#his skin cracking like ice and it is SUPER fucking painful

[web-pets]

*clenches fists until my fingers bleed*

[cherryblossom-heart]

I loved you once B.B

Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Masterlist

Summary: Loving Bucky Barnes was never easy but breaking your heart seemed to come naturally to him. A love story about your heartbreak,his betrayal and a chance at redemption.

19.1 k words

Content Warning: ANGST, heartbreak, cheating, mature themes, +18 SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (Pussy job, penetrative sex p in v, sad/angry sex? Rough sex mixed with a little pain. It will make sense once you read it) . Fluff, mentions of bad mental health from both Bucky and reader, graphic violence, character's death, mentions of women trafficking as well as assault.

A/N: Wow 19k words. Im sorry this took so long to finish but as you can tell it is super long as I promised. Buckle up y'all, this is sad. Also this is my first time writing a proper cheating fic so if you can/want let me know if you like it or not. You're welcomed to send me an ask with any comments, questions, etc., you have on this 😊

Post dividers by @firefly-graphics and @cafekitsune

Now  

"Fuck you," you spat the words.    

Tears fell from your eyes as they made their way down your neck, making dark spots in the collar of your red turtleneck. Even when pain was drowning you, beauty never left you. Bucky felt as if he were watching a beautiful Renaissance painting—a tragedy of sorts.   

"Is that all? I really don’t have time for this."   

He didn’t recognize his own words or the indifference they came out with. He didn’t mean to say them, but it was as if his own body was working on autopilot, and he was only a spectator to the shitshow it was causing. He wanted to stop. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to say so many things, but the only thing he was capable of was hurting you.   

"Are you kidding me? That’s all you’re going to say?"   

"What else do you want me to say? You know what happened, you saw her with your own eyes. Anything I say is either going to make you angrier or make you cry even more. Let’s just be done with this, you’ll eventually get over it."   

The sound of your hand connecting with his face put an end to his sentence. The hit didn’t feel as such, his skin barely processed it as anything more than a simple graze, but once the initial shock wore off, the sting came along. But it didn’t compare to the pain he felt in his heart when his eyes connected with yours once again.   

"I always knew you were capable of many things, but not once did I think you would ever be this cruel."   

Your eyes drifted to your hands, your right hand playing with the ring you wore in your left. A sigh left your lips, and more tears fell before you finally slid it off your finger, placing it on the table next to you.   

A bucket of iced water. Painful, burning, scorching coldness— that’s how Bucky would describe looking at you while silently breaking your engagement. His mind was telling him to get on his knees, beg, and try to fix everything he had broken. But the darkest part of him, the one that had taken over his life was assuring him you were bluffing. You couldn’t leave, you always stayed. You always fought for him, even when he didn’t deserve it.   

"What are you doing?" he asked, his eyes rolling with the uninterested façade he had perfected.   

"I’m done, I can’t keep doing this anymore." You turned your back, strong and determined steps leading to his apartment door.  

Please, fix this.   

His trembling hands made their way to your wrist, anything that could mend the cracks in your heart that seeped with pain, the cracks he had caused with his own selfishness. Before his fingers could even graze your skin, your hand quickly swatted away his pathetic effort to stop you.  

"God, stop being so goddamed drama—"   

"Don’t fucking touch me. Don’t try to contact me ever again, I won’t answer."   

"Can you just—"   

"If I ever see you again I swear I’ll murder you. I didn’t kill you the first time we met but I swear I’ll do it if you even dare to breath in my direction."   

Your words hurt, it seemed as though each one stabbed him right through the chest in a taunting way, a reminder of how much he had screwed up. Bile rose to his throat when you recoiled at his proximity, and the hate in your eyes burned him with such force that he was sure you wouldn't wait until the next time you met.   

He deserved it either way.  

Bucky's eyes opened just as the car jolted, his heart racing against his chest, his ears buzzing. For a fraction of a second, he's confused, not remembering why he was in the car, but the fogginess of his thoughts was replaced with anxiety when he heard the tracker beeping on Sam's thigh. 

"Good, you’re awake. I think we’re almost there." Sam kept his eyes on the road, occasionally glancing down at the device that told him where to go. Judging by his demeanor, his friend didn’t seem as nervous as he did, if at all. It wasn’t like Sam had a reason to, he was the only one who had fucked up.  

He looked out at the vehicle, and the passing trees in the darkness of the night numbed his mind while he tried to forget about his dream. No, it wasn’t a dream, it was his worst memory to date. Usually, his nightmares were about the crimes he had committed while being the Winter Soldier, and he could blame them on his consciousness not being there with him. His own body didn’t belong to him, so he couldn’t keep blaming himself for the things HYDRA had forced him to do.  

With you, on the other hand, he could not blame anyone else but himself. His mind wasn’t tortured by a secret organization in hopes of ruining his relationship, nor was he forced to hurt the person about whom he cared the most to save thousands of lives. He did it all by himself, and now the nightmares have not only scared him but hurt him all over again.  

You started to show up in his dreams more frequently once Sam told him they needed your help. As expected, the super-soldier's first reaction was total and complete refusal. His friend thought it was a childish reaction the former winter soldier was having to avoid the awkwardness of meeting you again, only knowing your relationship had ended on bad terms without hearing the specifics. But the blue-eyed man wasn’t doing it for himself, he was doing it for you. The night you left, you made it clear you didn’t want anything to do with him, or even anything related to him, your resignation from the Avengers Team and subsequent evaporation from the face of the earth was a strong message to leave you alone.  

After a few hours of arguing, with both men going back and forth on why they did or didn't need you, Bucky finally agreed to go look for you. Lives were at stake, and no matter how hard he tried to look for a solution that avoided you, there seemed to be none. Before he could ask where to even start looking for you, Sam pulled out a device that seemed familiar to a phone. You had given Sam, and only Sam, a tracker that could find you anywhere in the world and could only be unlocked by a password you had whispered to him  

The depth of his tormenting cycle of thoughts didn’t let him register they weren’t on the road anymore until his partner stopped the vehicle. They were surrounded by tall, dense trees, and the crickets and cicadas that hid in the dark made an orchestra that filled the emptiness of the night. Sam grabbed his gear, the sound of a duffle bag being opened broke the rhythm of nature.  

"Why are we stopping here?" Bucky asked with a frown. His own duffle was placed across his back, the tinkering of the metal inside it annoying him slightly.  

His friend threw an annoyed look at him before rolling his eyes and scrambling through his belongings. "As I said like twenty minutes ago while you were brooding and having your own pity party, this thing shows her inside a building in the middle of the woods. I’d like to take a look around the area before going in blind."  

"Oh."  

Normally, the super soldier would’ve had a comeback for the annoying yet harmless insults his friend and partner would throw at him, even a snide comment. But this was different, no matter what Sam would say, he could only think of what was about to happen. So he let it slide, submerging himself in his own thoughts while Sam threw the little flying robot he nicknamed "Red Wing" into the air. Once it was hovering above them and Sam made sure to have full control of it, they began a walk that would last about thirty minutes before the device would find any signs of life.  

Sam and him were waiting somewhere near the alleged building, Sam's robot scanning the surroundings.The thumping in his chest returned, and his fingers became ice cold.He was so close. Close enough to see you, close enough to talk to you, and perhaps close enough to apologize. 

How would you react to seeing him? Would you be happy to see him? Probably not, considering the last thing you said to him was that you would kill him if he ever came near you. He knew he deserved it, but hopefully time changed your murderous resolution. Maybe even forgave him.  

Could you ever forgive him?  

A slight swat from Sam brought him back from his thoughts, silently letting him know they were ready to go. Bucky could sense it before the place was even visible, the vibrations of the music resonating through the ground. The smell of smoke, alcohol, and humanity reached his nostrils right as they saw the line of cars parked in a plain field next to what resembled a warehouse.  

To an untrained eye, it would look like a normal, unsanitary, and probably unsafe rave done by stupid people. But the polarized windows of the cars, the shine coming from the inside of the guards' jackets, and the lot of security cameras installed in the building told another story. Whatever or whoever was in there was dangerous, and as usual, you had gotten yourself in the middle of it.  

Bucky wasn’t an idiot. He knew you couldn’t stay away from helping people, no matter how hard you tried. He saw the breadcrumbs, microscopic, little clues that he could recognize as your style. A missing girl suddenly returning to her family, a kidnapped journalist in the middle of war returning to their respective embassy. A child trafficker falling from his hotel room in the twentieth floor. You had always been... effective when it came to missions, sometimes going overboard with your methods, but Tony, Steve, and himself had always guided you towards the good and righteous path that a person with your abilities was supposed to take. 

You lost all three of them in the span of a year.  

They were lucky that it was relatively easy to get inside, and even luckier that their clothes didn't draw too much attention to them. Sure, they seemed to be wearing more clothes than needed, as most people seemed to enjoy themselves topless and/or pantless, but with the darkness of the room barely being lit by the flashing blue and red lights, no one really noticed them.  

Guys, girls, and people he wasn’t sure how to label were grinding against each other. Hands touched him, pulling his jacket, and he had to push them all away, trying to make his way through the sea of people. The inside of the warehouse could pass for a functioning club, with couches, dance floors, and screens accommodating everyone inside.  

Bucky wasn’t sure he had ever seen anything like this; the debauchery that people showed shocked his old-fashioned ways. He was sure he had seen several people inside each other, whether it was fingers, tongues, or dicks, no one seemed to mind that everyone else could see them. How had you gotten yourself into the middle of this disguised orgy? What were you even doing here?  

Both men made their way to the front of the place, where a private section was installed looking over the dancefloor. Two large guys guarded the stairs that connected the lower and upper levels, allowing mostly attractive girls to ascend. Both men agreed that if you were to be found somewhere, it would undoubtedly be there. They scanned the room, looking for any way they could access the VIP level without having a pair of tits and long legs.  

He had never understood scenes in movies where they showed time slowing down. Every time he had been in a fight, whether it was as himself in the forties or as the winter soldier, everything seemed to happen too fast to process. Even the night you left, time had seemed to go at an abnormally fast pace, and by the time he could finally react the way he wanted, it had been too late.  

He never understood those scenes until he saw you walking to the protective railing surrounding the edge of the private section. Above the deafening music, the moans, and the music, he could hear your voice talking to someone else.  

It was as if he was seeing you for the first time. Your beauty had remained the same your hair, your eyes, and your lips all looked the same, yet his heart started racing just as it did all those years ago. You weren’t dressed like everyone else dancing around him, your black dress with a dangerous deep cleavage was sensuous, but it held a certain level of class that made you stand out from the crowd.  

Thump, thump, thump.  

Time moved at a slow pace, the slowest he had experienced. He was grateful for it, as it allowed him to appreciate every detail from you. The way your lips came close to the drink you had in your hand, the drumming your fingers did on top of the railing, the glint in your eyes—he knew it meant you were lost in your thoughts.   

Bucky had never been more grateful for the way time passed. Until he saw a pair of hands sliding across your waist, fingers gripping your hips so roughly, he was sure they would leave a mark on your skin. A semi-attractive man whispered words in your ear, his beard scruffing against your skin. You smirked, turning around to plaster your lips against his in a kiss that could make a pornstar blush.  

He knew you'd moved on; nearly a year had passed since the last time he saw you, and you'd probably found someone to sleep with, but he wasn't ready to watch you become someone else's. His mind was prepared to face your happiness, but his heart wasn’t. And even now, he was sure you were just tagging along with the man, using him for information for whatever mission you had gotten yourself into, yet he felt as if what remained of his heart had been ripped out of his chest.  

With strong, rough movements, the man turned you around, pressing your body against the railing. As his hand grabbed your neck, your hips grinded against his, your mouth open as you licked your lips. 

The super soldier couldn’t take it anymore, his heart begged him to stop the torture. He wasn’t even sure where Sam was, nor did he care. He cared about you, and he could only think about what he had lost. With the last of his dignity, he began to look away from you and your companion, who had leaned over to your ear once more. Except this time his eyes found Bucky’s, his fingers tightening around your neck.  

He knew. Somehow the man knew who he was and, most importantly, who you were.  

Your eyes widen slightly, searching through the sea of people dancing downstairs. But it didn't take you long to find those blue eyes you once adored. He was there, looking exactly the same as the night you left him, along with your heart.  

"I know who you are." The man whispered in your ear—a threat not so subtly hidden behind every word.  

But you couldn’t dwell long on his words because ice-cold eyes looked back at you. Ice cold eyes brought back the pain you thought you left behind, and the rage surfaced once more as you remembered the promises you made him.  

Cold metal was pressed against your neck, the edge of it grazing your skin. Bucky’s eyes widened in alarm, and his hands turned into fists, making him look like he cared. Like he actually had a heart.  

He barely took two steps in your direction when the wicked smile you wore stopped him. It was sinister. It was deadly. And when you turned to the man to say something, his grip faltered as one word left your lips.  

"Good"  

Your head connected against the man’s nose, a crack let you know it was most likely broken. You barely heard the man’s yells when bullets made their way to you, a couple of them grazing your skin. The room that was once filled with hips swaying, alcohol, and moans had transformed into a frenzy of screams and people running to get out of the building.  

The crowd tried to take Bucky away; their desperate attempts at escaping dragged him away as he fought his way through the sea of people. Seconds passed, and he could hear your grunts as well as more shooting coming from the upper floor, with girls running down the stairs, some of them with splashes of blood staining their clothes.  

He didn’t know whose blood it belonged to, and that frightened him.  

Sam’s voice pulled him out of his trance. "What the hell happened?"  

His friend had managed to make his way to him, both of them still getting pushed around. Bucky offered him a quick glance before resuming his previous task of making his way to the stairs.  

"Her cover is blown," was all the explanation Bucky offered, and somehow it was enough. Before any of them could add anything, screams came from the front door, three bulky men were making their way there while carrying very large and dangerous guns. "Take care of them, I’ll go help her," the super soldier said without leaving any room for discussion.  

When his fingers finally grabbed the banister of the stairs, Bucky was close to losing his mind. Climbing two steps at a time, he finally found himself a scene that froze him in the spot.  

You were there, your black dress ripped in some places, your makeup ruined by mascara running down your cheeks, and blood splashes tainted your flawless skin. Bucky had managed to get there just in time as you twisted a man's arm to an unnatural angle, the crack of his joint popping out of place was followed by his screams. You had managed to kill/knock out everyone except for the guy who had previously had a knife to your throat, and Bucky knew better than to think that was just a mere coincidence.  

After the last man fell to the ground, blood sputtering out of his neck, you lifted your gaze towards him. He couldn’t read you as easily as he had once been able to and he hated it. Before, he was sure he knew you better than you knew yourself, more than once already sure of your likes and dislikes before you asked him for an opinion. He had treasured those times in his mind, and the memories were as comforting as they were painful. A constant reminder of what he had lost.  

He was right there, right in front of you. The man you fell in love with when you still had a heart. The man who still had a tight grip on it and who would probably always own it. He could keep it for all you cared, your heart was tainted with memories you didn’t wish to keep.  

It was the first time both of you were this close, every scream gone as you were absorbed by your own bubble. He looked so familiar that your own body reacted the way it used to whenever you saw him. Your heart stammered in your chest, and even after so long, the butterflies in your stomach appeared for a millisecond. He was the man you had once loved, he was the man with whom you imagined a future together.  

Then, you remembered why all your hopes and dreams had been destroyed.  

Bucky noticed the hurt flashing through your face, your jaw tightening right before you made your way to him. For a moment, he thought you were about to hug him, your desperation to reach him in your long strides mirroring his as his body begged him to touch you. He wanted to apologize, beg for forgiveness at your feet, and profess the love that he wasn’t able to forget.  

Perhaps if his mind hadn't been plagued with all the things he wanted to do, he would’ve noticed your foot rising to give him a solid kick on the chest.  

The force and unexpectedness of your attack launched him back to the railing, throwing him over it. His back landed with a loud thud on the floor, fortunate enough for him, everyone else seemed to have dissipated and his fall wasn’t that high up. A second later, you jumped from the banister, landing on top of him with your knife in hand. Your knee found it’s place on his chest, feet pressing his hands flat on the surface. Before Bucky could even muster a word, the blade was pinned against his throat.  

"I told you if I ever saw you again, I would fucking kill you." 

Then  

Steve had changed so much in the years they had spent apart. His friend, who had once been the fragile little Brooklyn boy he would protect with his life, was now a fully grown man with a strength that could crush a person if he wasn’t careful enough. He was also now his protector, not from bullies that would harass him because of his own stubbornness but from a secret organization that wanted to take over the world. That and his own fractured mind.  

He had lost control once the man had given him the commands to bring back the deadly assassin they had turned him into. He remembered it all, but it had felt as if he was under water the whole time, falling deeper and deeper the more he tried to fight against it. His own body didn’t belong to him, no matter how hard he tried to control it.  

For a year, he had thought it was possible to lead a normal life; his time spent in Romania had given him false hope that he had gotten away from his captors. How foolish he had been, thinking he could ever be far away from his grasps. He wasn’t the man he was before, just a weapon designed to hurt people.  

He supposed he was lucky Steve still saw good in him, at least enough to turn against his teammates and friends to help him clear his name. And now, as they drove to one of Steve’s friends' hideouts, he couldn’t help but feel guilty about everything that was going on. If he hadn’t lost control, Steve wouldn't be a wanted criminal. If he wasn’t captured, a shit ton of innocent, good people would still be alive. If his mind had been stronger, he could’ve broken free of HYDRA's mind control.  

Maybe it would’ve been better if he had actually died when he fell from that train.  

Steve parked outside an abandoned apartment complex, it seemed no one had lived there in years. He threw a questioning eyebrow at Sam, who just shrugged before getting out of the vehicle. Another of Steve’s friends had decided to help him out of loyalty to Steve, not because he particularly liked Bucky or entirely believed in his good side.  

All three men walked inside the building, not a sound inside other than their footsteps and heavy breathing. Steve looked around for a couple of seconds before making his way to the second floor, his intuition telling him where to go. He stood in front of a door with a big C plastered on it, his friend's hand hesitating before knocking on the wood.  

After the third knock came back without an answer, Steve decided to open the door. He had called a name while crossing the threshold, looking around for any signs of life inside the apartment. Bucky was surprised to find the apartment filled with computers, blueprints, documents, and lots of military-grade equipment. Everything gave away the signs of someone working there, yet there was no one who took ownership over them.  

It was too late when Bucky heard you standing behind him, with his feet being swept by your leg and effectively knocking him down. The wooden floor amplified the echo of his fall, catching Steve and Sam’s attention. Your frame landed on top of his, gun aimed directly between his eyes.Bucky's hand reached to grab your ankle in an effort to destabilize you, but the barrel of your weapon was pressed right on his forehead.  

"I wouldn’t do it if I were you," you said coolly. "I promise you, I’ll blow your brains out before you can even land a hit."  

After your words filled the room, Bucky’s eyes finally took their chance to look at you, actually look at you.  

God, you were beautiful.  

Maybe it was only your physical beauty that had taken him by surprise, or the fact that you had taken him down so easily with just one leg movement. Or even the fact that you seemed to have no fear towards a man who was being marketed as a "dangerous and armed terrorist." Whatever it was, Bucky couldn’t deny the fact that you were the most beautiful human being he had seen.  

After a few explanations from Steve’s part and some begging for help, you released the super soldier from your hold, weapon holstered in your back. Your hand extended to help him get off the floor, and you offered him a charming but wary smile.   

You told the three men to make themselves at home and take anything they needed. Bucky had chosen to keep guard, being by himself in the top floor while looking out through a window that hid him from everyone else. He was stewing in his own complicated thoughts when he heard a knock on the wall. You were there, standing a few feet away from him with a shy smile on your face as you extended to him a cup filled with hot coffee.  

Thump, thump, thump.  

"Sorry about the whole thing holding you hostage," you said as he welcomed the cup.  

His fingers accidentally grazed against your own, and it was as if he had touched electricity itself. Heat extended from his hands all through his body, and his ability to think was thrown out of the window. He looked at you, and he couldn’t tell if you felt the same or not, but he could feel how your eyes burned him, with a curiosity behind them that was so easy to read that he was surprised you were the black ops/spy Sam had told him.  

"It’s whatever, I would’ve done the same thing if I were you." Bucky answered after a few seconds.  

He turned to look through the window again, trying to keep his thoughts in order. You settled down next to him, the warmth of your skin reaching his own. Nothing could be heard other than your breathings, not even the cars outside or the sound of the busy city that hid you. And for the first time in a long time, Bucky felt relaxed with someone he didn’t know from the past.  

"I’m James."  

He could’ve sworn he heard you smile before you gave him your name. 

Now  

"What the fuck are you doing here, Barnes?"  

The music was still on, as were the blue and red lights that lighted up the darkness in the room. Bucky could feel the breeze of your breath on his face and the smell of expensive whisky and tobacco in every word you said. He wasn’t surprised, the man that you knocked out probably tried to impress you with them.  

But behind the traces of blood, alcohol, and gunpowder, he could smell your shampoo. The same peony smell mixed with lavander filled his nostrils, and it brought him back to the many nights you had spent together. Your fingers were drawing circles on the skin of his back, and his nose was buried in your hair.  

You, on the other hand, were reminded of the suffering he caused you with every passing second.  

"I told you to stay away from me," you muttered.  

Your hand pressed the edge of the blade on his skin, and you were sure if you kept going you were going to start drawing out blood, but you couldn’t care less. Bucky Barnes had always been an expert at instilling unwanted emotions in you, and it was difficult to keep those emotions at bay right now. 

You felt anger. You felt resentment. You felt pure, long-lasting hatred.  

"Maybe I should slit your throat right now, that’ll make you stay away from me permanently."  

Your words were intimidating, filled with the same promise you had made him that fateful night. This was his chance, his chance at the apology that had died out in his throat when you closed the door behind him. This was the chance he had chased in his dreams for almost a year.  

But he couldn’t say anything.  

He loved you. God, he loved you so much. He missed seeing your face other than in the few pictures he kept or in the memories that did no justice. Because even now, as you threatened to kill him, you were a dream come true, just like the first time he saw you. 

"Say something!"  

"You’re beautiful."  

Your grip faltered on the knife, your eyebrows slightly furrowing at his words.  

No, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t come back out of nowhere, say some cheesy, basic compliment, and make the walls of hate you had built crumble. Even if he had only managed to knock down one brick, he didn't deserve it. You knew it, he knew it, and everyone else who knew what happened between you two knew it.  

Then why did your heart flutter at his words?  

"Hey," Sam said, breaking the silence, your head snapping in his direction."I know he’s an asshole, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t kill my partner."  

You look back at Bucky for a few seconds before giving up, throwing your knife to the floor. Sam leaned over, his hand extended to help Bucky get up.Your murderous eyes went from Bucky to Sams, your gaze softening at his friend.  

"I told you to only contact me in emergencies," you grumbled.  

A hiss left your lips when you touched your arm, one of the bullet wounds was still seeping blood. Bucky thought about telling you something, but this time he listened to the rational part of his brain that told him to shut the fuck up.  

"Believe me, if we had a choice, we wouldn’t have come," Sam said.  

Your eyes flickered between both men, not convinced about helping them. Well, on helping the blue eyed super soldier. A pathetic excuse for why you couldn’t help them died on your lips once you saw his blue eyes. Please, help us they begged.  

You didn’t owe him anything. You shouldn’t help him, but in the back of your head, Steve’s voice rang through. Good ol’ Steve Rogers and his everlasting moral lessons. That's what we have to do, he said. 

So you put aside your feelings because helping people mattered more than an idiot who broke your heart.  

"What do you want?" You sighed.  

"We’re looking into something... odd. A bunch of pregnant women missing, still in their early stages of pregnancy. Most of them show up dead after giving birth, but the babies are nowhere to be found."  

You shrug. "They take the kids, so?"  

It was cold, you were aware of it. But after the things you had seen, the things you had done, you were aware that people kidnapping woman for their babies wasn’t something out of the ordinary, let alone something that required Captain America to look into it. Things like that were always forgotten, pushed back into a slew of cases alongside more missing women. 

"They had traces of the super serum."  

Fuck.  

You laughed. A joyless, cynical type of laugh. Destiny, of course, had to be a jerk. 

"Well, you’re in luck. I think we’re tracking down the same people." Sam raised an eyebrow at you with a simple request for you to elaborate. "A girl showed up dead in México a couple of months ago, she’d been missing for almost a year. Autopsy showed she had a miscarriage before dying, the bleeding killed her. The remains had traces of the serum too."  

"Are you saying that—?" Sam couldn’t finish his sentence, the thought sending chills along his spine.  

"Yeah."  

The air is somber between the three of you. Sure, the flag smashers were a problem when they appeared, as you knew from all the news reports you'd seen.People with ten times the strength of a normal human being were dangerous, especially if they were associated with a terrorist organization. 

This was different, though. This was sinister.  

Groans coming from the top floor broke the eeriness that surrounded you, making you finally remember why you were here. You tore apart part of the black dress that was once pristine and wrapped it around your arm.  

"Look at this guy over there," you said, motioning behind you. "He has intel on this, he’s the one that gets the girls and delivers them."  

"Well, let’s take him in and—"  

You cut Sam off. "No. Look, you came looking for me because this is my specialty. I know how to handle guys like him, and I sure as hell know he won’t tell us shit if we take him to a precinct and threaten him with some jail time. He’s a big fish. A few phone calls and he’ll be out in no time." They knew you were right, but they didn’t like your arguments. "We do this my way, or you better pray you find them before I do."  

Sam looked hesitant. He knew what you were going to do to the man, and his good conscience chastised him for even thinking of letting you torture someone. But the rational part, the part that knew that in this case there wasn’t much of an option, knew that they needed you, and perhaps you also needed them.  

"Just, don’t kill him." Sam said before walking away.  

Compromise. You could do compromise.  

"Fine," you said, rolling your eyes. 

After Sam slammed the door shut on his way out, you were reminded of the fact that you weren't alone. Bucky’s eyes were already looking at you, the same apologetic eyes you had seen before you kicked him in the chest.  

"Thanks for helping us." He spoke, thinking it was an appropriate way to break the ice, but it only managed to make you scoff.  

"Let’s make something clear, I’m not doing this for you." you spat. "I’m doing this because Sam needs my help and so we can save those innocent girls and stop any more from being taken. This doesn’t change anything between us, as soon as this is over, you go back to leaving me the fuck alone, got it?"  

Say something. Fight for her. Explain what happened, his mind begged him.  

But he couldn’t, because even if it had been almost a year since he last saw you, he was still the same coward who let you walk away without a fight.  

So he agreed.  

"Yeah."  

"Good. I’ll meet you outside." 

Then  

"Thanks for the coffee." Bucky said before taking a sip.  

Droplets of water fell from his forehead, a strand of unruly black hair was hanging on the side of his eyebrows. The towel that hung from his waist, showing his torso all the way down to that sculpted V of his abdomen, made it too difficult to concentrate on the files you were trying to organize.  

The man was hotter than the sun.  

"No problem." you smiled at him.   

You had no idea it would be the best and worst decision you'd ever made when you suggested Bucky stay with you while Steve went to rescue the others.You liked Bucky, and the few days you spent with him while Steve and the others gathered everything they needed so they could go find Zemo had been nice. Sure, he was a man of a few words, but it didn’t bother you. It was weirdly comforting to be able to enjoy someone’s company in silence. And the times he spoke, he did it out of pure curiosity, curiosity about the world, about what had happened while he was in the ice, but mostly about you.  

He asked about your cases, how you met Steve, and how you came to partner with some of the most powerful people in the world. He asked about your life, about your childhood in the orphanage, and what made you choose to help people. He asked so many questions, yet he still respected you when you didn’t want to answer some of them. He asked, not to pry, but to get to know you, and in return, when you asked him something, he was as honest as he felt comfortable being.  

And that was the problem. No matter how much you tried, you knew your days with Bucky Barnes were numbered. Ever since you were young, you knew that being in this line of work would prevent you from having a normal life. You couldn't have a normal relationship. You weren’t meant to have the love story your favorite movies portraited, the white picket fence and the family of five wasn’t in your future.  

Neither was he, maybe in the forties he would’ve came home from war and found himself a pretty girl to marry. But now, after everything he had seen and everything he had unwillingly done, he probably wouldn't want a relationship any time soon. Or maybe not at all.  

But after three weeks of being cramped up in the same little apartment, you were getting used to him. You had developed a little routine together that always ended up with a cup of coffee at the end of the day. Sometimes both of you would just sit in silence, taking in each other's company while you sipped on your cups. Other times, just like now, he would sit next to you as you watched whatever movie you had decided to put on.  

You had to cut this at the root before it became too hard to let go.  

"So, you’re going to Wakanda?"  

He sighs. "Yeah. Steve says they have someone that might be able to help with... help with my..."  

"I know." You finished for him, suddenly placing your hand on top of his. He tensed at your touch, both of you looking down at your hands before you took away yours, embarrassed at your own lack of control. "Well, if you’re not too busy there, I could go visit you sometimes."  

"You would?" he questioned.  

"If you want me, too," you shrugged, trying not to reveal your excitement. 

He looked at you, his thoughts unreadable through his face. For a moment, you thought he was going to reject your offer, but something changed in his eyes. He smiled, the faintest, littlest hint of a smile you had seen, but it was there.  

You made him smile for the first time.  

"Yeah. I’d like that."  

If someone were to ask Bucky when he first felt he could love you, it would be right now. With the dim light of the TV lighting up your face and a shy smile on your lips as you told him you were willing to travel such a long distance just to see him.  

And as you lay next to him, your head against his shoulder, you thought to yourself that maybe you could be selfish for once and allow yourself to enjoy his company a bit more. 

Now  

There were drops of water leaking out of a pipe, he could hear them from the other side of the room. Everything around him was dark, it seemed the only source of light was on top of him and the woman on the floor pleading for her life.   

"Please don’t do this," she begged with a Spanish accent. "I don’t want to die, please."   

He wanted to move, he wanted to throw away the gun in his hand, but it was like he was a spectator of his own life. His body was not his, or his breathing. Not even his heartbeat listened to the inner panic attack he was having. Nothing belonged to him.   

"Kill her," a distorted voice told him. His eyes glanced at him quickly, and he noticed the man had no face. No one around them had one.   

Everything felt like it was in slow motion. His finger moved, pressing the trigger of the gun, but he refused to give up. He had to try, even if his own consciousness was trying to kick him out, sucking him into the pool of darkness he had been resting in for a long time.   

But even if he tried for years, he couldn’t win. He was powerless.   

Broken.   

He could only witness how the other "him" obeyed. The woman's eyes changed from scared to lifeless in less than a second. A splash of crimson staining his combat boots kept his attention. He couldn’t hear what the other people in the room were saying, he didn’t exist anymore, or he didn’t want to. The sound of the water leak was deafening now. Growing louder and louder until it consumed everything around him   

He didn’t want to be awake. Not like this.   

And as he felt himself disappearing, he hoped this was the last time he came back to the surface. He would rather be surrounded by emptiness.   

Yet something interrupted him, pulling him back up.   

A woman's voice, so familiar it made his heartbeat change.   

"Bucky!"  

Bucky's eyes opened wide. His head was spinning, his breathing was rapid, and his heart felt like it was going to burst through his chest. The adrenaline in his system made him dizzy, and he could feel his hands shaking. And he was feeling. A lot. Scared, angry, hopeless. So many emotions constricted his chest, burying him under their weight.  

"Bucky," you repeated. His head snapped at you, showing you a pair of wide, terrified eyes.  

Your feet almost moved. A pure protective instinct filled you with dread at the fact that you couldn’t help him anymore. Your head and your heart were in conflict. In one hand your heart begged you to go to him, stroke his back as you peppered kisses along his shoulder. Then you would lie back in bed while your hands surrounded his body, your front pressed to his back in a way to say, I’m here, I love you, and everything will be alright.  

On the other hand, your brain told you to turn in the other direction. Walk away from the night terrors that plagued his mind and let him suffer in silence. He wasn't your responsibility anymore, and you shouldn't be concerned about helping him with whatever was wrong with him. 

Was it possible to hate and care about someone at the same time?  

"Nightmares?" you couldn’t help yourself from asking. 

His left hand rubbed his eyes, a sigh leaving his lips. "Yeah. Sorry if I woke you up."  

"You didn’t."  

You sat at the table in front of the couch he was lying on, a steaming cup of lavender tea between your hands. The cling of the spoon clashing against the ceramic filled the uncomfortable silence between you.  

"Where’s Sam?" he asked, sitting straight as a couple of droplets of sweat fell down his forehead.  

"He has a contact in the city. He left to meet them."  

"Oh."  

Whatever else he was about to say died on his lips. You noticed he seemed to do that often since meeting again, his eyes speaking the words he would never say. Sometimes you would catch him looking at you, the frown on his forehead deepening with the passing of time. It made you wonder if he would now be open to answering your questions.  

"He said you’re going to therapy."  

He was taken aback by your question. It probably was the first time you said more than the necessary to him. Also, it was the first time that you showed any sort of interest in his life.  

"Uh, yeah. Court mandated."  

You hummed, sipping on your tea.  

"Does it work?"  

You saw the hesitance in his eyes. The way his jaw clenched and his grip on the couch made his knuckles white made you think he was about to change the subject with a witty, bitter, or sarcastic remark, or maybe even just ignore the question at all. You wouldn’t be surprised if he did, by the end of your relationship, he was an expert in it.  

Bucky didn’t change much after all, you thought to yourself  

But he broke the silence.  

"In some ways." he started, his gaze dropping to the floor. "The nightmares don’t come as often anymore, and I don’t feel the need to shoot every asshole that drives a shitty car with a shitty exhaust pipe." You chuckled at his confession, making a slight smirk show on his face. "But she’s too much."  

"What do you mean?"  

He sighed. "She pisses me off. I hate that she keeps trying to make me feel better by just saying my life is better now and I shouldn’t feel like shit anymore. But it’s not that easy. Just like it’s not easy to follow the stupid set of rules she gave me."  

He looked up to see your reaction to his words, expecting to see the same hardened look you’ve given him the past couple of weeks. And it was just that what greeted his eyes, your lips slightly pressed together and your eyes decorated with a slight scowl that only showed up for him.  

But behind the tough exterior, he could see your eyes had softened. For a brief second, your eyes showed care and understanding to what he siad before going back to the usual void stare you gave him.  

"She sounds like a bad therapist." He shrugged in agreement, he couldn’t say anything against the truth. "She also sounds like a bitch."  

He laughed. The type of laugh that caught him off guard and made his lungs run out of air. Granted, your joke might’ve not been as funny as his laugh was giving it credit for, but he had always been fond of your bluntness.  

You couldn’t help but laugh with him too.  

Laughing with Bucky felt foreign yet so familiar at the same time. It felt like reminiscing on a memory you didn’t remember you had, a bittersweet memory that brought back the same good feeling of the memories you built together  

But moments like that couldn’t last forever. Your heart couldn’t afford to remember.  

A text message from Sam lit up your screen, saying his contact had useful information. You stood up from the table after texting him back and drank the rest of the cup's contents. 

"You should try to get some sleep, we have a long day ahead."  

His shoulders dropped slightly.  

"Yeah, you’re right. I’ll try to."  

With nothing left to say, you walked away, leaving Bucky in the loneliness of the night.   

You didn’t go right away to the room you had adopted as your own, though. He heard you going through the kitchen, a dim sound of clinking and pouring reaching him due to his enhanced hearing. He didn't think anything of it; maybe you needed more tea before going to bed. 

Your steps brought you back to him before you placed an object on the coffee table right beside him.  

A cup of lavender tea. 

Then  

"It’s kinda late to be outside, huh?"  

Bucky jolted at the sound of your voice, your presence taking him by surprise. He was completely sure that when he left a couple of hours ago his house was empty and you hadn’t sent a message of your arrival.   

Something had happened? Was someone injured? Were you in trouble?  

His questions died on his lips as you cut the space between you and him short, your arms tightly embracing him. Your head found its place in the crook of his neck, his long hair falling on your face. His hands took a second to respond, but they eventually wrapped around your waist, bringing you closer to his chest.  

You stayed like that for what felt like ages, just taking in each other's warmth. He missed you, even if he tried to deny it every time his thoughts would wander to you. He tried to convince himself that his reclusion made him miss everyone he considered a friend, and in a world where everyone seemed to want him dead, you were one of the few people he trusted.  

He had been staying in Wakanda for nearly six months, and out of those six months, you had visited him at least once every month. The duration of your trip would vary, sometimes you would stay only a few hours, with most of your time spent in his hut while sharing stories of the outside and his progress. Other times, you'd stay for days, with the longest stay being a week and a half. In those cases, he would show you the surroundings, the forest that surrounded the back of his hut or take you on a long walk alongside the river that crossed his home. Sometimes you'd sit outside and stare at the stars, your only company being the animals and the flora. 

He also came to hate every time you would leave, feeling like a part of himself was leaving with you.  

One of his hands landed on the side of your hips, the other searching for your face.Your grip on him grew tighter once his fingers brushed the skin on your face but you eventually let go, allowing his hand to guide you slightly away from him.  

"What happened?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.  

You didn’t respond, but one look into your eyes, and he knew the answer. Whatever it was, it had affected you to the core, the broken look in your eyes could only be compared to the one he saw every time he looked at his reflection in the mirror.  

His forehead rested on yours, both your eyes closing at the contact.  

"It’s ok. I got you."  

His hand found yours as he guided you toward his bed. It wasn’t until then that he noticed you still had your tactical gear on, dirt and crystals still hiding in some places. He grabbed the buckle of your vest, his eyes asking for permission to get it off. A slight nod gave him the confirmation, beginning the process of somewhat freeing you of the events you had seen. He got rid of his own garments too, leaving you both standing in front of yourselves with only underwear covering you. He dragged you into bed, your frames covered by the light white sheets on his bed. 

Not many times had he allowed himself to think of you in a sexual manner, knowing how his body would react in a lustful way. But as he found himself looking at you with barely any clothes on, the desire was left on the back burner of his brain. You needed him. You needed his comfort, and he was more than willing to give it to you.  

He would give you anything you asked for.  

His hand rested on your face, tracing circles across your cheek, your eyes closed at the soothing action.  

"I’m sorry." Your voice trembled. He could see you wanted to say more, but words failed to come out of your mouth  

Bucky’s heart ached. He had never seen you in such a vulnerable state, and his mind was going cray at the thought of not being able to do anything to help you.  

"It’s ok, sunshine. You don’t have to talk about it."  

So you lay there, head against his chest, as he kept you between his arms, with nothing other than the sound of the crickets outside his hut surrounding you. And for the first time in a long time, you felt what being loved felt like.  

That night, you kissed him for the first time. You didn’t stop, not even the next morning when he woke you up with breakfast already made and a cup of lavender tea. 

 Now  

"Bring him to the table!" you yelled.  

Your hand swept across the surface, knocking over every piece of paper, pencil, and piece of equipment. The vibrations of the heavier objects on the concrete floors matched the beating of your heart.  

Bucky dropped Sam on the table. The man had gone unconscious on the ride to the safe house, the bullet wound that oozed liquid crimson was most likely the cause.The same crimson color now stains Bucky's clothes, and his leather gloves were also covered in a thin layer of it.  

You brought your knife to slash through his clothes, the sharp metal cutting through them as if they were butter. The hole on his shoulder seemed to have no exit, the bullet was still inside him. You were glad Sam wasn’t conscious for the next hour.  

The super soldier hovered over you for the entirety of the time you spent cleaning through the fragments that splintered from the bullet. Everything went relatively well until Sam started waking up, his body contorting in pain as you dug through his wound. Bucky brought him a bottle of vodka while you injected him with some local anesthesia.  

Hours later, the wounded man was now resting on the only bed the safehouse had, his breathing bringing great comfort as it meant he was still alive. After half a bottle of vodka and a some painkillers diluted on his IV, you were sure he wouldn’t wake up until tomorrow.  

The faucet sprayed cold water onto your palms. Your nails desperately tried to scrape away the traces of blood that still lingered in your skin, leaving red marks all across your knuckles. Dirt and dried blood were trapped underneath your fingernails, and no matter how much you tried to dig it out, it would stay right there.  

Bucky’s footsteps brought you out of your trance, the heavy sound of his combat boots felt deafening with each step he took. You tried to tune him out, focusing once again on the sound of water, but it seemed as if Bucky had made it his purpose to be as loud as possible. You held onto the sink so strongly that you were sure it would snap.  

