#i need to see that draft count get to eighty

[cannotflyarc]

hey everyone should send me memes because i'm self sabotaging myself

[wndaswife]

a change in you | wanda maximoff & gn!reader

A strong friendship had developed between you and Wanda after she moved to the compound, but ever since you'd gotten a girlfriend, she grew distant and abrasive without explanation.

Word count: 5228

Tags: smut, angst, jealousy, fluff, fingering, this was written in september and i needed to get it out of drafts, so there will be stylistic differences, sub!wanda maximoff, dom!reader. MINORS DNI.

gif credit to creator.

“What do you like about sitcoms?” you asked Wanda, looking over to her as you lifted a handful of popcorn to your mouth. She was leaning against you, your head resting atop hers as her eyes were focused on the black-and-white scene in front of her. Your cheek was pressed against the top of Wanda’s head, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo. 

Wanda shrugged, reaching up to take a few pieces of popcorn from your hand instead of the large bowl laying in her lap. “I’ve always liked them,” she answered. You loved hearing about Wanda’s childhood, the life she held so dearly to her heart. 

Beyond the Strucker experiments, beyond HYDRA and Ultron, beyond being an Avenger, Wanda Maximoff had an innate devotion to love and be loved in return. Everyone she had ever loved and lost were held deep within her. Wanda was driven by those lucky enough to be loved by her, driven to appease, to create a universe within your busy lives for the two of you. The reason she fought, dreamt, and lived was for the profound depths that laid beyond the guises of being a fighter, formed with the intention of filling it with a life surrounded by family.

Watching sitcoms became a tradition for the two of you at the end of the week, cuddled up under mounds of thick blankets and snacks that you introduced Wanda to. Tonight, it was something simple- Maltesers and popcorn.

“As a child, my family would drop everything to watch sitcoms together. My father worked all day. My mother homeschooled Pietro and I,” Wanda recalled. “We were poor. My parents tried their best to make a life for us. When we sat together in front of the television at the end of the day, it was one of the only times I felt like we were a normal family. Like a better future was plausible.”

She lifted her head from your shoulder and looked up at you. With a smile that never ceased to make your heart swell, she said, “And now, it’s a tradition for us.”

That was a month ago, and the last time you and Wanda spent time together.

Wanda left the communal kitchen and lounge area whenever you entered the room. She never answered when you knocked on her bedroom door. During meetings and conferences, she would choose not to sit by you, and if she had no choice but to take the seat beside you, she wouldn’t utter a word to you nor even meet your eyes. Sometimes she’d even choose to stand for the meetings entirety.

You’d gotten Natasha to speak with Wanda for you, and that seemed innocent enough until she brought you up.

Maybe someone detached from the Avenger life would be more effective in getting information from Wanda. You asked Marie to speak to her for you.

Marie was your girlfriend who you’d only just started seeing. She was funny and big-hearted, and insanely smart. You had met her on a mission while she was interning for the Avengers’ lead nursing team. Despite everything, Wanda hated her, and that wasn’t an exaggeration.

You’d heard from some of the others that she’d been talking badly about her ever since the day you got Marie to approach Wanda while she was making lunch for herself. The things you’d heard that Wanda said about her was entirely uncharacteristic of her. She was never like this before.

She’d done a complete one-eighty — one day she had been cuddling up to you on a Friday night like you’d always done with her, then avoiding you all at once and telling your mutual friends that Marie was a gold-digging whore who only wanted you for your title as an Avenger.

Wanda’s validation of your relationship was evidently important to you, yet you didn’t question why it was for a moment through the weeks you craved her approval of Marie. What lay in deep slumber like a sleeping dragon within you beyond layers of confusion and frustration was something you would’ve classified as heartbreak if you had paid any mind to it. You found it was easier on you to be shrouded in infuriated shadows rather than to feel the pain of having Wanda turn on you the way she had, like the flick of a switch as if you had meant nothing to her.

Months of movie nights and conversations and hours spent comforting her and making her laugh- was it no more than a fleeting memory? Had Wanda always intended it to be this way? 

Sightings of the Sokovian became scarce. She had taken up a significant amount of missions despite Steve’s advising against it as she volunteered to be dispatched for the smallest of expeditions. Even the Avengers had their working hours, and ever since she’d met Marie, Wanda had been working overtime. When she wasn’t on missions, she was out.

Always out.

