

“Why?”

You don’t mean for the word to come out the way it does, one-fourth hopeful and the remaining three-fourths speculative. It’s not like you’re unappealing under normal circumstances, but the girl who would’ve jumped at the opportunity for a date with a cute guy is not who’s standing in front of Wonwoo right now. You want to be her, trade your place for hers to make the smile on his face brighten, but you’re unsure how to get her back, and if there’s any point.

“Because I owe you, don’t I?” You shrug your arms, not saying no but not giving him confirmation either. “And you’re not the type to not collect when you’re owed something.”

“What makes you think that?” Some of your fire returns as you cross your arms, body posture exemplifying your intrigue.

“Because you wouldn’t have bet against me knowing you’d win if you were.”

There’s no witty remark or sarcastic comeback that comes to mind. He so easily saw through you, it scares you into saying yes right there. But, even while ruminating for a moment, you search for reasons to deny him of your company, and you find none. If tonight wasn’t so bad, what’s one more without expectations?

“Sure,” you finally say, and he gives you the grin you were looking for that could go toe to toe with any city streetlight. That mesmerizing, gum-revealing grin that makes a part of your knees weak.

You knew he was nice to look at from faraway in the secrecy of your cubicle, but it’s at a new level now, one that’s unquellable.

On the drive home, as you replay his smile in your mind’s eye, you know without a doubt that the buzz in your veins isn’t just because of the soju still lingering in your bloodstream.

It’s not, under any circumstances, a date.

You parrot the words as you move around your bedroom, the clock on your dresser practically screaming at you to leave while the day is young. Work ended an hour ago, and you’re still stumbling on what to do about your attire.

No way is this a date. I’ve been on them before, I know it when I see it.

The recesses of your mind try to commit every sentence to memory as you put on lipstick, curl your hair, and throw an old dress under a denim jacket. It’s habitual to look nice for a new person, you remind yourself. It’s not like Wonwoo won’t welcome you into his home if you’re wearing a greasy t-shirt and pair of sweatpants, but you digress. You’re simply collecting on your payment, and if he takes it any other way, that’s his problem to deal with.

The ride to his apartment is tense, to say the least. A million thoughts run through your head while you grip the steering wheel tight during every turn and stop through the city to his downtown complex. You try to make light of the building that greets you, thinking about how much legal counsel must make to afford such swanky living spaces, but it doesn’t help. Your hands tremble, no matter how forcefully you clench your fists to stop the shaking.

He’s Wonwoo, a guy who has an interest in seeing you outside of a professional setting, and you’re you, half emotionally composed on your very best day as of late. You have some basis for being nervous, no matter what one would call the meeting arranged between you two today.

He called it dinner, so you’ll start there.

Greeting you at your door in a black V-neck and gray jeans, he looks too clean for someone who must’ve been lounging around before you arrived. “You look nice. Got a hot date or something?” He bites his lip in satisfaction when you huff out a breath of air, blowing off his harmless dig.

“I’m here for the information I won last night. And the plate of food you promised me.”

He beckons you inside with a smile and an arm pointed inside, and you walk through the threshold with all the knots in your stomach, reminding you of their presence with every step.

Wonwoo’s living space appears to be stereotypical for a guy in his mid-twenties. The apartment’s all dark wood and grey wallpaper, from his industrial bar table to the kitchen marble, but he’s made it his in his own way. Some action figures line a bookshelf near the kitchen, and a guitar sits on its stand in the corner of the entertainment center dominating the living room. But you glean little pieces of information about him from the tchotchkes that surround you. The black cat plushie that sits on the sofa, the NASA magazines he must have a subscription for, and the sounds of jazz playing low on the TV all indicate the quiet eccentricities of his personality.

He’s a secretively unique guy on the page and in person, and you admire it. Some part of it scares you, how easily you’ve grown accustomed to him in a few short meetings, but that’s not anything to mull over right now.

“I was just fixing the pasta when you showed up. You can sit anywhere.” He moves his head in either direction of the couch or the table, but you saunter over to his side instead.

The aroma of the tomato wafts across your nose, the sauce definitely homemade rather than store-bought. You peer over into the pot, the margarita-covered penne mixed in with vegetables and meat. “Who knew you could cook?”

Wonwoo chuckles, hearty and deep, as he stirs the food in the pot. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet.”

Yet. He says the word with such relaxation, like it’s inevitable you will discover more information about him. Like he’s certain you’re not going anywhere. It has to be a delusion of the future filling him with such confidence, without a doubt.

Shortly after that, the table’s decorated with towering plates of pasta and a lit candle at the center. The mixed scents of vanilla, jasmine, and tomato sauce blend harmoniously somehow.

You share small talk about Wonwoo’s cooking skills and your pool abilities over dinner, bantering throughout with the dry humor you delivered yesterday. Wonwoo takes it all with a smirk, volleying it back at you with charm that makes you forget your dinner exists altogether. You don’t eat all the food on your plate, but you’ve never been more full.

Both of you migrate to the couch with your glasses of wine, leaving the plates on the wood’s high-top and getting comfortably lost in more conversation. Suddenly, you remember exactly why you’re there, and you turn the tides of the conversation to address the purpose of your attendance. “So, the support group.”

Wonwoo laughs into his glass, shaking his head in a gesture that tells you he was just waiting for the inevitable. “What do you wanna know?”

“Why were you there?”

Wonwoo’s smile turns small, still bright but a tad dimmer, and a stone sinks down deep into your stomach. “It was my mother’s birthday that day. She died three years ago in April, but her birthday is always the hardest day for me to get through.”

“It was a sudden sickness, one that we didn’t expect her to get.” He runs his thumb along the ring of his drink, his finger leaving an opaque smudge. He looks back up eventually, the ghost of his small smile haunting his features. “I’m just grateful I had the time with her that I did before it was too late, you know?”

Wonwoo’s words reroute all the knots from your core to your throat, making you unable to speak. You click your own nails against your drink in a pattern, counting the beats in sequence to avoid the tears welling in your eye ducts. One, two, three, four taps.

Four becomes five until Wonwoo brushes a hand along your knee. “Are you alright? I know that was heavy, but a winner deserves her prize, right?”

You appreciate Wonwoo trying to lighten the mood that you’ve darkened with your silence. The slam of the bottom of your wine glass startles Wonwoo a smidge, and while you didn’t mean to scare him, you know you need to leave before you fall apart.

“This was fun, Won, but I-I have to go.” A tear falls from your face as you speak, another escaping before you can make the waterworks disappear. Wonwoo holds your arm the same way he did a day ago when you were so close to leaving before. This time is different, though.

Wonwoo’s worry for you and whatever’s haunting you replaces his previous somberness. You recognize the contortion of his face like the back of your hand. You’ve seen it in family members and their condolences. The friends you kept and even the ones you lost from being distant. Even coworkers you never spoke to and random strangers who could recognize the shadows of loss.

It disgusts you, and you can’t bear to see it from Wonwoo of all people. You attempt to yank your arm away like your life depends on it, but he doesn’t let you slip away so easily. “Will you talk to me, please?” he asks. “You don’t have to hold back whatever you want to say.”

“I’m not, not at all. And it’s presumptuous of you to assume I am.” You shake your head, voice sputtering on some kind of laugh. “You don’t know me.”

“I think I do.” Again, the space between you and him is virtually nonexistent. Your hearts match in rhythm, despite your sadness and apprehension. The unspoken strings between you snap one by one with every movement of his hand, slowly reaching higher until his hand cups your face. His thumb runs over your jaw bone.

You don’t know whether to pull him closer or run now that’s holding you with a looser grip, and the thought is as sobering as his mouth a breath from yours.