A deep rage came from your stomach, spreading all over your body. The anger constricted your chest in such a way that you weren’t sure if somehow you were buried under a collapsed building, its weight invisibly crushing you.  

It was his fault. It was all his fault.  

You didn’t remember walking outside the bathroom, nor did you remember walking up to him and slapping away the cup of water his hand held.  

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you barked at him.  

"I—"  

"I gave you one task. You had to wait until I gave you the signal so you could come in. Not guns blazing, not punching everyone that comes your way, not drawing everyone's attention to us. Your only fucking job was to wait for the distributor to show up and wait for my goddamn signal."  

"What did you want me to do? Just stand there and do nothing?" he argued.  

You were taken aback by his response. Part of you expected him to just let you scream at him and give you the same soft eyes he always gave you when you spoke to him.You weren't expecting him to snap back at you or to defend himself. 

Maybe if things hadn’t gone sour between you two, you would’ve listened to what he said, and in return, he would’ve listened to you. But the anger was too strong to be subdued.  

"I wanted you to follow the fucking plan."  

"He was about to torture you!"  

Bucky's thoughts returned to the old factory turned whorehouse.The way you had purposefully gotten caught and how they had tied you to an exposed pipe line. He could still hear the sound of the man’s hand smashing against your cheek.  

"I can handle myself! I told you guys to stay put until the distributor was there. He knows I’m after him, and this was our only chance to catch him. And now he’s god knows where and Sam got fucking shot."  

A heartbeat passed before Bucky came close to your face. His big frame towered over you, and his breathing hit your face.  

"You’re fucking delusional if you think I was just going to let anything happen to you."  

You scoffed, "Oh, so now you care?"  

"I’ve always cared."  

You pulled away from him, your eyes rolling at his pathetic words.  

"Sure."  

Perhaps it was the fact that you had been in danger no longer than a couple of hours ago, or maybe it was the heat of the fight that had left some residues on him. Whatever it was, it made Bucky courageous enough to reach for your arm.  

"Look at me."  

You swatted him away.  

"Don’t fucking touch me."  

But this time he wasn't going down without a fight.Not again.  

"I know I was an asshole at the end of our relationship, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care for you anymore."  

A bitter laugh came out of you. All of this had to be some sick joke. "When you care about someone, you don’t treat them like that. You didn’t care about me, and you sure as hell didn’t love me."  

His hand tried to touch you again, and this time you let him. You were tired. Tired of fighting with him. You closed your eyes as soon as his skin came in contact with yours, his touch consuming all of your senses.  

You opened your eyes to find him staring back at you, the blue eyes that once hurt you shining the same way they did the first time you kissed him.  

"I did love you," he whispered into your lips. "I still do."  

His words burned you like someone had branded you with hot iron in the chest.Even after all this time, he could still hurt you, Why couldn’t he just leave you alone? Why did he have to bring back the past you so fiercely tried to leave behind?  

"Don’t." Your lower lip quivered. "Y-you can't just break my heart and then come back into my life and just say you still love me."  

"I never stopped loving you."  

Those five words were all it took to tear down what little control you had over yourself. A year ago it would've broken you to hear them but now they only brought a deep sense of indignation. 

With a quick move, you pulled his hand away from you, your hands pushing against his chest until he hit the wall. You wanted him to hurt. You wanted to carve his heart out of his ribcage and throw it far away, maybe then he would understand what it felt like.  

"Where was your love when I needed it, huh? Where was your love when I had no one else? Where was your love when I reached for you every night but you were already gone? Where was your love when I begged you to love me, to be there for me?" Your hands were clutching his jacket, and your vision was blurred by tears."Where the fuck was your love when you brought that girl to your apartment?"  

Bucky never saw you like this, not even when he stomped on your heart with his indifference. Under the anger, the hate, and the surface indifference you showed him, he could see how broken you were. He could see how you were constantly struggling to put the pieces of yourself back together that he had torn apart. 

He hated himself for extinguishing parts of you. 

"I’m sorry."  

A lapse of judgment.  

That’s what you would tell anyone who asked you why you kissed Bucky that night. You would say that you had been blinded by the pure rage his mere presence would bring you. Or perhaps you would take the easy route and you would say that with everything that happened that night, almost being tortured and Sam getting hurt, you had acted in a primitive instict of searching comfort.  

The truth was different. You could lie to yourself and say that you didn’t needed Bucky, not after all the things he had done. You lied to yourself constantly when you told yourself you were over him. You also lied to yourself when you claimed that your one-night stands had fulfilled you in the same way that Bucky had. 

You couldn’t feel anything, not ever since you walked out of his apartment. You had tried different people, different cities. You had tried different alcohols and different drugs. You had tried anything that could help you fill the emptiness that had found a permanent home inside you. You felt nothing, not until you saw those cerulean eyes again.  

Your kiss was aggressive, your lips smashing against his with strength and your hands finding their place in the back of his head. It took a second for Bucky to kiss you back as he thought his mind was playing tricks with him. But after you pressed yourself against his chest, his body reacted on muscle memory alone, his arms surrounding your waist.  

It wasn’t what you expected, though. You thought that the specks of love that remained between you would be enough to bring back whatever it was that you were missing. Instead, you were met with the most intense hatred you've ever felt, mixed with the melancholy of what could've been. 

He tasted like the past, but he still hurt like the present.  

So you made a decision.If you couldn't bring yourself to love Bucky Barnes anymore, you would hate him with all that remained of your soul. You would hate him until both of you burned in the flames of your agony. You'd despise him until you'd ripped every part that matched the ones he'd so easily broken. 

"I hate you," you whispered between kisses. "I fucking hate you."  

Your words were daggers to his heart. His chest tightened, and his grip on you faltered for a second before he snapped out of it. This wasn’t about him. If you needed to tell him how much you despised him, he would gladly let you kill him with your words. It was the least you deserved.  

"I know," he mumbled against your lips.  

He felt your body guiding him through the room until the back of his legs hit against the couch where he would sleep. Your hands pushed against his chest, making him sit on the couch while you straddled his lap.  

Clothes flew across the room, and you found yourself tearing his shirt apart in two while he only pulled yours off.You'd worry about that later; right now, nothing was more important than feeling your skin against his. 

Your hands traveled over his chest, fingers grazing every part of his abdomen as you trailed down to his zipper. You palmed him over his jeans, his cock already hard, and you felt it twitch against the fabric with every touch you gave him. Groans left Bucky’s lips.  

"I hate you," you repeated as a mantra.  

He shouldn’t make you feel this way, but as you see his head going back when your hand opened his fly and found it’s place around his cock you felt your own desire pooling in your lower belly and the aching in your core became unbearable.  

With swift movements, Bucky got rid of his pants and his underwear while you remained on top of him. With your frame still covered by a black lace bra and your black tactical pants on, he couldn't help but feel exposed when he looked at you.Deciding he didn’t wanted to be the only one naked his hands went to the side of your hips in efforts to get you rid of the fabric but your hand swatted him away.  

Beg me, your eyes said.  

For a moment, he considered tearing your pants apart the same way you had done with his shirt. However, the seriousness behind your eyes warned him that he might end things too soon if his stubbornness got in the way. So he gave in.  

"Please, Sunshine." His hands gripped your waist, his hips grinding against your still-wrapped core, sending shivers down your spine."Please, let me see you."  

You relented, unbuttoning your pants and throwing them away with your panties. In what were the longest seconds of Bucky’s life, you unclasped your bra, finally getting rid of the last barrier your body held on to.  

You stood there, completely naked, staring at Bucky.He remembered the way your breasts felt when he held them. He remembered how soft your skin was. He remembered that if he bit on the skin of your neck, right where the jugular is, you would clench around him. He remembered. In the lonely nights when he needed some release, he would close his eyes and imagine your lips around his cock as he fisted himself in the solitude of his apartment. 

All those memories didn’t compare to watching you in the flesh, with hungry, hateful eyes on him as you walked back to straddle him again.  

His cock twitched once your legs fell to his sides, the heat of your body settling on his crotch. You sat on top of him, your wetness welcoming him once you lowered yourself. His length placed itself right between your lips, and a groan left him.  

"Fuck."  

Your hips began rocking in slow but sharp motions as he felt his cock coated with your slick. Slowly, you built up a rhythm that made both of you moan. His hands landed again on your hips, his fingers pressing on your skin in a way that was certain to leave bruises the next day. Your own hands gripped on Bucky’s biceps for stability, and you squeezed them every time you would feel him brushing against your clit.  

You felt amazing on top of him, but that wasn’t what made his heart pound against his chest.  

It was your eyes. Your eyes never left him, no matter how much pleasure you were pulling from both of you and how badly you wanted to roll your eyes as the coil inside of you tightened. Your eyes, which once showed him what love could look like, now looked at him with a simmering hatred he could not shake.  

His chest tightened at the thought of never seeing them again. The electricity that ran through his body was replaced by a deep sense of hopelessness, and the more he kept his gaze on you, the more it amplified. You must’ve sensed the change in him because your movements stopped.  

Broken eyes now stared at you with the ghost of tears in them. The anger that had driven your actions and your thoughts through all this had now subsided, allowing itself to mix with melancholy.   

I love you. I’m sorry. I miss you. His eyes said.  

I hate you. I’ll never forgive you. I wish I never met you. Yours answered.  

And in the middle of the lust that was taking place right on the couch, both of your hearts broke again.  

You pulled him back for a kiss that tasted of desperation and sorrow as tears fell from both your eyes. The saltiness of the tears bled into the kiss and mixed with it.Quickly, your hand guided his tip to your entrance. You needed him inside you like a person lost in the desert needs water. You craved him with every cell in your body, and it tore your heart apart.  

"So tight." He moaned in your mouth as you sank into him.  

The stretch of his length burned as you forced yourself to take him fully. It hurt, and even with your arousal completely covering him, you weren't prepared to take his thick length.You didn’t care though, you hoped it would make you forget your heartbreak. Bucky tried to stop you as he felt you struggling to take him in. His hands held your waist, but you shook your head before you started bouncing on him.  

You didn’t want love from him. You didn’t want tenderness or care. You wanted roughness. You wanted strength and aggressiveness until the only thing you could feel was the ache between your legs.  

The super soldier gave you what you wanted.  

Bucky’s pace was brutal, his cock hitting the sweet spot only he could reach. The sound of his hips colliding with yours filled the room, bouncing off the walls and echoing through the hallway outside.In the back of his mind, Bucky was thankful Sam was knocked out with meds so he could be spared from the obscene orchestra your bodies played.  

The pain quickly turned into pleasure. Your walls hugged him tightly, each thrust carried a strength that left you breathless. At some point your legs had given in, the only reason why you kept bouncing was the snap of his hips pushing you. He didn’t let go of you though, instead he pushed you against his chest in an embrace that surrounded you tightly.  

Your head rested against his while your hands stayed on his chest. The sadness that mixed with the pleasure numbed everything else except for the bubbling up of your release. It pained you to admit that no one else could make you feel like Bucky, you had tried to find someone who could replicate what his touch could do for you, but no one ever came close.  

You hated how much you missed him and how much you needed him.  

"I wish you would’ve stayed dead." you panted. The poison behind your words shredded his heart. He knew you were saying it to hurt him, he knew you didn’t mean it, but the conviction behind it felt like a kick in the chest. "I wish we never brought you back."  

"Me too." he finally admitted.  

Bucky felt your walls constrict around him, and he could tell you were close. He drew you in for one last kiss, the kind that took your breath away. The type of kiss that was a solace in a world of agony. The type of kiss that meant a promise that carried forever.  

You tightened around him as you came, and his thrusts slowed down as he rode you through your high. As you closed your eyes, more tears fell from the corners, so he reached out to wipe them away.Once you had recovered a little, his brutal pace came back, this time chasing his own release. You brought your lips to kiss his neck, feathery, soft kisses, and he felt his balls tightening. He was so close.  

He tried to pull out so he could fist himself to the end but you didn’t budge, instead whispering in his ear.  

"Inside."  

He came harder than he had done in the last year. You felt his cock twitching inside as he covered your walls with his cum, the mess between your release and his own dripping out of you. You kept bouncing on top of him, making sure to return the favor by guiding him all the way through the end.  

You stood up, the feeling of emptiness making you shudder when his cock left you, and his cum started leaking out of you. You turned to go find something to clean yourself up, but his metal hand stopped you. He guided you back to the couch before he walked towards the bathroom. A few minutes later, he came back with a towel, and he positioned himself right between your legs.  

He cleaned you up just like he had done for so many years before.His other hand caressed your thigh as he made sure to wipe everything. And just as he always did for years, once he finished, he kissed your inner thigh, a couple of inches away from your pussy.  

Bucky threw the towel to the floor, he would worry about it in the morning.As for right now, the only thing he wanted was to hold you close. So he did. He thanked the couch was big enough to fit you both as you layed together. He pulled the blanket he used to warm himself every night over you, and his arm surrounded your waist, his grip making your back settle against his front. His left hand traced lazy circles over your stomach while the other was used as your pillow.  

For a few seconds, both of you allowed yourselves to reminisce in the past. He kissed the top of your head as you snuggled against him like you usually did. And as you felt his warmth behind you and inhaled his scent, everything seemed to be alright once again.  

Except they weren’t. Bucky wasn’t the man who made you feel secure anymore, and you weren’t the woman who trusted him with all her heart. Both of them belonged to the past.  

"I don’t love you anymore. I will never love you again." you broke the silence.  

Bucky held you tighter as his heart broke once again.  

"I don’t deserve your love." He whispered. "But I’ll still love you forever." 

Then  

Loving Bucky Barnes was never easy.   

It wasn’t all bad, though. For many years you had been together, three and a half to be exact, where you could imagine a life with. Three years where there was no one you trusted more or preferred to be with.Three years that were the happiest of your life.  

Those were a few of the reasons why he had asked you to marry him. And those were also a few of the reasons why you had said yes.  

You had told yourself at the beginning that you couldn’t get attached to him for the safety of your heart. It didn’t matter that his touch felt like home or that during the times you spent apart, his eyes would be the only comfort you would find in your dreams. He would bring more heartbreak than love.  

Oh, how right you had been.  

Unfortunately for you, the heartbreak would come in a way you couldn’t have prevented.  

The snap came and took him away from you. One second he was standing next to you, the next he was turning into dust that flew into the wind. The last thing he had said was your name and after that half the population was gone.  

The years went by in a blur. Between nights filled with drugs and alcohol and days spent cramped up in your apartment, you were wallowing in the type of sadness that the rest of the population could understand. You kept your ring in your finger, it reminding you that what your memories craved for were real.  

Bucky had been real.  

With his departure, he had also taken your heart. 

After a particularly bad night where you crashed your vehicle into a contention bar, Tony had taken it upon himself to help you, offering you a home close to his secluded one. You took it, not because you wanted to get better but because you wanted solitude. But if life had taught you anything about Tony Stark, it was that he was as stubborn as they come.  

Every morning he would bring you breakfast along with a visit from a certain little baby that always wanted to be held by you, and sometimes she would be able to bring a small smile to your face. With time, the little baby turned into a little girl that would ask for a sleepover every once in a while, and you would gladly accept the offer to allow Tony and Pepper a night alone.  

Things got better. You visited Steve and Natasha at the compound and even allowed yourself to go in missions of your own, as it turned out not even The Snap could make criminals take a break. You even went to one of Steve’s depressing support group meetings, never returning for the next one.  

You couldn’t be strong all the time, though. Some nights, when the pain was so strong that it drowned you and the grief was too powerful to keep at bay, you would find yourself staring at the hundreds of pictures you had taken of him. Most of them were of you together, but there were a few you took when he wasn’t looking. The sunset behind him as he breathed in the clean air of Wakanda, or the small smile on his face as he tasted the food he cooked for you both.Even when he was reading some of the books he kept under his bed and a few wrinkles would show on his forehead as his whole focus remained in the text, he always looked beautiful.  

With time, everything felt like a routine. Waking up alone, eating alone, going outside alone. Sleeping alone. Everything seemed to be stable, not good or bad, but just stable. You were sure this was the best you could do, or at least the best it could get.  

That is, until a ray of hope appeared. 

Time travel was the answer. Taken as a whole, it seemed like something out of a science fiction film, but it made sense.Bring the stones back and along with them everyone that had died. Surprisingly, it had worked, everyone that had been snapped away came back just as they had left. It should have been a moment of joy. It should've.  

The thing about hope is that it comes with a price. Natasha and Tony were the price to pay.  

Steve left shortly after.  

You understood him. You understood why he left everything and everyone behind to go live a life with the woman he had always loved. You would be a liar if you said you wouldn’t have done the same if you were in his position. You understood why he did it but it still hurt to know you weren’t enough of a reason to stay and live a life together.  

It seemed like you were on a streak of losing people. Wherever you turned, more people kept leaving your life. Wanda was gone, turned into the madness that grief could bring. Thor left to save other planets that needed him. Bruce... well, you weren’t sure where Bruce was, but he didn’t try to contact you.   

Everyone was gone but Sam and Bucky.  

Bucky. Your Bucky. The man you had spent the past five years crying for. The man who made you the happiest you'd ever felt.The man who felt like home.  

But he wasn't your Bucky any longer. 

This Bucky didn’t kiss you with the same tenderness he did so many years ago. Instead, he'd barely move his lips once yours touched his in what you'd call a mediocre peck.He also never initiated a kiss, it was you who always reached out for him.  

This Bucky didn’t held you at night. Instead, he'd turn around, his back to you, and even if you reached for him between dreams, he'd guide your hand back to your side of the bed.Some nights, he would even choose to sleep on the floor of the living room when he thought you were asleep. It was as if the thought of touching you seemed appalling to him.  

This Bucky never hugged you. 

This Bucky never talked to you with love  only with annoyance and indifference.  

This Bucky never woke you up with breakfast.  

This Bucky never tried to sleep with you.  

This Bucky never said I love you.  

Because this Bucky didn’t love you.  

But you held hope, foolishly. Every day you tried to talk to him, show him in every possible way that you were still here with him. Every day you tried to make things better between you, you poured your heart and soul to try to fix what you didn’t even know was broken.  

Things got worse a couple of months later.   

As it turned out, time had taken a toll on Steve’s body, and one night he went to bed and never woke up. You found it a bit ironic the man out of time had finally run out of time.  

His funeral was held on a sunny spring afternoon. People from all over the world showed up to say their final goodbyes to the man who had saved the world so many times. Friends, people he had saved, and heroes paid their respects to him. The first super soldier had finally been put to rest.  

After everyone had cleared out, you went back to drop one last token for his departure. It was a picture of the both of you. Steve’s arm hung over your shoulders while both of you held a couple of beers. It had been the first time you had seen Steve outside of work related situations. That was the beginning of your friendship.  

As you got back to his tombstone, you saw Bucky standing in front of it. His eyes were void of any expression, and he didn’t seem to be talking to Steve’s grave either. Bucky was just there, staring at the place where his best friend was buried.  

He didn’t seem to notice when you stood next to him, nothing in his body gave any signs of acknowledgement. You gave him a couple of minutes before you reached for his hand. You knew that, even if he didn’t show it, he was in great pain. He had lost his last connection to the life he had once lived.  

You wanted to be there to help him through his pain.  

The contact only lasted a few seconds. Your touch surprised him, as he had jolted once your skin grazed his own. He turned his head to the side to give you a glare that you’ve never seen before. His eyes had been filled with pain, as you guessed, but they also carried hatred and disdain. He must’ve seen your expression, because a second later his eyes changed to a neutral expression.  

"What are you doing here?" he muttered.  

The shock of his stare lingered in you for a moment, but you quickly returned to yourself, a friendly smile on your face."I came to leave a little parting gift."  

He hummed in acknowledgement, not sparing another glance at you as you put the photograph against the headstone, right in between the dozens of flowers that decorated it. Both of you stayed silent after that, the sounds of the birds and the faint rumbling of cars were the only sounds keeping you company. It was peaceful. It was good. Just the two of you enjoying a moment's calmness in silence. 

For a few moments, you felt comfortable next to him. The first time in months since he came back. But good moments like that never lasted long.  

Without notice, he turned around. Long, desperate strides guided him towards the exit of the graveyard. He wanted to create distance between you and him, find somewhere that was as far away from you as he could be. You felt how you were losing him.  

But you fought for him, even when he seemed to not deserve it.  

"Bucky." You called for him. He stopped in his tracks, but he didn’t turn around, so you took that as a sign to keep going. "I know you’re hurting right now, I am too, but I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you."  

He didn’t answer for a few seconds, and you thought you had made a breakthrough. Maybe this was the time when things went uphill. This was the little push he needed to start healing and perhaps to try to rebuild the bridges that had burned. This was the little thread of hope you'd hung up on.  

You were wrong.  

"You have no idea how I feel," he said before leaving.  

That night you came back to your cabin, and Bucky’s things were gone. The only thing left was a note that rested in the middle of the bed.  

I found an apartment in the city. I need space.  

You didn’t see him for a couple of months after that. You considered tracking him down but ultimately gave up as he had asked for space. He needed time on his own, and you could give it to him. You would give him anything he asked for.  

You kept your word until Strange came to visit you, announcing news about Wanda. She was dead.  

You barely remembered tracking down his address or making your way there. It wasn’t until you were facing his door that you realized what you had done. He asked for space but in that moment, you couldn’t give it to him. You needed your Bucky.  

Knock, knock, knock.  

It was late in the night, and you could hear the TV going on in the living room. He had to be home. After a few minutes without an answer, you knocked again, but the only thing that welcomed you was silence.  

"Bucky," you called. Your voice was broken, you tried to fight the tears away, but saying his name broke what little self-control you had left. "Please open the door."  

You rested your forehead against the door, finally allowing yourself to feel everything you had been pushing back ever since the fight with Thanos. Pain, grief, loneliness, hatred, sadness, despair. A cocktail of emotions ran through you in an overwhelming way and seemed to want to drown you.  

"I know you’re in there." You cried. The tears that ran down your face landed on the floor. "I just— I know I said I could be strong for the both of us, but... I need you."  

You knocked on the door again, this time with the side of your fist. The desperate sound of your knocking bounced through the walls of the deserted hallway.  

"Please Bucky, please open the door. Wanda is dead." Your own cries stopped you from talking, the hole in your chest seemed to get bigger and bigger with each passing second. "Nat, Tony, Steve, Wanda. All of them are dead, and I—I can’t. I can’t keep losing people. I can’t lose you."  

You couldn’t do this alone, not anymore. Your heart couldn’t take it anymore.  

"I love you. God, I love you so much. I know you want space, but right now I need your love, Bucky. I need you to love me like you used to. Please love me." You begged.  

And you waited. You waited for what seemed like hours, but it probably was just thirty minutes until you accepted he wasn’t coming out.  

 You left with half a heart that night.  

Two weeks later, you came back to his apartment, ready to demand an explanation. Your love for him was strong, but you needed him to talk to you. You were ready to fight for your future. You were ready to fight for your love.  

"Bucky!" you yelled as you knocked aggressively. "Bucky, open the fucking door!"  

The door didn’t take long to open. It surprised you, your confidence and anger faltered for a second. This was a sign, perhaps it was him being ready to fight for you too. This was him showing you he still loved you.  

Except the person who opened the door wasn’t Bucky.  

It was a girl. A short brunette that was covered by Bucky’s black T-shirt and nothing more.  

"Hi."  

You wanted to scream. You wanted to burst into tears. You wanted to burn the world and leave everything behind. You wanted to die. But the only thing you could do was stay there and stare at the girl.  

"Umm, Bucky is not here." She said awkwardly, your intense stared made her uncomfortable.  

"Do you know where he is?" You questioned her. The words came out rougher than you intended, but as the heartbreak and despair set in, you couldn't care less. 

"No. I, um, when I woke up he was already gone." She pulled the hem of the t-shirt down in an effort to convey her nervousness, but it only infuriated you more. "Are you a friend of his?"  

You wanted to laugh. God, this couldn’t be happening.  

"Yeah, of sorts."  

"I can let you in so we can wait for him, but I have to leave in like twenty minutes."  

"You can’t call him?" you asked, bitterly. You knew Bucky had gotten a new phone but he never gave you his number.  

Her face blushed before she answered. "No, uh. We met last night, and he didn’t give me his number.  

"Oh."  

You didn’t know what would be worse, if he had seen this girl ever since he left your cabin or the fact that he had a one night stand with a random girl. It didn’t matter, though, Bucky Barnes had crushed your heart.  

The girl, whose name was Clara, kept her word, leaving minutes later as she had to go to work. She seemed like a nice girl who had no idea the man she had slept with was engaged. And perhaps in another world you would’ve been nicer to her if your heart hadn’t collapsed in on itself when she opened the door. Maybe she was a little naïve, as she let you stay inside the apartment so you could wait on Bucky. She had also asked you to give him her number, the digits scribbled on a piece of paper.  

You broke down the moment she closed the door behind her. You thought of trashing the place, breaking every piece of furniture he owned, and burning all his clothes in a pit in the middle of his living room. You imagined yourself hurling the stupid leather jacket he seemed to be fond of lately.You also thought about settling for burning everything to the crisp, wanting to see the look on his eyes once he saw his apartment consumed by flames.  

You didn’t do any of those things, though; instead, you waited. This time, hours actually went by, the once bright morning turned into the darkness of the night, and you never moved from your spot on the couch, not even to turn on the lights.  

Bucky came back to his apartment around 11 p.m. When he noticed the apartments' lack of lightning, he felt relieved not to have to deal with the girl he had taken home the night before. By the looks of it, she left a while ago.  

He turned on the light before taking of his jacket, placing it on the coat hanger next to the door.As he walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water, he tossed his keys on the counter.He had to change the sheets on his bed and do laundry tomorrow. The glass was half full when a voice behind him spoke.  

"You have a nice place here."  

The glass dropped from his hands into the kitchen sink. His head snapped quickly towards you, finding you seated in the middle of his couch. He turned off the sink, before making his way toward you. You couldn’t be here, not today of all days.  

"How the hell did you get in here?" he barked.  

He didn’t mean it like that, not in the way it sounded. He wasn’t angry at you being inside his apartment, he was scared. Scared that you had arrived at the wrong time and seen something you weren’t meant to see.  

He finally stood in front of you and saw it. Your nose was slightly puffy and red, like you had been crying for some time. Your shoulders were slumped, defeat washing over your posture. But the thing that hurt the most to see was the pain behind your eyes. It wasn’t the normal type of pain of loss or grief as you had experienced these past months. No, it was something else.  

It was the pain of heartbreak and betrayal.  

It couldn’t be.  

You couldn't have been here when she was still in his house. There was no way, life could not hate him this way. It had to be something else that broke your heart, he had hurt you many times this past couple of months, and today was probably the day it all crashed down. It had to be that.  

"Clara let me in."  

No.  

"Nice girl, she left her number for you."  

You knew, you had seen the girl who was apparently named Clara, he didn’t really remember it. Bucky knew he had to do something, anything that could save your relationship. Perhaps if he begged you not to leave him, to let him explain everything that had been going on with him, and if he spent the rest of his days making it up to you, then you would stay. Maybe you could forgive him.  

He didn’t do any of that, though. The same thoughtless attitude washed over him like it had done ever since he came back. It was as if his brain forced him to act this way in order to protect his own heart in the long run. 

Instead of doing everything he could to fix this, he shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest.  

"How long?" you asked. Bucky could see your eyes watering as you tried to keep yourself together. He hated himself. "How long have you been cheating on me?"  

His mouth answered without his permission.  

"Does it even matter?"  

Maybe he was right. Maybe it the answer wouldn’t change the way you were feeling; if anything, it was bound to hurt you more. But a part of you wanted to know the truth, to extinguish the other half of your heart.  

You didn’t budge, so Bucky finally answered, not before rolling his eyes. "She’s the only one. I met her yesterday in a bar. "He shrugged. "It just happened."  

You knew the answer, yet it still hit you with the force of a thousand bricks. He admitted it. He fucking admitted it and he didn’t even show a single morsel of remorse. There weren't any apologies or begs, no promises, or big romantic and sorrowful speeches. You could feel your own love being smothered, the flames that had once brought so much warmth to your soul were replaced by cold and emptiness.  

Bucky Barnes didn’t love you anymore. 

Now  

Bruises covered your body as well as new injuries that would probably give you more scars. Dirt and blood slid down the drain, exhaustion settling in as your muscles relaxed. The droplets of water fell against your body, washing away everything that had happened today.  

You found the intel, you knew every single name of everyone involved with the heinous experiments you were chasing.  

You had almost died, one of the guys Bucky and you had cornered, had a bomb attached to his chest. You tried to stop him, your gun pointing at his head, but you were too slow. The explosion shook the entire structure, causing a chain collapse of the floors around you. 

Bucky had jumped to protect you, his body acting as a human shield, deflecting some of the impact.His flesh arm had a large metal piece embedded in it, as well as some burns on his back. The explosion had knocked you both out of the air, and the resulting wave had thrown you both across the room. 

As you tried to shake away the confusion and the ringing from your ears, you felt his hand find its place along your face and travel to your stomach. As he scanned you, blue eyes looked at you with fogginess but also deep concern. 

"You ok?" he had whispered.  

You nodded, but your mind was still fuzzy, perhaps you had hit your head, but you couldn’t remember much.  

But you remembered the desperation. You remembered everything crumbling apart as you tried to make your way to the exit. You remembered Sam’s voice screaming through your earpieces to get the fuck out of there. You remembered Bucky's hand always keeping you safe, guiding you through the clouds of cement and smoke.  

You also remembered how Bucky’s steps faltered before collapsing. Neither of you had noticed he had a second piece of metal scrap buried between his ribs. If he had removed it, his enhanced healing would have taken care of it, but the extenuating movements had caused damage to his lungs, bleeding, and a lack of oxygen, causing him to pass out. 

You remembered screaming for Sam’s help, begging him to help you save Bucky. You remembered the tears falling from your eyes as you tried to pull Bucky to safety, begging him not to die, begging him to wake up. You remembered the fire catching up to you, it’s warmth burning your skin. You wanted to kill Bucky, you would be happy if you never seen his face again, dance on top of his grave as you celebrated the end of his existance.  

Then why were you fighting so hard to save him?  

"Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. You can’t do this to me!"  

"Bucky wake the fuck up!"  

"Please! I can’t lose you like this!"  

Fortunately, Sam came for you, him and all his Captain America glory had saved both of you, his wings protecting all three of you as you carried Bucky outside. You had barely gone a few steps ahead when the building finally set one last explosion, ending with everything on it's way.All three of you landed on the floor with a thud as the shock wave reached you.  

You focused your attention on Bucky's wound, which was already healing, but his lack of response worried you.His breathing was barely existent, and his heartbeat was decreasing. You had straddled his lap and began performing CPR on him while asking Sam to go fetch the adrenaline shot you stored in the vehicle. You had punctured Bucky's chest with it, and after a few seconds, he had woken up.  

You remembered clinging to him as he tried to sit straight, the desperation finally gone from your body.  

The body behind you wrapped his hands along your waist, pulling you out of your memories and spreading the soap he had covered you with. Bucky's fingers traced all the way down your body, removing every trace of stress. 

After everything happened, Sam told you to go back to the safehouse while he met with Joaquin to try and start locating people with the intel you had gathered. You thought about fighting him, but one look at Bucky and any fight you had left was done.  

A knowing look from Sam told you this wasn’t just to let both of you rest and get cleaned up. It was a second chance.  A second chance at the talk you had avoided to had with Bucky ever since that night you slept together.  

You drove back to the safehouse, and once you had gotten inside, everything crumbled apart inside of you. As you reached out to Bucky, your tears had fallen, your hand lingering in his fleshy arm, right where his wound was.His hand cupped your face, his thumb tracing the stream of blood that fell from your eyebrow. In the silence of the room, no words were exchanged, but both your hearts understood.  

Just for today, you would allow yourselves to comfort each other.  

His lips peppered kisses along your shoulder as he cleaned you, his lips sometimes finding your neck or your lips when you would press yourself against him. As you spread the shampoo over his head, your fingers massaged his scalp with the tenderness he had missed, his eyes closing every time you hit the right spot. 

After drying yourselves and changing into new clothes, you both layed on the bed, covered over the head with the thin white sheet you had. You faced each other, blue eyes meeting yours. Your fingers found his face as you traced along every crevice and line you hadn’t seen before. Bucky appeared to have aged years in the time you hadn't seen him, but he remained as beautiful as ever. 

Your heart ached in your chest, and you couldn’t fight it anymore. You had denied yourself the other feelings that remained inside of you other than hate and betrayal, but today, as death seemed to call for both of you, it was clear you didn’t want Bucky Barnes to die. A part of you hated him so deeply you weren’t sure you would be able to stop, but no matter how strong the hatred was, you were sure a part of you still loved him.  

However, that part of you was broken. Battered and bruised to death by his own doing but it was still there. It was locked inside the thousand-foot wall you had built around it to keep it safe. Refusing to ask questions, refusing to talk to him, and refusing to admit the pain you were in. But in doing so you hadn’t given yourself the opportunity to heal. To move on.  

So you allowed yourself to feel and to talk. For both your sake and his. 

"Why did you do it?" you broke the silence. His breathing faltered as your hand retracted back to your side. "Why did you hurt me like that?"  

Bucky struggled to find the right words. You were asking him the same question he had asked himself for many, many nights. He asked himself that question when he wouldn’t reach for you at night. He asked himself that question when he didn’t open the door for you.  

He asked himself that question when you walked out of his life.  

You deserved the truth. The whole, unapologetic, heartfelt truth. So he gave it to you.  

"The first time I came back to myself, after fighting Steve in the helicarrier, I realized the world had moved on without me. My plans, my family, and the people I knew were all left in the past. They all moved on without me, everyone was gone except for Steve. I had a plan, after the war I would go back and find myself a beautiful girl to marry." A sad smile posed on his lips as he reminisced. "I wanted the white picket fence and three kids package. Cookouts with my family and friends while I was still a war hero. But all of that was gone the moment I woke up in a time that wasn’t mine. My dreams were gone."  

He paused before reaching for your face, his eyes closing before opening again, tears streaming down his cheeks."Ever since I woke up, I was a man drifting in a time that wasn’t mine, in a life that wasn’t mine. I didn’t have any dreams, or aspirations other than to survive and perhaps discover the truth. Nothing made sense to me, not until I met you." His thumb wiped away the tears you didn’t know they were falling. "You were the very first person, aside from Steve, that was kind to me. You talked to me, listened to what I had to say. You showed me what this new world was about, how to survive in it, and above all, you never doubted my innocence. It wasn’t because you knew me like Steve did, or because he had asked you as a favor. You were my friend, the very first I made when I was lost. And along the way, you turned into more, you were my new dream. I fell in love with you, and suddenly it didn’t matter that I wasn’t supposed to be here, or what it could’ve been because with you, I finally felt like I belonged somewhere."  

A sob escaped you, his words burning your heart, branding them with the love you once felt for him. The heartbreak and the pain came once again, but it felt different. It was comforting in a way that scared you, terrified you. You knew he had loved you once, but you had stored those memories far away where they couldn’t hurt you. Because it was easier to tell yourself that Bucky had never actually loved you than to think he had loved you and had still betrayed you.  

"But no matter how much time passed or how loved or comfortable I felt, I was still scared. I was terrified. Terrified of the same thing happening again. Every day, I'd tell myself, 'Something is going to happen, something is going to take me away from you, and when I come back, another hundred years will have passed.' And it did happen. When Thanos snapped me away, I came back, and to me only seconds had passed, but for you it was five years. Everything had changed again, even you. There was this sadness that seemed to have nested behind your eyes every time you looked at me. And every time I looked at you, I could see how much you had suffered because of me, it was my fault, and I couldn’t do anything about it."  

"It wasn’t your fault." You tried to argue, but his words interrupted you.  

"I felt like it was. I felt like I must’ve had some sort of curse that would always take me away from what made me the happiest, and in return, I would hurt everyone around me with it. I had died once again and the world kept going, once again. And I tried really hard to fight those thoughts, but it was as if a cloud of darkness would whisper to me that I didn't belong here anymore.That everything had changed once again, and it would happen again and again and again until I finally died. And I didn't know what to do; it was as if this voice was drowning me, washing away every ounce of happiness I had left inside me until all that remained was anger and resentment." 

His voice had broken, as had his ability to hold back the tears.He had buried this for so long, too embarrassed to say them aloud, to admit how he had messed up everything because he was afraid.He wasn’t the man who had sworn to protect you against everything, he was a coward. A coward who had let his own fear hurt you in ways he could never fix.  

"I’m sorry. I’m so sorry." Bucky kissed your forehead. "You didn’t deserve any of what I did to you, and I don’t think I could ever forgive myself for doing that. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me, I’m sorry I pushed you away when all you did was trying to help me. I’m sorry I slept with someone else. I'm sorry I messed everything up because the truth is, you have been the best thing that has ever happened to me, past and present, and if I had to go through all of the pain, torture, and heartbreak all over again just to meet you, I would." 

You stayed there in silence for minutes. Neither of you dared say anything else that would break the silence. Both your hearts had been through a lot today, from the threats of death to the realizations of love and pain that had been confessed. But amongst the suffering and the torment, both of your hearts began to heal, and the pieces that had been ripped apart came back to where they belonged.  

You took his hands into yours, your lips kissing his knuckles. "I don’t know if I could ever forgive you for what you did." Bucky’s eyes closed in ache, he knew it was a possibility, but it still hurt to know there was no hope, but your words stopped him from spiraling. "But I would like to try."  

Hope. A tiny silver of hope. 

"Do you think there is a chance for us in the future?"  

You considered it. Your mind and your heart still pulling towards different directions but none of them letting you decide. Would you be willing to risk your heart once again for Bucky Barnes, or has the damage been too great to be fixed and covered? "I don’t know."  

"That’s ok. I'm not going to ask about it again unless you want me to." 

He kissed you one last time. His lips still had a subtle taste of smoke and burned, but above it was something overpowering, something both of you felt as he deepened the kiss. You both tasted redemption and forgiveness. 

Forever 

"Thanks for helping me."  

"Don’t thank me, I’m only doing it for the beer."  

Bucky and you chuckled at his poor attempt at a joke, your footsteps echoing in the half-empty apartment. A couple of seconds later, your mattress landed with a loud thud in your bedroom, making you happy to be finally done. You threw yourself on the bed, Bucky following you close behind, his heaviness bouncing you off. You turned to your side, resting your head on your hand, and he replicated your pose.  

It had been a year and a half since you decided to bring Bucky back into your life, and things had changed dramatically since then.You stopped doing solo missions and moved to New York, where you split your time between assisting Sam and Bucky with their shenanigans and volunteering at the woman's shelter Sam had connected you with. 

In the beginning, it was difficult to adapt to a tamer lifestyle than the one you had lived in the past year, but listening to all those women, the things they had been through, showed you that sometimes the thing people need to start healing is to have someone along the way.  

Bucky and you had become friends, just as you had been when you first met. It took time to get back to the beginning, but soon you found out how much you needed him as a friend, not a lover or a soulmate but just someone with whom you could talk. And, over the course of the many nights you spent talking, forgiveness found its way into your heart.You didn’t forget the past between both of you, but along the way there was understanding and care.  

"How was your date?"  

You shrug. "It was ok, not that great to be honest." 

During this time you had gone on a couple of dates, even went out with a guy for a couple of months, and since you and Bucky were ‘just friends’ you thought it would be uncomfortable to talk to him about them. But he had developed a habit of surprising you, and as it turned out, he was okay with it. When you asked why he was okay with it, his response surprised you. 

"I love you, I’ll always love you. But if you need me as a friend and nothing more, then I’ll be your friend."  

Your heart was still reluctant about him, after all, pain is a thing you can hardly forget. That had been the reason why you had tried to find someone else. Someone who could make you laugh as hard as he did, someone who could make you blush with just a cocky smile, someone who could calm you down and make everything better by simply holding you close at night.Someone who could make you happy. But all of them failed, because they weren’t Bucky Barnes.  

No one ever compared to Bucky Barnes, because after all the lies, heartbreak, and death surrounding you, he was still the only person who felt like home.  

Blue eyes stared at you and all you could feel was your heart racing. He was the man you had once loved and he had betrayed you, but time had mended your heart. The part of you that hated him was gone, and instead the love you felt for him came back, maybe not as strong as it once was but it didn’t matter. Your love was willing to build itself up, your love was willing to let him in one last time.  