Even while Wanda hadn’t been seen by you in days, Marie refused to come around the compound anymore. She was a particularly conflict-avoidant woman, and once she got word of what Wanda had been saying about her, Marie told you that she refused to intrude into Wanda’s territory any longer. The distance was putting a strain on your relationship with her.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t seen Marie since Wanda’s criticisms of your girlfriend reached you, because you had. You often met with her outside the compound in the city, or her apartment in Queens. But it wasn’t enough to patch whatever rifts had formed between the two of you. Perhaps it was also the tension Wanda had put on your relationship; the strange wire you were walking on while both evading confronting Wanda and wanting to defend your girlfriend.

Wanda was your best friend, and she still was, wasn’t she? If there was a chance to talk about what she had said about Marie as friends rather than people deluded by misinterpretation and blind anger, then you would take it. You just had to wait for the chance to come.

But as time went on, waiting for Wanda to apologise and anticipating to see her in the hallways one day, your relationship with Marie only continued to slowly fracture, from her cancelling plans to ignoring your calls entirely. Not only was time for Wanda running out, but you had quickly grown tired of waiting for her as it became clear that she wasn’t going to approach you or take her words back.

You weren’t sure why Wanda had stopped talking to you, why she had suddenly belittled your partner, or why she had completely flipped a switch on you, but you had no more patience in waiting for answers. You needed one, at least. If Wanda could tell you why she had given up on her friendship with you, things would be easier. If she refused to befriend you, even without rationalisation, you would build up from there. An answer — that was all you needed.

There were no missions today, no excursions, no errands that needed to be done that Wanda could take up as an excuse for avoiding you. When you asked her room neighbour, Vision told you she had left early in that morning and was yet to return. You had even asked him if he knew what was wrong with her, and he simply told you that she was concerned for you. Within his ever wise and omniscient advice, he told you that you should’ve considered how distressed she was, how heavy conflict could be for particularly-affected individuals.

Bullshit.

Wanda wasn’t ‘distressed.’ She was being a bitch, and you had enough of waiting for her to take responsibility for what she's done and be a good person, to apologise for what she said. Because she wouldn’t on her own.

You pushed open the doors of the compound’s training room. Clashing metal echoed through the illustrious room, filled with ever-updating technology and machines set up solely for training and practice. The newest addition to the gymnasium was the holopad. It was a four-dimensional holographic platform for hand-to-hand combat training. 

You rounded the training room’s equipment to see the holopad being used, a figure of flashing red and ivory white reducing Ultron bots to holographic pixels. His familiar robotic voice spoke gibberish as they approached Wanda from all angles. 

She was quicker than she had been during the battle in Sokovia. Her senses were peaked, her fingers flexing and her arms outstretched to take the approaching holograms by their heads, detaching them from their necks. Pixelated metal torsos were ripped from their bodies, robotic cries of defeat echoed against the otherwise empty room as their bodies dissipated and formed new training targets. 

One of the program’s more impressive feats was that the user could program for the machine to conjure any adversary. Sometimes, for Tony, it was Steve. For Wanda, Ultron. But today, you expected for the pixelated opponents to be of Marie’s face. 

You approached the holopad, standing at the base of its staircase before calling Wanda’s name out. 

The sudden noise made her flinch, breaking her focus and allowing the Ultron bots to reach her. Their holographic arms permeated her body, causing a myriad of colours to reflect against her before the holopad flashed red and reset to its blank state.

She looked down at you, panting as she steadied her breath. Wanda pushed her hair back and looked down to her hands to take her gloves off, sensory coverings that helped the pad tell where her hands were and the magic she was using as she fought. Wanda stepped down from the platform, velcro sounding loudly as she slipped the black gloves off and laid them on the control tablet’s stand. 

“What do you want?” she asked in vexation, placing her hands on her hips and staring straight at you. She was wearing black leggings and a grey tank, strands of dark hair slick against her forehead. 

“What the fuck is the matter with you?“ you snapped, taking a step towards her, demanding an answer even through the way you approached her.

Wanda feigned ignorance, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She turned to pick her water bottle up from the floor, but you took hold of her wrist, forcing her to straighten and face you again. 

“You called my girlfriend a gold-digging whore,” you reminded her with a scowl. Wanda forced her wrist out of your hold at the mention of Marie. 

“And?” she retorted, her head tipping to the side, daring you to argue with her. 