“I have to go.” You clutch his wrist with your hand, but you make no move to turn and walk away. You leave indents in his skin from your nails gripping him, but he doesn’t break his hold either.

Then, in a broken trance, he lets you go and steps back, swallowing hard. “I’ll see you at work, then?”

You nod. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Anytime, really.”

You think about the importance of words, what they carry and how deeply they can mean when a person you care about says them. “Yet” and “anytime” have never been of significant value to you before, passing vocabulary that’s left little for your heart to grasp onto. But he says it without facades, each vowel and consonant holding the undercurrents of his desires. You feel your knees buckle a touch as you ponder it on your way out of his apartment and to your car. Your thoughts dwell on what that kiss would’ve felt like, and the panic that follows when you realize how badly you wanted it.

A week flies by, and then two more, until you realize you’re always passing Wonwoo’s cubicle with a cup of coffee, or he’s pestering you with a sticky note or two regarding legal jargon you’ll never read up on.

Neither of you mention what almost occurred in his living room so long ago, but it feels like only a second between that moment and the present when he’s inhabiting your space at work or blowing up your phone.

You don’t know why he started calling and texting right around the time you were prepared to shut your eyes for sleep, but it was a comfort you didn’t mind cherishing before dreamland took you under its wing. His explanations of corporate law terminology to the plotlines of One Piece became your lullabies.

A regular person can’t cement themselves in your life overnight, but Wonwoo is anything but regular.

As you’re filling out your timesheet for the week, your thoughts circle back to Wonwoo as you notice him in the conference room with the rest of the legal team. Vernon talks animatedly with his hands as Minghao and Jun type down notes. It’s a riveting silent film, but the only actor you’re interested in is pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose incrementally, and it makes you melt in your chair.

You have emails to type, spreadsheets to complete, and here you are acting like a high schooler with an unrequited crush.

Pulled sharply from your daze, Wooyoung bats you on the shoulder with his clipboard. San from HR laughs at your best friend’s assault on you, your acquaintance’s chest rippling as you rub your shoulder and give Wooyoung your signature glare. “What the fuck?”

“You should focus on the November report instead of ogling your new piece of man candy.”

"I don't know what you're talking about," you reply, calm and collected, even though someone has now turned the judgement on you for your prying eyes. Wooyoung had his own priorities as a market strategist; he had no business judging you for taking time off of business tasks to ogle.

You return to your initial view of the conference room, watching the gentleman in the confines of the glass office.

You don’t expect Wonwoo to be staring right at you when you turn your attention back to their meeting. Wooyoung and San talk amongst themselves about your comical behavior in the third person, but you don’t mind them and their idiocy. You’re too focused on the man who’s a dozen feet away.

Wonwoo practically gives you the same glare you delivered to him in the support group the first time he was there, but his eyes are all humor and no bite. He holds his binder up a smidge, signaling somehow for you to look down at the one propped against your laptop. You find a blue sticky note sitting on the front of it, and you know Wonwoo must’ve stuck it there when you went to the bathroom a half hour ago.

7 PM showing of Spider-Man Saturday. You in? X

It’s a measly set of perpendicular lines in Wonwoo’s handwriting, nothing extravagant on the sticky note itself. How can the letter and his proposition turn your heart into mush so easily? And why does it make you immediately nod in Wonwoo’s direction?

What was he doing to you?

You’ve watched the 2003 film many times in your life—you could recite the lines by heart, truth be told—yet seeing Toby McGuire swinging around in a latex suit still brings childlike wonder out in you. You smile into your handful of popcorn at the scene before you, the kicks and punches between Spiderman and the Green Goblin in the middle of Manhattan amplified by the theater’s sound system.

You dressed up a bit more this time for the outing with Wonwoo, despite your self-insistence on keeping it casual. Nothing had happened between you up to this point, only the opportunity for a kiss that never came. Who was to say anything romantic would happen now in the darkness of a theater?

The movie cuts to Spiderman swinging Mary Jane to a hotel high-rise away from the chaos of Times Square, and Wonwoo picks that moment to take the hand not holding more popcorn into his own.

It’s a funny feeling, the moment before something unexpected happens. It’s like your body bristles to a point of high alert before you’re struck with the reality something is occurring, for better or worse. He rubs the back of your hand in slow, delicate circles, and it feels like the start of something good while every cell inside of you screams to run.

The flutter inside of your stomach at his touch dies when you give into the spiraling thoughts, a cruel voice reminding you the butterflies won’t last. It carries the face of a person you’d rather forget. A smile that haunts every hour of your existence, and eyes you wish you could look into one more time outside of your nightmares.

You tug your hand free and speed out of the theater, not bothering to look behind you to see if Wonwoo is following you. You know he is, his calls of your name muffled amid the horrendous laughter ringing in your ears. When you’ve stopped running, you realize it’s raining all around you outside. The alleyway behind the theater only provides so much cover, but Wonwoo doesn’t care. All he wants to do is hold you as you’re hyperventilating, so he does.

“Hey, hey, hey. What happened?”

You hiccup, unsure how to go about saying the words when a phantom hangs over your shoulder and whispers words you have no willpower to fight. What makes him any different from everyone else? Nothing, and you know it.

“I’m right here,” he swears like it’s true, and you see red.

“Until you get sick of it, right?” You can’t look him in the eye as you say it, but it doesn’t make it feel less true expressing it out loud. “This isn’t gonna change. You’ll always wonder what’s wrong. I’ll never give you a valid excuse because I barely fucking know myself and shut you out. You’ll get bored really quick, Wonwoo, so what’s the point?”

“What are you talking about?” His mouth hangs at you accusatory questions, and it only makes you laugh harder.

It’s easy to pretend your tears are only rainwater splashing down your face.

“There’s no point chasing after me anymore. I’m not worth the hassle, and it’s too much baggage for you to unpack, so don’t waste any more of your time.” You move his hands from your face with weak fingers and watch his arms fall limply at his sides as you turn to head towards the sidewalk and back to your car.

Wonwoo’s laugh is so bitter, you can taste it on your tongue. “You may think that what you’re going through is something nobody can understand, but a part of you knows you’re being ridiculous right now.”

You shake your head and continue down your path, barking back at him with a “Go fuck yourself.”

“You’re not the first person to lose someone, and you won’t be the last!” You stop walking down the alleyway, and you hear the sharp intake of breath on Wonwoo’s lips. He takes another second and set of steps to get closer to you before saying, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

You turn sharply, hair whipping across the open air. “You wanna know why I’m in the group, Won?” Your question drips with rhetoric like venom, sarcasm bordering on fury. “Because I got tired of all the noise of everything after…after—Chaewon just wouldn’t leave me the fuck alone about work and what was going on with me. And everyone at that point kept poking with their pity until the shit I said and did that day happened.” You flail your arms at your sides, the rain soaking through your sleeves.

It was unprofessional, a huge moral deficit, as your boss put it. Especially when all Chaewon asked for was a valid reason for an extension on your trend report. “No coworker, especially not a subordinate, should treat another coworker that way. Your personal matters should not impede on your ability to be a team player.”

Your boss used every administrative play in the book while looking over the materials you ruined for the newest magazine issue, and that was before you screamed in your department head’s face. You didn’t mean to hurt Chaewon the way you did, but admittedly, it felt good to do it.

It was nice to let a part of you run free, even if it was a vulgar and unapologetic piece. But if you had known it would cost you every ounce of your pride and some semblance of your privacy, you would’ve thought twice.

Your entire body is drenched by the time you finish your tirade, as is Wonwoo’s. “So yeah, that’s why they put me in that pity party of a support group. Because God forbid I snapped one fucking time for a valid fucking reason.”