"Ask me" you uttered. Your voice was so quiet that you thought he wouldn't hear you, but his puzzled expression told you otherwise. 

"What?"  

Your hand grabbed his, your thumb was drawing circles on his skin.  

"Bucky, ask me."  

Bucky’s heart stopped. A part of him had always told him that you would never want him back, and he couldn't blame you. He had hurt you in so many ways that he could never forgive himself. He had been sure the best he could have from you was friendship, and he had made his peace with it. Having you as only a friend was better than not having you at all.  

But you were giving him an opportunity, and he would be damned if he didn’t take it.  

"Would you—" he paused, clearing his throat.The nervousness inside him erased his ability to speak. "Would you like to go out for dinner? As in a date?"  

You made it seem as if you were thinking about it, but he didn’t worry about it. He knew your answer already.  

"Yeah, I guess I can make time for one date."  

You smiled. You gave him your biggest, most genuine smile in a long time.He smiled too.  

Loving Bucky Barnes hadn’t been easy. But as you both lay in your beds, his hands caressing your face and new hope brewing between you, your heart told you that this time would be different. 

He wasn't the same tormented man from another time you'd fallen in love with, and you weren't the same broken but hopeful girl he'd loved with all his heart.You both had hurt each other, but you had also grown, both of you in your own ways, and yet destiny had brought you back together.  

This time, neither of you was scared. 

This time, loving him would come as easily as breathing.

If you like the story please interact: reblogs, likes and comments go a long way. Feedback is always appreciated! Feel free to message me about it.

Tag list: @wintasssoldier @fallenoutofrose @cjand10 @nouk1998 @smplymrvl @littlemiss-yeehaw @magnificentsvn @kentokaze @gostodosopa @musicgirl44 @rebloggingmyrecs @mbindzus-blog @pampeop @buckystwilight @blackhawkfanatic @miss-i-ship-it @bibliophilewednesday

[shesinshambles]

Ghost BC Whump Month: Chronic

For @cirrus-ghoulette's Whump Month!

Super late, but I wrote a really self-indulgent fic for this one while I've been dealing with a flare-up.

You had no idea how many hours had passed since you’d crawled into bed, the deep ache in your back and hips becoming too unbearable to walk, every part of your skin felt like a live wire of searing pain. And you’d lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the sun inched closer and closer to the horizon, casting obscure shadows on the walls of your dorm. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you tried to ignore the screaming throb and strange pressure in your spine and get at least a couple hours of sleep. But nothing was working. Not that the ibuprofen ever did anything anyway, but you had hoped it would at least take the edge off just a bit. To make matters worse you couldn’t even lie in your comfy position in bed, and that’s really when everything fell apart. So, you found yourself studying the cracks in the ceiling, sobbing, trying to calm yourself; too sore to sleep, too fed up and angry to find a simple distraction.

A loud thump on your door breaks you out of your haze and suddenly you’re aware of the tightness around your swollen eyes, the salt crusted at your inner corners. Your head is pounding and your throat is raw and scratchy.

“You in there, doll?” Dewdrop calls from the other side of the door. For a minute, you think of saying nothing and just waiting it out. You hear his sharp claws tapping on the wood and you groan. Knowing him, he wouldn’t leave; you not answering would just give him all the more reason to barge right in for whatever mischief he had planned.

“What is it?” You croak. You try to mask your pitiful state, but your voice is thick and garbled from pain and tears, and the tapping ceases.

“Hey, you good?” You squeeze your eyes shut against the sting of fresh tears, holding your tongue. The floorboards creak as Dew shifts, hesitating at the door.

“Yeah,” you warble, sniffling. Dew tests the doorknob, clicking, but not opening.

“I’m comin’ in, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper softly. The door creaks open slowly, just enough for the fire ghoul to slip in, shutting it as he steps into your dorm with a heavy sigh.

“You been in here all day?” He asks softly, walking over to you and gingerly sitting down on the side of the bed, careful not to disturb you too much. You nod, face screwed up from the pain and all the anger bubbling up inside you. It’s all too much right now, and you don’t even want to look at the ghoul. A large hand caresses your hair, brushing loose strands off your forehead and your breath hitches.

“I’m so tired,” you choke out, your frame shaking as you try to hold in the sobs, but when Dew slides down next to you and hesitantly takes your hand in his, squeezing gently, the dam completely breaks. Dew doesn’t say anything, just holds your hand, rolling onto his side so you can feel him there, his warmth, amber and toasted marshmallow.

“Fuck, doll. M’sorry,” he mumbles under his breath, raking a hand through his hair.

The ghouls all knew about it. It hadn’t been easy touring with the pain, you needed plenty of rest days and you can never tell when a flare up might just spring on you. They all got suspicious when you’d disappear into your bunk or hotel room for hours on end when you all had free days, when you started passing on outings and dinners.

Mountain had noticed first actually, catching you here and there trying to stretch out the stiffness. He’d offered to show you some stretches he used for his own back after that, and you could always count him to pull on your legs when you needed it.

They were all helpful like that once you’d let them know about your chronic pain. Swiss would hook you up with some of his stash to help you sleep, and the fuzziness that came with it was pretty relaxing. Aether would pull what he could from the void to soothe you. Rain brought you food and made tea. He’d also freeze your ice packs faster for you. The ghoulettes always provided you with a shoulder to cry on and more times than you ever thought you would, you found yourself venting to Cumulus sitting (or lying) in her bed while she just listened. No solutions, no suggestions. Just validation. And Dew; well, Dew would keep to himself, or just be near you, but a comfortable distance. He wasn’t so hands on, like he wanted to stay out of your hair and not pester you with his shenanigans. It was infinitely quieter on the bus when he knew you had a flare up. And your blankets were always extra toasty.

The fact that he had come to seek you out spoke volumes. He was worried. You sniffle wetly, wiping your nose on the back of your hand. And his carefulness does not go unnoticed. Even now, he’s stiff in the bed, keeping space between the two of you, scared to jostle you. You turn your head into him, nuzzling as close as you can to his chest.

“It’s just nothing’s working,” you mumble. Dew hums softly, his hand inching back up to your hair, tangling his long fingers in the waves when you don’t flinch away, massaging the nape of your neck.

“Want me to get Aeth?” You shake your head, the ghoul chirps quietly in confusion.

“Please stay.”

“Okay,” Dew whispers into your hair, inching closer and closer to you. His heat melts you, and you feel stiff muscles easing ever so slightly, enough for you to sigh with some relief.

Dew’s quiet for a while, and with each minute that passes, he lets himself sink further into your mattress, lets his hands run down your arms, rub soothing circles into your hips.

“Hey,” he whispers, and you hum in acknowledgement, empty and exhausted. “Have you tried a hot bath?” You shake your head.

“I didn’t want to get up.” Dew nodded, his fingers drumming thoughtfully against the mattress.

“I’ll be back.” He gets off the bed carefully, stepping into your bathroom. The rush of water hits your ears and you sigh, gingerly rolling to your side, and sitting up slowly. You groan as the deep ache blooms to life in your hips, like it’s grinding away at your bones. When Dew comes back out and to find you trying to stand to slide your pajama pants off, he rushes over. “Hey! You could wait you know, I was gonna help you up,” he scolds, taking hold of your arms to help you to stand. The pain isn’t so bad now, having stretched out for the past few hours, but your muscles are tired, and you’re sure you were crooked.

“It’s fine, Dew,” you sigh. “I’m used to it.” He frowns at you, leaning down to pull your bottoms and underwear off. You’re too achy and tired to be shy, a thick fog clouding your brain. But even then, it wasn’t like Dew had never seen you before. Just never like this.

“So fuckin’ stubborn,” he mutters under his breath, and you roll your eyes, balancing yourself on his shoulders. “Just like Mountain.” You huff. He’s right. But you hated not being able to do basic tasks yourself. Even when it was too much, you’d just push through. And end up not able to stand up straight for the better of a week.

“Arms up,” he murmurs, and you do as he says, letting him pull your sleep shirt over your head. The walk to the bathroom is excruciatingly slow, every step sending an annoying spasm up your back. But Dew holds you steady, silent and patient. In fact, you’d never known him to be so patient, so soft. And right now, as he helps you slide into the tub, that thought makes you feel a little fuzzy. The hot water and Epsom salts feel like heaven right now as you settle into the tub, groaning. It takes a moment for you to find a comfortable position, but when you do the pain subsides quite a bit, and you close your eyes, sighing as you let your head fall back on the neck pillow you keep in the tub.

You haven’t realized Dew’s disappeared until you hear soft footsteps coming back into the bathroom followed by the gentle click of the door shutting closed. You crack an eye open to find the fire ghoul settling himself down on the floor next to you, a glass full of water in hand.

“You doin’ okay in there?” You smile softly and nod, taking the glass from his outstretched hand and taking long, slow, slips from it. You haven’t had anything to drink since lying down, and it definitely wasn’t helping your head one bit.

“Thanks.” Dew simply nods, and stares down at his hands. He’s tangling his fingers together, studying his nails, drumming them anxiously against the porcelain.

“Look, uh,” he starts, hardly meeting your eyes except for a brief flicker, so quick you hardly notice at all. “I’m not too good at the comforting stuff, so uh, I don’t know, let me know how I can help I guess.” You nod, and slide your had over the edge, finding his fingers and offering a squeeze.

“Thanks, Dew.” The ghoul stares down at your hands, huffing, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Of course.” There’s a pause, a moment where he holds your hand, stroking his thumb over your knuckles, letting you calm yourself from the rough day. And you feel all that tension, all the heaviness and hopelessness start to pull away, letting you take full breaths again. You know it won’t last, bur for now it’s enough. “Do you want me to go? I can wait outside and you call me when your done—” But you have another thought. And you think it might be manageable now that you’ve relaxed a little.

“Come in,” you murmur, and Dew frowns.

“It’s not gonna hurt you?” You’re quick to shake your head and the ghoul quirks a quizzical brow at you. You merely shrug back.

“Not more than I already am. I’ll be okay.” After mulling it over a little, several nervous glances shot your way, Dew finally concedes, making quick work of undressing and climbing in carefully, and again, afraid to jostle you around too much. But finally, after deciding it was best for you to rest against his chest so he could hold you steady, you both sank back into the warm water.

“You comfortable?” you nod, letting your eyes slide shut. Dew’s warmth always had that effect on you. It was so soothing, like a hug around your bones, toasting you gently from the inside out.

“Like my living heating pad.” Dew snorts.

“So that’s in then. S’all you want me around for?” He teases, nuzzling the top of your head. You huff softly.

“It’s a perk,” you mumble, sighing heavily as Dew hums into your hair. “Thank you. For being here.”

“No need to thank me, Doll.”

“I know,” you reply, gripping tighter onto his forearm. “But still, I appreciate it. And I know you don’t really like the cuddly stuff—”

“I do,” he murmurs, and his hands melt further into your flesh. “I just don’t want to make it worse.”

“But you don’t. This makes it better.” And really, it did. You felt a lot less lonely since telling the ghouls, since having an actual caring support network. And the afternoon felt like it was miles away since Dew came to check on you. All the times he’d just sit with you quietly, just be in the same space with you so you weren’t completely alone. It meant the world. The ghoul hums thoughtfully.

“Right then, anytime m’lady requires her personal heating ghoul, say the word.” You grin, and nuzzle into his neck.

“Thanks, Dew.” The fire ghoul huffs, then plants a gentle kiss to the top of your head in response.

“Anytime, doll.”

[hanasnx]

Hi pooks 😚

Was thinking about something earlier. You've talked about liking the idea of getting roughed up as foreplay on this blog before, the blood, the bruises, the adrenaline, the physicality, all of it.

So imagine being Dick Grayson's boyfriend, you know that he's Nightwing but you aren't a super of any kind, in fact you're not even acquainted with Bruce or any of Dick's team mates. This relationship is something he wanted to keep tucked away and safe and untainted by his superhero life. But here's the thing, you're a major adrenaline junkie and masochist, nothing gets you harder than getting roughed up and bloody. Dick indulges you to a certain extent, a Slap or two while you're fucking, a couple bruises on your hip bones and if he's feeling up to it, a half-hearted sparring session in your living room, but he's always holding back. He insists that he isn't and it was a joke at first, oh haha my scrawny ass boyfriend pinned me in a wrestling match, but after a while it got frustrating because you know in your heart of hearts this guy could break you in half and leave you within an inch of your life if he wanted to. So you press, and press, and tease, and egg on, and instigate, and call him Nightwing (even though he hates when you do it), all in the hopes that he'll crack one day and give it to you real good.

B you are not a trained fighter, sure you can hold your own if things go south with a drunk asshole at a bar, but you fight scrappy and care more to get hit than you do landing a proper punch. Dick cut his teeth fighting literal villains, scum of the earth, life or death type shit and he was a more adept athlete than the average person before he even hit puberty. No matter how much you beg him, how pretty and appealing you make it sound to not pull a punch with you for once, you're never going to get the fight out of him you want, he just won't do it. Dick wants to keep anything about Nightwing as far away from you as possible and that includes violence. Even if... Even if it gets him hard too. Even if the idea of seeing you bloody and spent on a pavement floor makes his cheeks so hot he leaves the room. He thinks about the fact that it doesn't even have to be him, it could be any fucker on the street who wouldn't mind making your pretty face swollen, and you'd still smile through your bloody nose and beg him to fuck you while he tends to your face with ice. It makes him fucking ravenous.

Anyway imagine one day you're with him and things are just starting to heat up, he put you in cuffs today, said he felt like watching you fall apart and it wasn't even a question to agree. He's got you between his legs, with your back and arms pressed up against his chest and he's teasing your semi while he nips at your neck with his teeth.

"Bite me harder, will ya?" You ask him, typical fodder, always looking for any scrap of pain he'll give you but to your surprise, he does. He almost breaks skin and he feels the way it goes straight to your cock. "Dickie—"

"Ask me about Nightwing." He says, low, breathy, full of challenge. He's never let you do that before.

"What— fuck, what is it like? Please, y'never talk 'bout it" And that's about all you can get out because he sunk his teeth into your shoulder mid sentence and he's got his hand wrapped around your cock, fogging up your brain.

He licks the teeth marks he left into your skin, laughing at your wantonness and calling you a pain slut under his breath before bringing his lips to your ear. "I should just put you in the mask, shouldn't I?" and you don't get it. He's leading up to something, but you don't know what it is yet but his hand has gotten faster. "Put you in my colours and leave you on the street for a night, give everyone who wants one, a free shot at Nightwing." It all clicks in place. He's got his left hand sliding up your throat now, never squeezing but ever-threatening. "You never know who's made bail after I put 'em away, who's escaped, who's got an angry cousin out for blood. You wouldn't stand a chance but you wouldn't even fight back, would you baby?"

All you can do is shake your head no.

"You can't. You're not built to fight back are you? You're built to take it. Can you take it?" And that one, coupled with the way he's working your cock sends you're eyes rolling back. "They'd get you all bloody, begging for your life and if you're lucky I'll come save you, only to drag your ass back home and let you beg me to fuck that broken body. You want that?"

And you're cumming all over yourself before you can even answer.

Idk where this came from and it's probably ooc but I'm gonna hit send before I second guess myself byeeeeeee 🫶🫶🫶

-xstarkillerx

truly geckoed out over this. my hyperfixation of dick grayson has, unfortunately, passed on. but this lives in my head rent free. it speaks to my severe impact play need. i need to be beaten up and jacked off about it. it was like a fanfic specifically catered to me and it deserved to be posted instead of collecting virtual dust in my inbox. ugh i fucking remember sending you discord audios of me gushing about this msg its just so fucking good

donnie this was such a delight and a gift to read i cant believe how perfect it is i wish i had the words just oh my fucking god. no wonder i suck ur dick all the time. it amazes me how youre able to word things to convey such a specific action or feeling, and the way you write natural and beautiful-flowing dialogue is truly an art form that deserves to be studied

[haikyuu-boys-headcanons]

𝙷𝙰𝙸𝙺𝚈𝚄𝚄 𝙱𝙾𝚈𝚂 - 𝙴𝙼𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚂𝙴𝚇 𝙼𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂

hehe, i’m back at it again with one of these long ass posts but this idea’s literally been in my head all day long so here you go !! obvious nsfw warning :)

tw: this whole post is just nsfw and embarrassing to read so read at your own risk >:)

𝙳𝙰𝙸𝙲𝙷𝙸 » during a super intense and loud session, his voice cracked as he asked you “does that feel goOD- good baby?” to this day, he still prays that you couldn’t hear him over the sound of your own moans

𝚂𝚄𝙶𝙰𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙰 » you were riding him and he went to slap your ass, but something went wrong either because you were riding too quickly or he was shaking too much, boy ended up slapping himself in the balls. you’ve never heard that boy scream that loud in your life

𝙰𝚂𝙰𝙷𝙸 » literally pulled out in the middle of sex to get up and rush to the corner of his room to flip around his childhood teddy bears. your just laying there with your tiddies and coochie out waiting for asahi to shield the eyes of mr. wiggles

𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙰𝙺𝙰 » you two were having pretty intense shower sex until tanaka did the number one thing your not supposed to do during shower sex; this muthafucker slipped while holding you. long story short, y’all were okay but just ended up having nasty shower floor sex??

𝙽𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙾𝚈𝙰 » this tiny ass 5′2 man was unconsciously humping your leg while you were both asleep?? his presumably pleasurable wet dream had turned into a sudden nightmare when you literally had to KICK him off you to stop the humping. bad nishinoya, bad!

𝙺𝙰𝙶𝙴𝚈𝙰𝙼𝙰 » came WAYYY too early inside you, but he was too embarrassed to say anything so he just... kept going. sadly, no one had warned kageyama of the intense effects of overstimulation. he was shaking and whimpering so badly behind you to the point where you had to ask him to pull out and bring him a glass of water to calm down

𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙰 » the first time you squirted on him, he just blatantly asked you these exact few words that left you feeling mortified: “did you just piss on me?” nuh uh hinata, this water fountain ain’t yours to drown in anymore >:( 

𝚃𝚂𝚄𝙺𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙼𝙰 » kei was hitting it from the back pretty hard this time, so hard that you were suddenly... on an angle? suddenly, now you two were much closer to the floor than before. the bed ended up collapsing, yes literally collapsing due to kei’s powerful thrusts. worst part is, nobody got to finish since kei dragged you to ikea to grumpily buy a new bedframe. but hey, he bought you ikea meatballs; that shit hits so different

𝚈𝙰𝙼𝙰𝙶𝚄𝙲𝙷𝙸 » one super duper intense night, he passed out the SECOND he came. no matter how much you flicked the temple of his forehead, yamaguchi was dead asleep. you had to literally slap him awake to get him to clean up, you ain’t risking a ranky stanky UTI puthy in the morning

𝙾𝙸𝙺𝙰𝚆𝙰 » kept calling himself a sex machine during the act. i don’t know if it was due to the 6 tequila shots he had beforehand or just his inner ego revealing, whatever it was it was about to make your pussy close

𝙸𝚆𝙰𝚉𝚄𝙼𝙸 » this one time, he kept going in at a weird angle which caused you to repeatedly queef for 7 minutes straight. every time you told him to pull out and go in properly, he laughed and kept going in at that one weird angle!! was your embarrassment a turn on for him?? maybe!! but were you mortified? absolutely!!

𝙼𝙰𝚃𝚃𝚂𝚄𝙽 » i’m sorry to have to be the one to announce this, but this man had the worst case of full blown bush you’ve ever seen. like, he didn’t even try to manscape or anything at all. you ended up begging him to trim just a tiny bit because you weren’t gonna risk choking on a pube whilst your going down on him

𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙸 » rubbed your left labia thinking it was your clit. and he kept doing that. the whole. fucking. time. even when you subtly moved his fingers towards your clit, he just kept going back to the left lip.

𝙺𝚄𝙽𝙸𝙼𝙸 » had the most dry and dull dirty talk you’ve ever heard. like, it’s not even dirty talk at this point; it’s just clean talk. there’s no passion when he talks! he uses the same tone he would use for anyone else at any other moment. to paint the picture, imagine riding kunimi and he’s just there with a furrowed expression like “yup, that feels really good”

𝙺𝚈𝙾𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙸 » tried to pull one of those unexpected anal scenes that he saw from a porno, without telling you beforehand. life lesson here; if you party at shit's house, don't be surprised if shit's at the party

𝙺𝚄𝚁𝙾𝙾 » you two were looking to get a little more kinky in terms of BDSM, so kuroo watched like 30 tutorials on youtube on how to safely tie you up so you won’t fall or anything. this bitch ended up tying rope knots that were practically impossible to undo, which resulted in you hanging from the ceiling for approximately 2 hours pussy-ass naked while kuroo tried to cut you down with a kitchen knife

𝙺𝙴𝙽𝙼𝙰 » wanted to spice things up with some dirty talk, like the real nasty talk they use in pornos but not the normal pornos; the shitty company ones with horrific acting. he really ended up announcing that he was going to “fuck your fucking fanny off, you twat”

𝙻𝙴𝚅 » got super excited while he was opening the lube since he hadn’t gotten to fuck you in a WHILE, which resulted the lube leaked everywhere and a giant 6′5 man slipping and hitting his head on the bed frame. worst part is; he had to go to the ER with a hard on that refused to go away

𝙱𝙾𝙺𝚄𝚃𝙾 » speaking of boners that wouldn’t go away, let’s not forget that one time bokuto took two viagras when you texted him to come over for a special occasion. he horribly misinterpreted the ‘special occasion’ text, because he showed up to your house with a huge buldge in his pants as your parents stand before him holding anniversary cards, completely horrified

𝙰𝙺𝙰𝙰𝚂𝙷𝙸 » wanted to make valentines day sex as romantic as he could, so he did the classic lighting candles and giving roses. everything was beautiful, until he accidently knocked one of the bigger candles over during missionary. this not only caused a huge ass fire in your bedroom, but he came right as the fire began to spread. boy was debating on whether his orgasm was to die for or not

𝙺𝙾𝙽𝙾𝙷𝙰 » had a nose bleed when he was going down on you and you both were immediately horrified, you thinking it was your period and him thinking he just ate coochie blood. yet as you went to go clean up, you realized his face had much more blood on it than your coochie did. to this day, he still blames it on your period 

𝚄𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙹𝙸𝙼𝙰 » threw you onto the bed and your head went through the wall. he didn’t even bother to ask you if you were okay, he just sighed and went “well, now i have to make a call to the construction guy. excuse me” and he left you and your concussed ass head sit there once again, pussy ass naked

𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙾𝚄 » during a blowjob, he held your head down right as he was coming causing the cum to shoot up your throat and somehow pour out of your nose. by the time he pulled out, he could barely breath from laughing at you. sure, the classic ‘milk shooting out of nose’ thing was funny at first until you got a sinus infection and had to breath out of your mouth for the next three days

𝚂𝙴𝙼𝙸 » always insists having sex in the most inconvenient places?? like he would pull you to side while grocery shopping and start grinding up against you as you pick which brand of cheese would be better??

𝙶𝙾𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙺𝙸 » he kept getting frustrated that his bangs were clouding his field of vision, so he irritably grabbed a hair tie and frantically tied up the sides of his bangs while he was fucking you. you immediately burst out laughing since he looked exactly like boo from monsters inc. 

𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚄𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙼𝙰 » got so drunk that he ended up fucking the couch. like he was just there on top of you, and his dick was just sliding between the folds of the leather couch. you decided to let him finish like that

𝚂𝙰𝙺𝚄𝚂𝙰 » had a really bad reaction to one of the products he used while shaving and ended up getting super irritated down there so he kept having to pull out in-between thrusts to itch his crotch. to make things worse, you joking suggested that he looked like he had syphilis and he got so disgusted at the idea of that thought that he literally had to pull out and take a breather 

𝙾𝚂𝙰𝙼𝚄 » drizzled ‘warm’ chocolate down your chest and was about to seductively lick it off until you screamed in pain and horror as the chocolate was literally burning your skin off. osamu panicked, obviously not knowing what to do if chocolate was burning his partners skin off so he just... frantically licked it off. you still had to go to the ER afterwards to get treated for mild burns

𝙰𝚂𝚃𝚄𝙼𝚄 » didn’t know what a hymen was until the first time he tried to have sex with you. no matter how much he tried to shove his schlong in, it really just wasn’t working + “yer puss is broken”

𝚂𝚄𝙽𝙰 » pinched your nipples so fucking hard to the point where you started crying. he thoughts these were tears of pleasure until you literally had to kick him off you. but hey, he gave you ice for your sore nipples and mcdonalds! what more could a girl possibly want :)

uh the end lol

also, this idea was inspired by the first haikyuu headcanon i ever read, “awkward sex moments” by @bbytetsu <3

[earlgreydream]

jotun.

| loki x reader | smut | angst | fluff |

anon requested. dom!Loki where he goes into a Jotun heat and fucks the reader senseless 

cw: slightly dubcon?, aggression, crying, choking, d/s, kind of temp play?, jotun!loki, mentions of burns, bruises, blood etc, basically just super rough sex, Sa STRONG CONTENT WARNING

a/n: I don’t usually write stuff like this, so it’s new to me 

“Get out!” Loki’s vicious scream echoed off of the walls. 

“No, I’m not going to just leave you!” You ran across the golden floor of his chambers and dropped to your knees. You dragged the god into your arms, and you could feel the warfare tearing him apart from the inside. 

He was so cold.

Loki’s body wracked as he tried to breathe, as if just staying alive was exhausting. The tips of his fingers turned blue, and he tried to fight it off, keeping himself in his æsir form. His head tilted back, black waves falling back to reveal scarlet eyes. 

You swallowed hard, fear shooting up your spine. His skin slowly turned deep blue, ancient jotun patterns swirling across the skin like scars.

“Please, I’m begging you to go. I don’t want to hurt you,” Loki’s voice was impossibly deeper, dangerous. 

“I’m not going to abandon you. I trust you, Loki.” 

“It’s not me, it’s a monster!” Loki wept, gripping the shimmering Asgardian fabrics that draped over your body with icy fingers. 

You held him tightly, refusing to leave the terrified god. His stamina wore thin, and his icy jotun core seeped through, replacing every godly aspect of him with the blue skin of a monster. His touch was so cold it practically burned you, and very real fear burned like acid in your throat. 

Maybe you should’ve listened to him, and run when he’d told you. Now, it was too late. 

His clothing was gone in a simmer of fizzing blue magic, baring his entire monstrous form to you. You scrambled backward, looking up at Loki as he towered over you. His red eyes were feral, and he descended on you like you were prey. 

“Loki, my love...” you tried to speak, but you silenced as his hand wrapped tightly around your throat. He asserted his strength over you, pinning you down against the unyielding golden floor. His grip was tight, rendering you completely immobile. 

He gripped the fabric of your gown, tearing it into shred as he ripped it from your body. Your eyes widened, and you tried to wrap your hands around his wrist, but your touch recoiled, your palms red from the cold. 

Loki grabbed your thigh, shoving your legs open and exposing your sex to him. You screamed as he thrust himself all the way inside of you, making no attempt to ease into you or make sure you were ready. 

Usually, he slid into you with ease, but he was bigger in this form, and just different. It felt like someone completely different was shoving himself inside of you, and you supposed it was. You screamed as he pierced you open, forcing your body to accept him in your warm sex. Moisture blurred your vision, frightened by what was happening, and powerless to stop it, or ease up. 

He was absolutely feral, his mind only focused on taking his own pleasure from you. He felt like ice inside of you, and the unfamiliar cold sensation made you writhe off of the floor, arching your back as he slammed into you with inhuman force. It was a terrible, strange feeling, and you were overwhelmed by the intensity of how hard he was pounding into you. His other hand gripped your thigh, bruises blooming under his unforgiving touch. 

“Loki, please, you’re hurting me,” you breathed, trying to struggle away from his brutalizing touch. A threatening growl thundered from his chest, and you halted, wincing as his hand moved from your throat to roughly grope your chest. 

The cold of his hand on your throat left red frost burns, mixing with the deep purple caused by the tight grip he’d held you down with. 

You attempted to force yourself to relax, letting him fuck the life out of you, tearing up your sex. A choked cry of relief escaped your lips when he pulled out after his first orgasm.

Loki had never been so violent or rough with you, and you reminded yourself that it wasn’t him, that the god you loved wasn’t in control of his own body. He’d begged you to leave, knowing he wouldn’t be able to control himself, and you promised him you could take it.

You panted, trying to catch your breath, curling up on the floor and shivering. Your body burned from the inside and out, pain prickling up your spine from his aggression.

You were only awarded a few minutes of reprieve, yelping as he flipped you over, your chest smacking against the floor. You braced yourself with your forearms, and he dragged your hips up, gripping you so tightly you feared your bones would shatter. He continued fucking you from behind, slamming into you so roughly that your body cracked against the floor. He shoved your head down when you tried to push yourself up. 

Sharp pain blossomed deep inside of you, waves of agony washing through you with each thrust. You started to cry, sobs tearing through your chest. You screamed as he held you down, his hips pistoning against yours. His cold fingers gripped your hair, dragging you to your knees. He held you against his chest, and the cold overwhelmed your body in a cruel ache. He slipped in and out of your slick heat, and you were nearly certain you were bleeding.

Loki continued to ravage you until you couldn’t move, your bruised and aching body lying limp against the floor. You felt weak and raw, suffocated by the sobs that wracked your chest. You laid there, gazing up at him and whispering that you loved him.

“Please come back to me, Loki. I need you,” you whispered before the exhaustion pulled you into unconsciousness. 

You started to gain awareness, unsure of what time it was. Your eyes were heavy, and as you began to move, an intense ache flooded your body. Loki heard your choked whimper, and you registered the sound of him crying. 

“Loki?” your voice was weak, and you blinked slowly, adjusting to the light. 

He knelt beside you on the bed, his face streaked with tears and his shoulders trembling. Loki’s brow was knit together, and you recognized the horror in his gaze.

“What have I done to you? My love, I’m so sorry,” he breathed, reaching toward you but not letting himself touch your skin. 

He was himself again, fair, delicate, and gorgeous, with emotional blue eyes that glittered with an entire realm of stars reflecting in them. 

You reached out at took his hand, relaxing as you felt his warmth. He kissed the knuckles on your fingers, his soft lips gentle against your skin. Apologies fell from his lips like prayers, and he agonized over hurting you. 

“I never wanted to hurt you. I’ll understand if you hate me, but please know I would never do this to you on purpose,” he begged.

“I know, Loki. It’s alright-”

“It’s not alright! I’m a monster! I’m cruel, and horrible, just like everyone said I was. I deserve to die for doing this to you!” Loki wept, guilt overwhelming him. 

He’d woken up on the floor next to you, horrified by the sight of your unconscious body. You were covered in deep purple and black bruises, and red burns from where he’d gripped you with his icy hands. Your clothes were torn to shreds, and blood and come stained your inner thighs. You had bite marks, thankfully none too deep, and you looked like you had been brutalized. 

His heart shattered, hatred bursting through his chest. He hated himself, he hated the monstrous side of him that did this to you. Flashes of the night before filled his mind, making him sick. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he repeated over and over again, torn apart by the knowledge that he was the cause of your state. 

Gentle green magic shimmered around the two of you, cleaning you up as much as possible. He lifted you onto the bed before sulking back, feeling too guilty to even touch you. 

He’d watched you sleep, delirious as he studied your breathing, making sure your chest was moving and the air was moving in and out of your lungs. 

“I promise you that I’m okay. I love you so much, Loki,” you reached out to him, closing your fingers around his wrist and pulling him toward you.

“I love you,” he whispered into your hair, kissing your face. 

You didn’t flinch away from his touch, no longer afraid of your lover. You wanted him to hold you, pushing the pain away as you crawled into his lap. The movement made the ache between your legs sharp, and the pressure on your bruised body was painful. You didn’t care, wanting to be close to Loki. 

He cradled you against his body, mindful of your injuries. His lips pressed to your forehead, whispering professions of love against your skin. You let the rhythm of his heartbeat soothe you, your cheek resting against his warm chest. 

“Let me make it up to you,” Loki begged.

“You don’t need to, but I’ll let you spoil me if it’ll make you feel better.” 

He kissed your lips, and you held his face in your hands. 

“I love you, unconditionally. I know you didn’t have control. I wanted to help you through it, I chose you, Loki. And I will always choose you,” you promised. 

“I don’t deserve you.”

“I want you anyways,” you kissed him sweetly. 

“Let me care for you.”

You agreed, letting him set you in a bath, jolting when the hot water soaked your damaged skin. 

“I’ve called for a healer.”

You sat in the water, letting him clean you properly beyond what his magic covered. His fingers grazed between your legs, and you grabbed his wrist, stopping him. 

“No, I’m still sore,” you shook your head, and he immediately took his hand away.

“Okay, not now, then.”

He washed the previous night from your skin, leaving you smelling sweet and clean. His touch was tender, nothing like the icy grip from before. You leaned into his touch, craving it and desperate for it. Trays of all of your favorite sweets appeared, as well as steaming cups of tea that you happily accepted, knowing they came from Loki’s desperation to indulge you. 

“Thank you,” you kissed his cheek, leaning into him in the bathtub. 

You struggled to stand as you tried to climb out, thankful when the healer walked in. Loki helped you to sit down, a fresh wave of guilt pouring over him as he saw the effort it took you just to take a few steps. He looked to the healer hopefully, taking her hand and kneeling before her.

“Please, help my love,” he begged sincerely.

“Of course,” she nodded, touching his shoulder.

“May I see, prinsesse?” the girl asked as you sat near the fire to stay warm. 

You let the towel drop from your body, and the healer assessed your injuries. She hesitated, glancing to Loki before laying her hands over your body, performing her ancient magic. She was clearly troubled by the marks that covered you, and it took over an hour before the bruises began to fade and the sharp ache reduced to a dull throbbing. 

“Your subjects love you, prinsesse,” she grasped your hand, her eyes snapping to Loki. Loki sulked with guilt, kneeling beside you and brushing damp hair from your eyes. 

“I’m alright. Thank you,” you squeezed her hand before she fled your chambers, disappearing into the castle to tend to wounded soldiers and Valkyrie. 

“They fear me.”

“No, my love.” 

You slipped into a loose white gown, sheened with gold and iridescence. You joined Loki on the terrace, watching dancers below, and a festival fully underway in the streets. Your legs were folded under you, and you laid back against your prince, gold jewelry clinking on your wrists and fingers as you traced shapes on the back of his hand that lightly rested on your thigh. 

He created illusions with his magic, entertaining you and making flowers bloom in the air, tiny daisies drifting down and weaving themselves in your hair and tickling your cheeks. 

“What are they celebrating?” you asked, watching the Asgardians in the city.

“They’re celebrating the end of spring. Summer is coming, and they’re honoring the change in season.” 

“It’ll last for weeks. When you’re up to it, we’ll go join them,” Loki promised, kissing you gently and offering you a sweet piece of fruit. 

“I want to go now.” 

“Are you sure? I know you’re still a bit sore.” 

“Please, Loki.”

He gave in, certainly not wanting deny you of happiness. In an instant, you were down in the streets, excitement erupting around you at the presence of their beloved prince and princess. 

“Prinsesse!” a girl squealed, running to you and grabbing your skirts. You giggled and gave her one of the flowers from your hair, smiling at her delight. Loki stood beside you protectively, making sure you were comfortable as young Asgardian girls took your hands and pulled you to the fountain in the square. 

You sat on the edge of the marble, and they climbed around you, going to braid your hair in elaborate styles. Loki’s fingers moved, providing them with flowers and and magical pins to use. 

“Tell us a story of your rule, prins,” a girl asked, her eyes shining up at Loki. 

He indulged them, his magic forming figures and acting out the story he told, and you watched him in adoration. The children adored him, basking in his attention, just as you did. 

“You are no monster, Loki. They delight in your presence. Don’t ever think you’re not loved,” you whispered in his ear, a smile creeping onto his face.

[whirlybirbs]

         (  chapter 6′s gif by @buckysbarnes​​ from this lovely set !  )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  6/?

summary: gunshot wounds, panic attacks, and evil next door neighbors.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 5.3k, a filler before the real sexual tension.

a/n: be warned, this chapter has a diy medical procedure where bucky removes the slug from rabbit’s shoulder. it’s nothing too graphic, but keep that in mind! also, i wanted to say thank you to everyone who has rec’d, reblogged, commented, kudos, liked, looked at this fic. the response to every chapter has been so overwhelmingly kind and i’m so thankful that i have the oppurtunity to share this fic with you all. that being said, i broke this chapter up. next week has some spice. ;-)

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Bucky wakes up with a headache that feels like someone’s tapped an icepick between his eyes. A fire-bright burn radiates under his ribs.

It’s a slow creep back to reality — he just lays there and stares at the peeling wallpaper that meets the corner of the ceiling for a while, knowing deep in the back of his muddled, confused thoughts that he most likely has a nasty concussion, maybe a few broken ribs.

How? Hm. Fighting. Music? The club.

Rabbit.

He sits up fast and Bucky’s blue eyes struggle to adjust in the low-light of the scarcely furnished apartment. The searing pang of his headache is enough to make his stomach churn, but he’s had worse. So much worse. This is manageable. So, he swallows down the nausea and looks around the room like a wounded animal — and almost immediately, relief greets him at the sight of you in the armchair across from the couch.

Your hair is a mess, falling from it’s previous style that you’d proudly worn to The Glass Cannon. Your lipstick is smeared, there’s glitter on your cheeks, and your make-up has transitioned from starlet beauty to broken-hearted bombshell. Bucky notices, with a bit of dismay, that you’re even missing an earring. There’s a nasty bruise forming along the peak of your cheekbone and a gash there from when Alexei had cracked you across the face with the pistol — and even despite all this, Bucky can feel his heart clench at the sight of you. A good clench. The sort that makes his heart kick into a stutter step.

You look… well, you look like someone who’d had the shit choked out of them and then was shot.

Shot.

Your jacket, punched clean through with the single bullet hole, is hanging over the back of the chair and there’s gauze taped to your shoulder. You’re leaning your good cheek in your hand, attention turned totally to Bucky, where you’ve fallen asleep. From here, you’re a picture of exhaustion.

Anxiety flashes in his heart and he swings his legs over the edge of the couch.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“Take it easy.”

It’s the woman from before, Kiwi, and she’s got an ice pack in her hands. It’s wrapped in a ratty, green dish towel, and she hands it off to Bucky with a pitiful little look. Rounding the couch, Bucky finally gets a better look at her.

She’s older than you, maybe by a handful of years, but sharp and beautiful nonetheless. Her hair is dark as night and the tips are drenched in a lime colored dye. Her eyes are dark, too, ringed by kohl and glitter, and Bucky wonders if he’s ever seen her before.

“You heal quick,” she says quietly as she plops down into the chair across the room. On a makeshift desk, there’s a laptop, “Care to explain how you know our dear friend Rabbit here?”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Again, his eyes fall on your sleeping form.

He maneuvers the ice pack in his hands, then gently presses it to his ribs. He melts a bit, ignoring the evident tears in the silk shirt. He feels bad — he’d busted some of the seams in the midst of the brutal scuffle and it seems like this artifact of Jaimie’s was most likely beyond salvation.

His dog tags jingle against his chest.

“Therapy,” Bucky croaks, “We, uh, we met in therapy.”

A new voice comes into the picture now, one that’s muffled by a mouthful of food.

“That’s cute.”

It’s the other one, Climber. He’s traded in his all-black, all-polyurethane outfit for an expensive looking t-shirt. Without the strobes, without the tunnel vision, Bucky can now see the intricate buzz cut that sits beneath the mountain of blue curls on his head. There are patterns buzzed into his tight-shave. He’s got a smile, too, the glimmers a little too artificially. Bucky spies crystals inset on his incisors between bites of what looks like a bowl of cereal with no milk. Spoon and all.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met,” Climber says as he plops down next to Bucky on the couch, “What’d you say your name was?”

A hand is jutted his way. Bucky blinks. He shakes it with his vibranium hand.

“I’m Bucky.”

“Well, I’m gay and you’re gorgeous,” he says candidly, giving it a good shake, “So, if that’s of any interest—”

“Can you please shut up, Climber?” comes an irritated rasp from you in your armchair. Bucky turns to watch as you raise your head and rub your eyes, “Christ, I just fell asleep.”

“And your little supersoldier just woke up,” Kiwi chirps from her preoccupation with the laptop and contents on it, “So why don’t you stop being a little baby and let him look at that gunshot wound.”