“They just wanted you to get some help. Everyone needs that sometimes,” Wonwoo murmurs. He tries to step closer, each movement apprehensive, like he’s cornering a rabid cat into a carrier.

His movements make you feel like one, a wounded animal in need of immediate attention without regard for its unwillingness to accept it. It turns your eyesight red, and you think you may just be feral at this point. “I don’t need anyone’s help, Wonwoo! Not that group, not Seungcheol, not the damn lackeys in that fucking office, and especially not—”

Wonwoo gives up the pretenses and yanks you into his arms. He plants a hand across your hair and squeezes you in his hold, still tender despite the vice grip he has you in. The tightness of his hug shakes something loose in you, and you barely recognize you’re crying until Wonwoo cradles you closer and shushes you, even as the rain beats down on you both. “I’m here,” he promises.

“I don’t need to be saved, Wonwoo,” you say through fractured, sob-laced hiccups. Your eyes look past his brown ones, into the depths of his soul as you ask—plead even—“I just want to make the pain stop.”

“Let me help,” Wonwoo offers, rubbing the apples of your cheeks with his thumbs. It may be the most ridiculous, careless thing you can do at the moment, but when the urge to kiss him comes, you don’t stop it.

Call it an emotional break or a sudden rush of your suppressed desire shining through, but the second you press your lips to his in that brick alleyway, you don’t regret it. He tastes like salvation, of unbreakable promises. It could either heal or ruin you, but you don’t mind if it’s a little of both.

The raindrops cling to your clothes like a second skin, latching onto every curve. It’s easy to shed with the help of Wonwoo’s hands. By the time you’re an inch away from the doorframe of his bedroom, he’s wearing his briefs, and you’re left in your underwear. His warmth wraps around every part of your body like a campfire, stoking all the cold out of you and bathing you in the heat he provides. The thunder roars on, and lightning splashes the sky in white streaks, but the only light that sustains you is him.

“Is this okay?” He mumbles as he grazes the underside of your bralette. The material is so drenched that he can see the peaks of your nipples through it, but he’s trying to keep his composure and go at a speed you’re comfortable with.

You don’t hesitate, not wanting the moment to be dampened by your worst thoughts. They’re at bay now, and you want to use that time for what it’s worth. “More than okay.” You unclasp your bralette from your back, letting the wet garment plop to the floor. “Touch me, please.”

His index finger drags so slowly across your nipple, the ripple of electricity that tickles your skin follows the same tempo. While you’re willing to go fast, Wonwoo cherishes you with reverence. Even as he takes your nipple between his lips, moving his fingers down your stomach and into your underwear, he remains patient. “So wet,” he groans against your skin when he guides his fingers along your slick folds. It’s like he’s discovering a precious treasure before him, twirling your wet curls in his hair with his free hand as he runs the pads of his opposite fingers through slick heaven.

You tremble in his hands, all the nerves in your body a hot, frenzied mess in his hold. He thumbs your clit in slow circles, making it hard to stand any longer in the in-between space of his living room and bedroom. “Woo, I want more.”

He takes his fingers from your center and lifts you into his arms. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, and he chuckles into your throat. “Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

You giggle before he reattaches his lips to yours. His kisses taste like rainwater and second chances, physical proof that not everything has to be lost. He never lets you go or takes his mouth away on the slow trek to his bed.

Wonwoo sets you down gently, his eyes giving away all of his vulnerability. “You’re beautiful, you know that right?” You blush, wrapping an arm around your face, but he pulls it away and kisses each finger on your hand. “Every inch of you.”

The words go unsaid, but the bite of his lip and dark hood of his eyes tell you his desire goes beyond lust. I want to explore you forever.

Even the parts of you that you’ve deemed too dark, too painful, too unworthy of anyone’s entry. His expression tells you he may just take the risk and split you open fully to see what’s inside. With his eyes peering deeply into your soul, you think all he sees is hope. Like your heart holds the sun that peers out after the worst downpour in the world.

He rolls his briefs down his hips until his length springs free, knocking into the lower segment of his abdomen from how hard he is. “And you called me beautiful,” you say, breathless. Wonwoo’s cock drips pre-cum at the swollen tip, and you have no qualms sitting up and reaching out to encase him in your palm, running his essence across his skin.

He tips his head back and his mouth goes slack, a curse leaving his tongue. “You may kill me.”

You smile and run your lips along his neck, dragging your canines along the skin of his jugular. “If I do, I promise it wasn’t my intention.”

Before he can get too lost in the pleasure of your fingers wrapped around him, he traps your body between his own and the sheets below you. He doesn’t stop kissing you once he finds your lips again, even as he stumbles finding a condom in his bedside drawer and rolls the latex onto himself.

You don’t need to prepare for the eventual drag of his cock between your walls, already dripping from his previous touches, but he envelops you completely when he fills you to the hilt. He fits so snug inside of you; you think he could sit there forever and never leave. “You’re so tight, holy shit,” Wonwoo moans as he begins moving his hips.

You release a garbled moan, the sound practically swallowed by his tongue in your mouth. He takes and teases, but he always gives it back, rolling his lower half into you with a deliberate pace that helps you inch closer to a release. It paints the back of your eyelids in slow strokes. The act of getting there is as beautiful as the release itself when it’s with someone like Wonwoo giving you such perfect bouts of pleasure.

This feeling, like Wonwoo, is addictive and addicting in the same instance. You think you could get used to this, and it’s not just the lust having its way with your mind. Having all of him like this, his days and nights, rain or shine, may just be possible with the way he pours his devotion into your body. You just have to give him the opportunity.

He kisses you with the strength of a thousand stars exploding at once, and that’s the moment you fall apart underneath him. You let yourself bask in the feeling of your orgasm. You clutch onto his shoulders tightly as your walls spasm around him, sucking him in for every drop of pleasure he has to give.

He spills into the condom soon after, his hips stuttering and his kisses stilling as he feels his body succumb to the same pleasure you felt a few moments ago. The look on his face is pure bliss, the laugh on his lips the softest sound to accompany the pitter patters of rain on the window.

He throws the latex away before nestling back into the bedsheets with you. His arms wrap around you like vines as you rest your head on his chest. It's a comfortable silence between you, no words needing to be said to express your feelings for him.

I know you could love me forever if I give you the chance to.

You feel his response in the slow fall of his heart rate and the small snores he emits in the crown of your hair. The softness of his being is all you need to fall asleep too, and you think it may just be worth it to let him in.

The moment you wake, you feel a wave of nausea creep through you. The thoughts that erupted in that rainy alleyway a handful of hours ago come back with a vengeance. They clutch your throat with a begrudging hand until water streams from your eyes, hitting Wonwoo’s pillows like bullets. You try to subdue the sobs that rack your body, terrified of waking the man sleeping next to you, but it proves to be a fruitless fear. He sleeps like a stone through it all, immovable and solid.

With weak limbs and a fuzzy mind, you unbind yourself from Wonwoo’s hold and collect your things when you get out of the bed. Every piece of your heart breaks, the glued pieces of porcelain cracking once again into a heap on the floor as you walk away and out of his apartment.

It could only last for so long, that peace he provided, and you feel foolish for thinking a few hours of pleasure could change the new reality you’ve come to grips with long ago.

What the fuck did I do? I shouldn’t have gone out with him again. I’m so stupid.

Driving home in the rain, you try to turn on the radio to something that will be loud enough to drown out the spiraling thoughts and the sounds of your sobs reverberating through your tiny car’s interior. With a cruel twist of luck, Billy Joel’s “Everybody Has A Dream,” blares through the speakers. The piano chords and Joel’s whistles are ones you could recognize anywhere, and it stops your brain from falling further down the hole you’re accustomed to.