Bucky’s face falls flat. He drops the ice pack to the coffee table with a thwunk.

You sit up, gingerly trying to maneuver yourself so as to not bother both your ribs and your shoulder. It takes a moment, but finally you’re sitting up with only a dull ache of pain throbbing beneath your skin. Now, the real sting comes from the bitter look Bucky has pinned you with.

“You haven’t cleaned it yet?”

“The shits in the kitchen,” Kiwi waves at Bucky, as if to say told you so, “She fuckin’ refused to let me take care of it.”

“You’re going to get an infection if it stays in you any longer,” he snaps, standing to his feet, “Get up.”

“Kiwi isn’t exactly the most gentle person I know,” you manage to supply as an excuse as you move through the room, “And I know that thing isn’t coming out without a fight.”

He can feel the grey hairs coming in already.

You stand slowly, and Bucky looms behind you as you weave into the small apartment’s kitchen.

It’s barely lived in, but a few years ago it most definitely had life. Now, it’s mostly abandoned save for a few necessities. Kiwi had told you, a long time ago, about this spot — it was her parent’s place before the Snap. After the Blip, they ended up moving back to Massachusetts. Now abandoned by anyone seeking to really live in the one bedroom, it sits collecting dust until Kiwi inevitably needs it.

Like now.

“Up on the counter.”

You wince at his tone, but still thankful to be away from Kiwi and Climber’s prying eyes.

For the entire time Bucky had been out, you’d been subjected to a myriad of questions — all were fair, really, since Bucky did just bust out the Avenger-level super-moves on some Russian mafiosos for your sake, vibranium arm and all. The arm was really the biggest stuck point in the conversation as you tried your best to explain the nature of your relationship with the unconscious supersoldier on the couch. It was met with plenty of looks, both curious and skeptical.

You’re slow to hop up on the dusty marble countertop. From there, you watch Bucky poke through the kit that Kiwi had pulled from under the sink.

Then, with the calculated process of a man who has pulled one too many bullets from himself, Bucky slams the kit shut and wanders into the bathroom.

He returns with a pair of large tweezers. He’s silent as the dead as he rummages for a pan, fills it with water, and sets the gas burner on. He stares, watching the pot boil, as his foot taps against the floor.

You swallow down any comments.

There’s a clean towel beside you, and Bucky casually reached into the boiling water with his vibranium hand to retrieve the tweezers — whether or not he purposely ignored the pain is lost on you. You’re too busy anxiously spiraling into silence.

(He’s trying to ground himself, to feel something other than panic. It’s a mild spike, but it’s still panic. Because you’re hurt. Because you still have a fucking casing lodged in your shoulder and he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you. Ever. Because he saw it happen and then it was black, and now that anxiousness is creeping in.)

Rubbing alcohol, tweezers, gauze, tape, and… Jack Daniel’s.

It’s from the top of the fridge. It’s got a layer of dust on it — and it’s unopened.

Bucky unceremoniously pops the cap and hands the open bottle to you.

You take it and pause.

Bucky’s gaze is cold.

“You’re gonna want to take a few swigs, Doll.”

You almost snarl. You take a long drink then, ignoring the burn of the whiskey down your throat. It’s only when you’ve had enough to nearly gag that you hand the bottle back and then hiss:

“Don’t call me Doll.”

He takes the bottle and unceremoniously slams it down on the counter.

His movements are rough as he washes his hands — and if Bucky was a better person, maybe he’d take a second and parse through why he was feeling so damn irritable. But, no, no, he could figure out that he was angry at himself and you and Alexei Gardzov and Innessa Sidrova and fucking… everyone because he can’t have any normal relationships in his life without there being bloodshed or pain or suffering. That was enough, and he didn’t want to dig deeper into the nipping fear of losing you, not now, not when he had a job to do—

You suck in a sharp breath when his fingers brush your collarbone. He gently moves the delicate strap of your bodysuit, ignoring the soft skin beneath, and pulls the gauze away from your shoulder.

Your jacket had taken most of the impact it seems. Bucky frowns deeply at the pink fibers clinging to the entry wound. It’s a nasty puckered bit of flesh, smeared with blood, right in the soft muscle of your left shoulder. The hole is a little smaller than a quarter — Bucky recognizes it as shot from a 9mm almost immediately. He’s taken a few of these in his days. He’s glad it wasn’t close range. The burns from the muzzle flash make for nasty scars. He’d know. He has one on his back, right above his hip.

Bucky’s jaw is tight. He’s gritting his back teeth. His headache throbs angrily behind his eyes.

Bucky leans, eyeing the wound carefully. His limited reaction is enough to spark a little light of bravery in your gut, and you move to look at the hole — only to find a vibranium hand rooting your jaw in place. It’s gentle enough as it recorrects the line of your gaze straight ahead. His thumb rests on the curve of your chin as his index climbs your jaw, and the vibranium is warm and cold all at once. It’s an odd sensation. Not bad, but not flesh.

You like it.

(You find your mind quickly flashing with the thought of what that hand would feel like in other places. You ignore it.)

Your eyes are stuck on Bucky.

He’s clearly upset — the pinch between his brows and the evident scowl on his lips is enough of an indication. The bridge of his nose is busted and there’s a bruise crawling under his left eye. The shirt you’d given him is a wreck, and as he bends to snatch up a rubbing alcohol soaked pad, the feeling of shame creeps up on you. The anxiousness that’s settled in the pit of your stomach doesn’t help.

Arguably, it exacerbates the symptom.

The whiskey is slow to make an impact.

But, when Bucky finally swipes the gauze across the wound, your ankles have begun to tingle and it isn’t blinding white pain you feel — not yet. It’s sharp and it feels like he’s touching your shoulder blade when he presses his fingers into the holes to clean the immediate area. That has you grimacing tightly.

His obsidian-hued hand holds your face still through it.

So, you opt to stare.

His arm reminds you of some pottery you’d seen back at the Museum of Modern Art once, on a school trip. In a dimly lit room, spotlights lit up a row of vases that had been gilded back together with gold-dusted sap. You’d sat there for nearly an hour, staring at those things. You can’t remember the name now, not while Bucky does one more pass across the wound. It started with a ‘k’. It was beautiful. You loved that exhibit. Why can’t you — fuck — remember the name? Kinsi… kinsigumi? Gumi. Kintsi —

You grit your teeth and grip the counter tightly. He pauses. You exhale.

You inhale.

Kintsugi.

The seams of his arm remind you of Kintsugi.

It’s beautiful.

Bucky’s eyes flit to yours. He sees your stare.

Maybe it’s the pain, or the half-cocked daze, but the look in your eyes is enough to spur an immediate reaction. Bucky scowls. He yanks his hand back, retreating to the supplies on the counter. He’s pulled, hard and fast, and now he seems miles away.

Quietly, and with a bit more chill than he intended, he speaks. “If it was making you nervous, you should have said something.”

It.

Your head snaps to him.

“What?” you ask, nearly incredulously.

He’s silent. He has the tweezers in his hand now.

Your eyes narrow critically — and instead of shame and anxiety, it’s hurt that flies off your tongue. It’s drenched in enough pain that Bucky hears it in the waver of your voice.

“You think I’m afraid of you?”

It’s nearly a whisper.

He swallows.

He ignores it. He has to. He doesn’t want to know the answer. Either way that conversation goes is enough to drag him into territory he can’t handle right now. Not when he needs to do this without his hands shaking.

“This is going to hurt.”

Your mouth is open — be it shock or anger, he’s not sure. Bucky, however, makes a point of ignoring your expression and your reaction by handing over the whiskey once more. You snatch it from his hands quickly. There’s a look on your face that makes his chest ache. With one last pass over him with your eyes, you take a long swig.

You feel like crying.

You won’t, though. Not now. Not while he does this.

You deserve this.

And holy fucking hell does it hurt. It’s like someone’s taken a hot poker and punctured your skin, then rotated it around and around and around. You can feel every time the tweezers touch the bullet because the metallic little click echoes in your chest. It’s enough to make your head spin, and you grit your teeth and close your eyes and try to breathe — but even after a handful of minutes, when Bucky finally retrieves the slug, there’s no relief. Just a desperate throb.

Your hands are shaking when you reach for the whiskey once more.

You do cry, finally, when Bucky packs the hole.

He rolls the gauze up tightly into a cylinder and, as gently as he can, pushes it in.

It’s a horrible choke of pain that you smother into your palm and pant through. It reminds you to breathe, and while you stare up at the water damage on the kitchen ceiling, Bucky tapes a square piece of gauze over the bruised wound and wraps your shoulder tightly. He takes his time, but there’s a curtness to his actions.

Finally, when he begins to clean up the mess of bloodied gauze, you speak.

“If you’re mad at me, then just say it.”

He snaps almost immediately, like a kicked dog. “And say what, Rabbit? That I almost lost you?”

Your mouth slips shut.

Bucky pauses what he’s doing. He drops the gauze onto the towel and he bares both hands against the counter top. He leans and exhales and drops his own head back — then, you can see his own waves of anxiety knocking him against the shore of composure. His eyes move back and forth, he inhales, and then after a long while he speaks.

It’s calmer. Not so horribly mean.

“You should have told me about Alexei.”

You go to speak — but he stops you.

“I mean really, really told me,” he explains, “Had I known he wanted your fucking head mounted on a spike, I would have kept you far away from that place.”

“We had to—”

“No,” he says sternly, standing up full height, “No, we didn’t. We never have to do anything that’s going to put you in danger. Never. I won’t do it again. You should have fuckin’ told me.”

You’re quiet.

“A few more inches to the right,” he says, gesturing to your throat with his finger. His eyes are expressive and he’s speaking like he’s lived this experience, “You’d be dead. Cold and dead and I’d be here, carrying the fucking guilt around with me because I wouldn’t have been able to do anything.”

His voice splinters at the end — but he’s moved to throw away the gauze and dump the tweezers in the sink. He can’t look at you as he says it, and you know that. Because, just like before, people like you and him have a hard time looking the truth in the eyes.

You slide off the counter.

Your heart is sad. It’s heavy and mournful and weighed down with guilt.

“Bucky.”

It’s soft. He’s scrubbing your blood from his hands.

He doesn’t turn around. He can’t. He can feel the prick of an anxious breakdown beginning to climb into his eyes. Instead, he scrubs and scrubs and scrubs and your blood is stuck in the plating of his hand and it’s not going to come out—

Think of what could have happened if it had been a few inches to the right. The arched spray. Blood everywhere. She can’t speak through the gargle, she’s going cold, she’s gone. And, like always, you’re alone again, Bucky.

Then, your hands are on his.

The touch is enough to stop him. It’s enough for him to move aside at the large, inset kitchen sink. You exhale slowly as you run the water a little warmer and gingerly run his hands under the tap. Your hands are smaller than his, a bit more delicate, and he’s stunned into a sharp silence at the feeling of your fingertips gently washing away the crimson blood.

You grab another dish towel from a drawer beside the stove.

Then, in the dim light of the kitchen, you take both his hands and dry them.

It’s the vibranium hand that you pay special attention to, though. And Bucky feels like a fucking idiot — just standing there, just watching as you run the rag between the gilded plating and use gentle pressure to get into the harder to reach spots. You turn it over, and you dry his knuckles.

You take your time.

You don’t look up when you speak. You’re focused. Almost reverent.

He doesn’t deserve this.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you say sternly.

His mouth is dry. “Rabbit…”

Bucky shifts on his feet and takes a deep inhale. He feels lightheaded.

The whiskey, and the closeness of the two of you, makes your skin warm. His whole nervous system feels like it’s on fire.

“I didn’t mean to stare, I don’t ever mean to,” you apologize as your hands still over his arm. He watches your irises trace the plating above his wrist. The rag is forgotten, its purpose null. Your words are heavy, and Bucky can hear a little shake in them as you swallow, “I just… think it’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful.

Even now, blood-soaked and sweat-stained. With makeup running down your cheeks and your composure in shambles. Even now, on the run and apparently wanted, you’re incredibly beautiful. Bucky hates how easy it is to admit and how hard it is to keep off his tongue. It nearly gets the better of him. He watches your eyelashes flutter. When you look up at him, the world is suddenly drowned in honey.

“I’m sorry.”

You mean it.

Your bottom lip wobbles.

Bucky, immediately, regrets being so goddamn cold.

You were just trying to help — you were just trying to do the right thing.

“Stop it. Come here.”

The hug is the first time you can remember touching him like this. You think you’ll always remember it, too. It’s sturdy and warm and gentle and honest and you bury your face into the shoulder as his arms come up around your neck. He’s careful of your own injured shoulder, and his fingers find the base of your neck. Around his waist, your fingers dig into the back of his shirt. Both of you ground yourselves in the other’s arms, and for the first time in a handful of hours, you both find peace.

Quiet, sturdy, lovely peace.

And the two of you stay like that for a while in the quiet little kitchen.

It’s not until Climber’s voice rises from the living room that you’re pulled away from Bucky — and even then, your face linger inches from one another for a moment too long. Neither of you say a word, only swallow down confessions that could have been, and move on.

“Oh, girlie, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

Bucky frowns. With your brows knotted tightly together, you weave through the kitchen and back into the living room.

Kiwi has sat up and both her and Climber have their eyes on the bulky flat screen on the dust-covered entertainment center. It’s cable news, and as Climber leans to turn the television up, a picture of you flashes across the screen.

It’s a photo from your arrest six months ago.

“Local authorities are asking that anyone with information on the whereabouts of this young woman call the FBI’s anonymous tip line—”

“Is there a reward?” Climber whispers almost excitedly, eyes on the screen.

“—Authorities are offering $100,000 dollars to the person who provides enough information to lead up to this dangerous fugitive’s capture.”

“Dangerous fugitive?” hisses Bucky.

“A hundred thousand dollars?” cries Kiwi, “Who the fuck did you piss off?”

You inhale deeply as you wave your hands. “The bigger question is who the fuck knew I was going to The Glass Cannon last night. Because they’re looking for me — not you.”

You point at Bucky and the gears are turning in your head.

The pacing is almost immediate, and Bucky crosses his arms tightly as you begin to walk back and forth behind the full length couch that Climber is currently spread out on.

It’s cut short, though, by Kiwi’s laptop chiming successfully.

“Well,” she stands quickly, “I have a feeling that someone knows you’re onto them. And the facial recognition software just got a match. A three point one, too.”

Your eyes brighten.

You’d given Kiwi the photo of the young Innessa, with all her decorated furs and blonde curls. She’s laughing and she’s young and she’s in love and it’s hard for you to imagine a woman like her to be dangerous. While you’d made sure Bucky was propped up comfortably on the couch and then finally calmed down from the adrenaline high enough to get comfortable yourself, Kiwi had dug out the hard-drive she kept on her at all times and began pulling data from the Alexandria Library files.

It had been a handful of hours, so it was clear that Innessa had hid herself well in the vast, expansive database SHIELD kept for all those years while it was in operation.

Bucky is quick to gather behind Kiwi, eyes scanning the screen.

Sure enough, when you come to look at the photos pulled up on Kiwi’s screen, there’s a hit. There’s an identification card photo of an older woman, maybe in her forties, pulled up alongside the photo Bucky had given you. Her hair is no longer blonde, but deep auburn color. She’s marked as having worked with Rumlow — a supervisor of some sort. Makes sense. You didn’t need to see a picture of Crossbones to remember Brock. Even when you’d interned, he’d been infamous.

And that was when he was one of the good guys.

There’s a handful of other photos of her — candids, professional photos, and even one where she is shaking Tony Stark’s hand.

And in all of them, you see your next door neighbor Bonnie McLayne.

“Fuck.”

Bucky blinks. Kiwi turns to look at you over her shoulder.

Again, you speak. Your eyes are wide. You can’t look away from the screen.

“Fuck, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Rabbit…?”

“Fuck.”

Bucky’s face narrows considerably, confusion melting to make room for realization.

His voice is quiet.

“Do you know her?”

“Oh my god,” you say loudly, shaking your head and blinking, “Oh my fucking god, that’s my neighbor.”

Bucky can feel his whole face go clammy.

“The neighbor who—”

“—Who I showed your fucking picture to,” you nearly shriek, “Like it was some cute little matchmaking game!”

Immediately both hands are over your face as you throw your head back. Now, the pacing has begun, and like you’re being carried on autopilot, you begin to move back and forth and back and forth and—

“You don’t think she’d hurt Poke, do you?”

“Rabbit.”

“Oh god, oh god—”

Oh.

Oh, you’re having a panic attack.

Oh, that was quick. Brutally fast. Nearly immediate.

After all, she knows where your family lives. She gets Holiday cards from mom to give to you. She’s been your closest friend for nearly six years. But she’s not Bonnie, she’s Innessa fucking Sidrova. She’s seen you with Bucky. She knows — she knows a lot and you don’t know anything and you’re miles from home, from Poke, from Mom, from Ana… Oh, god, the baby. The baby.

“The baby.”

Bucky’s voice is level. “Rabbit, you gotta calm down.”

“I have to call my mom.”

“No,” Kiwi snaps immediately, “They’re going to be watching for your cell phone pings. No calls, no texting, none of it. And god forbid this woman is one step ahead of the FBI—”

“Oh, god.”

You gasp like a fish out of water, paralyzing fear sending you to lean against the back of the couch.

You claw at your chest and try to remember what Dr. Hart said about these sorts of moments. Square breathing. In and hold and out and hold. Again and again.  

“Sit down,” Bucky says as he returns to your side, nearly sweeping you up long enough to plop you down into the armchair from before, “And do me a favor and breathe.”

The whiskey isn’t helping right now.

“I’m trying.”

Another gasped breath.

Climber and Kiwi watch.

Bucky shakes his head sternly, kneeling on one knee and snagging your hands. “Don’t try. Just do it. You can do it. Just follow my lead — you’re the sidekick, after all. Remember? C’mon. There’s the smile. Breathe.”

So you do.

In, hold. Out, hold. You draw a square with one hand on your jeans and hold onto Bucky’s with the other.

Again, in and hold. Out and hold.

And again.

And then, you just listen to Bucky’s breathing.

You’re not sure how long it takes — half an hour, ten minutes, who knows — but finally you’re able to calm the spiraling thoughts in your head. Finally, the loudness quiets down, you catch your breath, and the world isn’t falling apart. The bite of anxiety still remains in the hollow of your chest and Bucky can see that when you finally open your eyes and squeeze his hand.

There’s that look again between the two of you. The one from before, in the kitchen.

“Good?” he asks quietly, blue eyes swimming with some sort of emotion you can’t really pin down. Not now. Maybe, if you’d been a bit more collected, you would have seen it as infatuation. But, no. It’s just… nice.

You swallow and nod.

“Damn, girl,” says Climber from his spot on the couch, “Now I’m starting to get the whole therapy thing.”

“Thanks, dickhead.”

“That’s recent, isn’t it?” he asks, genuine worry crossing his face as he stands to gently pass a hand over your back, “I don’t remember it ever being this bad.”

Your face is sad. “I was just partying through it back then. Distraction was always the best method and then… When I had no more distractions and it was just me? Alone? And, psh, the accident with Jaimie? It got worse. So much worse.”

Climber’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry, bunny.”

You try to put on a brave face.

Bucky stands from in front of you and begins his own pacing. This one isn’t so much born out of anxious nature — but more of a tactical logic born out of keeping you safe.

This wasn’t exactly the turn he was expecting.

“You didn’t recognize her?” he asks after a moment, voice high and tight.

“I’m sorry,” you wave a hand, exasperated, “She doesn’t exactly look the same as she did in the 70s.”

Kiwi frowns at the screen. “Definitely botox.”

Bucky squints. He looks to you for an explanation.

You vaguely gesture to your face.

His brow lifts, he closes his eyes, and he sighs.

Kiwi is next to pipe up. “It explains why the feds are looking for you, especially if she saw you with the one man she knows is looking to hunt her down — so, I think it’s best the both of you lay low for a couple of days.”

“Not to mention,” Climber wags a finger, “Bucky the Babe over here did just piss off one the smaller Russian crime families in New York. So, there’s always that ontop of the evil Nazi-HYDRA-woman-next-door.”

You groan.

“Poke has enough food for a week,” Bucky says nearly reading your mind, “He’ll be fine.”

“So, what? We just wait here? Until something happens?”

“Sidrova is going to try and bait us out,” Bucky mutters, “She knows she can’t just disappear. She’s been settled for too long and we know too much. Engaging us in an altercation is how she’ll do it. Plus, I have a feeling she wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to shoot me in the knees after a few decades. So, we wait.”

“Few decades?” Kiwi whispers.

“How old are you?” Climber asks.

“Hundred and six.”

Both of them just blink at an unphased Bucky.

You sigh, finally standing on wobbly legs. “This feels like a bad idea. I’m just stating that for the record.”

“Better than her hunting the both of you down,” Kiwi supplies, “You can stay here. There’s cable, there’s booze, and there’s plenty of instant ramen to last you until winter.”

“Stale cereal, too.”

“Wait— where are you two going?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, “You’re leaving?”

“Keeping our hands clean,” Kiwi says, closing her laptop, “And letting you be the sidekick, bunny.”

The sadness in your heart grows a little heavier at those words, but there’s a little bit of pride in Kiwi’s tone. As she stands, she moves to wrap her arms around you in a gentle hug. Quietly, she murmurs into your hair.

“Your dad would be proud of you, y’know.”

Bucky watches.

Climber is next, and that hug is bigger, more brotherly, more like sunshine and less like autumn.

“Don’t be a stranger, Rabbit.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out as the two of them gather their belongings, “For dragging you both into this. But, thank you. You didn’t have to help me—”

“Yeah, we did,” Kiwi chirps as she knocks Bucky on the arm three times, “Keep her safe, aakarshak purush.”

The Hindi rolls off her tongue with ease.

Bucky laughs. “Bahut lamba.”

Kiwi pauses mid-step. She narrows her eyes. There’s a smile on her lips. “Your pronunciation isn’t bad.”

He shrugs plainly. “I get lunch almost everyday at the Indian place below my apartment, so. The owner has been teaching me some stuff on the side.”

An approving nod.

Kiwi hucks you the keys across the room.

She points at Bucky.

“I like him. Try not to fuck that up, eh?”

And then, the two of them are gone.

And it’s just you and Bucky in the empty apartment.

[theshireisburning-so-mordoritis]

EVEN ICE CAN BURN

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.7K

Warnings: 18+. Smut. Sex pollen. Dub-con due to the sex pollen. PIV sex. Unprotected sex. Inproper use of magi. Fingering. Oral - m and f recieving. Kind of hate fuck vibes to begin with.

A/N: So this is my first time writing for Loki and honestly I was nervous as fuck but hopefully it doesn't suck.

It starts with an argument. 

With you and him hissing insults and bickering like children over who's more suited for such a high stakes mission. With your hands itching to bury deep in ink spilled curls if only to yank his face back from where it's obnoxiously tilted close to yours and watch those mocking, glacial eyes widen in shock. 

You had put the work in, assembled all the information and hunted relentlessly for the location of the weapons lab only for him to sweep in at the last moment and use mortality against you. It's an excuse that strikes a dangerous match in your blood, heats your skin to an unhealthy temperature whilst your eyes narrow to vicious slits.

"You mortals are frail and weak, too easily breakable. I'm obviously a much better choice, what could their feeble minds possibly create that will harm a god." 

It makes you nearly scream that the others vote in his favour. Rage - ugly and knotted - sticking in your chest at the insinuation you should be seen as fragile when you've fought for years among advanced tech suits, super soldiers, master assassins and an indefinitely more likeable god.

You're not proud of the way it burns at you, plucks at some pitiful insecure string you've tried to bury by pushing yourself harder, always harder. He's made you feel like you're not good enough to be here despite all you've done and it gathers venom on your tongue faster than you can blink. 

"Don't come crying to me when you fuck up, I'll be here waiting to laugh in your face when the shit they're packing knocks you of your pedestal."

The words are sharp and scathing, spat over your shoulder before you're storming out and leaving everyone to stare after you. 

You miss the arrogant smirk falter on his lips the moment you're gone. 

** 

Guilt comes to you swiftly. 

You didn't really mean what you said, you hope he succeeds, people's lives count on it and deep down you even hope that he's right and in no real danger. 

It's not like you to lose your temper and be petty.

It really isn't. 

It's just Loki. 

He's rubbed you the wrong way from the moment you met, his arrogance, patronising drawl and insatiable need to get under your skin bringing something immature and half feral out of you without fail. Before him you didn't know what it was like to hate someone, to have someone manipulate every nerve you have with lithe fingers until there's flames in your blood and violence in your eyes. 

It irritates you more that he's so fucking pretty, that his body looks like it's been carved from marble in an artist's quest for divine perfection. You'd been attracted to him almost immediately until he'd opened that poison mouth of his. 

And unfortunately there's still moments where it snags at you like hooks in your skin, where it feels like you could give in to the temptation to claw and sink your teeth into him as he pounds you so fucking hard you see galaxies. You feel it when he's pressed - hard and unforgiving - against the soft give of your body, when you've managed to incense him to the point he's prowled towards you, anger cracking in his eyes like chipped shards of ice, until your back has hit a solid surface for him to crowd you up against. 

It's then that the energy between you snaps raw - hits it's most volatile like it's gathering itself to an explosive peak. You both linger in it, let the moment seep thick in the heat until it edges along the line of pain. 

But someone always eventually draws away and you wonder if there's a dark pit, a chasm of unknown want, in his stomach like there is in yours whenever you do.  

** 

When Natasha appears at your door the first thing you think is that she's come to talk about before. You know she sees more than most people and she's always sneaking subtle questions into your conversations about the God of mischief. 

The second thing you think is that the universe must fucking hate you and your previous guilt had obviously not been enough to make up for your behaviour. 

"You're needed in the lab, they need what you know on the bio weapons made in that place - Loki's been hit with something." 

"Hit with what?" 

"He said it was some kind of dart." 

"Did he say what the liquid looked like? Was it blue or purple?" 

"Blue I think, why?" 

Shit.

**

"Good news, he's not going to die a horrific, painful death from his systems shutting down one by one." 

"And the bad news?" Thor grimaces, his brow heavy with concern and thick arms folded over his chest as he peers at you.

"He could possibly die of… something else." You wince, feeling the awkwardness of embarrassment flooding your tongue. "The thing he's been injected with is an aphrodisiac, a really fucking strong one, they basically manipulated it to cause as much pain and discomfort as they could whilst also making victimns more pliant to what they wanted." 

Thor stares at you for a long moment, face blank whilst you watch him working over the information you've given him, then suddenly he blinks, once, twice. 

"You're saying Loki needs to fuck someone or he'll die?" 

"Possibly, I'm not - I'm not one hundred percent sure okay." You sigh. "That's what happened when someone human was injected, your brother is a god - the effects could be different - milder maybe." 

"So there's a chance he could be fine?"

"Yeah but I'm not a scientist or a doctor, he should really get… checked...out. Wait - Thor, where the hell is he?" 

You hadn't even had a chance until now to notice the presence of a huffy, irate raven haired god was missing from the situation. His brother had practically snatched you up as you'd ran towards the lab, his face panicked as he'd word vomited a thousand and one questions about the drug, its effects and the danger it posed to Loki . But as you peer around the suddenly quiet god of thunder now, there is definitely a rather worrying absence - the lab empty besides the doctor. 

"Oh, he's in his room." Thor confesses awkwardly, one of his large hands scratching at the the back of his neck whilst he offers you a sheepish smile. "I tried to bring him here but he was somewhat violently against it, he threatened to stab me again." 

You snort. Of course he did, the overgrown fucking child. Trust Loki to be injected with a lethal substance and rather than be monitored for potential risks to his health he'd prefer to pout in his room. 

"Thor, someone needs to go there and bring him down - this is serious." 

He grins then - charming and radiant - and god help you because you know it's coming, both of you fully aware of the soft spot you have for your blonde Asgardian friend and the fact you can't say no when he asks you for something so politely. 

"I think my presence will do nothing more than irritate him further." He says, soft ocean blue eyes pleading at you. "Maybe you can go and try and lure him out? He's always more easily persuaded when it comes to you." 

Highly fucking doubt it - you want to scoff at him - if anything the mere sight of you is enough to set Loki off on a tangent. But he's staring at you all hopeful and sweet and there's nothing you can do but curse these two gods that have clearly been sent to be twin pains in your life. 

"Fine." You grit instead. 

**

You're not sure how long you pace outside the door before he calls to you. 

Long enough that he berates you for trying to wear a hole through the floor, his voice dripping in amusement and a tinge of something rough that your mind doesn't register until it's too late. 

He's the epitome of composure when you slip inside his room, causing you to frown as you narrow your eyes and scan the length of his body. He's still in full leathers, his legs stretched across his bed and ankles locked whilst he leans back regally against the headboard. 

There's something you can't put your finger on. Something not right about how he looks, not even a hair out of place or a scratch on his leathers to say he'd just returned from a mission - he looks too perfect. 

"Come to laugh in my face, have you darling?" He drawls, smirking when your eyes snap to his face. "It's a shame then I must tell you I'm perfectly fine." 

"They told me you'd been injected with something." You say softly, gaze still searching for something out of place whilst you edge closer. 

"Ah and you thought you'd come and witness my suffering did you? Thought you'd see a god brought to his knees by some pathetic mortal drug? Apologies for the disappointment." 

You shake your head and stare at him in disbelief, just how much does this man think you despise him to want to watch him writhing in agony? 

"Loki no." You argue. "I came to bring you to the lab, the drug you've been injected with could seriously harm you, you need to be tested and kept under observation." 

He scoffs, eyes rolling and arms crossing over his chest. "I take it my brother sent you in hopes a pretty face would sway me. I will tell you like I told him, I am fine, I have no need of your doctors." 

His voice tries for nonchalance, arrogance even but there's an underlying coldness you detect that seems unwarranted and leaves you feeling frustrated. 

"You're being unreasonably stubborn." You huff, your hands curling to fists on top of your hips whilst you stride towards the bed and glower down at him. "We're only trying to help you, you have no idea what this could be doing to you!."

"And you're being irritatingly stupid." He spits. Long legs swing gracefully off the bed and landing either side of yours, the blue of his eyes pulsing dark as his lips pull back and bare teeth. "I do not need your silly little midgardian doctors, I do not need some stranger poking and prodding at me whilst I'm expected to just lie there vulnerable." 

Oh. Oh fuck you have been stupid. Thor had filled you all in on some of the things Loki had been through, that he wasn't completely innocent of the deeds he'd comitted but they hadn't been entirely his doing either. It had been enough to make you shudder, the thought of the kind of torture that would have to be inflicted upon a god to make him crumble to another's will. 

Of course he'll be wary of someone wanting to take bloods and hook him to machines and do any other tests they had in mind. Of course it'd bring back terrible memories for him. You feel wretched for not understanding sooner, your eyes softening and the anger bleeding from your body quicker than it had arrived. 

"No one is going to hurt you Loki." You murmur, letting his gaze narrow to suspicious slits as he searches your words and face for the barest hint of a lie. "We just want to make sure you're okay." 

His eyes widen for a moment, expression faltering to something raw and unguarded whilst he stares up at you and your fingers twitch with urge to run themselves along his jaw, over his cheek and through the soft looking curls of his hair in some surprising need to offer comfort. 

But then he shutters. His expression turns mischievous and haughty and you can practically sense the sarcastic quip of his tongue before he's even opening his mouth. 

"Worried about me, are you darling?" He arches a dark brow, lips quirking into a smug grin. "I must confess I like seeing you all bothered about me like this." 

Infuriating man. 

You go to tell him to fuck off, go to spin on your heel and march down to the lab and declare that he's absolutely fine, just peachy and his usual rage inducing self. But then your eyes flick up on a whim and see the sweat beading along his hairline, dampening the finer hairs and slicking them to his skin. 

You've seen this man fight, witnessed him slice through countless enemies without so much as a stilted huff of breath let alone physically breaking a sweat. It's something he practically prides himself on, ridiculing you for looking like a dishevelled mess whenever you emerge from battle after him. 

The next move you make is on reflex, a common habit that you resort to without thought. You lift the palm of your hand to his forehead to check his temperature, your skin already grazing his before his panicked stop...don't! filters through your concern and your mind is only capable of registering the wrongness to the feel of him, the absence of the cold that comes with Jotun blood, before the world is suddenly swept out from beneath your feet. He's blistering hot.

Loki snarls the second your hand makes full contact and there's a sudden pulse of energy that ripples through the air, stealing your breath and prickling your skin. You don't realise what it is until he's grabbed you and caged you beneath him. 

Magic. A shattered illusion. 

He's definitely not fine. He's panting and shaking, his arms trembling whilst he hovers over you, face shiny with sweat and cheeks flushed fever pink. When he peers down at you, you inhale sharply, the blue of his eyes has all but disappeared - swallowed whole by the ravenous expanse of his pupils.

"Loki." You whisper and a violent shudder racks his already taut body, the movement dragging your eyes lower before they snap back to his face as you let out a startled squeak. 

His illusion had hid more than you'd been able to realise before he'd tossed you on the bed and now the image of him half naked, in nothing but unlaced leather pants that are doing a poor job of concealing a very large bulge, is burned into your brain - even as you close your eyes and take a deep breath to try and calm your racing heart. 

Your squeak seems to snap him out of the lustful haze he's in however, a shocked slash of clarity in his eyes when yours fly back open to find pain streaking across his face as he drags himself from your body and rocks back on his heels. It seems to physically hurt him, peeling himself from you and you lie stunned as he buries his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry - fuck, darling - I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to." He gasps and he looks so genuinely distraught that you almost reach for him again, only snatching your hand back when he senses the incoming contact and flinches. 

"It's alright Loki, I'm okay." You soothe. "I want to help you if you'll let me, just tell me how." 

He laughs - something croaked and hollow - and removes the heels of his palms from his eyes to stare you down.

"You shouldn't ask me that." He husks. "The things I want - if you knew - you wouldn't ask me that." 

Well fuck. You hadn't meant it like that, you'd been thinking along the lines of taking him for medical help he'd be comfortable with or running to get his brother.

But now.  

There's something about the way he says it, the way he looks saying it, the heat that slips back into his eyes as he mentions want, that makes you very much need to know. It makes your stomach twist in an intense way, a spike of fire spearing through your belly and the words are out of your mouth before you can ram your hand against your lips to stop them. 

"Tell me what you want, let me help." 

He glares at you then, slashes of piercing blue glowing hot from beneath curling tendrils of dark hair, nostrils flaring as if you're truly testing the limits of his patience. His head has dipped low, fingers twisting themselves in the strewn bed sheets in an effort to ground himself as another tremor sweeps through him.  

"What I want." He seethes, tossing his head back to pin you with a furious look. "I will not take from you, not like this." 

"Why not?" You push yourself up - confused - and he hastily shifts back, keeping a safe distance between you whilst anger and frustration crawls across his face.

"Because when I take you I want it to be because you want it!" He snarls. "Not because of some warped sense of duty or self sacrifice that you and the rest of your idiotic team consider heroic." 

It's as endearing as it is insulting. You're heart beats a little faster that he's thought about fucking you, about you wanting to fuck him, that he wants it just as much as you. But the insinuation you'd only be with him because it's your job to save people brings a type of rage thrumming through your blood that only Loki is capable of summoning. 

"You think I'd fuck you just because it might save your life? That I'd offer myself for a fucking pat on the back for helping you?" You spit offended. "I thought gods were supposed to smart, or is it just you that is this extraordinarily stupid." 

The situation feels familiar now, the two of you forgetting everything to return to spewing venom at each other because neither of you know how to proceed from the weight of such a moment. And for a moment it works. It distracts Loki from his pain, from his reluctance to be close to you, touching you - he lunges - knocks you back against the mattress and buries you beneath the weight of his powerful body.

"Careful with that mouth darling." He threatens, dragging his nose across the curve of your cheek before savage eyes lock on yours. "Or I might be tempted to find something other than your poisonous words to fill it. 

You say his name, soft as silk, legs opening like the petals of a flower to welcome him to sink against you and his eyes blow wide - stunned like he can't quite believe you're real and inviting his touch without an ounce of disgust before you tell him. 

"That's what I want."

**

He groans ragged like you've wounded him, like you've shoved your hand through his chest and yanked at something vital. 

His hips ram up against yours and it's enough to make your mouth run dry. The quick glimpse of him you'd had is nothing compared to the feel of him pushing against you. It makes the tension bloat, electricity crackling upon your skin and you don't know how he isn't half mad with the drug when you feel like you could combust just from this alone. 

He makes a rough, desperate sound in the back of his throat when you wrap your legs around him, eyes burning pitch black and starved as he trails his nose along the side of your face and growls.

"Darling - perfect little thing - tell me to stop. I can't - tell me this isn't what you really want." 

You remove your hands from their bone knuckled grip on his arms, brushing the pads of your fingers over the curve of his cheekbones and cradling the sharp lines of his jaw. You pull him down to where his lips just ghost over your own and stare straight into the insecurity shrouding his pretty face. 

"I want you Loki." You murmur. "Let me make it better, let me give you what you need." 

He snaps then, lunges forward and claims your mouth in a crushing kiss, drinking you in so deep that you can barely breathe but you'll suffocate before you even think of asking him to ease back. You've never been kissed like this before, with a brutal force of tongues and teeth and so much raw need that you'll feel like you'll split apart at the seams from the searing heat of it. 

You tangle your hands something fierce into the silken depths of his hair, give a sharp tug when he buries his teeth into the pillow of your lip and sucks on the tender spot like he wants nothing more than to mark you everywhere and with every part of him. The pull of his hair draws an inhuman snarl from his chest and his hands turn to iron on your thighs, fingers sinking in deep and wrenching your legs apart so his hips can slam against your core. 

"Loki!" You gasp, his name turning to a choked moan on your tongue as he licks and suckles at your throat and you can feel the smug grin of him but like hell are you gonna give him shit for it right now. 

"That's it pet - say my name - let me hear how good I make you feel." He purrs. 

You push at him then, fight for control and take advantage of his distraction to flip him on his back and fuck he looks almost criminally good beneath you. Eyes blown wide and his lips parted in shock before they spread into a sharp, feral grin. 

It's impossible to resist falling back into him, sweeping your tongue into the fever-hot, well of his mouth and swallowing the moans that pour from his lips to yours whilst your hips circle over the needy thick of him. 

He likes to be constantly touched, you've surprisingly realised, craves it, a soft note of disappointment always slipping through his gritted teeth when you remove any part of yourself. So you touch him everywhere. Your hips remain fused to his and your hands never cease roaming, scratching and tracing every ridge and dip of his body whilst you kiss, nip and lick at him until he's a whimpering mess beneath you. 

You slip down the length of his body when it seems like he'll fracture if you take your time with him any longer, gentle hands peeling the leather of his trousers apart and dragging them down, releasing his large cock to wrap your fingers around the velvety thick weight.

He hisses at the contact, body going rigid and jackknifing from the bed as your thumb grazes up over the leaking head and you begin to stroke him. He croaks out your name like it's a plea to the heavens, his breath falling to ragged pants when you drag your tongue across the slit of his cock before sinking your mouth down onto his length.

"Fuck." He snarls. 

You waste no time by teasing him, swallowing him deep into your throat and sucking hard, tongue sliding over the thick vein running underneath as he throbs and and his hips stammer against your face. There's words, curses you think, in a language you don't understand falling rapidly from his lips and when your eyes flick up to him his are screwed shut, his head thrown back against the pillows, neck beautifully bared and his fingers wound so tight in the bedsheets it's only a matter of time before you hear them shred. 

His eyes snap open to stare at you when you hum around him, his lips parting and a hand shooting out to grip your hair. He looks wrecked and it does something funny to your chest when he chokes. 

"Please." 

You hum around him again and he loses it. Fists your hair tight and rocks his hips hard and fast into the welcoming heat of your mouth, his cock hits the back of your throat and you gag slightly, thighs clenching together as he groans at the feel of your throat closing around his length. 

You're dripping just watching him like this, shifting your thighs again for some kind of friction and this time, Loki notices. 

"You like this don't you pet?" He grunts. "Fuck, I can smell you - needy little thing - let me help." 

From the corner of your eye you catch a faint glow of green and then you jolt, eyes widening as you moan desperate and wanton around his cock. 

There's a pressure, some kind of energy, swirling at your sex, the feeling of tight circles being drawn over your swollen clit driving you mad as if he's actually dipped his own fingers inside your pants and was touching you. 