It’s his song, the song you have barely gotten through a note of without bawling.

You stop your car in the center of the road, despite the light being green in front of you. Cars screech behind you and blare their horns, some even roll down their window in the soaked night to curse at you, but you don’t care. The entire world could burn down, and all you would hear is the keys of the piano signaling your send-off.

The rivers on your cheeks become floods, all-encompassing and combating the leftover parts of the storm raging on outside of your vehicle. It makes the veins in your head pulse like a bass drum, but there’s nothing else to do, even if the song’s faded out by now. The DJ’s voice fills the space, but you can barely hear him.

You hate your father; the realization strikes you like a penknife to the heart as you press your forehead into the steering wheel, knocking your knuckles into its center until your own horn screams back at you. You hate him for leaving you alone to pick up the shards he created by going away too soon, sooner than you were prepared for. How could he part from you with such a gaping hole left in your chest and no roadmap for how to fix it? Was it even possible to mend such a wound when its shape was present everywhere you looked?

You continue to sob, no grounding techniques or motivational words coming to mind as your heart restarts just to bleed out all over again.

Some time after the funeral, a doctor told you grief often changes the chemistry of a person’s brain. It undergoes neuroplastic changes and leads to alterations in emotional regulation and cognition. It made sense, given the way you exploded on Chaewon two months ago in front of everyone in the office. And all of that, the choice to either take a mandatory leave or seek counseling, led to that ridiculous fucking support group. And all the moments you shared with Wonwoo since then.

Guilt bubbles up behind your anger until it overtakes it, the way you’ve been acting almost shameful. You don’t regret him, but you regret this tugging you’ve done with his emotions alongside your own. But what other options have you had at your disposal? You’ve been stumbling around in the dark for so long, the light is not something someone easily accustoms themselves to again.

And Wonwoo is a person who exudes a radiance unlike anyone else you’ve ever met. You can’t believe there’s a chance he can truly seep into the darkness you live with now and soak it up for you. Not without him taking on some of it himself.

You decide when the tears come at a slower pace that you won’t let him; he’s worth more than that. And it might break what’s left of the fraction of hope you held onto when you met him, but you’re grateful he gave you something at the very least. It’s better than nothing.

“I still think about what it would be like to kill him, even if I know it wouldn’t solve anything.” Hongjoong grumbles, twiddling his pack of nicotine gum between his fingers. “In my dreams, I do. I do it before he has the chance to make it past my driveway. Before I forgot to watch her playing.” Hongjoong breaks into a fit of angry sobs, and it tugs at your heartstrings bitterly.

The police and cops ruled the death of Hongjoong’s five-year-old daughter vehicular manslaughter. The guy who committed the crime had been remorseful and received less time because of his allocution. According to Hongjoong, he forgave the stranger a long time ago, but you don’t think anyone blames him for the anger and resentment that still lingers.

“Do you think your wife or other children gain anything by continuing to harbor this anger?” Seungcheol asks with no judgement, just objective curiosity.

It strikes a nerve in you, so deep it pulls a response out of your lips before you can stop it. “That’s a fucked up question to ask.”

Suzy gasps, hiding the sound behind her coffee cup. Hongjoong looks surprised himself, but Seungcheol is pleased to hear your voice. He’s only ever tried to make small talk with you while he’s filled out your slips after every session, but you’ve never given him any room to work with. Until now. “Why do you say that?”

“Because…” you ponder the answer, the coherent reasoning jumbled amongst your impulsive thoughts. “It’s a bit unfair. Sure, maybe he’s not the same husband and father he used to be, but what does anyone expect? His oldest kid dies, and he’s supposed to shelve that for the sake of others?”

“Nobody’s asking that of him,” Seungcheol responds. “I asked if it serves anyone for him to hold onto negative emotions.”

“Whether it does or doesn’t, big fucking whoop. Grief doesn’t serve anyone with anything purposeful. It’s all bullshit pain we’re supposed to make better somehow in just the right amount of time or else. Otherwise, everyone has to tread around it like it’s a disease. It’s exhausting.”

You barely registered Wonwoo’s presence in the room, but his messy mop of waves concealed in a beanie adds a second layer of pain to your words. You’ve evaded his texts and calls for the past two days. Avoiding work yesterday didn’t help the way you thought it did, Wooyoung texting you profusely with secondhand messages you didn't want to be reminded of.

It was better this way. You repeated the words to yourself like a mantra when the first batch of Wonwoo’s messages appeared on your lock screen. But seeing him now, you know it was a lie.

Heartbreak, like grief, lacks a purpose beyond the demand to be felt.

Wonwoo clears his throat. He tries to pose the question to the entire group, but he stares so deeply into your eyes when he says it, everyone knows it’s only for your ears to cling to. “Have you ever considered that the reason you think it serves no purpose is because you don’t let anyone in to help you make sense of it?”

Your bottom lip quivers despite your urge to compress your feelings, the anger that was simmering in your stomach now at a rolling boil. You kick the chair from under your legs as you leave the circle, cursing the entire time. You hear Seungcheol request a ten-minute recess for the session, and you know without a doubt the walking slogan is following you.

You keep your focus on the brick wall of the bakery that shares a back alley with the church when Seungcheol finally makes it outside. “Don’t say—”

“I’m just out for a smoke. Was needing a break anyway.” Seungcheol flicks his lighter to life and has a cigarette between his lips in the next second. A huge plume of smoke leaves his lips, and the acrid smell of smoke hits your nose, but you don’t turn from it. He reaches into his pack and hands you one once he lights it.

You chuckle sadly as you weigh the cigarette between your fingers. “How did you know I used to smoke?”

“You suck in a breath when you get angry, and your hands shake like you’re going through withdrawal. That used to happen to me when I tried quitting the first time.”

You nod. “I haven’t really done it in a while. Haven’t had the energy to go buy anything besides frozen meals and water.”

The silence between you both is deafening. Seungcheol doesn’t pry, although that’s his very job, to help you face your emotions head-on, and you don’t elaborate on your points from earlier in the group session.

“My wife died five years ago,” he finally says. He flicks the cigarette at his feet, digging the ashes into the surrounding dirt with his foot. “Was a drunk driver on the way home coming back from a restaurant. I was driving.”

You try to respond, but no words come. The lining of your throat kills them all before they can leave you, like butterfly wings that never unfurl. He goes on amidst your silence. “It took a long time to realize it wasn’t my fault, just terrible timing.”

You turn to look at him, but he keeps his attention on the shops and sidewalks surrounding the church, cold air leaving his mouth in grey clouds. “I’m sorry,” you say, the two words with no serrated edges this time, the anger from your voice gone.

“‘S nothing for you to apologize for. You didn’t know, and I don’t talk about it all that much.” He gives you a knowing stare with the shrug of his shoulders, no bitterness in his expression as he explains without words that you’re more alike than you would’ve known. You can’t imagine the guy having a bitter bone in his body, even if he has reason to. “But that’s why I started this. Going on about it may not help all the time, but I can let some of it go when I know I’m not alone, even if that feeling only lasts for a minute.”

“Are you saying that I have to explain why I’m like this with everyone to feel better? That’s your nugget of wisdom?”

Seungcheol's eyes turn solemn, disappointed but not surprised at your rhetorical questions. “What I’m saying is that pain isn’t avoidable. You know that better than anyone by now. And locking yourself away clearly isn’t working.”

You fight back the tears passing through your eyelashes and puff again. “I don’t need your backdoor psychology, Choi. Even if you and everyone in that group has more than some idea of what I’m going through, it’s not the same.”

Seungcheol chuckles without humor as he hands you another cigarette, his fingertips lingering over your palm in a familial way. His touch is warm despite the winter weather, the contact a salve over the cracks that have formed in the past few days, and it makes you feel worse somehow. “Whether you push people away or not, your capacity to hurt isn’t going anywhere. Wasting time you’ll never get back by being alone does nobody any good, especially yourself.”

“I don’t do anything for anyone like this,” you respond, words breaking. Your hands shake as you take two more drags, smoke filling your lungs as the shadows continue looming. “I can’t give any parts of me when I don’t know what’s left to give at this point.”

“Speaking from my experiences with you—which I know are limited—I’d say you’re not giving yourself enough credit.” Seungcheol plucks the cigarette from your hands once you make it to the end. “And I bet your little friend would say the same thing, if not more.”

Like the call of a siren song, Wonwoo comes through the back door of the church, a bit embarrassed to intrude, but relieved to find you before you left. It’s all over the sudden sag of his chest and the downturn of his eyes.

Seungcheol smirks to himself while he puts his pack back in his coat pocket. “Speaking of the devil, I’ll leave you to it.” He pats Wonwoo on the shoulder as he makes it to the door of the church. The closing of the back door punctuates the silence between you.

“Are you finally gonna talk to me?” Wonwoo asks, his voice teetering on desperation and indignation. He doesn’t want to be angry, you can tell, but it all comes out in the crinkle of his eyes and the line of his lips.

You don’t blame him, either. You’re the one who left him as soon as you woke up, no verbal or written explanation left behind to keep him from assuming the worst. “What do you expect me to say, Won? I don’t—”

“Don’t say you don’t know what I want from you. I’ve been clear about that since the first day we saw each other in this fucking church.” You’re taken back by him cursing, the act one you’ve not seen from him often, but he keeps going. “I want to help you. Whether that’s as your friend or something more, I can accept that. But what I can’t accept is you keeping up this act you’ve been putting on.”

“It’s not an act,” you say defensively. “It’s too hard to let anyone in. It may be hard for you to accept, but that’s the truth.”

“You need better practice at lying, sweetheart.” When your face crumbles with defeated confusion, Wonwoo goes on. “If it was so hard, you wouldn’t still have Wooyoung in your life. You wouldn’t have kicked my ass at pool, and you definitely would’ve done a better job at avoiding me. You may not want to admit it now, but you’re using your grief as an excuse to run away from feeling anything else.”

“You don’t know me,” you say, the words an echo that reaches through time with an entirely different meaning.

“I think I do.” His chest is barely an inch from yours, and before you know it, your lips join in a bruising kiss. It’s desperation from the days you spent without each other, almost stitching the time between that night you were in his bed and now together like a crochet tapestry. It’s yearning to be better than how you’ve been, to do better for the man who wants to teach you how to find happiness again.

Most importantly, it’s hope, unadulterated and unembroidered with the promises of what would’ve been. It’s only now, and that’s enough. It would always end this way, you think. Wonwoo holds you so close he may squeeze you into his coat to keep you from running away. A muddled cry escapes you before your lips connect again, your tears wetting the space between your mouths.

When you part, you think you may never let him go again, and this is the penance you’ll pay for the rest of your life for thinking you could ever handle being without him. “Where do we go from here?” you ask with glassy eyes, finding a glimmer of peace in the way Wonwoo holds you close to him with all the gentleness and love in the world.

“We heal.”

ONE MONTH LATER

None of the group members believe it when you offer to go first during the second to last session. You had half a mind to not to, promising Wonwoo you would share on the final meeting day so you wouldn’t have to suffer through another gathering with everyone knowing your story. Wonwoo only held you closer, stilling your trembling body with kisses to the crown of your head and his reassuring words whispered into your hair. “You’re stronger than anyone in that room, and it’s time you prove it.” You love him for that, among the plethora of a million other things, but that’s another conversation for another time and for only the two of you to share.

Suzy, Hongjoong, and the rest of the group follow you with understanding eyes, a response you used to dread. But now, you accept it just to get by. Seungcheol stares with immeasurable pride behind his eyes as you clear your throat.

“My dad passed away a year ago now,” you start, hands shaking but firm against the plastic coffee cup. “It was sudden, so sudden when the call came I didn’t believe it. I called the cop that told me about the accident a liar, like it couldn’t be true. It couldn’t happen to me, and not to him. Not yet, anyway.”

“You always think that you have more time to spend with someone, to tell them all the things you didn’t have the courage to say to them when they were still around. And that’s how I felt about him and our relationship, like I’d have a lot more moments to fix what I needed to for the two of us, and for myself. Maybe I never would’ve been ready, anyway, but—I couldn’t accept that all those chances, all those opportunities, were gone when he was, too. Most of the time, I still don’t. It doesn’t feel real, like it’s this thick fog I’m under that’ll eventually clear.

“And that’s why I’m here with you guys. And maybe talking about it now can help me to get through it the right way.”

You don’t look up from the floor as you continue, but Wonwoo’s hand on your thigh and Seungcheol’s leading questions ground you through it all. The tears flow, and the words leave your lips with all of their broken seams. Each thread of your heart unwinds, the experience equal parts freeing and devastating in the release.

Whoever the creator of the slogan from that third week of the support group is—Seungcheol, a random stranger, or a prophetic person who knows all too well the tragedy of grief itself—you’re growing to believe time can bend every sad emotion into something manageable, especially grief. And yes, you have yet to see what your own grief ultimately turns into, but you know you’ll take comfort in the fact you won’t be alone when that day comes.

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#thediamondlifenetwork #kvanity #k-films #keopihaus #wonwoo smut #wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo x reader #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen fic #seventeen fics #svt x reader #svt fic #svt fics #— ikeukiss #ikeukiss — svt

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rewriterory · 2 months ago

Text

My Aventurine Self-Destruction Headcanons

It's late and I just want to ramble about all my thoughts about how Aventurine hurts himself

TW for substance abuse, sh, and sa. Not trying to glorify anything, just talking about it.

• One of my strongest Aventurine headcanons is that he has a binge drinking habit. Aside from all the nods we're given in the game, I just think it fits his character a lot. Since I also headcanon him to have BPD and I also imagine he would have an insanely addictive personality (because of the lack of dopamine I'm sure he suffers from), and it just makes so much sense to me. Guy with ridiculous trauma, ridiculous identity issues that haunt him every day, constant nagging guilt, PTSD flashbacks, I mean- it just makes sense to me that he'd end up being a drinker. He'd dabble with it at a party and realize how good it could make him feel. But, he can never have just one drink, even though he thinks that he can. So, after work everyday, he has a glass of wine- which turns into a bottle, which turns into a trip to the liquor store, which turns into shots, which turns into him rallying anybody he can find to party with him, which turns into him waking up in a back ally or in some strangers bed with 10 missed calls from Topaz asking him where the fuck he is (because it's definitely a weekday). He comes to work late every day, extremely hungover (or still drunk) but he never gets fired because he's so damn good at his job, everybody just kinda knows he's a fucking mess and they let it go. I HC that Jade knows and just doesn't really care because as long as he's doing his job and bringing in money, it doesn't matter how he's doing it. But I think Topaz would notice how sick he always looks / how often he leaves to go throw up in the bathroom / how much weight he's lost over the months, and she'd try to catch him before he goes home and invite him over to play with Numby.

• I also HC Aventurine to have a coke habit, mostly because it just fits so well with his character: filthy rich mentally ill guy who has a visceral need to feel happy + flex his money because it's obviously a testament to how happy he is? He's got coke addict written all over him. That just leads him into more issues though, because when you start messing with harder drugs, you get involved with rougher crowds, and you end up in tougher situations.