It's so much. His cock driving into your mouth whilst his magic thrums at your aching pussy. Your eyes roll back when he slows this thrusts, matching his pace to that of phantom fingers pushing inside your walls. 

"That's it darling." He praises breathlessly when you whine around him, eyes never leaving your face as his cock slides into your mouth and reappears slick and shiny with your spit and his need. "Want you to cum whilst my cock is fucking your mouth." 

His words strike a match that ignites something cataclysmic in your gut and you're done for. The muscles of your belly clenching tight before they spasm and you break apart, a muffled scream vibrating in your throat and around his cock as your pussy gushes. 

It tears a sound you've never heard in your life from Loki, something raw and wounded and so utterly blissed out shoves it's way out of his throat and his fingers are curling almost painfully tight, yanking you down to the base of his cock whilst you cry and mouth sloppily at the swelling length of him until he shudders and bursts. 

You swallow down the salty ropes of cum and then his hands are clawing at your arms, hauling you up to his chest to bury his frenzied tongue in your mouth whilst he trembles. 

"More." He bites out. 

**

Pleasure makes him burn possessive. Makes him roll you over and crush you with him, cage you with his body as his teeth carve marks into your skin and usually talented fingers rip clumsily at your pants.  

You moan when he stuffs you full of his fingers - spears you open and strokes your slick swollen walls, his voice a dark, lustful whisper snaking in your ear. 

"So fucking tight darling girl - bet that sweet little cunt looks so pretty stretched out on my fingers - be a good girl and cum for me again - cum for me and I'll give you my cock." 

You think he wants you to break just like this but then he's pulling his fingers from your heat, ignoring your frustrated whine as your pussy clutches around thin air, to shred the clothes from your body and pressing the broad width of his shoulders between your thighs.

He shoves his face into the glossy folds of your sex, drives his tongue through the evidence of your previous release and gulps it down with a gut wrenching moan of satisfaction. His fingers scissor back into you whilst he sucks your clit between his lips, making you buck wildly into his grinning mouth as you cry out and rake your nails across his scalp. 

It's rabid and feral the way he eats at you, tongue flicking wet and messy over your clit and his fingers twisting to reach a spot that has your body buckling in on itself. He thrusts knuckle deep until your wailing, hiccuping his name as the orgasm builds in your belly with terrifying velocity and then he gives your swollen bundle of nerves a sharp nip with his teeth and you shatter. 

You arch from the bed with a scream, flooding his mouth and gasping unintelligible half broken words as he groans and licks at you desperate like he's dying of starvation and you've spilled honey on his waiting tongue. 

There's no resistance when he slithers back up your body, face streaked with your desire as he pushes you back into the bed and rubs the hard length of his cock against your puffy folds. You go boneless. 

Your legs part wide for him, pussy fluttering, still pulsing with aftershocks whilst he catches at your entrance and then he's pushing inside you and the blunt stretch is so fucking good you can't breathe. 

He drops to kiss you and when he pulls back his eyes are striking, endless pools of crystalised blue slashed with a deep, vicious hunger. You both hiss as he spears the final inches inside you, burying himself to the hilt.

Your legs loop around his waist so you can press your heels into his ass to push him deeper and he growls, yanking himself out of you until only the thick head of remains inside before he's snapping back in with a rough cant of his hips. 

"Fuck, Loki. Yes!" You mewl and it's like any restraint he may have been still clinging to evaporates. 

He buries you in him, snakes his hand into the thick of your hair and sinks his teeth into your throat whilst he pounds into you. It's like he's lost to the blooming heat of your pussy, the lewd sounds of the wet slide of his cock slamming into you whilst he chases the frantic need to be sunk deep over and over again. 

You cling to him - nails scoring crimson marks into the milky skin of his shoulders as he fucks you like he wants you to splinter to pieces beneath him so he can burrow among your bones and make himself a home inside you. 

He reels back suddenly, slots his knees beneath your ass and pulls himself upright. You want to protest the loss of him but then he's grabbing your legs, hitching them higher until they're slung over his shoulders and using your thighs as an anchor to ram himself deeper. 

It's almost too much when his fingers slip to where you're joined, rubbing at you whilst his cock pumps inside your fluttering hole. Almost too much when he stares and licks his lips as a hot gush of liquid rushes out of you and coats his cock, belly and thighs. You're whimpering, pleading with him to make you cum, to feel him cum inside you and his growl pours like silky smooth liquour from his throat . 

"Pretty little thing, you need to cum? You want to strangle my cock until I fill you up?" He purrs - wicked and dripping with a violent kind of pleasure. He tilts his hips, angles himself so his next thrust plunges into the soft tissue that makes your cunt spasm and a loud wail tear from your lips. "Fuck - go ahead little one, let me feel it, let everyone hear you gush all over my cock." 

His name claws out of your chest on a broken sob, the sound of it jagged and ruined as all the muscles in your body lock tight until you explode around him and everything becomes pure pleasure and dizzying bursts of light. 

Your cunt clamps tighter and tighter until he's snarling and hissing like a feral cat, the rising crescendo of slapping skin suddenly faltering as his manic thrusts grow sloppy and his cock swells. 

"That's it darling - my pretty little goddess - beautiful thing, all mine."  He praises before he chokes and fuses his hips to the flesh of your ass, cock stiffening and spilling thick, sticky streams of his spend inside the soaked clasp of your pussy. 

**

It goes on for hours. Until the desperation has bled from his veins and his skin has cooled to a normal temperature. It's deep into the night when the two of you finally collapse into the sheets exhausted, the cool press of his body tangled with yours a blissful relief to both your mind and the flushed heat of your own sticky skin. 

Every inch of you feels swollen and raw - littered in marks from his fingers and teeth and painted with a mess of both your fluids. 

Loki holds you tight to him, draws you close against the sharp rise and fall of his chest and cradles your head like you're something infinitely precious. He doesn't speak though and you have a feeling his mind is struggling to process the sudden leap in the relationship between you, picking it apart and trying to discover what this makes you to him. 

The silence blisters and pricks at you until you can't handle it any longer and you blurt out the first thing that comes to your pleasure-addled brain.

"Well… good to know you're not going to die." 

His chest shakes lightly under your cheek and you realise he's chuckling, a soft, light sound slipping from his lips that you don't think you've ever heard from him. 

"That drug was never going to kill a god." He scoffs, trailing feather light fingertips down your arm. "But I can see how it would be dangerous for mortals, which is precisely why I insisted on taking your place." 

Wait. 

What. 

You lurch up and twist in his hold to look at him, his eyes - guarded and hesitant - as he watches you silently and attempts to gauge your reaction. 

"You took my place to protect me?" You whisper, inhaling a sharp breath he nods. 

There's something blooming in your chest, something you don't want to look at too closely so soon, something that also bloomed sweet and soft when he called you his. But as soft as his gesture makes you, it also bothers another part of you, the part of you that is an Avenger - a warrior in your own right - and more than capable of dealing with dangerous situations. 

You tell him as much and he grumbles. 

Something along the lines of. "Do you really expect me to stand by and let something happen to you if I can prevent it? I don't want to you to be harmed and mortals are so -" 

He doesn't get to finish before you're planting your hands firm against his cool chest and growling. "If you say fragile or weak, I swear I will ruin this otherwise sweet moment and punch you in that perfect face." 

His eyes narrow, glinting dark and tempting, and his voice drops to a wisp of coiling smoke.

"You can try darling." 

You almost laugh, disbelief alight in your chest that he's trying to seduce you again after he's just finished ravaging you for hours before you settle your face into a soft scowl. 

"Stop trying to distract me." You swat at him angrily. "Next time just come along and work the mission with me, do not get me taken off again or I will stab you. Deal?" 

He watches you for a moment, arches a brow at the way you so unashamedly threaten him before huffing. "I suppose you have a deal." 

There's barely any time for you to grin smugly at your victory before he's hauling you back down and rolling you beneath him, his razor sharp smile gleaming above you as his eyes pitch dark once more. 

"Now, how about we seal it." 

Main taglist: @autumnleaves1991-blog @ecuadorlady @readsalot73 @acourtofsnakes @justanotherblonde23 @tiffanyblew @alexmarie29 @simsiddy @dihra-vesa @gingerbreadandpaper @sleep-tight1 @prettylilhalforc

Loki Taglist: @brandyllyn @sfr99 @ayamenimthiriel @profoundtyrantharmony

[cdroloisms]

Do you consider a possibility that c!Punz never betrayed c!Dream in the first place and whole "I'm sorry, Dream -- but you should have paid me more" thing was a facade and undercover for Punz? Like Dream said that Punz should not associated with him, so it was intentional-

staged disc finale theory my beloved !!! :D it’s definitely one of my favorite theories, though i’m still holding out (for now) as for believing super firmly in one direction or another (tho the staged finale is definitely the one i prefer for Many reasons, haha.) c!punz is so so fun no matter if the betrayal was intentional or not, but oh boyyyy if it was something planned ,,, man . 

*c!dream voice, after quackity starts visiting*: the risk i took was calculated, but man am i bad at math. 

anyway c!punz and c!dream interactions make me soft as heck so have this !!

tw: implied torture, abuse, violence, blood, injuries, emotional distress, panicking, dehumanization, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unhealthy mindsets, illness, trauma, flashbacks, starvation mention, suicide mention, death mentions, dark content, dark imagery, prison arc/pandora’s vault themes, c!quackity critical/dark portrayal of c!quackity

Dream comes to in vague moments and flashes. 

There’s a hand brushing over his forehead, too gentle to be Quackity or the Warden, not Techno because Techno is Gone and he has Left and won’t come again, running through the sweat-soaked locks and pulling them back out of his forehead. He’s unbearably hot, shifting around on the ground, only barely registering it moving beneath him. Water, cool and clear, is tipped in between his lips, quenching his thirst and easing the dryness of his mouth. Someone speaks, voice low and rumbling, and even though he’s unable to make out the words, there’s something about the cadence of them and the specific rhythm in which they move and rise and dip that is bone-achingly familiar, enough to lull him into a fitful sleep. Through it all, there is always something, someone, lingering in the edges of his vision, a shadow standing near and watching over him; part of him remembers Quackity, remembers the Warden, and recoils in fright; another part of him remembers Techno, remembers the barest flashes of a life before obsidian and lava and pain and hell, and wants nothing more than to get closer. 

When the fog in his head finally clears away enough to think, the first coherent thought he has is oh fuck, I need to piss. 

Which, out of all possible things to think, is probably up there as one of the worst, and he’s sure that when his head feels a little less like it’s trying to actively kill him (ha, let it- it’s far from the first to try) the panic will settle in as it always does. As it is, he’s exhausted, and hungry, and he really really needs to pee- so he forces his eyes open to move away from where he’s probably still stuck in a puddle of dried blood in the middle of his cell.

The second coherent thought he has is this: this isn’t Pandora. 

The realization has him thoroughly awake, eyes snapping open out of his previous fatigue to take in his surroundings, feet kicking out to the weight on top of them that he hadn’t even noticed was there, panicking against his restraints that end up not being restraints at all, giving way easily under his thrashing and resolving to what appears to be a thick blanket when he has the mind to look. With the covers gone off of whatever he’s lying on (a bed?) he’s suddenly, unbearably cold - the prison has always been hot, the lava baking into him and leaving his skin sticky with sweat, and he thinks that the room he’s in is probably not meant to feel like a fucking freezer, but after months of being one wrong step away from heatstroke, anything cooler than the goddamn Nether feels like literal ice against his skin. The room is wooden and cozy and oddly familiar, an open door leading to what appears to be a bathroom and a closed one going who knows where, window panes built into the opposite wall to let the sunlight in. It’s a nice room, all things considered, and Dream fucking hates it. 

He pulls himself to his feet, cursing at the wobbly edge to his stance when he finally manages to stand, his vision wavering dangerously in time to the spinning of his head. His eyes flick between the two doors - he still needs to go to the bathroom, and using it now will lessen the amount of things to get in the way of his escape in the future - but at the same time, there's no knowing when people will come to (hurt him, beat him, starve him, punish him, leaving him bruised and bleeding and half-dead on the floor just as he deserves) him and he needs all the time he can get to get the hell away. In the end, he slinks into the bathroom, ignoring the thudding in his chest as he does so - at the very least, the cabinets in the thing might provide him with some manner of a weapon. 

He’s only just past the door on the way out - a fucking broomstick in his hand because it’s all he could find - when his ears catch on the sound of metal clicking against each other and his eyes fall on the knob of the other door shaking as someone makes their way in. All at once, panic slams into him - goddammit, he should’ve just run when he had the chance - and he directs quick, desperate glances at the window. Maybe, if he’s fast enough, he can book it out of there and disappear into the trees; it’ll hurt, but it’ll be better than getting caught. Anything would be better than getting caught-

 “Dream?” 

Dream blinks. All at once, the same feeling of getting the air punched out of him returns, but combined with something warm and floaty wrapping around his chest, something almost a little like relief - and hell, if that isn’t something he’s not felt for a while. 

“Punz?” 

Punz is standing in the doorway, hoodie rumpled, expression more than a little frazzled; Dream’s breath hitches at the sight of the sword strapped to his side, but their face holds none of the harsh edges and cold-dark-hard hatred that had characterized the Warden and Quackity’s visits, mouth slightly parted and eyes shining with nothing but what appears to be shock and concern. The sight of them, again, nearly has Dream dizzy, a swell of tangled, unexplainable emotion rising to the back of his throat as he sways on his feet. He hadn’t thought that he would see Punz again, he realizes, had never thought he’d see his stupid gold chain and his stupid outfit he never bothered changing, ever, or that same lopsided smirk and pale blue eyes- the last time he’d seen them, it was in that vault, their mouth twisted up in the act the two of them had decided on and eyes shimmering with unease and regret; as far as goodbyes went, it wasn’t the worst, not when Punz was one of the few to never leave him, not really, not when something ached in their expression other than the hatred that had colored all of the other expressionless faces watching him die. Months later, alone in Pandora, he must’ve grown resigned, or something, the repeated reminders that he would die alone and afraid and it would be nothing more than he deserved settling into his skin and against his bones; Punz’s expression twists, visible even across the room, and- oh. 

They must’ve thought the same thing, too.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Punz asks, finally, and Dream decides not to point out the way his voice cracks harshly in the middle, especially when the other man strides forward and starts to awkwardly herd him back in the direction of the bed - covers still thrown to the floor - in the middle of the room. Dream lets them, not replying because he doesn’t really know where to even begin describing the tangled knot of panic and shock that had strung his muscles tense when he woke up in a room he didn’t recognize, not knowing if he can really describe it all at all, trying his best not to flinch at the hands flitting in the corners of his vision as he falls back into a sitting position onto the bed. His fingers settle into the mattress, pressing into the bedsheets cautiously and marveling when they fall away under the pressure. Punz watches him, expression odd, gathers the blankets from the ground and presses them over and around him in a way that’s entirely awkward but does leave him warmer than he’d been before, before walking back on his heels with an odd expression that makes Dream’s insides twist. 

“You,” Punz says after a long second, voice wavering, “are a fucking idiot,” and it’s all the warning Dream gets before a white-and-black blur is rushing towards him, arms wrapping around his chest and his vision whites out in alarm and panic. When the pain doesn’t come, he comes back to his senses enough to realize that Punz’s arms are still wrapped around him, shoulders shaking as he holds him close but not painfully, careful not to pull too much against the places on his ribs and back that leave him gasping with small shocks of pain, head pressed against the crook of Dream’s neck and hair tickling his face. Dream can feel his heart hammering in his chest, but as the panic dies something warm and long-neglected stirs in the middle of his chest, and he melts forward with a quiet hum. This is- nice. Really, really nice. 

“What were you thinking?” Punz mutters, too quiet to really be directed at him, hands curling tighter into the folds of the hoodie - oh, he’s wearing one of those, not the same stiff, bloodstained material of the prison uniform that had chafed against his skin, another constant source of pain and discomfort of thousands in the hell that had been Pandora’s Vault  - on him, and Dream doesn’t really know what to do except sit there and blink dumbly, listening to the heartbeat of the person leaning against him rumbling against his ears. It’s oddly calming, has the pressure on his chest lightening enough to take a full breath, and then another, the warmth of someone leaning against him almost too much but not enough at the same time - his eyes burn, and he ignores them. 

“I-” he doesn’t really think that Punz was really asking a question, but just ignoring his question seems rude, too, and even despite the fuzzy warmth settling into his skin and into his bones from the pressure of Punz’s arms around his body and their head against his shoulder, he’s still unable to shake the anxiety of leaving a query unanswered, a constant murmur to listen obey do as you’re told or you’re going to regret it put on a damn good show or suffer the consequences remaining no matter how hard he tries to push it away. He wets his lips when his mouth feels too dry to keep speaking, eyes fluttering closed as he leans forward further, “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“You-” Punz cuts themselves off with a wet, incredulous-sounding laugh that has Dream jerking back despite himself, meeting their ice-cold eyes when they pull themselves back to look at him. He doesn’t really recognize the expression he wears, Dream realizes with a jolt, the way his lips are pressed together and the churning in his eyes, and his lungs seize in his chest. 

“Sir-”

If anything, Punz’s expression only seems to harden, and the warmth disappears as Dream looks into their eyes - cold, two polished shards of ice, frosted over pools of water in the middle of the tundra, flinty and sharp and brilliant blue. His hands shake as he pulls them back to his chest, trembling from the chill that’s made its home in his muscles and frozen them in place - sir sorry sir please don’t hurt me im sorry please I didn’t mean to

“Fuck, Dream,” he shakes his head, and only then does Dream see the slight wobble to their bottom lip, the waver to their words like they’re struggling to keep themselves together, “why didn’t you say anything?” 

 What?

You almost died, you know,” he keeps going, not meeting his eyes as they direct their gaze out the window, “Several times, honestly. Fucking hell- when Techno brought you out- I didn’t think you would survive. I didn’t think anyone could survive that.” 

Dream swallows. He doesn’t remember getting out, doesn’t really remember much at all if he’s being honest; there was the black of the cell, the heat of the lava, Techno promising to get him out before disappearing in a flash of purple, Quackity throwing him against the wall (Where the fuck did Techno go? You better have a fuckin’ answer, pal, if you want your death to be anything resemblin’ quick-) then nothing. Everything. His heart hammering in his chest and blood slick against his skin and the press of metal against his windpipe and pain, the only constant within it all, the only thing that made any goddamn sense when the room seemed to flip and turn and twist and his feelings knotted and frayed between anger-betrayal-distress-sadness-fear-grief, when reality swirled into a dizzying blur of colors and feelings and sounds carving themselves into the inside of his skull- then here. Dream flexes his hand experimentally, marveling at the feeling - the pain is almost gone. 

He’d forgotten how it felt, really, to live and not hurt. 

“Dream,” Punz calls again, voice low and worried, and Dream can’t help the way his head snaps up to meet their eyes and can’t help the flinch that twists his neck back when their frown deepens. It’d been a show, at least he tells himself, because Quackity would stop earlier if he screamed more, but- his hands tremble at his sides, twisted into the sheets of the bed, a near-constant litany of reminders and rules beating like they have a heart of their own in the back of his head. It was a show- he feels himself almost buckle, give in under the force of the stare leveled at him, and hates himself for how weak he feels, pinned under the eyes trained on his own. He’s not sure how much of a show it is anymore. 

“Dream,” Punz repeats, words even softer, and the ugly feeling of shame and anger twists inside Dream’s chest again. Punz- ever unflappable, deadly with almost any weapon and never letting anyone see him as anything but deliberately apathetic - is watching him with an expression so uncharacteristically and unbearably gentle that it makes his breath catch in his throat. “You could’ve died,” he says once again, and the look that paints his face is so terribly vulnerable, feelings pouring over like a cup overfilled, bubbling forward and bleeding from every corner, and Dream- can’t. He doesn’t know what to do in the face of such stark emotion, doesn’t know how how to handle the way his eyes burn and his heart throbs like an exposed nerve, the way everything yawns wide in the middle of his chest into void and emptiness and pain so deeply carved in the space within his ribs that he half-thinks he’s been hollowed out entirely.

“But I didn’t.” 

Punz pulls back, but Dream isn’t looking at him, is staring at the scarred surfaces of the backs of his hands and the knobs of his knuckles sticking out against the thinned-out skin and the yellowed nails he’s pushing against the blanket, the fourth and fifth ones of his right hand missing. They shake, no matter how long he looks at them and how hard he tries to make them stay still, and he can feel a voice whispering in the back of his mind, tone too familiar to ignore. Weak. 

“I didn’t die,” he says when Punz doesn’t reply, looking at his scarred hands, weak hands, broken hands. “So it’s okay. We can keep- we can keep going.”

“Dream-” their voice is a blade scraping against an anvil, nails scraping over his ribs, his hands clamping over his ears before he’s realized he’s moved and his brain screaming at him for doing so once he realizes that he has, “-what the fuck are you talking about?” 

Still, he hadn’t survived months of Quackity’s visits by bending over the second he was pushed, so he forces his tongue to move from where it’s fallen to the bottom of his mouth like lead, feels his eyes go steely even from under the way his vision has already begun to wobble. 

“It’s not over yet,” he continues, trying to keep his words even, “‘cause I didn’t die, so we’re not done. I gotta- we have to reevaluate, of course,” he can’t stop, because the second he stops talking is the second he falls apart, so he ignores the way that Punz stiffens and stills and doesn’t let anything stop the flow of words spilling out of his mouth, “because the vault and the prison- um, obviously didn’t go as planned, but it’s fine. Just a minor- um, minor inconvenience. A setback- but it’s not- it’s not unsalvageable- we just have to-”

“Are you kidding me?” Punz cuts him off with a sharp laugh, disbelieving and just on the wrong side of desperate, and the air in Dream’s lungs freezes into a solid block of ice in the middle of his chest, “you- you’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“Punz?”

Dream’s voice comes out small, himself shrinking back into the bed, keenly aware, suddenly, of how there is nowhere he can go to run - Punz doesn’t seem to notice that he’s spoken at all, one of his hands moving up to tug through his hair, which is - now that Dream is looking - fluffier and messier than he remembers, sticking up in all directions like they didn’t bother to smooth it down.

“You think this is fine? You think that because you didn’t fucking die, that this is all okay?” Punz’s voice rises in volume slowly, not loud enough to be a shout but enough to go hard and unyielding like a threat, and with each word every remnant of the vault comes crawling, clawing back up to the front of his head, a pounding reminder to play his role, put on a show, behave behave behave-

“Goddammit, Dream,” Punz startles him out of his own thoughts, looking straight into his eyes with their ice-blue ones, “have you seen yourself?”

 Have you seen yourself? Lying down in your own goddamn filth like a fucking mutt- prime, you disgust me. 

“Your ribs were basically shattered. Your legs had fractures on both sides, and your back was so fucking torn up that it looked like more blood than skin. You’ve been starved- enough for me to see every goddamn bone in your body, it feels like. Your throat was bruised to hell- I wasn’t sure if you were gonna be able to speak again, fuck, and like a day after we got here you got fucking pneumonia.” Punz’s breath hitches, “Your skin was a literal fucking oven- I thought you’d bake yourself from the inside out. You could’ve died- you should’ve died.”

 You should’ve died a hell of a long time ago, pal- should’ve saved us all the fucking trouble and offed yourself like Wilbur fucking Soot.

He flinches, and this, Punz seems to notice, eyes widening a fraction before they pitch their voce lower, clearly taking a few breaths to calm down and reaching forward to take one of Dream’s hands loosely in his own, thumb smoothing over the bumps of his knuckles. 

“You’re not fine,” he says after a long while, shaking his head. “Hell- I’m not fine. But we’re not doing anything like- like the vault or the prison again, dude. I told you they were shit ideas- fuck. We never should’ve done that.”

“It was worth it,” Dream butts in, because he can’t imagine a world where it wasn’t, can’t imagine a world where all of that was for nothing, “it was worth it-” 

“No it fucking wasn’t, are you out of your mind?” Punz replies immediately, voice overlapping over Dream’s own, “have you listened to a single thing I’ve said? You- look at you! How was that worth it?”

Dream shakes his head stubbornly, already feeling the way his jaw is trembling around the words he forces himself to speak. “The server- it was all for the server-”

“Fuck the server!” 

Punz seems startled by their own shout, drawing back at the same time Dream does, breathing ragged. He takes a few seconds to compose himself, bringing his hand to his face as Dream sits stock still, not daring to move, hardly daring to breathe. 

“Fuck the fucking server, okay?” Punz says, finally, voice cracking in the middle, “You lost two damn lives for this server. You got fucking tortured for fucking months for this shitstain of a server. Just- fuck them. I’m not watching you tear yourself to fucking shreds for this- not again. I can’t sit around and watch you fucking die again, Dream, I can’t drag you out bleeding out in my fucking arms again- fuck-” Punz shakes their head, and oh. They’re crying. 

“No more. Fuck the server. I’m done, Dream- we’re done with them.” 

Dream blinks, so thoroughly surprised that he thinks the shock knocked him straight out of the building panic attack, leaving nothing but a slight thrumming of anxiety still simmering beneath his skin. Almost instinctually, in a motion he doesn’t really remember but still has the muscle memory for, he opens his arms- and in a similar, near-unconscious response, Punz tumbles into his arms. 

He blinks, not moving his arms to curl around the other, feeling the weight of another person against his again and the sound of their breathing and relearning them both. This is- new, for both of them. Dream was never emotional, not before the prison, not that he wanted to be after it either- but Quackity always had a particular affinity for tearing him apart, shard by shard. And Punz- he’d never been like this, even back in the day, when things were easier and they didn’t bear the constant burden of netherite against their backs. They’d always been stoic, sharp, sarcastic, cool and dry in a way that chafed against Sapnap’s fire and always led to Dream laughing at them sooner or later. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, feeling the heat behind his eyes finally sear too hot and boil over, tears squeezing through his closed eyes and falling down his face. 

“Okay,” he says, finally, and there’s nothing easy about the acquiescence, not when he had poured blood and sweat and the better half of himself into this place, salted the earth with his tears until no more would come and nothing else would grow. He thinks that he will have more to think and more to say and more to protest come the next days, that the binds between him and his goals have been weaved too deep with the fibers of his soul for him to tear them free without sacrificing what broken pieces of himself he has left, but all he can think right now is how fucking tired he is. He remembers Techno’s voice, going through myth after myth to pass time in the prison, and thinks with something like humor and something like grief - let someone else be Atlas for a day. The sky is too heavy right now. Punz’s arms tighten around his body, enough to remind him that they’re there but not enough to press at his still-healing ribs, and he thinks that they might understand. “Okay.” 

[obx-paradiseonearth]

The Bet | Rafe Cameron

Hey lovelies, this is my first Rafe Cameron fic and I hope y’all like it! It’s set with him and y/n in university and he’s for sure a bit out of character- no murder in this house he didn’t deserve that shit- but that’s okay because this is fanfiction! Please enjoy loves and let me know what you think!

Description: Rafe Cameron and y/n go to University together and make a bet at the beginning of the year: who can make the other fall in love first. This is the climax of such. 

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Female!Reader

Warnings: SMUT: basic things, oral (female), regular sex, dirty talk (mild?), might be important to note she’s a virgin in this

Word count: 4.9k

Tags: Fluff, Smut, tiny bit of angst at the beginning if you squint super hard

// If heaven and hell had equal say in creating one person, it would be the man with his head between her thighs //

          She sighs, her toes burying themselves in the carpet as her arms reach well past her head in a much needed stretch. Her room is dark, the only light coming from her cheap desk lamp. The pounding in her head, for once, isn’t enough to drown out anything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours. None of this was supposed to happen, it wasn’t supposed to get this far. It was always just a game, wasn’t it? She runs a shaky hand through her hair, her knees wobbling slightly at the thought. Get it together, y/n. 

          She pulls the scrunchie from her hair, her muscles coiled tightly, letting it fall around her shoulders wildly. Her skin is burning up under her jumper and she pulls it quickly over her head too, letting it land in a heap at her feet. Slipping her jeans off, and socks too, she reaches up again, only this time to turn the ceiling fan on. It whirls to life quickly and she’s left in nothing but her sticky skin and the black star lace set that he always adored. 

          Him.

          All she can see is his face, and the way his blue eyes would dance up her body if he was here. She can hear the breath he would take. No she can feel it, in her own lungs, swirling cool peppermint in her chest like it’s his own. His touch, light at first, moving slowly downwards, over the hills of her breasts, against the curve of her waist, until finally over-

          No.

          She doesn't want to think about him anymore. She needs to move, do something other than stand here and feel bad for herself. What would her mother think? And her sister? Actually she knows what they would think. They would say, ‘Y/n what have you done?’ No, actually, just her mom would say that. Her face would scrunch up and her nose would do that crinkle thing it always does when she’s disappointed. Which is a lot. Her sister, though, would be firm. Her sister would say, ‘Pick yourself up y/n. Get it together, he is not going to win this one. You do not let a boy do this to you.’ Her sister would be right, like always.

          The problem is she wants to scream. She wants to claw at her throat until all the sounds come pouring out. She wants to rip out her hair and scrub at her skin until she can’t smell anything but iron and fire. Anything but pine and sandalwood and him. She needs the memory of his hands to fade. Fast. But she can still feel his fingers tracing patterns on her back and the urge to scream gets so much stronger. It’s building in the pit of her stomach, the same way it used to, but this time it’s dangerous and angry. It makes an unfamiliar heat run through her veins. Visions of ripping her posters off the wall and smashing her laptop against her desk fill her head. She needs to calm down now.

          This time she does move, towards her bed, and sits on the edge, gripping her sheets with all the strength she has left. Something soft brushes her thigh and she glances down to see a brown shirt. Of course it’s here he must have forgotten it. Despite everything she pulls it over her head and curls into a ball. Just as she thought, it smells like the forest. 

          Sleep comes easier than she thought it would, her eyes fluttering closed in a pine scented sedation. Maybe he’ll come to her in her dreams. At least she can still have that. She lets herself sink a little deeper into her comforter as the pine gets a little stronger. 

         “So this is just it, yeah?” His voice is as slow as honey in the darkness of her room. Great, now she’s hearing his voice in her head. 

          She pushes her head against her bed, ready to let the sleep handle this. Except now there are footsteps, and they get louder, like they’re coming towards her. What the hell is going on.

         She rolls over in time to watch a blurry Rafe walk into her dorm room. Well, more like storm into her dorm room, in all his open-flannel, black-jean fury. It takes no time at all before she feels her feet touch the shag of her carpet again but this time her toes curl in order to keep her upright. 

         When his face comes into focus, he’s less than a foot away from her. “What are you doing here?” 

          Her voice is pure ice but it doesn’t faze him in the slightest. His ocean eyes are black in the darkness. She can feel the heat rolling off him in waves, beckoning her to reach out and touch his burning chest. She has to close her fingers around the hem of the shirt- his shirt- to avoid accidentally doing just that. He’s fuming. 

        “What the hell was that back there?” His voice is slightly louder than before.

        She’s still staring at his chest. “Rafe get out of my room.”

        “Y/n, I’m not asking again, what the fuck was that?” 

        His chest heaves as he takes a breath and her hands itch to reach up and feel his hot skin, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

       She takes a step back. His being so close is making her head spin in dizzying loops. He only follows though, closing the space between them more than it already is, if that’s even possible.

       “You left. After everything I said you just fucking left!” His voice is strong but she doesn't miss the slight crack. It shoots a pain like she’s never felt before through her chest. 

        She can’t help the harshness in her words. “It was a game, Rafe.”

        “We both know it wasn’t, y/n.”

        At his words all the air gets sucked out of her lungs. 

        “You need to go.” It’s no more than a whisper, so quiet she’s not certain she actually said it. 

         She turns away from him, stumbling to lean against the posts of her bed, attempting to remain upright despite how weak her legs feel. She can hear his labored breaths from behind her and she screws her eyes shut, willing him to just walk away before either of them get even more hurt than they already are. Or at least more than she already is. 

         But of course, he wouldn’t be Rafe if he gave up that easily. 

         “Y/n you don’t mean that,” his breath is on the back of her neck and she shivers, trying not to squeeze her thighs together to make it last a little longer, “you can’t resist me and you know it. Just look at what you’re wearing.”

        She spins around quickly, a new rage igniting in her stomach and overpowering everything else in its wake. He’s always so damn arrogant. It makes her want to punch him in the face and maybe split one of his full lips. 

        She throws her arms up in exasperation, not meaning to lift the shirt past her hips. “What the hell do you want from me, Rafe!”

       His eyes lower and he sucks in a harsh breath, just the way she had imagined he would earlier. “Fuck.”

       “Rafe this was your idea! You won. Isn’t that enough for you?” She pulls the material back down, crossing her arms over her chest.

       He continues staring at her legs, greedily taking in every inch of bare skin. The heat between her legs roars to life again. She throws her hair back up, hoping to cool down even slightly. He makes her so damn mad all the time. This was never a good idea. She knew something like this was going to happen but, of course, she had to do it anyway. Stupid y/n. 

         She turns around again and steps away from him, praying he’ll leave. “Just go please.”

         She almost expects it when his hands grab onto her waist but she can’t help the sharp inhale she takes. His hands are life giving, despite everything that’s happened. They could still bring the dead to life again.  

         “You don’t want that, do you?” His words are warm against her now-revealed neck. 

         “It was a game. It wasn’t real, Rafe.” She tries to make her words firm but they come out as soft mewls instead. 

        His nose skims her neck and she knows he can feel her trembling in his grip. “Who are you trying to convince here, y/n, me or yourself?” 

         He plants a burning kiss against her skin- one she knows he has to bend over significantly to do- as his hands move inward, resting on her abdomen in the dip between her hips. She barely stops the moan from tumbling out of her lips. There’s no way she can respond right now or she’ll be done for. She’s seconds away from caving in. 

          One of his hands begins sliding slowly towards her chest and it takes everything she has to not throw her head back against him as her breasts swell in anticipation. His other hand, though, is creeping dangerously close to breaking her resolve. His fingers dance over the top of her panties and ignite every inch of skin he touches. Her ears are ringing so loud they drown out her own panting breaths. She’s a complete and utter mess in his arms. 

         “If you can honestly tell me that this is all a game,” his fingers continue to lower at a tantalizingly slow pace, “then I’ll leave.”

          She can’t help but lean further into his chest as his hand gently squeezes her breast and his thumb rolls over her nipple from over his shirt. She can hear her sigh over the ringing in her ears. The whole floor probably hears it. His other hand quickly finds her and he slides a lazy finger over her aching sex. She doesn't need to hear the moan to know it came out. 

         His voice is honey again, dripping down her spine with every sickly-sweet word. “Fuck, baby, if you can tell me that how wet you are for me right now is just a game then I will leave and you won’t have to see me ever again.”

         His words are the final push it takes to give into him. 

         “Rafe.” His name falls from her lips like a praise.

         As soon as he hears her he spins her around, lifting her with an arm under her butt and a hand gripping the back of her neck. His lips crash onto hers feverishly and she tastes peppermint with a hint of cigarettes, letting it consume the last remaining parts of her that want to deny him. Her legs wrap around his waist, warming from the bare skin of his abdomen. She can feel him against her as she tangles her fingers in his hair, pulling lightly at the roots.

          “Baby,” he moans into her mouth, sending tingles racing to the pit of her stomach, “it was never a fucking game. You've always been mine.”

         He walks her backwards with his mouth latched on her neck, no doubt leaving marks everywhere his tongue traces. He sets her on the edge of her bed, gently pushing her onto her back before shrugging off his flannel and kneeling between her legs on the floor. Even in the faint light she can see his eyes devouring every part of her. He takes his time running his hands up her legs, rubbing small circles wherever he wanders. She props herself up on her elbows, watching him take in all of her. He leans down to kiss the insides of her thighs. 

          If heaven and hell had equal say in creating one person, it would be the man with his head between her thighs.

         “Rafe, please.” she falls back when he moves closer to her covered flesh.

         “What do you want me to do baby,” he looks up at her as he places another kiss to the junction of her thigh, “I need you to tell me what you want.”

          Another moan slips out when his fingers graze over her panties.

          “Y/n, I need to hear you say it.” He sounds like he has all the time in the world. He slips his thumbs into her waistband and pulls ever so slightly.

          “Rafe, fuck, I-” his lips press against her hip bone and her mind scrambles to think of any words that will make even the slightest bit of sense together- “kiss me, fuck, please kiss me Rafe!”

         He looks up at her through his lashes, his hair falling in his face and a beautiful smirk carved on his lips. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

         Before she can process what’s happening he’s pulled the lace fully off her legs and his mouth is over her, his tongue swirling around her sex in agonizingly slow circles. Every nerve in her body sings his praise all at once which is funny considering he’s the one on his knees for her. It takes everything in her to not squeeze her thighs tighter around him if only to make sure he never leaves her. She settles for once again gripping his hair between her fingers. 

         He slips a finger inside her and curls it, pulling another one of the endless moans from her. She raises her hips, trying to get as close to him as she possibly can. She doesn't think she’ll ever be close enough though. They could be the same person and she would still never be close enough to him. His tongue circles her clit and she almost loses it. She never used to know why they explained it like a ball of fire in the pit of your being- like a mini sun exploding within you- until him. 

         “Rafe.” His name tumbles from her mouth of its own accord. 

         His eyes look up to meet her and that’s when the little sun explodes, the most delicious flames consuming her body like they always seem to do when he’s around- only this time a thousand times stronger. 

         He doesn’t stop sucking on her flesh until she’s panting from the overstimulation- her bones nothing but mush- and pulling him from her thighs and on top of her. His bare shoulders are smooth and powerful as he holds himself over her, her fingers crawling over the taut muscles feverently, his hair falling in his face once again. He looks at her in awe, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed- like it was his greatest pleasure to bathe her in ecstacy. She can’t help but pull his face to hers and press her lips against his. That’s all it takes to start the mini sun forming and twisting inside her again. Her lips move to his neck as her hands trace over his panelled stomach and pop the button of his jeans.

          “Fuck, y/n, baby are you sure?” He hisses slightly, sucking in some air as she wraps her hand around him, squeezing lightly. 

          She starts to nod before stopping herself, the words clawing at her throat, “yes Rafe, I’m sure. I need you.”

She’s ready to beg if she has to, her fingers squeezing again, her cheeks heating when he murmurs her name again. She’s never been one for drugs but the way he says her name? Oh, she’s hopelessly addicted.

          He looks at her and for the first time tonight he looks a little unsure of himself. “I don’t want to hurt you, baby.”

          Her heart flutters in her chest at his words. “You have to, please. I don’t want anyone else to do it. Only you.”

         His eyes flash, his hand moving to grab her jaw. “No one else is ever going to fucking touch you, you hear me?”

         She bites back the smile before it takes over her entire face, instead choosing to say the one thing she knows he needs to hear the most right now. Her hands slide over his chest, curling over his strained shoulders and squeezing. She can almost feel her blood running through her veins- thick and hot and determined- as she says it.

          “Rafe I love you.”

          The room is silent for the first time since he walked through the door. It’s nerve wracking, to say the least. His eyes search hers thoroughly- as if trying to decide whether or not she’s telling the truth. His chest heaves, brushing hers with each labored breath. She can honestly say this is the first time she’s ever seen a shocked expression on his face. It’s quite heartbreaking, to be completely honest.

          “What did you say, baby?” His voice is barely a whisper.

          “I said I love you, Rafe Cameron.”

          He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against hers, “again.”

          Her brows furrow, her heart pounding. Did he not hear her? No, that can’t be right. She hadn’t stuttered, hadn’t fumbled. She was quite clear. Her heart thunders painfully, her chest aching. Does he not want to say it back?

           “Baby, please,” he opens his eyes and she gasps, the shine clear even through the darkness, “I need you to say it again. I need, fuck, I don’t know-”

           Oh. 

          Oh no, no, no. 

          “I love you,” she pushes her hands up his chest and through his hair, tugging him closer to her, a wave of something fierce flooding her body, “I love you, Rafe. I love you so much it hurts.” She presses her lips against his, biting his lip hard before releasing him, her eyes searching his face desperately, “didn’t you hear me earlier? You won! You made me fall in love with you! I am in love with you, Cameron!”