• Combining these two, I think he goes out on extensive benders. Like, he throws parties like he's fucking J Gatsby just to prove to himself 'look, all these people like you and want to be around you' (which he knows isn't true, but he numbs those thoughts with the substances, silly!) and he's like, battling with the thoughts of 'i am a fucking loser failure whose mother would be so disappointed with him, i am a fraud and i am perpetually guilty for fighting so fucking hard to stay alive and stealing so many lives for my own just to end up wanting to die' with 'but let's not think about that, let's think about how rich and successful and cool i am and i can keep numbing all those feelings with drugs and liquor and attention!'- these benders usually end 3-14 days later, with him either arrested + passed out in a bush somewhere with Topaz looking for him before Jade figures out what he's doing, because despite Aventurine being a reckless jackass, she still loves him and doesn't want him to die.

• Also going off my BPD headcanon, I think he'd eventually get into self harming because of the intensity of the emotions inside him. Combining the constant identity disturbances, the guilt, the resentment, the anger, the self hatred, I think at some point the substances wouldn't be able to stifle the feelings enough and he'd start hurting himself for the physical release. To feel the feelings physically leave his body + to visually see it would turn into another addiction because of his addictive personality, and it would be another thing he'd be ashamed of and have to try and hide from everybody at the IPC. Walking into work late, hungover and sick as hell, the inside of his suit jacket getting caught on the cuts on his arms, just feeling so fucking shitty trying to keep up the facade until 5 o clock, when he can start his spiral all over again and get a hit of dopamine for at least an hour or so.

• I also hc aventurine to have extensive sexual trauma, mostly because of how obvious it is that he was subjected to that in slavery, I think that combined with the thought that he's only worth 60 tanba left him with a complicated relationship with his body. I think he uses sex to get things he wants + to feel desired, but after its over, he feels even worse than before. I think because of how many identity issues he has / how empty he perpetually feels, he likes showing himself that people can still fall for him and want him. It just ends up making him feel worse though, because none of those people actually know anything about him.

• Ratio is who he ends up texting the most during all of this. When he's really trashed he'll send him some text that's just not decipherable at all, and when Ratio sees him at work the next day, he knows why. Ratio does step in sometimes, he'll try to track his phone to find where he is or he'll try to call him to talk him off the edge, but sometimes, I think it's too painful for Ratio. As someone who doesn't spend a lot of time nurturing the emotional side of his brain, I think his feelings for Aventurine mixed with his feelings of frustration with how Aventurine treats himself would be exhausting (hence, why I wrote that fanfic lol). I hc that at least once, Aventurine ended up late for a meeting stranded at a strangers house and called Ratio to pick him up, and Ratio had a really rude awakening to how Aventurine really tends to treat himself: clothes half on, viciously hungover, hickies everywhere, hair a mess, bloody nose, gagging into an empty dunkin donuts bag, desperately trying to fix himself in the passenger side mirror before they got back to the office and god forbid Diamond saw him looking like that. After that, I think Ratio would make a habit of sending him good night texts (subtly of course, disguised as Ratio being his normally cynical-self: the goal is just to get Aventurine to respond at all so he knows the gambler is still alive, though he only ever responds half the time)

• And finally, i think he's ambitious in nature and if he got a taste of positive reinforcement, he'd try to get better. But when you're traumatized to that level, you end up building this weird resentment and entitlement because you're mad that normal shit is so much more difficult for you. So I think when things get a bit too difficult, he'd always end up falling back into old habits, because he knows that they'll help. Are they the right choice in the long run? Of course not. But how long is the run going to be, anyways? When your entire identity is based around being a flamboyant disaster, you might as well lean into the role as much as possible, right?

that's all for now. ilu aventurine

#honkai star rail #aventurine #hsr aventurine #hsr #bpd #aventio #headcanon #what do i love if not pushing my issues onto aventurine #not my fault i can read him like a book

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a-killer-obsession · 11 months ago

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I kinda wanna see 17 with an F and a W if you have time and inspiration~

Will You?

Prompt: First Time + Body Worship Additional Tags: virgin!reader, afab reader, she/her reader pronouns, loss of virginity, fingering, oral (receiving and brief giving), p in v sex, protected sex, use of ‘goddess’, reader is a strawhat, pretend Barto isn't almost 8 foot kay? WC: 4.1k

Event Masterlist

Dressrosa had been perhaps the most difficult battle you had ever been a part of, but with the help of Luffy's new allies it had been a victory, and now everyone was able to enjoy a celebratory drink on the deck of the Barto Club, which was now officially a part of Luffy's new fleet. Luffy wasn't happy with the idea of having subordinates, but he was pleased to have so many new friends, and so were you. You sat with a group of them, mostly your own crew but many of the new faces as well, sharing drinks and laughing over a game of ‘Never Have I Ever’.

The game had started tame, mostly silly things like never have I ever farted and blamed it on someone else, never have I ever poured a drink on a stranger, everyone drinking whenever the prompt applied to them, but as the night went on and people got drunker, the prompts turned more sexual in nature. For most of the group it was good fun, but you were painfully inexperienced with these things, never having gone further than a heated makeout session at a party when you were still a teenager. It wasn't that you didn't have needs or desires, you were just unbearably shy about it, having been raised in a conservative family that drilled a sense of taboo into you. You could have asked someone on your crew, but you felt uncomfortable with the idea of having to see them on a daily basis if you weren't in a relationship. You weren't against the idea of a fuck buddy or a fling, but you got flustered easily, so you didn't want it to be with someone you were close to. It didn't leave you with many options, since sailing with Luffy was so chaotic it usually left no room to explore. You wished Kuma had sent you somewhere more useful on that front during the two years you'd been away from the crew, but you'd spent your time with essentially an army of children, barely seeing any other adults at all for two whole years.

The captain of the ship you were on, Bartolomeo the Cannibal, had been paying close attention to you throughout the game. He was somewhat of a Straw Hat superfan, his ship even featured Luffy as a figurehead, and among the Straw Hat women he found himself most attracted to you. You were an unreachable object for him though, a goddess in his eyes, so he watched you fondly from afar with no hope that he would ever have a taste of you. He was fine with that, he very much enjoyed just being in your presence, seeing you smile and soaking up your laughter. He noticed though, as the questions turned more risky, that you stopped drinking. He wondered if you were too shy to answer, or if you truthfully hadn't done any of those things. He would never embarrass you by bringing attention to it though, he had too much respect for you. The same couldn't be said for Zoro though, who had also noticed.

“Oi, [y/n],” he laughed, half drunk, “you're supposed to drink when you've done the thing, you ain't drinkin’!”

“I… haven't done any of these things,” you blushed, folding in on yourself. You weren't proud of your lack of experience, you were a full grown woman, a pirate at that, and you felt like you were lagging behind your peers and it made you self conscious. Not that there was anything wrong with not having sex, Luffy didn't participate because he had no interest, everyone knew that, but you felt ashamed of yourself because you were interested, you just lacked the courage to do anything about it. There was an awkward silence amongst the group and Barto felt terrible for you, if he wasn't such a fan of Zoro he would have fought him for putting you on the spot like that.

“There's no shame in not wanting sex,” Barto broke the silence, trying to come to your aid, “not everyone has those desires. There's no need to feel ashamed, [y/n]-senpai.”

“Eh?” Zoro huffed, “but I hear you talking about how hot dudes are all the time!”

You felt like Zoro was targeting you at this point, even if he didn't mean to, he was just a very direct person. “I… it's not that I don't want to,” you mumbled, “I just haven't…”

“You're a virgin, [y/n]?” Nami asked with raised brows, “I never expected that!”

“Can we change the subject please,” you whined, “I don't want to talk about it anymore.”

“Of course, [y/n]-senpai!” Barto replied, and you breathed a sigh of relief as he quickly came up with another question for the game to move the spotlight. “Never have I ever… eaten food out of the trash!”

You gave Barto a thankful smile at the way he gracefully steered the game away from sexual topics, and he responded with his own sharp smile, a small blush on his face that you would grace him with such a pretty smile meant only for him. Everyone groaned as Luffy expectantly drank, of course he'd eaten out of the trash, nobody was surprised.

You excused yourself from the game not long after as people began to tire and head to bed. Your mind was swimming, you felt so awkward about what had happened, and you wanted so badly to change it. Now that everyone knew your secret, you were more determined than ever to change it. You'd laid in your bed for what felt like an eternity, tossing and turning, trying to figure out what to do, when a thought occurred to you. You were on a ship full of people you wouldn't see again for a long time, if ever. People who idolized you and your crew. This was the perfect opportunity to do something about it, and you had just the person in mind to help. The one who had come to your aid earlier like a knight in shining amour, and just so happened to be exceptionally attractive.

You readied yourself as best you could, showering and shaving practically your entire body and putting on your best panties under your pyjamas. Then you took a deep breath and made your way to the captain's quarters, steadying yourself as you knocked with a shaky hand.

Barto answered swiftly, and you couldn't help but bite your lip at his appearance. He always had his torso on display so you knew he was muscular and tattooed, but it was different now that his arms were exposed too. He was clearly ready for bed, his makeup removed, his mohawk styling gel washed out and green hair set in a bun, with pyjama pants featuring a repeating pattern of the Straw Hat jolly roger set low on his hips, showing off the V that led under the waistband, the trail of green hair below his belly button. He looked surprised to see you, immediately opening his door the whole way with a small blush on his face.

“[Y/n]-senpai, is everything okay?” He asked anxiously.

“I um…” fuck, now that you were here you were struggling to get the words out, “can I come in?” That seemed like as good of a start as any. He moved aside for you and you entered his room, observing the decor as he quietly shut the door, sensing you wanted to speak about something privately. His walls were decorated with pictures of Straw Hats, every wanted poster ever printed, clippings from newspapers, fanart he'd drawn himself. It was adorable, really - for such a scary looking man with a scary reputation, it was adorable how much he loved your crew.

“Did you need something from me?” Barto asked as he stood behind you. You kept your back to him, hoping it would help you be a little braver if you didn't have to look him in the eye.

“Yeah um… this is awkward, sorry,” you mumbled.

“Take your time, [y/n]-senpai,” he replied softly.

“It's… about earlier,” you explained, taking a deep breath, “I… was wondering if you'd… take my virginity.”

Barto was dead silent behind you, and you felt tears of rejection pricking the corners of your eyes, before you finally turned to see Barto was beet red, looking at you like his iris were practically heart shaped. He'd physically stopped breathing, and you had to snap your fingers in front of him to bring him back to reality before he passed out from lack of oxygen. A bulge grew in his pants at the mere concept of even kissing you.

“Barto? Are you okay?” You asked, “you can say no. I just thought… maybe you would like me enough to help me out. I don't want to be scared of sex anymore. But it's okay if you don't want to, I won't be upset at you.”

“But, with me?” Barto squeaked out, “a beautiful goddess like you could have anyone! I'm not worthy!”

You giggled a little at his response, feeling a little more confident because of it. You understood now that he wasn't at risk of rejecting you, he was just overly surprised you would even consider sleeping with him. “Will you show me, Barto?” You asked again, “will you make me feel good? I don't have any experience other than a little kissing, you'll have to guide me.”

“Of- of course, senpai!” He quickly responded, “anything! I'd do anything for you! I'll make you feel so good! I promise!”

“What… what do I do?” You asked him, feeling a little awkward just standing in the middle of his room. He could see how unsure you were, and was worried you would change your mind if he didn't step up and take charge.

“Come lay on the bed with me,” he suggested, “I'll take the lead, you just tell me if you don't like something, or if you want to stop, okay? Or if there's something you want me to do, just tell me. I'll be gentle with you, I promise.”

“Okay,” you replied quietly, taking his offered hand and letting him lead you to his bed. You felt your heart race as you laid beside him, and he held you so gently, pushing the stray hair out of your face as you both lay on your sides facing each other. Barto shuffled closer, his body now pressed against yours, and you made a small needy whimper as you felt his erection against your front, electricity coursing through your body in anticipation and pooling at your core despite the fact he hadn't even kissed you yet. You were so very pent up, you had no doubt he'd have you squirming in no time at all.

“I'm going to kiss you now, okay?” He spoke in hushed words, like he was afraid of spooking you, his mouth so very close to yours. His sharp teeth scared you a little, but you trusted that he wouldn't hurt you. You nodded and closed your eyes, and soon you felt his mouth pressing against yours. You let out a soft sigh at the feeling, returning the pressure as you both set to a slow, tender rhythm and your hands wrapped around his shoulders. His tongue ran over the seam of your lips, silently asking permission, and you parted for him, letting his tongue slip into your mouth and making a quiet moan as it pressed against yours. You felt a throbbing between your legs and rolled your body against him, trying to find friction. He seemed to understand your need as he carefully pulled your thigh to rest over his hip, allowing you to grind against his bulge, which served to make both of you moan. It felt good, so you kept grinding against him, the kiss quickly growing more heated as it became less awkward and you both grew needy.

Barto broke the kiss first, trailing soft pecks along your jawline till he met your neck. He made gentle nips at your skin, not enough to hurt but enough to make you whine at the sensation, occasionally sucking or running his tongue over your skin as he moved down to your collarbone, pulling your shirt neckline out of the way to access it. His hands worked carefully at the buttons on your shirt, until he was able to open it and expose your breasts, rolling you on to your back so he could admire them in all their glory for a moment.

“You're so beautiful, goddess,” he cooed, taking a breast in one hand and groping it gently, running his thumb over your pert nipple. The sensation made your hips roll, Barto now kneeling between your legs as he hovered over you, making a quiet groan as the roll of your hips ground your core against him. He brought his mouth back down, taking the other breast in his mouth and laving it with his tongue, making you moan as he sucked and tugged at your nipple.

“Ah, that feels good,” you moaned, running your hands through the messy loose part of his hair. He kissed and licked across your chest to the other tit, giving it the same tender treatment as the first. You had no doubt your pussy was dripping wet by now, every small movement from Barto making you more aroused and needy for him. He looked up at you with puppy dog eyes as his mouth ventured further south, kissing your soft tummy and hooking his fingers under the waistband of your pants. You lifted your hips for him and he slid both your pants and panties off, throwing them to the floor. You took the opportunity to fully remove your shirt as well, leaving you entirely bare to him. He felt like he might cum from that sight alone, seeing you laid out on his bed, your soft skin entirely exposed to him, your pussy on display as you spread your legs in a silent plea for him to relieve the tension that was building in you.

“Fuck,” Barto groaned, admiring your body, “you're so fucking beautiful, so incredibly sexy, my perfect goddess.”

“Barto,” you whined, “touch me, please.”

“Of course, goddess,” he replied, flattening himself against the bed with his head between your legs. He kissed your thighs, nuzzling against them, and you could feel the threat of his sharp fangs against your soft skin as he moved. “Gonna make you feel so, so good, goddess.”