          His mouth falls open slightly and, for a moment, all she can hear again is his panting breaths, wild and hot, like an animal finally set free, “Rafe-”

          He smashes his mouth against hers, cutting off her words and replacing them with her moan- so loud she’s certain it, too, like his lips, could wake the dead. Maybe in a way her moan does. Maybe it slams through Rafe’s ears and veins and bones and makes him feel alive- makes him feel like he has a purpose, even if it’s just to bring her the greatest pleasure of her life. She can’t be sure but if the way their teeth clash together and his hands rub across her skin- like he’s trying to start a fire with his bare hands- are any indication then she could die a happy woman knowing he’s finally alive.

          “I love you.” His tongue slips into her mouth and she groans, the peppermint exploding over her senses again, “I’m in love with you.” His voice is husky- strained from something she knows she wouldn’t be able to understand- and she sighs, her chest welling with an aching longing on he can erase, “have been for way too long.”

          She’s breathless, lost in the way he says the words. It’s like he plucked each word from the sky, fished each one from the sea and pressed each together with only his hands. Each word is special. Stars and pearls and diamonds. I’ve been in love with you for way too long. She’ll never ask him for a necklace or a ring- he just ruined her wanting anything material from him- she’ll only ask that he never stops saying he loves her like it’s the only thing that matters.

          Hearing him say the words makes her light up, a passion burning through her veins that makes her crave an outlet of sinful proportions. She slips her fingers back into his jeans, this time tugging him free and pumping her fist slightly, her mind going fuzzy from how big he feels in her hands. Will this even fit? She swallows thickly, forcing her mind back to his velvety skin. He’s long and hot, searing into her hand as her thumb rolls over his tip, spreading the moisture and pulling a throaty groan from his lips.

          “Fuck, I need you baby,” he mumbles, his hand dragging down her side, his fingers slipping back inside her. 

          He curls his digits again, twisting them hastily, as if desperate to hear her soft moans again. If that’s his goal then he succeeds indefinitely, her core clenching with the slip of his name from her lips. She squeezes her hand around him, breathless from the feeling of him throbbing between her fingers, mirroring the way her body responds to his ministrations. 

          “Rafe, please,” she doesn’t know exactly what she’s begging for but she’s compelled by the way he thrusts into the palm of her hand when she says his name, “fuck me. I need you to fuck me.” 

          Saying the words make her tingle, her skin flushed and yearning. They feel so wrong in her mouth- obscenely so- but she craves the way they make him buck against her, pulling her skin between his teeth and biting. She lifts her legs and pushes her heels against his hips, trying her best to convey how hungry she is to feel completely full- not just with his fingers. Come on, Rafe, please.

          “Yeah, you want me to fuck you baby?” His mouth is on her ear now, his voice low but strong. Her belly squeezes at his words, his tone dripping with sweet torture. His thumb flicks over her clit slowly, his eyes watching every little movement she makes. It’s becoming explicitly clear just how long he’s been waiting for this moment. The thought alone makes her moan. “I can’t hear you baby. Should I fuck you right now?”

          The coil in her belly tightens further and she moans as he removes his fingers, his hand latching on to her hip. Something tells her this is Rafe Cameron at his most restrained self.

          Time for that to change.

          “I want you to fuck me, Rafey,” the nickname slips from her without hesitation, her own way of proving she’s ready for him, her pride swelling when he squeezes her tighter, “right now.”

          That’s all it takes for him to kick his jeans off, jostling her body closer to him. She groans when he runs his tip over her clit, teasing her entrance with the first true glimpses of electricity, her skin crackling and sparking wherever he meets her. By the time he finally lines himself up she feels like she’s seconds away from combusting. The flames licking at her- just barely contained under the surface of her skin- roar when he pushes in the first two inches. 

          She gasps, tasting metal in her mouth, “holy shit, Rafe.” He feels like fire inside her, like he’s burning himself into her, her body igniting from the inside out, “too big. You’re too big.”

          He chuckles and the sound is like water. No, not like water. She’s pretty sure it is water, pouring over all the parts of her that roar when he pulls out and pushes back in a few more inches; soothing her like the ocean lapping at her body on an especially hot day. It’s a fitting notion; him being her ocean. She could drown in his presence. 

          “I promise I’ll fit, baby.” 

          Because you were made for me, she fills the rest in herself.

          With a final push- one that makes her wonder if she’s supposed to taste the flames on her tongue- he bottoms out, stalling as she adjusts to him. She swallows a few times, her mouth going dry from fighting her groans of pain. She doesn’t know when her hands found his shoulders but she doesn’t think about it, she just digs her fingers into his skin, tipping her head back and squeezing her eyes shut.

          “Rafey,” she whines, her voice hoarse in the sudden silence.

          “I know, baby,” he coos back, his lips meeting her jaw and his hand massaging her side.

          The ache subsides slowly- the fire fading from inferno to smolder- and she shifts her hips, trying to find a more comfortable position and- oh.

          Oh holy shit!

          “Oh my god,” she gasps, dragging her hand across his back, sinking her nails into his skin as a wave of white hot pleasure jolts up her spine. 

          She bucks her hips against his- she has to, it feels like magic- her thighs climbing around him, her ankles crossing behind him. He laughs again, his lips brushing over her neck. He pushes one arm under her back, the other hooking around her knee, pulling her closer to him. She moans when he slides slightly inside her, stretching her in a way that makes her see stars.

          “Baby-” she clenches and he hisses- “fuck, I’m taking that as a go ahead,” he murmurs, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back into her heat, “god, you’re so tight baby. So fucking perfect.”

          He pulls out again, pushing back in a touch harder. Her toes curl when he sets a steady rhythm, his shaft meeting depths she didn’t know were possible. Her room fills with the sound of his skin slapping against hers and the little moans she can’t contain, emphasized by his own, softer groans. Every time his hips meet hers she feels that ball of fire- the sun she didn’t know existed inside her- grow a fraction. Soon it’s humming, pulsing in the pit of her stomach and begging to explode.

          Rafe pushes up on his arm, pulling her hips to stay aligned with him as his eyes devour her, his mouth falling open with a groan. The tiny sun squeezes at his hungry expression, the fire behind his eyes feeding the fire growing steadily within her. 

          “You look so pretty baby, wrapped around my cock like that,” she moans, the words fuel to her fire. “Do you like my cock, baby?” Her core squeezes and he bites his lip, his hand digging into her hip. “Someone clearly likes hearing what I have to say but can she speak?”

          Her cheeks flare with heat but the ball of fire only grows once more, “I love your cock, Rafey. It’s-” she gasps he pulls out before slamming back into her, her eyes widening from the tangible pleasure rolling through her- “it’s so good.”

          “That’s better baby. I want this whole building to hear you scream,” he growls out, snapping his hips, “to know you’re mine.” He shifts his thrusts, brushing a spot that makes her gasp, his eyes lighting up dangerously, “got it, baby.”

          “Rafe, what, I don’t under-” 

          “Trust me baby.”

          He pulls her leg up his chest, her ankle hanging from his shoulder as he picks up his thrusts. Her eyes widen as he somehow feels deeper, brushing a spot that makes her whine. He slams into her relentlessly, his fingers dancing down her leg until they find her clit, pressing down gently and circling. She moans- louder than all her other moans before- and shivers as the tiny sun pulses, the familiar feeling of ecstasy creeping over her bones again. She digs her heel into his shoulder, biting her lip and twisting her fingers in her sheets.

          “Oh fuck,” she gasps, her voice strangled.

          “That’s it baby,” Rafe encourages, his movements becoming sloppier, “louder.”

          He presses his fingers harder, his hips jutting precisely into her and all of a sudden the mini sun enters supernova, the coil in her belly snapping as her muscles squeeze deliciously, “Rafe!”

          He thrusts into her a few more times before tensing, his head thrown back with a choked moan. The sight alone is enough to make her want to do it all again but combined with the feeling of him twitching inside her, the warmth blossoming alongside his release, it’s dangerous- if she wasn’t before, she’s now painfully addicted to Rafe Cameron.

          He falls beside her, pulling out with a final, shared hiss. She reaches for him automatically, craving the feeling of his arms around her and his pine tree scent, now marred with the aroma of their actions. Her whole body still buzzes slightly but her limbs are weighed down with sleep, the fatigue wrapping around her bones and tugging. He pulls her against his chest, his hands sliding up and down her back, his fingers pressing into her muscles. 

          “That feels nice,” she murmurs, her voice sounding far away from her as she tries hard to chase away the blackness nipping at her vision, “I’m so sleepy now.”

          He presses his lips against her forehead, laughing lightly, “don’t fight it baby.” His voice is like a lullabye, soft and slow, pushing her closer to the brink of unconsciousness, “you’re about to have the best sleep of your damn life.”

          She hums, her eyes now closed and her face pressed against his arm, her fingers curled around his bicep, “love you, Rafey.”

          If her eyes were open she would see the way he smiles at her- the way he can’t wipe the grin off his face for fifteen minutes- and she would smile too. Her eyes aren’t open, though, so instead she has to make due with his words.

          “I love you, y/n.”

          It’s not a bad compromise. 

          The last thought the flits through her mind before she caves to the sweet call of post sex sleep is one that she tells herself she has to make sure to tell Rafe in the morning. It’s important. 

          She needs to tell him that she won.

[danioak7]

He Hurt You! Wyatt Langmore x GN!Reader

“Wyatt. Wyatt! Wyatt, can you ever hear me?!”

The brunette they were trying to talk to just kept walking away, with a determined and slightly angry look on his face. By the time the h/c person caught up to him, they were a little out of breath. They grabbed him by the wrist, which caused him to stop and face them.

“What the fuck do you want?!”

They froze in their tracks. That wasn’t the Wyatt they once knew.

“Where- what- I-“

“C’mon, spit it out. I’ve got shit to do.”

“Sorry that I can’t process the fact that my boyfriend is acting like his father right now. Weren’t we supposed to show him that we were better than the way he was, even if he’s dead?”

“I’ve changed.”

“Clearly! The look on your face you just gave me clearly shows that.”

“Look Y/N, I’ve gotta do something.”

“Uh huh. Is that something going after the guy who hurt me last night? Because that’s what I literally just finished explaining to you, and now here we are. His last known location, and you have a knife in your pocket,” Y/N grabbed the small red pocket knife out of Wyatt’s back pocket, “you might wanna conceal this better.”

“Gimme that!”

“Not until you explain to me something! Why are you so bent on getting this guy?”

“He hurt you!”

“Many people have hurt me! But this is the first time you’ve actually decided to do something about it.”

Y/N dropped the knife on the ground, and tried to gather their boyfriend in their arms. He put up little resistance, and his rough exterior started to crack.

“What happened to the soft-hearted, science fiction-loving goofball I once knew?”

“College and reality hit him in the face like a truck.”

“So college taught you to irrationally go after people who are double your size, and come at them with a tiny pocket knife?”

“I was just so mad that he hurt you, and something finally snapped.”

“I know you’re mad, but I’m okay. The most I have are a few bruises.”

Wyatt pulled back and put his hand on the side of their face. They winced as his thumb hit their skin that was already turning purple from the night before.

“Yeah. A few bruises. Your eye is almost swollen shut!”

“It’s nothing.”

“Love, that’s not ‘nothing’. ‘Nothing’ is having a small bruise on your knee or somethin’. That is a black eye. And I really think you should put some ice or somethin’ on it, hold on…”

And with that, he ran off to a nearby store desperately trying to find a way to make Y/N’s eye hurt less and for it to open back up. Y/N patiently waited for him because they trusted him to not run off to find that guy that hurt them. When he came back, he was waving things around and frantically mumbling various things.

“They said to put this on you, but it looks hella sketchy. And I got some ice! Hopefully it will dull any pain and- mmph!”

They cut him off with a light yet meaningful kiss. When they pulled away, the frazzled man looked at his significant other and was extremely confused. Wyatt then went back to trying to help Y/N with their black eye.

“Wha- what was that for again?”

“You’re back to normal. And I’m extremely grateful you’re not on a murdering rampage anymore.”

“Hey, I wasn’t gonna murder him! Just cut him a lil’.”

“‘A little’ is not what you wanted to do was it?”

As he finished with their eye, he stuffed the rest of the things he got into his pockets along with his own hands. He hung his head in shame, before speaking again:

“No…”

“Hey,” Y/N put their hands on either side of his face and forced him to look at them, “I was worried you were gonna get hurt yourself. He wasn’t exactly someone you could take head on.”

“Yeah. I guess you were right…” He wrapped them in a giant hug. He was super comfortable to hug because of the large, warm hoodie he had on. Plus, they fit into his arms like a piece in a puzzle, “just don’t scare me like that again. I don’t wanna see you hurt.”

“I’ll try my best, love.”

They held each other for a few moments, just basking in the comfortable silence and the warmth that they collectively shared.

“Wanna head back to your place? I don’t think Ruth would mind.”

“I’d love that, Wyatt. As long as you supply me with chips?”

“Heh, works for me. But wait- why do I have to be the one to pay for them?”

“Because you stole all of mine last time!”

“Hey! It’s not like you haven’t stolen tons of mine when we’re at my place!”

And with that, the pair strolled down the calm streets of the Ozarks laughing the entire way.

A/N: Heyo! So I wrote this up in my spare time randomly, and I oddly really enjoy it. So I hope you guys do too! Part 2 of the A Perfect Life series should be up by the end of the month, folks💕

[datawyrms]

Happy DannyMay everyone! i say while dropping this. For day one, Memories. sorta kinda sequel to this Half a Decade Late

He said he’d never hate them. Back when he thought it would only be a matter of time until he found a weakness, a flaw and squirmed free. He always had before. He didn’t like being captured, and he certainly didn’t like getting shoved into cages, but it was always temporary. A terrifying inconvenience. Something he’d shrug off eventually and forget. Lately he was starting to realize he’d forget that he ever considered thinking charitably. Just like all the other things he couldn’t quite remember.

They took everything. His freedom, his limbs, his skin, his voice. So many things he had the misfortune of learning he could recover from with enough time. Really broke the idea that anything about you was special. Did it matter that they ripped him open when the green slime he was made of would eventually cover the hole without even a sign of the pain it caused him? He just stopped caring. Ghosts didn’t feel pain. Maybe if he believed that enough, he wouldn’t need to feel it. Hurt was just a matter of perspective.

He was changing, apparently. The spectral copies of his human organs they stole over and over again stopped being perfect copies. Sloppy. Apparently his body was forgetting what the real ones were like. He didn’t remember the last time he’d been human anyway. That was fine. It was the only real way he could bother them now, being ‘less useful’. Obviously he didn’t need them that badly. He envied some of his fellow prisoners. They were just green inside. Nothing the vultures wanted, nothing for them to mutter and prod at while he struggled uselessly.

He didn’t really know why he still bothered to do that. It never worked. Some impulse. Just better than keeping still. He never really was a human, was he? Humans didn’t treat other humans like this. So he wasn’t one. So why did he ever think he was?

Tie was weird. Maybe having a soul made you act all funny. He’d been tempted to change her name, to no-mask or just face, but the words didn’t feel right, sort of caught on his tongue. Even when he didn’t have one sometimes! Tie just slid off easily. Like he’d said it a lot, or something like it.

So the newbie remained Tie. And Tie was weird. A good kind of weird? She didn’t just tell him to shut up, anyway. Most of them were boring like that. Though not getting shocked into unconsciousness did make the days tend to drag a bit more. She did make his head hurt sometimes, with all the weird reactions Tie made. It always passed though.

He kept playing with the lights up there so they would flicker and crackle, just to check if it was a Tie day. Sure, that got a good amount of shocks when it wasn’t Tie, but they were always grumpy after he’d lost a limb or two. It was almost amusing again. That was the word. Maybe?

“You don’t remember Amity at all?”

Frustration and anger that was directed at him, but also not. Tie was super strange like that. “Why would I?” His response just made her eyes narrow more, but she didn’t do anything to take it out on him. It was hilarious. 

“That’s where you’re from.”

“News to me.” Might be a lie, might not. Gun grunts said lots of weird stuff. He shifted position, watching her while upside down didn’t make it easier to tell if humans were lying or not, but did make her scowling funnier. “That’s where you’re from then? Or that other name you keep using.”

“You can’t actually be him. Fuck.” She was rubbing at her forehead, looking away at nothing. “You remember ghost hunters but not Amity Park?”

“Hey! Names are hard, Tie. Isn’t like you know the name of every town you’ve ever been in.”

“No, but I remember the one I lived in most of my life!”

“Good for you! I’d clap but I’m kinda under armed for the task.” Under armed. He snickered as she only rolled her eyes at his joke, but it only made him think of another one. “Isn’t like a ghost lives anywhere.”

“You’re in here for hell knows how long and you can’t get better jokes?!”

Tie’s irritation just made it funnier. “These are gold! Way better than the stuff you guys laugh at.”

“Like what?”

“Oh you know.” The humour of the moment passed as he got back up, wondering if he should give the old ice trick another go. The noises were fun. “Like how the ghost won’t eat, but ghosts don’t breathe either. So the ghost can’t do much to stop ya.” As if Tie didn’t know. She still made the weird pinched expressions though. Why bother? It didn’t really matter if she actually had a soul still. Those ones just quit and then there’d be a new newbie. “Lots of you think that’s reaaaaal funny.” He stuck out his tongue, gagging. “Gross gun grunts.”

“That’s not funny either.”

“Try breaking your funny bone a few times. That’ll fix it. Or was that computers?” He frowned, rubbing his fingers against his chin. Computers. What was it about computers again? Re-re-something? Like with bones when you...did something…

“Phantom!”

That jerked him out of his considerations. “Still not him!” Now that he checked, Tie looked like she’d been trying to get his attention for awhile again. That, or she’d figured out how to teleport closer to his cage. Both were very possible. Probably. 

“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you.”

“You were talking?”

“For someone who says he isn’t Phantom, it sure gets your attention fast.”

He shrugged. What did Tie expect? So what if he noticed it? It didn’t mean anything to him, personally. It was like comp-whatevers. “You could say the coats were coming and I’d do the same thing.”

“Doubt it. You remember Jack and Maddie maybe?” Tie hesitated, as if saying something to him actually mattered. “Your parents?”

“I’m a ghost. And possibly a starfish. Since I do the whole regenerating thing.” He’s pretty sure it’s starfish that do that. “I don’t think they’re big on families.” He thought that was pretty amusing, having like. Little voiceless things that cling to rocks as parents. Actually had a bit in common if you thought of his cage as a rock? Tie didn’t agree, based on how he was biting at her lip and clenching her fists. Still no shooting. Still super weird.

“Be a mercy killing at this point…” Tie wasn’t actually speaking to him, but it was interesting. Killing what? One of the other ghosts maybe. “Sam, Tucker? Any of them ring a bell?”

He certainly didn’t have a bell in here. “Sam...and Tucker are names?” He guessed, shuddering a little. Weird names. Made the gooey mess of ectoplasm he was made of wriggle when he said it. Like when he was struggling to digest something, uncomfortable and heavy and just making him want to move when he couldn’t. Though he could this time. Zipping up to the top of his cage helped shake the feeling off, at least. He wasn’t saying those again, no thank you. “You have weird tricks, Tie”

“They’re just names. I didn’t do anything to make you fly up there. I half thought you couldn’t do that anymore.”

Tie did have a bit of a point. When was the last time he’d flown up here? “Think I forgot I could?” He didn’t really move much in general. Not like he had anywhere to go, his cage didn’t really change.

She just looked tired. “This isn’t fixable.”

He wasn’t really paying attention, poking at the edges of his cage with his feet was pretty entertaining. It tingled a bit when he got pushed back, but flipping over in the air was easy. Why didn’t he float more? “Gun grunts don’t fix things, so Idonno why you care.”

Tie wasn’t paying much attention to him either, muttering to herself. “Manson would kill me for doing it. No way she’d believe you’re like this. Let alone the Fentons...”

Well, that was boring. He busied himself with counting how many seconds it took for the shock to stop coursing through him when he touched the walls. Though it was a bit tricky to keep track between tries.

“Skulker? Ember? You at least remember the ghosts, don’t you?”

“Are you just making names up now Tie?” They just sounded silly. The thought of someone named ‘Skulker’...who was also very tiny. Now that’d be funny. Kinda liked that idea actually.

“Probably don’t even remember the guy who put a million on your head…”

“A million whats? Questions? That’s more a you thing, Tie.”

“No, Vlad. The mayor?”

“The what?” Things weren’t funny anymore. He wasn’t cool and passive. That word, there’d been others but he didn’t even care what they’d been. The V had been enough to set his core to a furious pulsating heat of fury. His ice claws clung to the wall even as the buzzing in his skull grew stronger as the field tried to shove him back. “WHERE” He snared, not caring how his throat burned from the partial wail trying to scrabble out of his throat. Tie didn’t matter, nothing mattered and he actually missed his arm since not having it made it harder to keep his grip and snarl at the one backing away from his prison. “WHERE IS HE?” Oh he’d order anyone, and they’d listen or he’d shred them as soon as he got through- but his claws were cracking- green and red staining and corrupting the fine edge he’d honed so often. Why did he care? He didn’t know, didn’t want to know, he just had to act and now, just in case. The chance might slip away and he wouldn’t, they’d pay they’d pay, they’d PAY.

“Danny! Stop hurting yourself, he’s not here!” Tie was blathering, but at least backed away when he shrieked at her. Stupid Tie. Didn’t know anything. “Hell. You don’t even know why you’re mad, do you.”

He kept slamming the ice back in place, even as his arm weakened and started oozing. He didn’t need his legs, he didn’t need arms, he didn’t need anything. Just OUT. NOW. He snarled and snapped at the metal that grabbed his back and slammed him hard to the ground of his cage. It ignored him and the awful warmth that had consumed everything. He never won against it but now he had to keep trying because-because the anger? Because of something. The metal easily ignored the green surging pulses of electricity, just kept pressing down on him until he wasn’t solid enough to struggle, not strong enough to scream at it. The awful stabbing feeling in his core wanted him to act, but he couldn’t even defiantly flick his tail as he grew colder and slipped out of consciousness.

Everything hurt and it wasn’t even Friday. At least. He didn’t think it was? He’d have to ask Tie about it...if Tie showed up again. Something about her gave him a stab of unease. Might have something to do with all the green stains in here. Didn’t remember getting shot though. Strange. Must have done something. Maybe. Didn’t really matter.

[elwenyere]

Helps to Relieve My Mind

Hello fam! I wrote my first little Sambucky ficlet today in an effort to tide myself over until Friday’s new episode of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. If such a thing would help tide you over as well, please feel free to give it a read. I very much hope you enjoy! <3

Tags: Sam/Bucky, 1.8k words, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together

CW: descriptions of falling and panic attacks

Read it on AO3

“Is it too late to go back to therapy?” Bucky called over the comms.

It had been less than forty-eight hours since he and Sam had decided to ditch Walker and go after the Flag-Smashers on their own, and they were already getting their asses handed to them again. They’d gotten side-tracked on their way to see Zemo by a tip from Torres: a group of hijackers matching the description of the missing super-soldiers had been spotted loading up a cargo plane with medical supplies in Kiev. Bucky and Sam had showed up just as the Flag-Smashers were readying for takeoff, and when Sam had flown straight through a rain of gunfire and into the open cargo bay door, Bucky had had no choice but to follow, cursing under his breath as he ran to catch the taxiing plane. 

He’d managed to haul himself inside just as the wheels left the ground, only to have his back slammed into the metal wall of the cargo hold a minute later, a serum-enhanced fist clutched tightly around his throat.

“You could always change your mind about following me,” Sam offered, a rhythmic series of thumps and clangs from the other end of the bay revealing that he was dealing with problems of his own. “I bet you could even get another ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card if you agreed to up with -”

“Don’t say it,” Bucky growled, grabbing the wrist of the soldier holding him against the wall and twisting it viciously.

“- John ‘Wingman’ Walker and his partner,  Battlestar,” Sam finished, the grin somehow audible in his voice.

“You’re just lucky all my other options suck even worse than this,” Bucky muttered, taking a deep breath and bum-rushing the man in front of him.

“Yeah, ‘lucky’ is definitely how I’ve felt every day since you ripped the steering wheel out of my damn car in the middle of the highway,” Sam retorted. Bucky could hear the sounds of bullets ricocheting off metal, and he glanced over to watch Sam reemerge from behind a stack of crates.

“Even the Winter Soldier has some fond memories,” Bucky reflected, ducking a roundhouse kick from the redhead who’d booted him out of the truck in Germany and then sweeping his arm back to catch her solidly across the jaw. 

He’d just turned to reassess their situation when he saw one of the soldiers poised by a lever on the side of the wall.

“Shit!” he yelled. “Sam!”

And then an explosion of air knocked him off his feet, and he felt himself yanked backward, scrabbling for purchase on the floor of the aircraft as he slid toward the open door. Unfortunately, it was his fleshy hand that finally found it. Just as he was about to run out of room, he wrapped his fingers around the lip of the lowered door and then let out an involuntary grunt of pain when his full weight caught against the hold, his legs whipping behind him in the open air.

“Shit,” he swore again, trying to strengthen his grip so that he could risk making a grab for the door with his metal hand.

“Bucky!” Sam yelled, and for some reason the change in his tone sent Bucky’s heart rate rabbiting even faster than the scramble across the floor. “Hang on! I’m on my way!”

A metal crate went flying over Bucky’s head, and he winced automatically, sending a jolt of pressure through the fingers clinging to the plane. And because he was always aware of Sam’s position in the fight, he knew there was no way he was going to make it in time.

“Sam, you should know -” 

His words were cut off when the plane banked abruptly to the left. Bucky’s legs jerked sideways, his hand spasmed, and then he was falling through the air.

It was different than the last time. He could still hear what sounded like screaming - either a voice calling his name or the air hurtling past him, rushing away from him and refusing to bear his weight. He could still feel the terror claw up his throat and curl into the back of his mind, covering his thoughts with a white, electric blanket. But this time he knew what it would feel like when he hit the ground. He could already feel the rocks cracking through bones and tearing at the sinews of his arms, and all he could do was grit his teeth and hope to wake up somewhere better than he had before.

He twisted in the air so he could see the end coming, every muscle in his body wrenching tight in anticipation. But then he felt a hand curl around the back of his head, and a weight slammed into him from the wrong direction, shifting his momentum abruptly to the side. Before he knew it, there was soft grass under his knees, pressing up against him and holding him still.

“I got you,” Sam said, his arms still wrapped tightly around Bucky’s back. “I got you.”

Bucky felt like he was sucking air through a straw, his head dizzy with a flood of adrenaline as he clung to the fabric of Sam’s uniform and curled up against his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut to stop the vertigo, but in the darkness all he could picture was an avalanche of snow and ice and unforgiving rock, and a second later he opened his eyes again with a gasp. His muscles were still screaming with the effort of bracing for collision, and he struggled to even out his breathing, willing himself to concentrate on the weight of Sam's arms around him, grounding him.

As the haze gradually began to clear, Bucky became aware that Sam was still repeating the same words, his cheek pressed against the top of Bucky’s head. But the tone of Sam’s voice seemed to have shifted, so that what had started as a reassurance now sounded like a kind of desperate chant.

“I got you,” he repeated, his own breathing coming sharp and fast. “I got you.”

Suddenly Bucky remembered the photo in Sam’s wallet when he paid for drinks in Germany, the story Steve had told him as they sat on a hill in Wakanda.

Fuck.

“Sam,” Bucky whispered. 

Sam’s arms tightened almost convulsively, and Bucky reached out to rest his hands gently on Sam’s lower back. 

“Hey, Sam. I’m okay,” Bucky continued, listening to Sam’s breathing slow down. “I’m here. I’m okay. You caught me.”

Sam straightened up slightly, one of his hands moving to cradle Bucky’s head as he'd done during the fall, and Bucky pressed his forehead against Sam’s.

“You caught me,” he repeated, and this time it sounded like a brand new idea. Sam had caught him. Bucky had lost his grip, and Sam had been there to cushion the fall.

“I’ve been trying to catch you, you idiot,” Sam replied, shaking his head with a faint echo of exasperation. “Do you have any idea how scary it is to think you might not let me?”

He gave the back of Bucky’s neck a gentle squeeze, one thumb sweeping up into Bucky’s hair, and for the first time in decades, Bucky’s body responded to an instinct that hadn’t been carved into his brain with a knife: he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of Sam’s lips, sighing at the warmth of Sam’s skin against his.

A moment later he froze, pulling away with exaggerated slowness and wiping all traces of expression carefully from his face. Sam was staring back at him, wide-eyed, and for a second Bucky felt like he was in free fall again, his stomach heaving as he plummeted through space.

“That was - uh,” he tried to explain. “Sam -”

But before he got another word out, Sam had hauled him in by the back of his neck and was kissing him thoroughly, his mouth soft but hungry against Bucky’s, and something hot leapt through Bucky’s chest that seared deeper than any of the afterimages or second-hand shocks that had passed for getting his life back.

When they finally broke apart, it was because Sam had started laughing.

“Seriously, man?” Bucky protested, a small smile tugging at the corner of his own lips. “I know I’m out of practice, but if you make a crack about being cryogenically frozen, I swear to God.”

“I was going to say that if the kind of healing you’ve been looking for is less Sigmund Freud and more Marvin Gaye, you could have just called me back,” Sam retorted, giving Bucky a grin and a playful shove on the shoulder. “It would have been the world’s easiest alley oop. Lord knows I was giving you more assists than John Stockton gave the Mailman - and that is a crack about being in deep freeze, by the way. You could be understanding that reference right now if you hadn’t been ghosting me instead.”

Bucky scanned Sam’s face, drinking in the warmth and openness that he had always found infuriatingly, impossibly brave.

“You’re the only number in my phone other than my shrink,” Bucky explained finally.

Sam tilted his head, his eyebrows raised significantly.

“That’s kind of my point, Bucky.”

“No, I’m trying to tell you that’s why I couldn’t call,” Bucky continued. “I have a list of people I’ve hurt in the past that’s so long I can’t even see the end of it. But when I turn to the list of people who are here for me now?” He held up a single finger and then jabbed it toward Sam’s chest. “You’re it. Just one. So if I take a chance, and I fuck that up -” He shook his head ruefully. “Well, let’s just say it felt safer to imagine you might still be out there than to know for sure that you weren’t.”

Sam’s face softened, and he opened his mouth to reply, but Bucky waved him off.

“And that was total bullshit: I know,” he said quickly. “More importantly, it was selfish. What you said yesterday about me not understanding what you were going through - you were right. I never once asked how you were doing. I guess I was in such bad shape to help anyone that it was easier for me to believe you didn’t need any help.” 

Sam regarded him thoughtfully.

“Therapy, huh?” 

“God, it’s the worst.”

He gave Sam a smile, this one feeling a little less like a mask someone else had drawn. Sam smiled back, reaching up to trace the edge of Bucky’s lips lightly with his thumb.

“One of those things you might not understand about me is that I’m not very good at needing people either,” he said, dropping his hand to rest on Bucky’s metal shoulder. “But I think I’m going to need you on this, Bucky.”

“Yeah, well, that’s probably true,” Bucky agreed. “Seeing as you just let the Flag-Smashers get away again.”

“Maybe next time you could try to stay inside the vehicle,” Sam suggested. His tone was light, but the squeeze he gave Bucky’s shoulder telegraphed some of the fear still clinging to the lines of his face.

“You’ll catch me,” Bucky shrugged, trying for casual assurance and landing closer than he would have thought possible.

“Always,” Sam promised.

[trashyswitch]

The New Life of a Dying Afton

Michael walks himself to Henry's house, gutted and disintegrating like a zombie. Henry tries to help him as best he can, and reprimands him for breaking their personal past promises.

This fanfic prompt came up after the following question ran through my head: How would Henry react to scooped Michael? This is my take on it! However, I will warn you: it's dark, gorey and quite sad at times. Though it ends on a bittersweet note, it won't change the general tone and gore within the beginning.

So despite that: here's the fanfic.

Henry was watching TV at home, trying to unwind from his day at work. It was getting tiring trying to work the long shifts these days. It was getting painful too. Some of the mechanical engineering he did in his 20’s were starting to get to him and his physical body now. His back often ached and his right hand would grow more and more painful the longer he worked any kind of machinery. Guess you could say he’s going through the Dirty 30’s of his life. Most of the time the pains and aches didn’t come till the 40’s or 50’s! But some people are just unlucky, I guess.

Henry looked at the time on his watch and sighed as he got up and started to make himself dinner. His wife was out hanging out with a few friends, leaving him to eat dinner alone. He threw some leftover lasagna into the microwave and set it to an estimated time. While he waited patiently for it to warm up, Henry grabbed the newspaper and read it for anything even slightly interesting.

He felt like a retired person: depressed, working a small part time job and living in a small, semi-old house. It worked for what he did, but he sometimes missed the good old days. The days William was a good person with only a quirky personality to prove his eventual criminal mind. It’s strange looking back now, remembering the little things he’d do that would later make sense after killing those children. He remembered the times Will would grow numb and distant, especially after something tragic happened. Example: When Chris died. Now, Henry knew that any death was capable of changing a person.

But William...almost snapped and remained that broken way up until he went missing. He almost lost it when he found out a second Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria was going to open. Why was he the only one who wanted to throw away the Fazbear Entertainment Business for good?! Was it even salvageable after the killings and the Bite of 87?! He really wanted the whole nightmare in his 20’s to be over. But the Fazbear Entertainment was not helping him to stop thinking about it. They just HAD to try and get profit off the animatronic business. He had sadly started a chain of circumstances that he can’t let go of for his life.

Even though he wasn’t the killer, Henry still felt partly responsible for the huge mess he made of things.

Henry’s thoughts were quickly pushed aside as he heard a knock on the door. Henry looked up and looked over at the microwave. It still had a few seconds left. So, Henry stopped the microwave and walked to the door.

He opened up the door. “Hello-”

Henry shouted in horror and just about died from a heart attack right there on the spot! ZOMBIE!

Henry fell his butt and scooted himself back as the zombie held his hands out. “Henry hold on!” it told him.

IT KNEW HIS NAME?! OH NO! “AAAAAH! SH- SHIT! STAY AWAY FROM ME!”

Henry tried to kick the door shut on the crippled, dead looking thing. But to his horror, the walking corpse grabbed his ankle! Henry SHRIEKED as loud as he could!

“HENRY! Henry, it’s me, Michael!” The corpse yelled to him. “Look!” The corpse pulled out his wallet and showed him his health card with a picture on it.

“YOU- YOU STOLE THAT!” Henry tried to tell himself out loud as he looked up at the face. “IT CAN’T BE! MICHAEL’S ALIVE AND FIT, AND-” Henry words started to fade as he immediately recognized the face of the poor boy he knew so well. “I-” He took the health card from him and held it up beside the face of the walking corpse.

Holy crap...it looked EXACTLY LIKE HIM! Except, it looked like Michael hadn’t taken a bath or brushed his hair in weeks! To make things worse, it looked like something under his shirt had been bleeding heavily and staining the shirt.

Henry dropped the health card in pure shock and covered his mouth. “What happened to you?!” He asked as he started to stand up.

Tears started falling down Michael’s darkening cheeks as he reached his hands out, visibly begging for a hug. Henry quickly acted, pulling him into a worried but loving hug. Michael wrapped his arms around him as well, and started crying into his shoulder. He was mentally exhausted from everything he had just been through. He was even partially holding himself up.

Henry rubbed his back and tried to ignore the slightly ghastly smell that was coming from him. He really looked like he was rotting from the outside in. He was secretly hoping the smell was just body oil drowning his skin, pores and scalp. Strangely enough though, Michael didn’t feel moist. He felt...dry. Like super dry. Like heavy amounts of Eczema was covering and destroying his skin bit by bit.

Henry finally pulled away and cupped his purple cheeks. “You...I hate to be that kind of person, but…” Henry brought his hands to his shoulders instead. “You look like shit!”

Michael guffawed somewhat quietly and cracked a yellow, lobsided smile. “I know…” He told him.

“How did this happen? And...do you need some cream?” Henry asked, slightly laughing despite the pain and confusion of seeing Michael so distressed and disfigured.

Michael looked at the back of his own hand, and nodded. “Yes please.” Michael replied, staring at the exposed skin where his nails used to be.

Henry grabbed some cream from the bathroom and handed it to him. Michael sat down on a chair in the living room, and removed the bottle cap. While that was happening, Henry got up and headed to the kitchen to get his presumably hot food from the microwave. He checked his food, and smiled when it felt nice and warm. Henry pulled his lasagna out of the microwave, and walked out to the living room again to check on his less-than-okay nephew.

Michael was putting strips of cream onto his arm and...patting the cream onto his skin instead of rubbing it. Henry widened his eyes and blinked in confusion. That is not how you put cream on. Literally no one puts cream on like that! “Uuuuuh...Doooo you want help? You act like you’ve never put cream onto your skin before.” Henry asked.

“I’m fine.” Michael replied.

HA! That’s a laugh and a half. He is most certainly NOT okay!

“If I rub the cream on like normal, I’ll remove all the skin that’s dying. So I have to be very gentle.” Michael admitted.

Henry blinked and frowned. “Then...is it even worth the fuss?” Henry asked.

“No. But it feels nice and cool.” Michael replied.

“Would...would you rather you had a bath?” Henry asked, placing his lasagna down.

“I’ve tried bathing. But...the skin and hair just falls off and clogs everything.” Michael admitted.

Henry just about gagged at that. Gosh...Whatever happened to him, must be such a pain. He looked down at his plate and...gave it a push away from him. He was quickly losing his appetite. “So what exactly happened to you? Did you get hit with radiation? Are you dying?” Henry asked. “It sounds like radiation poisoning to me. Did you hear about that Nuclear Reactor explosion that happened in Russia?” Henry added.

Michael shook his head.

“A nuclear reactor exploded, and they predict hundreds of thousands of people were exposed to radiation. Hair falling off, skin dying out, and skin color change are all part of it.” Henry explained.

Michael shook his head. “No. I wasn’t exposed to radium. But I did get hit with a metal scooping system.” Michael explained.

Henry tilted his head. “Scooper?”

Michael sighed. “A huge device that looks like an ice cream scooper, that destroys animatronics.” Michael explained.

Henry blinked and quickly looked at him. Did he just say animatronics?!

“Wait wait wait…” Henry pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes. “You didn’t get yourself a job at the old pizzeria, did you?” Henry asked.

Michael shook his head. “Circus Baby’s Pizza-”

“Oh my fucking- MICHAEL!” Henry yelled. “We talked about this! I don’t want you having anything to do with your crazy fucking father! I know it’s probably curiosity that led you to do this, but come on!” Henry reacted. “Did none of that curious cat story stick to you at all?!” Henry asked.

Michael groaned. “That was 6 years ago.” Michael reacted.

“Still! It still applies here. The cat wanted to know what was at the bottom of the well, and tried to swim to get down there. But: she died before she got to see the bottom. One small question about your father, and now look at you! Rotting right in front of me!” Henry reacted.

Michael just chuckled at that. “Hey look: I died after getting my answer.”

“MICHAEL! Death is NOT a joke.” Henry spat at him. “You of all people should know that by now.”

“It can be if it happens enough times.” Michael admitted.

Henry stood up, walked right up to Michael and slapped him across the face. Michael widened his eyes and held his hand up to his own face. “That’s for not listening to me and getting yourself scooped like an ice cream tub.” Henry shot at him.

Michael frowned. “Don’t use ice cream as an allegory. I’ve heard it plenty enough for a lifetime from Elizabeth.”

Michael’s angry face morphed into surprise. “You...you found Elizabeth?” Henry asked.

“Mm hmm...Baby’s eyes changed color to match Elizabeth’s eyes.” Michael explained. “And...she was scooped too.”

Henry frowned. “Did you find anyone else while you were there?” Henry asked.

“Besides a ballerina whose voice strangely reminds me of my mother...no.” Michael replied.

Henry sighed and sat himself down. “Come on: let’s...cover up the tub drain with a drain cover, and let’s get you a bath ready.” Henry decided.

Michael looked up at him and looked down again. Something was up with him. But...he wasn’t saying anything.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong? Or am I gonna have to guess?” Henry asked.

Michael sighed again and started to lift up his shirt. Henry gasped and covered his mouth in panic as he looked at what was left of Michael’s middle. It was just a big, rotting hole of purple with only the lower ribs to identify specifically what was missing.

“Does…” Henry almost felt the need to put his hand in between the hole. “Does it hurt?” He asked, holding his hand out.