You felt like you were going to cum immediately as his thumb made contact with your clit, a sharp whine escaping you as you bucked. He used his hands to spread your labia, rolling your clit with his thumb as his mouth watered at the sight of you, already so very wet for him. He could die happy now, he thought, now that he'd seen your pussy glistening for him. Greedily he brought his mouth to your cunt, groaning into you as he ran his tongue through your folds and tasted your honey. You couldn't contain your moans as he sucked and lapped at your clit, occasionally running his tongue over your entrance, your coil already pulling tight from the stimulation he was giving you. His hair fell out of the bun it'd been tied in as you pulled on it, and he whined at your hands tugging at his hair, as your hips rolled and you rode against his face and tongue, seeking your high that was so very very close. Barto tucked his hand under his chin and toyed with your entrance with just his middle finger, and as he slid it slowly inside you your coil violently snapped. You screamed as you gushed against his tongue, and unknown to you, Barto came as well, making a mess in his pants entirely untouched, so aroused by your sounds and taste that he couldn't help but whine and soil his underwear. He never softened though, too turned on by the promise of deflowering you, his dick twitching eagerly as he waited patiently to be buried inside you.

You barely had time to recover from your orgasm before he was pushing another figure inside you, pumping it in and out of your virgin hole and stretching you slowly. He was being so very careful and patient, not adding a third finger until he was sure he wouldn't hurt you. You were so very wet and relaxed from your orgasm though that it was easy for him to prepare you, still sucking on your clit and occasionally kissing your thighs or tummy.

“Barto,” you whined, “I want you inside me.”

Barto groaned against your cunt and slowly pulled his fingers from you, giving you one last fat stripe with his tongue and sucking your honey off his fingers. You sat up and watched eagerly as he knelt and began to remove his pants. You gasped as his cock sprang free, thicker and longer than you ever thought possible and covered in piercings. You wondered if you should have picked someone smaller for your first time, you struggled to imagine how he was going to fit inside you. He saw the hint of fear on your face and quickly tried to assure you.

“I'll be gentle, I promise,” he said softly, “I won't put it the whole way in if you can't take it, even just a little will feel good.”

Out of curiosity you leaned forward and touched him, the skin on his cock being more velvety than you expected as you made a careful stroke, scared of hurting him because of the piercings. Precum beaded at the tip and you ran your thumb over the slit, collecting the fluid before bringing it to your mouth and licking it off. Barto whined at the lewd motion, and thought he might combust as you leaned further forward, getting on all fours in front of him as you ran your tongue over the head of his cock, savouring the salty taste of his precum and the cum that still coated it a little.

“Oh fuck,” Barto groaned as you experimentally took the head of his cock in your mouth, sucking on it like it was a popsicle and bobbing your head back and forth a little. You weren't confident that you could take more than a few inches, and he was so thick that your lips struggled to stretch around him, so you stroked the rest of his shaft with your hand. He wrapped his hand around yours, guiding you to add more pressure and speed, and you caught on quickly. “Just like that, oh fuck just like that. That feels so fucking good.”

The way you were looking up at him with wide doe eyes, like you were trying to confirm you were doing a good job, had him ready to cum again. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine he'd ever see your pretty lips wrapped around his cock, and he was committing the sight to his memory. You pulled off his cock with a pop, your pussy feeling so very empty, desperate to feel him inside you. “Want you, Barto,” you mewled.

“I'll give you what you want, goddess,” he hummed, “lay on your back again for me, beautiful.”

You did as he asked, while Barto hurriedly leaned over to his side table and fumbled through the top drawer. He pulled a condom from it and quickly put it on, and you spread your legs wide for him as he settled between them, biting your lip in anticipation.

“You sure about this?” He asked you, “we don't have to go the whole way if you don't want to.”

“I want it, please,” you begged, “I want it so bad. Fill me Barto, please.”

You mewled as he loomed over you and lined himself up, the fat head of his cock pressing against your entrance. He knew that despite all his preparation, you would still hurt a little as he entered you, having never been stretched so far before and knowing he was hardly small. “It's going to hurt a little at first, but I promise it won't be for long, okay?” He cooed. You gave him a nervous nod and he leaned down to kiss you, giving you a distraction from the stinging pain as he slid inside you. You wove your hand through his hair and gripped hard for support, the nails of your other hand digging into his back. Little by little he buried his length into you, until he met his base, fully sheathed inside your cunt.

“There you go, goddess,” Barto purred, “you took all of me, you're so incredible. Tell me when you feel okay for me to move, okay?”

“Mmm,” you hummed back, feeling the sting fade to pleasure, every inch of you filled by his impressive cock. Every tiny adjustment he made pressed against sensitive areas you didn't even know existed, and soon you were squirming underneath him at the fill alone. “Need- need you to move.” You whined.

He pulled out slowly, only his tip remaining inside you, making you take a sharp inhale that was quickly knocked out of you as he thrust back in. He was slow, but it was such a foreign feeling that you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. He started a steady rhythm of slow, deep thrusts, and your nails nearly broke the skin on his back as your legs wrapped around him, ankles locking against his ass. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” you repeated like a mantra as he pumped his cock in and out of you, Barto equally effected by how your gummy walls held him tight as he groaned and whined in your ear, his breath hot against your neck. He kissed you hard and you used your feet to force him to move faster and harder, his pace gradually increasing as you both lost control and your kiss grew sloppy and desperate. Neither of you could be expected to last long like this, and you were moaning loud enough for the whole ship to hear as you broke the kiss, Barto burying his head against your shoulder.

“Ah- so good-” you moaned, holding Barto tight as he started to slam into you at a brutal pace, “fuck, I'm gonna cum again.”

“Cum for me, goddess,” Barto groaned, nipping and sucking at the delicate skin on your neck, “gonna cum too, fuck, you're so tight.”

“I- fuck, Barto~” you went almost silent as your whole body tensed around him, seeing white as you began to tremble, pulling him with you as your pussy clenched around his cock. He gripped the headboard above you hard enough to crack it as he unloaded into the condom, his whole body shaking as he came hard before collapsing against you. You squeezed him tight, not wanting to let go as you panted, nuzzling your face against his in a dizzy afterglow. His warm skin felt so good against yours, you felt like you could stay like this forever.

Barto couldn't though, he needed to discard the condom before he grew too soft, so with a disappointed whine he pulled out. He kissed your mouth softly, then your forehead, holding your face in both hands before getting out of the bed to clean up. As the captain his bedroom had an attached bathroom, and after cleaning himself off he brought a damp cloth to the bedside, cleaning you carefully and pressing kisses to your skin as he worked. He threw the cloth to the floor as you pulled him close and tangled your limbs with his, nuzzling against his tattooed chest while his arms wrapped around you. He pulled the blanket up to cover you both, sensing you were close to falling asleep.

“Can I stay?” You mumbled against his chest.

“Of course,” he kissed your hair, “you can have the whole damn ship if that's what you want, I'd give you the world if you wanted it.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, “you're so sweet. Thank you, Barto. That was nice. I feel… really good.”

“I'm glad,” he replied, resting his head against the top of yours, “I'd do anything for you, [y/n]-senpai, I'd lay down my life. You only need ask. I should be thanking you for allowing me the honour of even being in your presence.”

“You're so goofy, Barto,” you giggled, before letting out a long yawn, “go to sleep, goofball.”

“As you wish, goddess,” he yawned back, sure that he was about to have the best sleep of his life with you in his arms, and also sure that he'd wake up from this dream soon, because it could not possibly be real.

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Taglist: @daydreamer-in-training @chairmanraph @florcxo @luvnistuff @nocturnalrorobin @fanaticsnail

#one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #AKO 250 event #one piece bartolomeo

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