Michael gently took Henry’s hand and led it into the hole. The moment his hand went an inch deep without touching anything, Henry pulled his hand away and shook his head in disgust and fear. “It’s okay. Look:” Michael stuck his own hand into the hole, deeper and deeper. Until, he flinched slightly from the strange feeling of his hand touching his spine and nerves. Henry yelped and covered his mouth with his fist with anxiety filling him. He was so nervous he was gonna drop dead at any moment.

Michael removed his hand and gave Henry a smile to show ‘everything’s weird, but fine’. Though the deep red blood on the boy’s hand didn’t help much.

Henry almost shivered. “You sir...are really testing my stomach.” Henry mentioned.

Michael giggled and brought his bloody hand closer to Henry’s face! Henry shrieked and fell right off the couch! Michael bursted out laughing at the reaction, and got up to clean his hand.

“Ew ew ew ew gross- That’s the most inappropriate thing you could’ve done!” Henry reacted.

Michael just leaned forward against the sink and laughed at him. Henry’s reaction was perfect!

“Oh! OH! You wanna laugh now? Alright, you asked for it!” Henry stood right up, walked up to Michael and started tickling his ribs.

Michael yelped. “AAAHAHA! HENRY, WAHAHAIT!”

“WOW! Dead, purple, but still ticklish as ever!” Henry reacted. “Guess your death hasn’t killed off your nerves yet.” Henry brought Michael against the counter, turned him around to lean against his back, and continued attacking his ribs.

“STAHAHAHAP IHIHIHIT! WHYHYHYHY?!” Michael asked, through his strong laughter.

“Why?! Because not only did you manage to break the many rules we agreed on, but you managed to nearly get yourself killed!” Henry reacted.

Michael grabbed Henry’s hands and held them away as he tried to breathe. “Hohohold ohohon…”

“Okay, okay. Take your time.” Henry allowed him.

Michael looked up at him. “Ihihi...Why though? Why did I live after...getting scooped?” Michael asked. He didn’t wanna tell Henry about Ennard, knowing he’ll flip even more if he mentioned a sentient animatronic that wanted to disguise himself.

Henry’s looked down a little and bit his lip. “Well…” He took a moment to think of how he was gonna tell him. “The only way I can describe it...is by giving it a name. I call it ‘The Afton curse’.” Henry explained with an awkward chuckle.

Michael frowned. “...Ouch. I know my family has a bad wrap, but I’m still an Afton too.” He admitted.

“I know, I know. It affects more than just the Afton family as well. Example: my little Charlie.” Henry admitted.

Michael looked down.

“Basically: The Afton family and those who’ve known William, have the unfortunate habit of possessing animatronics.” Henry explained. “But you seem to have gone down a new option: zombifying.” Henry explained.

Michael lifted an eyebrow. “You sound like an alien conspiracy theorist.” He told him.

“I know, I know. But it’s the only way I can explain the ‘possessing animatronics’ thing.” Henry mentioned. “Also, it doesn’t exactly help that the children William killed also rotted in the animatronics.” Henry added.

Michael made a disgusted face. “Great...I’m rotting without an animatronic to hold me together. And I’m stuck with this family curse because I’m genetically linked to a killer.” Michael groaned. “I have never wanted to slap my father across the face more than I do now.” Michael admitted.

Henry laughed a little. “Don’t we all?”

Michael smiled at that. “Can we...stop talking about the ‘Afton curse’? And maybe go back to the ‘You died! Time to tickle you!’ thing?” Michael asked.

Henry laughed and was taken back. “Really?!”

If Michael could have blushed, he probably would’ve at that very moment. “I mean...yeah! I kinda feel like laughing-” Michael’s explanation was quickly interrupted by a pair of hands tickling his ribs again. “HeheheHEHAHAHAHAHA! OHBOY- OKAHAHAYHYHYHY!”

“I don’t think I fully remember just how ticklish you are. I doubt you even remember either! It’s probably been a while since you were last tickled.” Henry admitted.

“YOHOHOHOU THIHIHIHINK?” Michael reacted.

“Yes! Now hush. I wanna hear some squeals and snorts from you.” Henry ordered jokingly as he lifted one of his arms up.

“HEHEHEHEhehehe...Henry, don’t even think about it!” Michael ordered. Henry only smirked at this and wiggled his fingers really close to his armpit. Michael yelped and developed a wobbly smile with nervous giggles spilling out.

Henry couldn’t stop his evil facade from breaking. He soon dropped his wiggling hand and started laughing. “Ihihi’m nohot even tickling you!” He reacted.

Michael tittered into the side of his closed fist. “Cahahause ihihit’s the suspehehense!” He explained.

“The suspense? For something you told me you wanted?” Henry mentioned. He started wiggling his fingers again and finally touched down on the vulnerable armpit. Michael shrieked like a bat, and completely lost himself in his laughter. “Wow!” Henry reacted. “I don’t mean to sound insulting, but you sound a little like the Joker.” Henry admitted.

“HEHEHEHEY! IHIHIHIHI’M OHOHOFEHEHEHE-”

“Offended? Did I offend the son of a famous killer? Are you gonna vow vengeance on me and get him to kill those who bully you?” Henry teased.

“WHAHAHAHA?! HAHAHAHAHA NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!” Michael shook his head and kicked his feet wildly.

“Oh, you’re not?! Thank goodness! I would’ve been a goner!” Henry teased.

Michael kicking started to reach Henry’s belly and waist, leading Henry to grab his feet. “Hey now! Who told you you could kick me?” Henry asked.

Michael’s laughter fell into giggles once again, mixed with panting. “Sohohohohorryhyhyhyhy.” Michael told him.

“I’ll forgive you, but you gotta promise me-” Henry pulled off his socks, “you’ll never try and kick me again.” he started skittering his fingers onto his foot.

Michael threw his head back and snorted before falling into rapid giggles. “Hehehehehehehenryhyhyhyhyhy! Nahahahahahahaha!”

“Wow! You’re still able to talk after all this? Your lungs must’ve grown extra strong when you died!” Henry teased, giving Michael’s chest a couple pats.

Michael’s giggles paused, and were quickly replaced with coughs. Henry quickly let his foot go, walked up to Michael and patted his back to help him cough it out.

“Ohohow...Ow. I think my lungs are broken.” Michael admitted.

“Was tickling you a little too much?” Henry asked.

Michael shook his head. “No. I needed that. Thank you.”

Henry smiled and fluffed his hair. “You’re welcome.”

Michael’s eyes went cross-eyed when he felt a bunch of his dead hair falling down his face. It felt weird. Henry widened his eyes and looked down at his own hand:

It was completely covered in Michael’s hair.

Henry looked down at his hand, back up at Michael, back at his hand and back up at Michael again. Not sure how to react, Henry rubbed the hair from his hand onto Michael’s chest. Michael laughed at this and just took it. Guess all the zombie jokes can be made. Starting after his drain-clogging bubble bath.

[untaemedqueen]

Live, Laugh, Love (M)

Hoseok x Reader

WordCount: 10.9k

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Roomates to Lovers!AU, Best Friends to Lovers!AU

Warnings: Reader Has Shitty Boyfriend, Marking, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Fingering, Hair Pulling, Secretive Pining,Big Dick!Hoseok, Hoseok Has A Huge Dick, Multiple Orgasms, Body Worship, Cream Pie, Unprotected Sex, Honestly Just Super Sensual And Lovey Dovey Sex

A/N: Gotta give a shoutout to my girls @rougebangtan​​ and @unoriginal-username15432​ for being so lovely reading and editing. I spent a lot of time on this fic and it means a lot to me so I hope you all really love it.

The sea is a miserable temptress. Water flows freely, crashing along the shoreline begging to enrapture you. To take you under the comfort of her salty tears, to bring you home where you feel the most comfortable. She is raw, potent energy waiting to be appeased by the gods. The way the rocks, dry greyscale stones, wait to be blessed by her presence. Wait to be licked with her furious energy, as they sit under the cloudy skies of silver brings a sense of calm. The sea was disastrous, much like you.

You lean back, hands perched behind you as you dig your fingers into the countless golden clusters of sand underneath. Your toes hoping for the same masked feeling as your head lolls back to look at the incoming rain clouds. In the distance, a flash of lightning, spearing brightly with flashes of orange and white; draws your attention and you can't help but appreciate the way the world works. If lightning were to strike down on the sand around you right now, it would turn to glass. Just a quick simple action could completely change up the form of the small, insignificant granules right by your side. A weak fragile granule could turn into something brilliant and hard like glass. Then, it comes to mind. You wish something would change up your form. For something to change up who you are from being insignificant to something hard and strong like glass.

It wasn't always like this. You once laughed and had a spitfire personality. You could joke and jeer with your friends, finding time to go out of your way to put a smile on someone's face because they deserved it. To do small things that would light up a person's heart because you wanted them to radiate a brilliantly happy energy. You almost can't remember what it feels like, to wake up and smile. To sit wordlessly with your friends as they joke and bask in the happy atmosphere. But now there was a hole in your heart, the size of a black hole and it eats at you constantly. Growing bigger in size and waiting to swallow you whole.

The color of the sea draws your attention as your head tilts back down to the vast horizon. With the clouds overhead, they cast dark shadows upon the water, turning the ocean that is usually a brilliant cerulean to a deep viridian. The smell of sea salt and the ocean breeze breech your senses, shrouding you in a false sense of cover. You lay down, letting the sand curve around your limbs, digging them deeper into the recesses of the beach shore. Thunder cracks, a few seconds later lightning lights up the sky signifying the incoming storm. A harsh breeze rolls over your body, waves crash against the shoreline until they crawl back into the ocean leaving nothing but foam behind. Your eyes close, ears waiting for another calming wave break. 

"There's a storm coming, you know." 

Your eyelids go from a light grey to black as something, or someone, covers your form. He found you, like always. It wasn't hard for him to always know where you would be. Your eyes open, head tilting towards the tall man that towers over you. He had on light blue jeans with rips at the knees, a white long shirt with graffiti scrawled over it and a white bucket hat. He crouches down, giving you a better look at his handsome face. As he tilts his head, his brown hair highlighted with pretty blonde streaks falls into his eyes. He smiles widely, lips forming an almost heart as his cheekbones bounce up pronouncing the apples of his cheeks. There he is, the forever best friend and forever roommate coming to your rescue. He sits down on the shore, dark brown eyes with hints of mocha look up at a bolt of lightning as it ricochets through the sky. His fingers dig into the sand before looking over at you.

"Let's go home, little one." You hear the softness in his voice, it’s a gentle hush, as if he was talking to a wounded animal. He holds his hands out, one caked in small flecks of the golden sand you lay upon before giving you a gentle smile. You take his hands with the roll of your eyes before looking back to the sky. The thunderous boom in the clouds shakes your heart as you stand, before your eyes catch the bright white lightning bolt headed your way.

Your apartment is warm as you exit your room, he must have turned up the heat. The hallway is dim, pictures of you and Hoseok line the walls from when you were children. Playing in the grass, catching frogs, eating ice cream. The pictures make you stop, your back leaning against the eggshell wall as you tilt your head. Your smile is so genuine, so happy. You both stand there, small in form with ice cream cones in hand. You can still remember the cool, sticky cream running down your knuckles like a phantom memory. Your smile is wide, eyes on Hoseok’s then chubby face as he licks his ice cream cone. You pull a smile, the corners of your lips quirking up before it falters. You feel no true sense of happiness as Hoseok’s bedroom door opens to the left of the picture gallery. He steps out of his room, brown hair sodden as he hangs his towel around his neck. His hands pull at the ends before looking up at your face. He watches you silently, taking in the misery that encumbers your being before sighing and leaning against the door frame.

“Break up with him.” He whispers, you turn your head to the noise. Face falling as you clear your throat. You watch as small droplets of water languidly fall from the ends of his hair to his bare chest. His golden skin glows in the yellow hallway lighting, and you break eye contact before hearing thunder boom throughout the house. He pushes off of the door frame before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and leading you away from the pictures that once contained your happiness.

He grabs you by the arms before planting you down onto the beige couch his parents had gifted you both upon buying the apartment. He nods to himself before walking through the living room to the open kitchen and grabbing a mug. His hands work fast. Already knowing what you need before you know it. You put your ankles up on the coffee table, head tilting back to look up at the popcorn ceiling. You survey how uneven they are, every bump in the ceiling a different shape and size. There might be something symbolic about it but you can’t even begin to find the meaning as he holds the mug out in front of you. You grab it without a word, both hands cupping the white ceramic before smelling the notes of lingonberry and grapes. You hum to him, muttering a thank you before sipping on the white wine. He sits down next to you, arm wrapping around your shoulders before turning on the t.v.

This was now a daily occurrence. He would sit with you, watch you while you were in pain but never uttering a word. He once tried, tried to bring you to see reason but it ended up in a fight that broke the both of you. You didn’t talk for months after that. Avoiding each other and slamming doors noisily as if to tell the other person to fuck off. Mindlessly drifting off in your thoughts, your temple lands on his broad shoulder. You can smell his body wash, notes of vanilla and musky oak wood, a scent that is Hoseok in his entirety. He is warm like vanilla, the type of warm that coats your entire being, bathing it in comfort. He is solace, solace like an oak wood forest. He shades you from the sun, gives you cover from the rain. The eternal best friend. The ringing of your phone breaks you out of your reverie, the loud pitched ringer comes from inside your bedroom and you guzzle the alcohol before sighing.

“Gonna end up paying for another cab that he won’t get into?” You grimace at his words, eyes watching how the small amounts of alcohol slosh within the mug before finishing it off and setting it down on the table. You don’t get up from the couch, instead you stare at the television as a random cartoon plays. Watching the small characters jump off of park benches and turn into superheroes before flying off to save the day. Everyone was so brave, even cartoons and here you are. Miserable and too chicken to go answer the phone and tell him to fuck off. The phone silences before beginning to ring again and your lips press into a tight line. You close your eyes as his hand rubs comforting circles on your shoulder. 

He was probably drunk, out with his friends that you couldn't stand. Probably, no, most definitely calling you to get him a cab for him to go home either to you or to his own apartment. Although, according to your best friend he was no longer allowed to step foot into your shared apartment. And, if he did, Hoseok has stated that he will ‘end his entire existence.’ Calling cabs for your boyfriend is a waste of money and most times he doesn't get into the cab because he's too drunk to pay attention. 

“Stay with me. Let’s watch a movie.” Your best friend whispers, running his smooth thumb over the expanse of your arm before pulling back to look at you. His chocolate eyes are pleading, wanting to keep you away from your phone, keep you away from this person who has been in your life for two whole years already. “Please.”

The apartment goes quiet, maybe Allan had given up for the evening. Thunder booms again and you feel guilt beginning to encroach on your heart. If he was drunk, out with unsavory people in the pouring rain you should be there for him. You shake your head to Hoseok, who in turn frowns as you stand up. You can’t help the way that your feet move towards your bedroom knowingly you would be hurt in a few minutes. Because, you love- loved this person before and your heart feels as if you owe him. You feel indebted to him for so many reasons you couldn’t pinpoint a single one. “You don’t love him, Y/N.” You hear from the couch as you round the corner into the hallway. That may be true, you don’t love him anymore; but, you can’t just leave him on his own.

The bedsheets are cold as you slide underneath your comforter, goosebumps produce on your skin as you take a deep breath trying to calm your nerves. You sit up, legs folding as you rest yourself against the light grey headboard. Your phone sits on top of your black comforter, indenting the fabric and looking as if it weighs one hundred pounds. Your eyes drift across the room to the Live, Laugh, Love wooden plaque that has been stationed in the room since you moved in.

With one last kick you shove the box containing all of your favorite books into your new room. The room smells of paint, the scent wafting through your nose and making you light headed as you put your hands on your hips. Your tongue finds your bottom lip as you survey the all but empty room. Only your bed is stationed in the corner by the window, Hoseok so graciously helped put it together telling you to go get the rest of your things from the moving van downstairs. You look at the floor with a raised eyebrow. Your best friend is splayed out, breathing heavily as his bare upper body shines with hard working sweat. His hand pushes back his black hair before putting his hand over his heart. The way he moves has always been gracious, always enrapturing your sights. His closed eyes then opened, his irises were the color of mocha today with warm flecks of honey spread throughout them. Your heart warms, a wide smile graces your face as he sits up shaking his hair out of his eyes. He pats the spot on the wooden floor next to him and you graciously take it. His form turns towards you, crossing his legs as he puts his hands in your lap; you feel your cheeks heat up, a pink blush creeping onto your skin as you tilt your head at your forever best friend.

“I bought you a present that so perfectly represents you.” He tells you, his cheekbones jumping up as he reaches behind him to pull a cardboard box from underneath your bed. 

His hands shake with excitement, mocha eyes never leaving yours as you giggle. This is why you love him, he does things for you that you would never even think to do for yourself. He’s a heart shaking, love bubbling person that oozes this sort of sticky, sweet love that everyone becomes entranced in. He slides the box in front of you, moving himself back before nodding to it. “Open it.”

Gripping the large box, you note its heaviness. An ‘oof’ leaving your lips as you pick it up, Hoseok’s tongue rakes across his lips. His body warbles with excitement as you delicately lift the edges of the box wanting to preserve the wrapping. You take your time, gently peeling back the layer. He stops moving, mouth opening as if he’s seen a ghost before scoffing.

“It’s a box, just rip it.” He mutters, his face falling as you scour across at him. 

“I want to savor it.” Your voice comes out in a mumble as you run your thumb underneath the sealant letting the flap fly open slowly. His hand makes a fist before sliding it underneath his chin as he watches you bite your bottom lip concentrating on making sure the brown box is intact. He lets out a loud fake yawn before leaning back against your bare mattress and stretching out his legs so his feet touch your knees. You lay the box down on your lap before sliding your hand into the now open box mouth. Your fingers grip at something hard wrapped in bubble wrap before beginning to slide it out of the package. Now, you’ve got his attention. Hoseok’s body leans forward, eyes taking in your reaction as you slowly reveal the gift inside.

“Oh, my God.” He whispers before grabbing the back of the box and yanking it harshly. The bubble wrapped gift falls into your lap with a thud and you narrow your eyes at him as he begins to smile. You gently gasp, the heart shaped smile you’ve known your whole life feels so different in this apartment with just the two of you. It feels so intimate, so wholly Hoseok. Your neck heats up, your ears begin to feel hot no doubt turning pink. With a clearing of your throat you look down at the plaque of wood in your lap. The words are blurred by the clear wrapping and your heart lurches with excitement to read what is written underneath. You grip at the protective plastic before tearing it.

“That’s my girl.” You can’t help but snort at his comment, your body bows down before gripping the plastic with your teeth and yanking it open.

“So strong!” The jeer has your eyes rolling with a laugh before pulling out the wooden plank and opening your mouth. Your fingers dance over the engraved oak wood before looking up at him. He winks at you, folding his veiny arms with a smug face as you hug the plaque to your chest.

“Do you like it?” His smugness is over in a second, eyes widening with nervousness as he analyzes your face. Your nod is fervent before looking back down at the wood. ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ is burnt into the oak in scriptive writing. A shiny lacquer has been painted over top, the sheen reflecting in the sunlight that shines through the window on this summer's day. 

“I love it.” His smile says it all, a million watts and perfectly straight teeth greet you before leaning forward and kissing your forehead. An action that he has done his whole life suddenly makes you still. Your arms clutch at the wood before he stands up with a groan.

“I knew you would like it. It fits you perfectly.”

Your phone’s loud ringer breaks you out of your memory and you can’t help but sigh as your head lolls back. Here we go. You grab your phone, thumb shaking before answering the call. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot him. Standing idly in the doorway, arms crossed with furrowed eyebrows and a callous expression.

“Hello?” Timid, your voice is small as you answer.

“B-Baby! What the fuck are you doing?!” Allan sounds happy today, a happy drunk Allan is better than an angry one. Your eyes flicker to your best friend as he rolls his eyes.

“Just at home. Relaxing.” There’s a hiccup and a loud burp before voracious laughter from many voices. You feel your cheeks heating up, the coolness of the back of your hand greets your cheeks as Hoseok enters your bedroom.

“Call me a ca-cab, baby. I can’t get home.” You pick at the skin of your lip before opening up the cab app on your phone. Your bed dips with the weight of your bed friend, he crawls underneath your comforter before pulling your body to his chest as the app loads.

“Where are you?” You try to make your voice sound sweet but your chest wracks with unease as if you could feel your boyfriend shrug.

“How the fuck should I know? Call me a cab.” Hoseok’s chin hooks over your head as he closes his eyes, you can feel the muscles of his jaw tensing as you clear your throat.

“You have to tell me where you are so I can call them there for you.” Your best friend’s fingers dig into your arm as he grits his teeth. 

“Fuck you.” The line goes dead and you drop the phone carelessly before wrapping your arms around his slim waist. His lips find your hair, brushing them gently as he waits for the next phone call you know you’re going to get. This best friend of yours, your forever friend holds you down to the Earth, like a heavy stone tied to your ankle. He keeps you grounded when you want to just fly away. “You don’t have to take this. You don’t have to kee-”

His voice is cut off by the sharp ringer, the loud noise pierces your ears and you close your eyes for just a moment before answering the call. “I’m at Glory Pa-Park. Get me a cab.” 

You open the app back up before putting in the information. “I’m going to call them.” You notify your drunk boyfriend, body sitting upright as you wait for his okay. Thumb hovering over the Order Cab button. There’s whispering, laughing, someone saying something about ‘Allan you could do better’ that has your eyes going glossy as you turn away from your best friend to lay your head on the pillow. Your body slinks down, phone just a few centimetres from your face before a tear streaks down your temple to soak your hairline. 

“B-Baby! I’ll call you back!” Allan’s voice is riddled with laughter before the line goes dead. You close your eyes, lips trembling as Hoseok grunts angrily. He reaches over your body, snatching the phone from your hands. You turn your body to retrieve it and your best friend throws it behind him.

“Your phone is off.” Anxiety bubbles in your chest, raring to break free as you scramble to retrieve your phone from behind his back. His skinny but strong arms grip at your body before pinning you to the mattress. Your head gets foggy, as your senses begin to dull. “Give it to me.”

“No.” His hands find your face, smushing your cheeks to look at him. Your chest begins to shake, lungs gripping for oxygen as you gasp for breath. Your chest constricts, tightening like a belt as you grip at his arms. “Hey!” 

His hands pull your face closer to his before looking into your eyes. The concern riddled throughout his chocolate eyes makes you whimper, a strangled sound echoing off of your vocal cords as he widens his eyes. “Relax. You’re with me. You’re safe.” He pulls you into his chest, his large hand rubs at your upper back with comforting circles. There’s the smell again, the vanilla notes with the accompaniment of oak that has your lungs releasing from the tight confines of your rib cage. The cotton of his shirt brings you back to reality as he moves his body on top of your phone, as if to shield it from the world. 

“Lay with me. Just lay.” His lips connect to your forehead and your eyes flutter shut. You lay like this for a while. The both of you say nothing but feeling the others heartbeat as you lay together. Your heart begins to slow, back to a regular rate that clears your mind. His lips never leave your skin as his eyes close. Time seems to flow slowly in this big bed. Your grip on him lessens, your body falling into a secure type of comfort. It isn’t until Hoseok pulls away from your forehead that your heart lurches deep in the recesses of your chest. His eyes look at the wooden plaque on the wall before putting his chin on the top of your head. You could feel the beginnings of scratchy stubble on your scalp as you bury your face deeper into his chest. “Just lay with me.”

You hadn’t realized you had fallen asleep, when the bright sun woke you up. The light shines in your lavender painted room, highlighting the uneven streaks that make you feel nostalgic. You can remember when you and Hoseok painted the room on a whim months before you had met Allan. When you still giggled and laughed. Running to Home Depot at 6 o’clock in the morning, running on no sleep and alcohol intoxication to pick up paint after playing one too many games of Go Fish, and betting on your best friend's room or your room to get slathered in paint. He had picked the lavender color, equating it to the way you smell and how pretty it is. You had gotten back, put on old clothes and slapped the paint on the wall and each other in a fit of alcoholic giggles that could only be described as rhapsody. He had painted a heart on the wall, ‘Hoseok Loves You’ that he quickly covered up as you noticed. You raised an eyebrow at him then, asking him what that meant only to be met with paint splattering on your clothes and the tarp he had laid out underfoot. There was a messy paint fight, laughter ricocheting off of the walls until both of your sides hurt before sitting down on the drop cloth and leaning against each other. 

You’re acutely aware of Hoseok’s sleeping body next to you. Your hand finds its way under your cheek as you turn to face him. His lips are parted, shallowly breathing as he clutches your phone to his chest. Your heart pangs, guiltiness washes over you like the tide. He was always by your side, always there for you and you’re letting him down. You’re making him take care of you and you know he always would. Because he's Hoseok. It was ingrained in his being, he was a loving, kind hearted boy that turned into a benevolent man. You grab your phone, sliding it delicately away from him in hopes to not wake him up. Successfully, you take the phone before gently lifting away from him and leaving the bedroom.

The beach was littered with people today. Children run around, screaming as the waves chase them out of shoreline. Foam licking at their small ankles as they cheer and giggle. You make your way to the small outcove that he and you had found when you first moved here. It smells of wet moss and sea spray, the dark stone that encases the place wet with humidity. Moss has begun to grow higher up the walls, almost smothering all of the stone’s color. 

You look towards the horizon, cerulean blue waters ebb and flow graciously as the sun shines down upon it, the sun’s bright rays making a line coming straight for you in this damp sea cave. It fills you with wonder, something so beautiful made on it’s own. A sigh is coaxed from your lips, legs tucking underneath you as you sit down on the cool stone floor. You turn your phone on, before looking back out to the water and watching as a perfectly picturesque sailboat passes. The sail, bright blue, billows in the wind, and your hands clutch together as your phone begins to endlessly vibrate. Small shells catch your eyes as they gleam in the sunlight below the lip of the alcove. Venus combs, Hoseok once equated them to you after you began to date Allan. 

“You’ve turned all spiky and dangerous like them, did you know that a mollusk once lived in it before abandoning it. That’s like you, hollow.”

You feel a tightness in your chest before looking down at your phone.

Allan - 52 Missed Calls

Allan - 48 Text Messages

You love him? You loved him. For the first year. You grew tired of his antics after a year and a half. You wanted to be done after two years. But, something kept you tethered. The insecurities to find someone else? You wasted two years of your life. Would anyone want you after all that. You suffered so many tears, crying until your throat was raw, till the capillaries under your eyes burst. You want to prove that you’re strong. That you can make it through, maybe the darkness will pass and you’ll learn to love him again. But, that seems impossible. You want to learn to laugh again. To smile widely at everything Hoseok says. You want to be able to just watch shitty movies and giggle as the characters make horrible, horrible decisions. You want to be able to hug your best friend without having guilt wrap around you like a cocoon. You want to be at peace.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a hand as it grips the inside of the sea cave. You turn your attention to it before he appears. His face is shaded by the darkness of the sea cave but you still find that he is the brightest thing in the entire place. He could rival the sun. He enters, hands digging into the pockets of his black overalls before leaning against the rock.

“I hate waking up in your bed alone.” His voice echoes throughout the small cavern and you can’t help but cringe at his words. 

“I know.” He pushes himself off of the wall before sitting down next to you and looking down at the venus combs on the golden flecks of sand. With a simple point of his index finger, your throat clenches. Your eyes become glassy as you exhale a deep breath you didn’t even know you were holding. His hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers together and you didn’t even realize they were sweating. You turn your head to him, only to find that his eyes are already on you. You can’t tell if it’s the humidity in the cavern or his gaze but your chest becomes short of breath. His hand comes up in your vision, thumb outstretched to wipe a stray tear that has escaped in your daze. “You deserve the world. You deserve to be happy, you know. Pain and sadness doesn’t suit you. Remember when we used to laugh and have fun? Hmm? Remember that time that we pantsed Jimin in the parking lot of 7 Eleven and left him there with his jeans around his ankles?”

A giggle bubbles up in your throat and you nod closing your eyes. Hoseok delicately wipes at your wet lashes before kissing your temple. “How about the time when we threw toilet paper all over my sisters room because she told us we weren’t allowed to go out to the backyard.” Your laugh ricochets off the walls, head lolling back your body wracks with laughter. Hoseok chuckles to your left and you had almost forgotten what it sounded like. High pitched with a small gasp, he laughs next to you before wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “I haven’t heard you laugh in what feels like years.” 

The laughter is short lived as your phone begins to ring, the sharp blare pierces the air before echoing in the cavern and Hoseok’s form shrinks in size. His shoulders fall as well as his arm off of you and you swallow thickly as he frowns. His fingers card through his brown hair before looking at the phone in your lap. He curses under his breath before looking out at the horizon. You can imagine how tiresome it is to watch over someone like a hawk. Making sure they’re always okay and never questioning them even though their actions are wrong. Your eyes glance to the side, watching how he digs underneath his perfectly clean fingernails as if it’s just something to do. You’re hurt but you’re hurting him too. That’s not fair. He’s always been there to hold you, to keep you safe and calm. He’s stopped your anxiety sevenfold and you were selfish. That’s why, your brain snaps once and for all. Your fingers grab your phone before rearing back and throwing it into the ocean.

Hoseok gargles on his own spittle before scoffing. The turn of his head is sharp as the phone makes a ‘ploop’ noise before drowning. “Wh-” You turn to him before hugging him tightly. His arms stutter in movement before hugging you back. 

“What do you think you’re rich? You could have just blocked his number.” You giggle as he hooks his chin on your shoulder, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your lower back as you begin to feel a sense of relief. It washes over you in an instant, like a spring day breeze. Hoseok finds his footing before standing up and holding out his hands to you. “Come on, little one.”

Months go by, your phone has been replaced and the only calls or texts you receive are from your family or Hoseok. They way it should be. Although, there are times where you feel an immense amount of dread, wondering if you had made the right decision. Wondering if you should have waited for things to get worse just so they could get better. Your bed is a constant in the ever changing world around you. Ever changing, as in Hoseok has gotten a girlfriend. You guess when you don't have to watch over your childhood best friend every minute of the day, you could go out and experience real life. You were happy for him, happy to hear his laugh through the walls of your shared apartment. You were happy that he was happy. Probably. That’s what you want to feel. He likes her, Jillian, so even though you hide yourself away in your room whenever she comes around; you guess you like her, too. 

“I’m going out, are you going to be okay here? By yourself?” You look up from your phone at the voice. There he is, forever best friend looking like a million bucks as he fixates a beanie on top of his head. You wish for him to just let out a big yawn and throw back your comforter before laying in your bed and holding you close. Laying with you until it feels as if time itself stops short for you to have a moment of comfort with your best friend. Footsteps break you out of your thoughts. His ears fold slightly at the weight and you smile at him before nodding. 

“I’ll be fine.” He steps into your room before a small hand grips on to his black hoodie yanking him along with her. “Thanks, Jillian.” Your voice is a mere murmur as the door to the apartment slams shut. 

“You shouldn’t do shit like that. I’ve already told you that Y/N is sad.” Hoseok berates his girlfriend before yanking his arm out of her grasp and fixing his clothing. There’s an eye roll that has him stopping in the middle of the street before folding his arms. 

“She always is sad. It’s who she is. Doesn’t mean you have to always deal with it.” Hoseok gives a short laugh, his head tilting back before his hand agiley catches his beanie as it falls off. 

“I don’t always have to deal with it. But, I want to. She means the most to me in this world. You fucking know that.” He seethes to his girlfriend before stepping out of the way for a couple to walk past. “How do you think that makes me feel?! That ‘she means the most to you.’ I’m supposed to just be okay with that?!” 

Hoseok presses his lips together before putting his hands over his face and grunting gently. He takes a deep breath, forcing air into his constricting lungs before sighing. “Let’s go.” 

The bar is noisy and crowded, the smell of stale beer wafts through the air as Hoseok wrinkles his nose. If you were here, you would complain that he doesn’t really like to drink all that much and you should find a different place to go. But, that’s exactly it, isn’t it? You weren’t here, he was with his girlfriend and he still thinks of you. Even as he slides into the booth, even though her hand is intertwined with his. It isn’t your small hand that he finds beside him. It’s hers. Her voice breaks him out of his reverie, he inhales deeply through his nose before smirking at her. His eyes rake over her hair, her eyes even the way her mouth moves as she phrases words and it seems to be off putting. The corners of his mouth turn down as she orders her drink, watching the way she points at the menu, he didn’t even see her pick up. It’s stupid little things that draw his attention, you wouldn’t point your finger and the menu like that. You would tilt your head and puff out your cheeks unsurely. You would side eye him and nudge him to make a decision for you since there were too many options to choose from. You would never wink at someone before handing them a menu, there was not an overly flirtatious bone in your body. You were just you. And Hoseok misses that the most. 

His night goes on for a long time, it seems like it would never end. He misses slipping under your black duvet cover and holding you to comfort you. He misses when you would have to stretch your neck to look up at him because he would always jump up and out of the way for you to crane to look up at him. Somehow along the night Jimin had joined in, the streets have basically emptied as the town hall clock strikes letting him know another hour has gone by and he still isn’t home. “What’s with the face?” He hears Jimin ask as he stops on the street corner, his wrist is held tightly before being forced around his girlfriend's waist. 

“What face?” He grimaces at the action before looking back up at his longtime friend. “You look miserable.” It’s a faint whisper that gets caught in the wind and Hoseok can’t help but swallow before looking back at the Walk sign. He shrugs to Jimin, who in turn rolls his eyes before all three cross the street.

Conversations are short and sweet as they walk Hoseok’s girlfriend back to her apartment. There’s a tension, a man-made tension that he knows he’s created but he can’t seem to find a care in the world for it. He doesn’t care, in all honesty. He just wants to go home.

“Hey! Isn’t that Y/N’s little friend?” The voice is a mere distant memory that comes back sharp in the frontal lobe of his mind as he pulls away from Jillian to turn his body. His jaw tightens, muscles flexing and protruding as he narrows his eyes at the incoming figure. “Hyung.” 

It was a call of warning that Hoseok doesn’t heed. Anger burns through his veins like venom as he finally sets his sight on the man that ruined two years of your life. He wasted them, without even thinking about you. And, Hoseok let him. He sprints towards him, tennis shoes squeaking as he advances. Jimin calls out for Hoseok but it’s a warning he ignores. 

“Hyung!” 

His hand makes a fist as he closes the distance, his feet ache at the sudden movement before stopping and throwing his fist into Allan’s face. The man staggers, hand reaching up to nose as Hoseok shakes out his hand with gritted teeth. He knows it’ll hurt in the morning but the red he sees triumphs over everything. 

“What the fuck, dude?! Over some chick?!” He tilts his head, watching blood begin to leak from the man’s nose. 

“Some...chick?” He snaps. His hands reach out to grab Allan’s neck before arms wrap around his waist, tugging him away from the man. “She isn’t some chick! She’s a fucking angel and you ruined her life for two fucking years, you ignorant bastard! You never deserved her! She fucking cried every day because of you. You fucking asshole!” His words echo throughout the empty street as Jimin drags him down the sidewalk. The bottom of his shoes scuff up as Jimin pulls him past his girlfriend without a word.

“Some fucking chick. I’ll fucking kill him.” Hoseok mutters to himself before flailing his arms and straightening up his body. He shoves Jimin off of him before dusting off his hoodie and spitting on the floor in the direction he came from. Jimin places a solemn hand on his back before looking at Lillian, drawing his attention to her as she folds her arms with a raised eyebrow. He takes her into his sights before pressing his lips together and clearing his throat. The words fly out of his mouth so fast he has no chance to take them back.

“Let’s break up.” Her face contorts as if she’s been shot. Her mouth hangs open as a breeze wafts through the empty street. On the breeze is the smell of lavender, the smell of comfort for him and he can’t seem to find it in him to feel solemn about the words he has just spoken. He becomes entranced by the smell, eyes closing as he takes a deep breath. There’s that relief he wants to feel. It radiates through him like the sun on a cloudless day. And, before he can open his eyes a flash of pain erupts from his cheek. His eyes open wide, his hand reaches up to touch his hot licked skin as Lillian steps back. 

“You’re an idiot. Jung Hoseok.” He swallows thickly before rubbing at his sweltering cheek. Jimin steps in front of his body, blocking him as Lillian tries to advance once more. A hand finds his chest before shoving him back, “We’ll get going.”

The screech that finds his ears almost deafens him, but he can’t feel sorrow. He knows he did the right thing. “Everyone is getting battered today.” Jimin murmurs before fixing his leather jacket and putting his hand on Hoseok’s back as he holds his cheek.

The apartment is warm when he gets home, you raised the heat for him knowing how chilly it can get during the night around here. Your bedroom door opens with a squeak and you rouse at the sound. He stands in your doorway, shoulders drooping before taking off his hoodie. “Seok?” He hums in agreement before padding over the wooden floor and lifting up the comforter. His thin frame slides underneath before wrapping his arm around your waste. You blink blearily, eyes trying to adjust to see him in the dark. His brown hair falls into his eyes as he looks down at you. He grips you tighter, holding you so close as if you were going to turn to dust and disappear. Your eyes adjust, widening slightly when you see his pink, puffed cheek. “What happened to you?!”

He chuckles quietly as you place your hand on his skin. His eyes flutter shut as you rub your thumb over his pronounced cheekbone. “I broke up with Lillian and she slapped me.” You take a sharp breath through your teeth, eyes widening at his admission. You open your mouth to reply but he pulls you into his chest with force that knocks the wind out of you. “I went out tonight and I couldn’t stop thinking of you. Thinking about what you were doing and what you would have been doing if you were out with me. I kept thinking of how much I missed laying in bed with you and how much I love holding you.” 

“I missed you laying with me too.” Your confession is quiet but he hears it loud and clear, a heart smile spreading across his face before kissing the top of your head. Hoseok’s eyes search your own alight with something that makes your heartbeat faster.“This is what it should always be. I don’t want to spend my days falling asleep without you. I don’t want to constantly think about you as if you’re far away. I want you here, in my arms like always. I want to get drunk and go get paint at 6 o’clock in the morning. To wake up with you in bed laying next to me. I want-I want you to love me. Like, I love you.” 

You pull away from his chest, eyes glancing up through thick lashes at his handsome face. This is what it always should be. You and him. Until time stops and falls flat. His eyes glance at your lips before licking at his. One smooth motion that has your neck heating up with a blush. “I’m going to kiss you, and I would really like it if you didn’t pull away.” Your breathing stops, your lungs feel aflame as he closes the distance between you. 

His lips press to yours, soft and agile and time does feel as if it stops. His kiss is heartfelt and full of yearning before it turns into something more. Something needy and explosive. His tongue slips out, licking at the seam of your lips. His hands run over the expanse of your back, running his tongue over yours. A soft mewl is coaxed from your lips, only to be swallowed by him as he rolls you onto your back. His hands find purchase next to your shoulders as he straddles you. He breaks the kiss, only for a moment to utter words that leave your head nebulous, “I love you, Y/N.” 

“I love you too.” His lips are back to yours, earth shattering and heart fluttering as his hands dip beneath the cotton fabric of your sleeping shirt. With warm hands he rubs at the skin of your stomach, your body arches into his touch begging for more as your core begins to unfurl in wanting. His lips leave yours to worship at the skin of your neck, hands raising your shirt higher before looking up at you for confirmation. You wordlessly lift your arms, back bowing off of the bed to let him strip you of the material. The shirt is discarded aimlessly as he sits up to drink you in. It dawns on him, how utterly helpless you are under his stare and you wilt slightly bringing your arms to cover your chest. Hoseok clicks his teeth before leaning back down. “You’re gorgeous.”

The wanton sound of his voice gives you solace as he peppers your neck with kisses. Light as a feather before suckling at your soft skin leaving red and pink petals in his wake. You let your arms go lax, hands coming up to run through the thick locks of his brown hair. “That’s my girl.” It’s with that sentence that it all comes crashing down on you, he loves you and in turn you love him. It’s always been this way, always finding comfort in one another and never dwelling on it long enough for you both to realize just how perfect the two of you are for one another. Your chest swells with ardent tenderness as you grip at his hair. His lips trail lower, angling his body downward to be able to taste all of you. He cups your breasts, thumbs running delicately over your nipples as they harden into stiff peaks. Your core shudders, arousal begins to weep from your sex and you’re acutely aware of how your panties dampen. 

His lips shroud your nipple in the wet warmth, gently suckling as his fingers roll and pluck at your other unattended breast. Your soft moans, echo throughout the lavender painted room and earn groans from the man you’ve deemed your best friend for most of your life. His teeth softly rake against the sensitive skin, goosebumps prickling as your mouth drops open. He presses his body half flush against your thigh and you can feel how hard he is through his jeans. Your eyes open, to watch him love on you and you are met with his gaze hot and molten staring back at you. His pupils are blown, making his usual chocolate eyes almost black with lust. With each suckle, his fingers pinch harder until your writhing underneath him. Hips lifting off the bed, begging for relief. He leaves your nipple to attend to the other- but not before suckling at the skin around your areola leaving small marks claiming you as his own. 

His lips pluck teasingly at your other nipple before dipping his hand down your stomach, his hand splays rubbing at the band of your underwear with his thumb. Your moans are growing louder, chest beginning to feel breathless as he pulls away from your breasts with a loud suction noise. It’s then that he leans up to plant a kiss against your lips, so soft as if it were the wings of a hummingbird. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He does it again, sucking your life force from your lungs as he kisses down. Past the valley of your breasts, past your belly button that he gives a gentle nip to. He suckles at the skin about your panties, fingers hooking in the sides before looking up at you.

“We can stop, right now. We can stop and I can go back to my room.” You answer him by lifting your hips, with the bite of his bottom lip he is gently peeling off your underwear. Eyes  alight with wonder as he looks towards your gleaming sex. You can feel how wet you are, how you’re dripping and it’s all for him. He licks his lips, eyes flickering back to yours before throwing your underwear to the side. His hands find your thighs, taking the time to knead and kiss them before spreading your legs for him. “Look at you, baby. Dripping.” His voice is deeper, the bass in his voice encased with lust as he runs a finger down your soaked folds. The pet name has you biting your bottom lip, the corners of your mouth turning up on their own. With a gasp, you watch as he spreads your lips open. Eyes lewdly staring at you, taking you all in. “Fuck. Your pussy is nice.” A giggle escapes your lips, hand covering your eyes as he chuckles up at you. 

Your giggle dies in your throat as he sucks at your lower lips. Your hands grip tighter at his hair, pulling at the roots as your hips bow off the bed. “Taste so sweet.” His eyes are filled with this veneration that sends your walls fluttering, rippling around nothing. His tongue licks at your clit, experimentally waiting to see your reaction. When your hips buck up, begging for more, he begins to lap harder against your swollen bud. You moan his name, his mouth stills before pulling away. A smile spreads on his face before giving a flat lick that has your body sagging into the bed. “That sounds so perfect coming for you, little one.” 

Your head swims with heady pleasure, Hoseok himself seems drunk off of your taste. His eyes roll back as he prods at your entrance with his tongue. The muscle stiffens before entering you, your thighs twitch opening wider for him as you whimper out his name. His hands steady your thighs, soothing rubs of his thumbs keep you grounded as he whorls his tongue around inside you. He finds your sweet spots, where you moan louder for him, where you grip his hair tighter. “Fuck, you taste amazing, baby.”  His voice is a mumble before his mouth is encasing your clit once more. His tongue prods at the nub, licking and caressing until your moans have turned to sobs. His fingers leave the flesh of your thighs to tease your sodden entrance. "So wet for me, baby. You want me inside?"

"P-Please!" You croak out, hands pressing into his scalp as your core begins to tighten. You wanted to feel it, feel that shot of pleasure coarse through you. Your hips begin a lazy grind, rubbing against him for relief as he slips a finger inside. Your mouth opens, tongue licking at your bottom lip and he curls his finger expertly inside of you. He does it once, twice before finding the golden spot. "Right there? You like that, baby? Going to cum all over me?" You nod fervently, your bottom lip tucking between your teeth as your hips begin to buck relently on his outstretched tongue. The tightness feels stifling, your toes curl. Ears ringing with white noise as your heart lurches to feel relief. He adds a second finger, before rapidly tapping the smooth spot within you.

"Gonna...Gonna cum, Seok." He groans in agreement, lips latching back on to give harsh sucks. 

"Cum for me, baby. Show me what a good girl you can be." The tip of his tongue swirls around your clit and the tightness explodes. Like a million stars that light the galaxy, your body feels as light as air, falling boneless onto the mattress underneath as you ride out your high. Hoseok watches you come undone, his mouth detaching from you to kiss at your thighs as the shake from the pleasure. "God, you're fucking pretty when you cum." 

Your blink slowly, your chest begins to breathe normally as he crawls over you. His fingers ghost over your bottom lip, before pressing his own flush against them. Your hands raise up to touch him, fingers dancing over his clothed body before beginning to frown. He had way too many clothes on for your liking. You tug at the bottom of his shirt, his lips forming a smile before giving you a quick kiss. His arms cross, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt before lifting them to reveal his upper body. This is a sight you've seen a million times over and yet, you press your thighs together as want begins to bloom within your chest. Your fingers graze his stomach, small abs defined under his skin. Even in the darkness, his skin still sings out the color of honeyed caramel. The smell of musky oakwood draws you in as his lips find yours once more. His fingers move deftly, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants before biting gently on your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth as he pulls away. 

He rids himself of his pants before your eyes fall to his briefs. The tented fabric makes your eyes snap up to his as he trails his hands along your sides. It was an impressive sight to see, you palm your hand over his clothed erection. His eyes closing as he sucks in a short breath, tongue licking at his bottom lip. The grey fabric begins to darken with his precum leaving a quarter sized spot that has your walls throbbing, begging for more pleasure. You sit up, hair falling in rivets over your shoulders before pulling at the waistband and sliding them down. His cock springs out with a heavy slap to his abdomen. You can do nothing but marvel at his size. He’s large, two toned in length with rose colored veins that trail the long length. His thickness makes your mouth water, a slight curve is evident as you wrap your hand around him. He hisses out, head tilting forward as his brown hair falls into his eyes. The protuberant tip is blushed pink as precum begins to bead from his slit. You pump his cock in hand, feeling the heaviness of him and your arousal begins to drip once more as you hear him moan for you.

His cock is smooth and you find yourself sitting all the way forward before kissing down his length. “Oh, fuck.” You tongue peaks out to caress the warm thin skin and his hands card through your hair with ease. His body falters before falling back, his muscular thighs shake in what you know is wanting. You move with him, straddling his thighs as you lean down. His cock is beautiful and yours, which is an interesting thought that you can’t seem to dwell on for more than a second as he twitches within your palm. Kissing along his shaft, licking at the one prominent blushed vein has him moaning your name loudly. 

You lick at his weeping slit, gathering the precum he is beginning to produce mercilessly and he sighs gently in relief. The taste is musky and thick on your tongue and you can only equate it to him. It’s so perfectly him that you find yourself needing to taste more. Arousal drips down your thighs as you begin to suckle at the head. Tongue licking circles around it before dipping your mouth down his length. “Oh, baby. Fuck.” His grip tightens on your hair, you take in all that could fit in your mouth before stroking whatever is left of his long length. You lave at the smooth length, moaning as he tugs gently on your gripped hair. “Look at me, please.” Your eyes snap to his, watching how sweat begins to bead on his sideburns. The tips of his brown bangs are slick against his forehead as he opens his mouth enraptured as you bob your head on his cock. Your cheeks hollow, trying to take more of him. You gag on his cock, a sound that makes him whimper as your eyes become blurry with tears. 

“Y/N.” The word is spoken with reverence as his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth. He reaches forward sitting up on one hand that perches itself behind his back. His fingers shakily run up your thighs before meeting your apex. You moan on his cock, the vibrations making his eyes roll back as another spurt of precum coats your tongue. His fingers circle your soaked clit gently before pushing farther back to your entrance. You whimper against him, head bobbing faster as he swallows a groan. Your entrance welcomes his two fingers, coating him easily in your cum and arousal and he growls gently at the feeling. He goes knuckle deep before flicking at your sweet spot, the action making your thighs feel like jello as you grip at the sheets on either side of his body. His fingers begin to scissor inside you, stretching you for what is to come. “Gotta prep you baby, your little pussy is so tight. Fuck.” Your knuckles turn white as you pump his cock with every dip. You feel him begin to throb, his head lolls back mouth opening widely as he still continues to stretch you.

“Shit! You’re so good at that.” You feel high off of his praise, you try to take him deeper swallowing a few times until he is lifting you off of his cock as his throbbing becomes erratic. 

“Wanna cum in your sweet pussy.” He pulls his fingers from you before entering them into his mouth and moaning at your taste. He sucks them clean, before pulling them out with a gentle pop. His hands splayed across your back before laying you down. His nose brushes yours, a romantic gesture that has your heart fluttering. His eyes search yours as he knocks your legs open before settling inside them. He grips the base of his cock, running his head over your damp folds before smiling down at you.

“I love you.” The ardour in those words makes the corners of your lips quirk up into a smile as he returns it. “I love you, too Seok.” He kisses you, languidly licking at the seam of your lips before prodding at your entrance. Your mouth opens as he begins to stretch you, your hands wrapping around his neck and tucking into the base of his hairline. His hands grab at your thighs, kneading them before wrapping them around his slim hips. His tongue probes against yours moaning quietly into your mouth as he begins to fill you slowly. He inches in easily, your arousal coating his thick cock as he stretches you. It’s a delicious cocktail of pleasure mixed with the slight twinge of pain from the stretch. “You’re so tight, baby.” He whispers breathlessly, his breath tickles your cheeks before kissing down your jaw to your neck. Your walls ripple around him, feeling him fill every part of your needy cunt. His cock reaches the furthest point, burying himself to the hilt before stilling and letting your pussy relax around him.

“Feel so fucking good, baby. So perfect like you were made for me, because you were.” Your thighs tighten around him as the pain is solely replaced with pleasure. You wiggle your hips, pleading for him to move, to let you lose yourself completely into the man that was just your best friend a mere hour ago. He pulls out slowly, the bulbous head of his cock dragging delicious against your walls as plucks at your skin with his lips. He thrusts back in gently, your mouths opening in tandem. “Fuck.” The curse leaves your lips at the same time and you both can’t help but giggle with each other before moaning as he thrusts back in harder. Your fingers tug at his hair, thighs tightening as you lift your hips for more. 

Hoseok lifts up to grab your hands before intertwining them and lifting them over your head as he continues at his slow pace. “I’ve loved you since I was ten. I’ve loved you since I knew what the word love meant. It’s always been you, Y/N. Always.” Your grip on his hands tighten and you smile up at him. 

“I love you, too. Probably for a lot longer than I think.” His smile at your admission makes your heart swell, your heartbeat quickens for him. He pours his emotion into his thrusts then, hips snapping and rolling as you moan each other's names in the dark room. His lips suckle at your areolas, tongue flicking in tandem with every thrust to your stiff nipples. His grasp on your hands tighten and the moan he elicits is so pure, so raw. Full of beaming energy that has your nerve endings firing rapidly with indescribable pleasure.  

“Seok.” His cock twitches as you call his name, hearing the lust filled rapture of your voice. His hips grind harder into you, stuttering slightly as his body shivers with pleasure. His lips continue to suckle at your heated skin, bucking quicker into you as you raise your hips higher. The newfound angle has you screeching with pleasure, throat going dry with need as you begin to lose all sense of words. You’re a stuttering mess underneath him, fingernails digging into his skin as he moans over your skin. With every thrust, his bulbous head meets the rough patch within you, coaxing you towards your next high. He mutters out, over your breast how much he loves you, how beautiful you are underneath him like this. Your thighs begin to shake, head lolling back as you reach the precipice. Your walls flutter for him, gripping him for your release. 

“Yes, fuck. I can feel it,” He gasps loudly, “Cum with me, baby. I’m close to cumming for you.” Your whine is needy and your mind sears with pleasure as his cock begins to throb harshly within you. It’s all you need before you’re warning him once more you’re about to cum. “Cum on my cock. Fuck, I love you. Baby!”

Your breathing slows down for a single second before speeding up twice as fast as you careen off the edge of pleasure. Your nails dig into his skin painfully, eyes rolling back as you orgasm with him. His hot seed spills inside of you, giving deep, harsh thrusts as he curses. It sets off a second wave of pleasure, toe curling and stomach flipping as your eyes become spotty. He breathes heavily against the skin of your chest, hot breath fanning over your feverishly sweaty skin. He groans gently before flopping down on top of you and wrapping his arms around you. You giggle gently, one hand resting over your heart and the other pushing his sweat soaked bangs off of his forehead. He kisses your cheek tiredly, before closing his eyes. “Do it again.” You angle your head to look down at him before smirking.

“Do what again?” He lifts his head, chin resting on your breast before showing you his megawatt smile. “Laugh for me. I love that sound.” You snort before kissing his forehead. “Do that again, too.” With a giggle and the roll of your eyes you kiss his forehead. He sighs happily before lifting up on shaky arms and slowly pulling out of you. He wiggles his eyebrows as your pussy weeps with his cum. Frothing your lips and the sheets white. “Now that, that is hot.” You laugh at his comment before swallowing thickly as he licks his lips. Time that seems to have stopped begins to flow again in your eyes. “Let’s get you a bath, baby.”

The sun wakes you up once again this morning, but everything is already different. You can feel Hoseok’s lips against your hair as he runs his thumb over the skin on the back of your neck. You tighten your arm around his waist before burying your face into his smooth chest. “Good morning to you too, baby.” You kiss his tanned skin, eyes closing as you relish in the heat of his body. “Morning, Seok.” He hums to you before giving three quick kisses to the top of your head and pulling back. “Lips, please.”

He puckers his lips, squeezing his eyes shut and you can’t help but giggle before sitting up and pressing your lips to his. He exhales gently through his nose before kissing you deeper, hands curving around your head before pecking at your lips once and then twice more. “Have you been up for a while?” You question as you lay back down on him. He nods, “Just been thinkin’.” 

Your eyebrows quirk up at his statement, “About what?” He points at the plaque on the wall and your head turns to look at the wooden slab. “Thinking about how amazingly perfect you are and how I can make you happy for the rest of my life.” His cheekbones bounce up as he smiles before hugging you tightly to him. “I can make you ‘Live’ a great life, with me, of course. I can make you ‘Laugh’ for the rest of your life because I love that sound and it’s what you deserve. And, I can ‘Love’ you forever and ever AND ever.” You lean up, kissing his cheek as warmth spreads through your body rooting you to the ground. He was your forever weight to the Earth and forever is the only term that matters. 

The sun begins to invade the room, its rays highlighting the uneven strokes of paint on the wall and you smile fondly. His eyes follow yours before squeezing you tightly to him. “Hoseok loves you.” The memory that was burned so brightly into your brain now has a new heart shattering meaning. “And, Y/N loves you.” 

[collecting-stories]

The House Party - ep.03 - JJ Maybank

Summary: Things start to heat up as the week reaches its midway point and you make a decision that changes everything.

A/N: Mild smut at the very end of the chapter. 

The S’week Masterlist | Outer Banks Masterlist

///

You weren’t sure how many times you would have to brush your teeth to get the taste of last night out of your mouth but the three times you already had clearly weren’t enough. It wasn’t alcohol, in fact you’d woken up more sober than you expected to be, almost leaning off the edge of your bed, tucked into your blanket, with JJ laying on top of the bedding beside you. It was all very ‘one motel bed’ trope-ish but you’d both been so exhausted last night that you couldn’t even enjoy the implications of it. An ice cube tray of melted aloe vera sat on the night stand and you brought it down with you to the kitchen to refreeze when you decided coffee might help the taste that wouldn’t leave your mouth. 

To put it the only way you knew how, a way JJ would have definitely put it, you tasted kook trash every time you swallowed and it wasn’t going to go away anytime soon, at least not while Rafe was two houses down from you. 

“Morning,” Pope voice half startled you as you entered the kitchen to find him sitting at the island eating cereal. 

“How is it possible that you look so normal?” You asked, grabbing a bowl for some cereal yourself. Breakfast was a good distraction from your phone and the taste in your mouth. 

“You mean as opposed to John B and Sarah who decided to parent trap it on a floatie in the pool?” He asked, turning for emphasis to look outside where your best friend and her boyfriend were indeed asleep on a floatie in the pool. 

“Exactly.” 

“I’m not a big drinker.” He shrugged. “What about you?”

“Am I a big drinker?” You asked. 

“No, how did you end the night?” 

You nodded your head slowly, realising what he was getting at with his question. “JJ was sick, I figured it was better to come back here than make him stay at the party.” 

“Sure.” He agreed though it sounded empty, “did you hook up?” 

“What?” 

“Look, I know how JJ parties, he’s my best friend. And I know what his ‘senior week plans’ were before Sarah hijacked them to come down here. I wouldn’t put it past him to alter them. You know, have sex with as many girls as he can in the keys. Host included.”

“We didn’t have sex.” You replied. 

He stared at you for a full minute, not saying anything, as if the look on his face alone would crack you into admitting some misdeed. And it probably would have if any had occurred. 

“We didn’t have sex, I swear to god.” You reiterated. “It is what I said it is. JJ was throwing up in the bathroom and I brought him back here so he could rest. That’s all that happened.” 

“With JJ.” Pope scoffed. 

“Whoa, where’s the displaced animosity coming from...pretty sure you’re in my house.” 

“Yeah and JJ is my best friend. I don’t want you stringing him along for the week cause you’re bored and you wanna make your ex jealous or something.” Pope replied.

“You literally just got done telling me that JJ wanted to sleep his way around s’week but I’m the bad guy in your head because of some proposed plan I have to ‘make my ex jealous’?” You questioned. “That’s un-fucking-believable.”

“It would be if I hadn’t seen you in the hallway with your ex right before you left with JJ.” 

“You’re delusional. My ex who? Just cause I was talking to some guy-“

“You weren’t talking and it was Rafe.” 

You shut your mouth, lips pressed together in a line as you tried to think of something to say. Sure, it was common knowledge amongst your friend group that you and Rafe had been hooking up for the better part of two years but that was over and you really didn’t think it was the kind of thing that pogues talked about. And you trusted Sarah not to have blabbed about it to anyone else. 

“How’d you know-“ 

“How’d I know you and Rafe were a thing? Sarah’s not the only one here that knows you. I’ve seen him at your house before when I delivered groceries, not so hard to put two and two together.” 

“Well me and Rafe are over.” 

“You didn’t look over.” Pope challenged. 

“Oh well, thank you for interpreting two fucking minutes of my life and deciding how I feel about something.” You snapped, “I didn’t want him to kiss me okay, I told him to leave me alone. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that the word no isn’t exactly a part of his vocab.”

Before Pope could say anything back the sound of footsteps on the stairs caught your attention. Both of you looked toward the staircase in time to see JJ appear, shirtless with just a pair of swim shorts on. His shoulders and chest were red but not as burnt as his back, which you caught a glimpse of as he trudged passed you, not in the high spirits he had been yesterday morning. 

“Dude, your back looks painful.” Pope commented, staring at the expanse of angry red skin that looked more ready to blister than anything. 

“It feels painful too.” JJ grumbled. So far he was 0-3 with vacation. He was stuck in this kook house (which really wasn’t so bad but he enjoyed bitching about it), he was sunburnt to hell, and he’d wasted an entire night of partying throwing up from sun-poisoning (though that worked out in his favour too because he definitely enjoyed the part where he sat on your bed and you rubbed aloe ice cubes on his back and basically took care of him). 

“Guess the beach is out of the question?” Pope asked, getting up to put his bowl in the sink. 

“I can go to the beach.” 

“You definitely can’t.” You replied, coming around to look at JJ’s back. He was sitting on one of the stools, slumped over. “You shouldn’t get anymore direct sun on your back.” 

“Oh cool, I’m so glad I came all the way down to fucking Florida to sit in a house all day and do shit.” 

“Sorry man,” Pope said, though he made no offer to stay at the house. Yesterday had been great and he was looking forward to going to the beach again today with Kiara. John B and Sarah had mentioned tagging along but he knew they’d eventually go off to do their own thing. 

“We could go to the boardwalk?” You offered, ignoring the look that Pope sent your way. You knew he was just being a good friend, looking out for someone he cared about, and it made you wish that Sarah knew enough to do the same for you. 

“What will we do on the boardwalk?” JJ asked, curious enough that he wasn’t immediately rejecting the idea. 

“There’s a water park there and an arcade, plus you know, tons of food.” You shrugged, “I know you wanna go to the beach-“

“I can be persuaded.”

“I think you already have been.” Pope commented. 

The three of you turned your attention to the stairs as Kiara came down, already dressed for the beach. When she saw the three of you in various states of sleepwear she rolled her eyes, “hey Kie be ready early so we can all go to the beach together.” 

“Technically, Sarah said that and she’s passed out in the pool still.” Pope replied, pointing out the glass doors to where the floatie was still carrying John B and Sarah on the water. 

“Let’s wake ‘em up then.” JJ slipped passed you, winking, before he ran outside, jumping into the pool and landing directly on top of John B and Sarah. 

You, Pope, and Kiara rushed to the doors in time to see the floatie flip over, all three teens going under as Sarah shrieked and John B tried to grab any part of the inflatable raft. Sarah surfaced immediately after JJ, throwing her body on him and wrapping her arms around his neck as she tried to push him under. 

“You asshole!” She screamed when JJ ducked under the water, twisting in her arms and grabbing her waist so that he could throw her off him. 

You watched them for a minute longer, as John B finally got involved, before heading back into the house and going upstairs to change. You’d left your phone plugged in the bathroom outlet while you were sitting with JJ and you picked it up now to check your messages. Two from Rafe and one, unsurprisingly, from Topper. It’d been him at the end of the hall that called Rafe away from you. 

-You okay?- was all the text said and you quickly responded. 

-Nothing happened. Thx-

You deleted the messages from Rafe without looking at them. You could hear everyone come in the kitchen, footsteps on the stairs as John B, Sarah, and JJ came up to change. You pulled on a crop top and some shorts, pocketing your phone before hurrying downstairs. 

Kiara and Pope were back to hanging around the island, talking to each other about their plans as you entered. 

“Hey, do you guys wanna meet up later on the boardwalk?” Kiara asked, “we could do dinner or something?”

“Sounds good to me.” You replied, grabbing your backpack from the chair and making sure that you had everything you needed. “There’s a pizza place near the South street entrance that has incredible food, plus it’s super cheap.” 

“I do love cheap food.” 

-

You had locked your shorts and your backpack in the rented locker of the water park along with JJ’s backpack before the two of you headed for any of the rides. Both your phones locked away in your backpack, cutting you both off from the rest of the world for however long JJ felt like staying at the water park. 

“So? Where to first?” You asked as JJ stopped in front of a mounted map of the park. It wasn’t as big as Dorney or Six Flags but it was pretty expansive for being an extension of the boardwalk. 

“Shush, I’m consulting the map.” 

“Consult the bones,” you said and JJ laughed, casting you a glance before going back to the map. 

“Come on,” he grabbed your hand suddenly, having zeroed in on a ride titled the constrictor, 450 feet of enclosed water slide and the two of you were going down it. 

He weaved his way through the crowd of people, leading you closer and closer to the line for the slide. Most people were at the beach on the weekdays which meant a shorter wait line, something JJ was happy about. It was bad enough he was spending his day at some dumb water park with you, he didn’t want to have to wait in line too. Although, he hadn’t let your hand go yet. 

“Should I mention before or after we ascend these stairs that I have a mild fear of heights?” You asked, taking the raft that was offered to you by the water park employee. 

“It’s fine,” JJ assured you, “here go ahead of me.” 

“How does this help?” You asked as you stepped in front of him onto the first stair. 

JJ shifted his raft under his arm, pressing it against his body and holding onto the railing while he used his other hand to hold you, fingers brushing the skin above your bikini bottoms as he held your waist. “See.”

You bit your lip and took a deep breath, “yeah I see.” 

The rest of the way up the stairs JJ kept his hand on either your waist or your back. He wasn’t too thrilled with heights either though focusing on the peach bikinis bottoms you wore, little pineapples polkadotting them. He could imagine you totally smacking him in the face of you knew but he’d take his chances. 

As sly as he might’ve thought he was being you knew he was looking. When you turned around at the first platform before the stairs twisted you caught him looking down, eyes darting up quickly when he realized you were looking at him. You didn’t say anything, just turned back around so he wouldn’t see the satisfied smile on your face.  

“You ready for this?” JJ asked as you stepped onto the final platform, JJ stepping up behind you.

“I’ll see you at the bottom Maybank.” You replied, stepping over to your slide while JJ got set up at his.  

You liked waterparks for the lazy rivers and the wave pools and those crazy contraptions for kids that looked like towering pipes and dumped water on you. Even the log flume was fun. But giant enclosed slides that shot you through winding loops for endless feet until finally dumping you in a pool? Not your favorite. But as you looked over at JJ, who flashed you a thumbs up, you were having trouble thinking about the things you didn’t like.  

The slide was over before you knew it and you were climbing out of the pool, JJ standing on the side waiting for you. “How did you beat me?”  

“I’m like speed racer,” he said, making a wooshing sound as he glided one hand under the other like a wave.  

“Well, speedracer, what next?” You asked, taking off your soaked shirt and wringing it out as you followed JJ back to the map. “Are we consulting the map again?”

“What you think I memorized it?” He asked, looking back over his shoulder at you and grabbing your hand when a woman with a stroller tried to squeeze between the two of you.  

-

By the time you and JJ met up with Kiara and Pope and made it back to the house Sarah was already setting up for a party. John B had obviously been enlisted to help as he was trying to adhere light stripes at the top of the wall in the living room.  

“What’d you do rob a liqour store?” You asked, grabbing the leg of the ladder he was on when he leaned to far to the left.

“Feels like it.” John B replied, “Sarah filled a cart. We’re either having a party or she’s turning into everyone’s alcoholic grandmother.”  

“We’re having a party!” Sarah called, coming in from the pool area, “it’s exactly what we need.”

“Why do we need to host a party?” Kiara asked, looking back at JJ and Pope but they just shrugged, obviously not willing to get involved.

“Because morale is low here people.” Sarah replied, “and it’s senior week, duh.”

“Duh.” You repeated, raising your eyebrows and grinning at JJ who laughed. Sarah watched the interaction skeptically, as far as she knew John B’s best friend had complained of nothing but a bad time. Now he was joking with you like the two of you were friends.

“Can I talk to you,” she grabbed your arm to pull you out of the room, “Pope hold the ladder!”

“Oh cool the bathroom.” You muttered as she dragged you into the hall powder room, shutting the door behind her and trapping the two of you in the crammed space. “What’s up?”

“What’s up? What’s going on with you and JJ?”  

“Didn’t we do this literally yesterday?” You questioned, “I said then and I'll say now, JJ and I are barely friends.”

“Except when I texted Kie earlier cause I couldn’t get a hold of you she said you and JJ were on the boardwalk together.”

“Oh, oh my god Sarah, you’re right, something is clearly ‘going on’ because I went on the boardwalk with someone instead of just ignoring the people living in my house.” You rolled your eyes at her accusation that something was going on though you sincerely hoped something was.  

When she finally released you from the bathroom the two of you resumed getting ready before you changed into something more appropriate for the party. NC parties were slow going in the early hours until they finally picked up, mostly just crowds of people crammed in an empty rental or spread out on the beach. House parties in the Keys happened a little more erratically. People showed up while it was still light out, hanging around the pool drinking and shit talking until it got dark and they all migrated inside, drunk off their asses and louder than necessary.  

You had moved the table and chairs in the dining room and pushed all the furniture back in the living room for good reason because the minute the sun went down it felt like everyone was spilling back into the house for part 2. You were in the kitchen, ignoring most everyone there, watching JJ set up a shot for Kiara.  

“Is it lime and then salt or salt and then lime?” He asked, glancing at you.  

You were leaned against the counter beside him and Kiara was on the other side with Pope, who already said twice he wanted no part in this. “Lime first, how else does the salt stick right? I don’t remember...I know how to do a body shot.”

“Are you offering?” The grin on JJ’s face as he asked had you practically melting in your spot.

“Guys!” Kiara leaned across the island, snapping her fingers, “can we please just do the shot!”

“Right, sorry.” You apologized, grabbing the bottle of tequila to pour for them.  

While the three of you were talking Pope spun in his chair, observing the louder parts of the party that was raging on the first floor. There were a few people lingering in the kitchen with you, mostly to be closest to the alcohol, but otherwise everyone was contained to the living room, dining room, and pool. When he looked out the glass doors to the pool area he frowned, “hey guys, look who showed up.”

You looked out the door to see Topper on the patio chatting with some local. “I’ll be right back.”

“Can we just enjoy the party?” Pope called though you were already slipping out the door.

“Top,” you called not caring that you were interrupting him, “can I talk to you?”

He apologized to the girl before placing his hand on your back and leading you further away from the party, stopping once the two of you had stepped onto the sand path down to the beach. “Look, someone texted Rafe about the party alright.”

“Well I don’t want you guys here.” You replied, “you weren’t invited by me and it’s my house.”

“Hey come on, you know me alright, I’m not trying to start anything-”

“Doesn’t sound like the Topper I know.”  

“That wasn’t me alright, Sarah made me a little crazy, I'll admit. But I’m over that.” Topper replied. “I don’t understand why you and Rafe broke up and suddenly you can’t hang with any of us.”

“Are you still friends with Rafe?”  

“That’s not fair, we’ve been-”

“I don’t care. You know what happened. You want me to be friends with you Top? After what you and Kelce did. Look, thanks for last night but I don’t need your guilty conscience looking out for me. I need you to get your boys and get the fuck out my house.”

“Putting on the tough act for Topper?” Rafe’s voice came from behind you and you closed your eyes, jaw tensing at the sound.  

“It’s fine man, we’re just talking.” Topper replied, stepping closer to you.  

You opened your eyes and turned around to see Rafe and Kelce standing there, “actually I will tell you the same thing I told Top, get the fuck off my property.”  

“Damn,” Rafe whistled, “you start hanging with the pogues and suddenly you think you’re tough shit.”

“Hey man, let’s just forget it.” Topper said, getting between you and Rafe.

Rafe put his hand on Topper’s shoulder, guiding him out of the way, “you go ahead, I need to talk to my girlfriend.”

“Ex-girlfriend.” You replied, “I said we were done and I meant it.”  

Pope had been watching you talk to Topper from the kitchen door and when he saw Rafe and Kelce join the two of you on the catwalk he’d broken up JJ and Kiara’s shot game to tell them something was going down and you were out there alone.

“Maybe she’s just talking to them.” Kiara shrugged, “I mean, she is a kook. Her and Rafe used to date too so...”

“She dated Rafe?” JJ asked, eyes wide at the implication.

“Oh yeah, she broke it off a couple times but they always got back together.  Sarah told me she thinks they might get back together again.”

Pope frowned, thinking of the way you had looked this morning when he accused you of doing just that, “I don’t think so. We should make sure she’s okay.”

“I’ll get John B.” Kiara replied, making her way to the living room to find John B and Sarah.  

JJ and Pope meanwhile, headed outside, coming up behind Kelce just as you told Rafe that you were never getting back together with him. You saw the two of them passed Kelce’s shoulder and your best at a subtle shake of the head, a silent ‘please go back inside’. But Topper saw them too and alerted Rafe to their presence.  

“Kelce wasn’t lying Maybank, you really have turned into a guard dog haven’t you.” Rafe said, turning his full attention on JJ. Topper pulled you to the other side of the path and pushed you behind him as Kiara, Sarah, and John B walked up.  

“Fuck off Rafe, you aren’t welcome here.” Kiara cut in before JJ could reply.  

“I didn’t know you owned the place.” Kelce challenged.

“I already fucking told you to go!” You said, “so go!”

Rafe only smiled, looking at JJ still, “what pair you guys make man. A bitch and her dog.”

Without warning JJ lunged forward, shoving Rafe back and swinging, trying to punch him. When Kelce tried to grab him John B intervened, getting Kelce in a choke hold. It took a second for all six of the boys to become involved in the fight as Kiara urged Sarah to call the cops. Rafe punched JJ, sending him back into the sand and getting on top of him, hitting him repeatedly while Topper held off Pope and John B and Kelce fought with each other.

“Stop it,” Kiara grabbed at Topper, trying to pull him off Pope and Sarah just stood there frozen.  

You went for Rafe, trying to push him off JJ. When you grabbed his arm he pulled away only to throw his elbow back, colliding with your stomach and sending you to the ground. It was all the momentum that JJ seemed to need to shove Rafe off him and get the upper hand, kicking him in the stomach a couple times.  

“Get the fuck out!” He shouted, spitting on your ex-boyfriend.  

Topper let go of Pope and grabbed Rafe’s arm, helping him up and pulling him away, Kelce breaking away from John B and following them back to theirs, away from the party. The six of you stood there in silence, trying to process what had just happened.

“Some party.” Pope finally said and Kiara glared at him.  

“Didn’t I say this week would be shit.” JJ said, looking over at you before turning and heading out toward the beach.  

“Let’s just go back inside.” Sarah pleaded.  

“Why were they even here?” Pope asked, casting a glance your way.

“Topper said someone texted Rafe about the party.” You said, “could have been anyone...he’s been down here with me before, he knows some of my Keys friends.”

“Whatever,” Kiara cut in, “we have three days left and I would love if we could just, not see them again for 72 hours. Is that possible?”

“I hope so.”

-

“I had a feeling you’d still be out here.” You said, walking up behind JJ on the beach. The light from the houses behind you did little to illuminate the night. The waves were lapping up the sand at JJ’s feet and he made no sign that he even knew you were there. You dropped the blanket you had around your shoulders and sat down, not bothering to straighten out the corners. “I know you’re pissed-“

“I’m not pissed.” He said, digging his heels in further. “I just...you and Rafe, seriously?” 

“It was different, at the beginning.”

“That’s just an excuse.”

“Maybe but...I was 14 when we first started dating and I really thought he liked me. But, he just liked that I was insecure and he tries to remind me of that every time he sees me.” You explained. “Rafe being down here doesn’t change what happened at the water park, I didn’t just kiss you because of him.” 

It’d happened during the lazy river ride that you had forced JJ to go on. He had spent most of the ride pushing your innertube with his foot and trying to tip you until it finally happened and you went over, sputtering to the surface and trying to grab at your inflatable tube as passersby tried to avoid the two of you. You’d pushed his innertube over in retaliation and he’d abandoned it to grab you and try to dunk you underwater.

Serendipitous maybe, as you twisted in his arms, turning to face him, he’d leaned down and kissed you.  

“He keeps showing up.”

“I didn’t invite him.” 

JJ looked back at you before rubbing the heel of his hand across his cheeks and sniffing to get rid of the literal waterworks he’d been two seconds away from. This wasn’t the vacation he had signed up for. And maybe there had been some good parts so far but the complicated bits were starting to outweigh everything else. Still, he shifted back so he could sit on the blanket with you; a step in the right direction you hoped. 

“What’s in the bag?” He asked, looking over at the backpack you’d carried all the way out here with you. 

“I didn’t think you would want to go back to the party so I brought the party with me.” You replied, unzipping the main compartment to reveal the alcohol you had swiped from the house. “I don’t know if you wanna party with me-“

“Shut up and pass me a beer.” 

You smiled, grabbing a beer from the bag and handing it to JJ. Without warning he grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward him, leaning back on his other elbow as he did. You caught yourself, pressing your hand into the blanket to hold yourself up and realizing you were hovering over him. 

“I, uh-“ you stammered, licking your lips briefly before JJ let go of your wrist and put his hand on the back of your neck, leading you into a kiss. You kissed back, ignoring the feeling of the beer bottle cap scratching your hand as you shifted to be closer to JJ, moving your knee between his legs so you were almost straddling him. 

“Are you sure?” You asked when you pulled away to move your hand from the beer bottle. You frowned when you glanced at it, holding it up so JJ could see the cut. He took your wrist, kissing over the small cut on your palm. “I’m not really good at casual things,” you admitted.  

“Is that what this is?”

You shook your head before leaning in to kiss him again. While you held yourself up with the hand that had been cut by the beer bottle your other hand moved to JJ’s stomach, fingers slipping beneath his shirt and dancing along the soft skin of his abdomen, just above his shorts. His grip on the back of your neck tightened ever so slightly as he held your face to his, pulling out of the kiss for the briefest of moments to look at you, “Are you sure?” He repeated your question though it had a different meaning.

“Yeah.” You nodded. It was dead on the beach this time of night and you were far enough down toward the water that no one could really see you from the houses though that didn’t stop this from being the most daring thing you’d ever done.  

JJ shifted so that he was laying back on the blanket, pushing the backpack away from his body as you straddled his waist. His hands went to your hips, running over your ass and settling on the backs of your thighs when you leaned all the way forward to kiss him, bodies practically pressed together. You kissed along his jaw and down his neck, sucking a bruise into his skin. JJ’s breathing picked up as your right hand moved between your bodies, fingers unbuttoning and unzipping his shorts before you slipped your hand beneath them, grasping him. JJ bit down on his lip as he moaned, the sound coming up from his chest.

You pulled away from him, cool air rushing between your bodies as you sat back on your heels. He watched you, heart pounding in his chest, as you put your hands on the waistband of his shorts, ready to pull them down, “God, why are you not in a swimsuit.”

“Excuse me for not knowing I was gonna get lucky on the beach.”

“I’m gonna leave you on the beach for saying that,” you teased.  

JJ’s hands held you in a vice grip, squeezing your hips, “not a chance.” He replied. He ran his hands up your sides to the hem of your bralette, fingers nudging the fabric up and you caught on to what he wanted, obliging him by lifting the top up over your head and tossing it to the side.  

Your original plan of action went to hell though you could be upset when JJ wrapped his arms around your back and sat himself up, knocking you back and laying you down so he could hover over you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he kissed you.  

“That was a neat trick.” You managed as he mirrored the hickey you’d left on him on your own neck. He smiled against your skin as his right hand moved across your stomach, fingers brushing against the underside of your breast. His mouth travelled down from your neck, kissing between your breasts before moving to the left, tongue darting out to flick over your nipple. His fingers twisted your other nipple at the same time and you tensed, hips shooting up to try and create some friction with his own. He sucks another bruise into your skin, just below your left breast before moving back up to kiss you.  

The new position made it easier to get his shorts and briefs down and you manage to push them down to his thighs after you rid yourself of your own shorts. JJ leans his forehead against your collar, looking down at you with a sly smile. “No underwear?”

“I was in a hurry to get dressed.” You insisted, “now shut up.”

“I’m not the chatty one.”  

“I’m not - holy shit!” You cursed as he slipped his hand between your thighs, coating his fingers before rubbing your clit. His middle finger circled the bundle of nerves before slipping down inside of you, just barely offering anything before repeating the cycle. When he kissed you he slipped his tongue in your mouth and you bit down gently, not enough to hurt him but enough to getting him going.  

You tried to press yourself up into his hand but he pushed you down, slick fingers digging into your skin as he pressed you against the blanket. You whimpered when he pushed his hips into yours, his dick rubbing over your clit and you grip his hair as he tilts his head down to kiss and nip at your breasts again.  

“Please, Jay,” you begged, unashamed and completely oblivious to your surroundings as he lined himself up and thrust in to you. He stilled for a moment once he was completely in, savoring the feeling of you until you tugged his hair. “Move.”

“God, you’re so desperate for me.” He teased, kissing beneath your chin and along your neck.  

Finally he moves, thrusting into you. His pace quickens and you wrap your arms around him, digging your fingers into his back. He groans from the almost pain of the feeling, his hips hitting yours harder to give back as much as you’re giving him. You pulled him closer so that you could kiss him again. You’d be lying if you said that you had been on edge with JJ all day. That every touch and smile, the kiss in the lazy river, it all felt like foreplay as he thrust into you now, slipping his hand between your legs to rub your clit as he did, pushing you closer to the edge.  

“JJ,” you whimpered, muscles in your stomach clenching as you felt yourself approaching your high.  

JJ pressed his face into your neck, biting again at your collar, “I know,” was all he said, repeating it again when the rhythm he’d built up wavered slightly as he felt his own release approaching, “I know.”

One hand fisted the blanket beneath you as your release hit. You came, his name the only thing you could think of, and he came right after, the feeling of you tightening around him enough to pull an orgasm out of him. JJ held himself up on one arm, trembling above you, still connected as his hips still, his eyes on yours.  

You sucked in a breath as he kissed the tender skin of your collar, red from his teeth, “have you ever gone skinny dipping?” You asked.

“Not in the Keys.” He replied, letting his upper body fall against you as well, all of him pressing into you.  

“When I can move again...want to?”

-

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