You scoffed, and Wanda bristled, almost disappointed you weren’t more angry. “And?” you repeated incredulously. Wanda’s eyebrows raised expectantly. “We didn’t do anything to you.”

Stiff lines formed on either side of Wanda’s jaw as she clenched her teeth, her eyes widening in apparent fury. She shouted as if the basic foundations of a relationship were unheard of by her, “We? Is that what you and Marie are now? You care about what she thinks?”

You shrugged with your palms upturned, your expression frozen in disbelief. “I don’t know, Wanda. Did you think things would be the same after we started dating?”

The muscles in Wanda’s neck flexed, her nostrils flaring as she exhaled heavily, her body trembling with restrained anger. She turned suddenly, picking up her waterbottle and speeding past you in a furious delirium.

You followed after her, picking up speed as Wanda did as she tried to flee from your vicinity. “We’re not doing this again! We’re not just going to stop talking for weeks, just for me to have to chase after you like this!” you called from behind her.

“Chasing after me? You’re such a mess,” Wanda scoffed as she pushed the gym’s doors open, not bothering to hold it open for you. It nearly crashed into your face and you stuck your hands out to catch it, pushing it forward and slamming it against the adjacent wall as you glowered at Wanda from behind. You followed Wanda into the hallway leading into the changing rooms and showers.

Your hand made contact with her shoulder and you pulled her back, spinning her around and causing her to stumble until she steadied herself to face you. The tears forming in your eyes made Wanda’s angry veil crack momentarily. “Why are you acting like this?” you asked her, your voice breaking. Having been masked with Marie’s company and utter confusion for the last month, the sorrow of losing Wanda from your life took seeing her in person to set in.

Wanda’s eyes flickered between both of yours. Her expression softened but her resolve did not. “I don’t understand why you care about me so much, Y/N. You have… Marie,” she whispered out, trying to meet your eyes through your glassy tears. The very act of saying your girlfriend’s name was an obvious struggle for her.

You wiped your eyes with the back of your wrists and laughed humorlessly. “Wanda…” you mumbled out. Your hands dropped to your sides and you met her eyes, the most sincere the two of you have been in weeks. “It doesn’t matter who else I have in my life. It never would’ve mattered. You’re you. Marie is Marie.”

She shook her head, her eyes not leaving yours for a moment. “What are you trying to say?” she asked you cluelessly.

“I mean that I missed you, and all you were doing was avoiding me no matter how hard I tried to get your attention. Do you regret getting close to me?”

Wanda inhaled shakily, her shoulders raising. She wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a hug and closing her eyes. “I missed you too,” she said into your hair, squeezing you tighter. “Y/N, you don’t understand.”

Anger scorched up your throat and you pushed Wanda away, causing her to stumble backwards. “What don’t I understand, Wanda? You can’t just keep doing this to me.”

“No, Y/N, I—“

“I don’t want to hear anymore bullshit.”

“It’s not! Stop interrupting me and listen.”

You pushed past her anyways, your eyes brimming with tears as your vision became clouded. To have Wanda see you like this, someone who was perfectly fine with pretending you didn’t exist for a month, was certain death.

Four words suddenly blurted out from behind you, attaching chains to your ankles and stopping you where you stood. 

“Y/N, I love you.”

Your chin met your shoulder as you looked back at Wanda. Her shoulders were raised, her posture tense as her fists clenched. 

“I love you,” she repeated, and you saw her shoulder raise when she inhaled sharply.

You turned around completely, your body facing hers. “I heard you,” you answered. Wanda might’ve fled the room in tears had it not been for the confused furrow of your eyebrows and the trembling of your bottom lip. 

“I wished—” Wanda’s mouth shut and she swallowed before correcting herself, “I wish you had never met Marie. I wish you had never started dating her.” The confession spilled from beyond her lips as if it was hastily scripted, her words’ intentions clear but her execution painfully poor.

“You really don’t like her…?” you questioned meekly.

An exasperated sigh escaped from Wanda, her entire body deflating as you continued to misunderstand her. “I don’t like her,” she said. “She’s not good enough for you. Not funny or that smart.”

Your hand raised to your forehead and you massage your temple with your thumb. Your arm fell to your side and you looked straight ahead at Wanda with helpless eyes.

She was taking steps towards you without warning after dropping her waterbottle to the floor, not giving you a moment to even stumble backwards before one of Wanda’s hands wrapped around the back of your neck, her other coming up to cup your cheek. She pulled you against her, crushing your lips against hers bruisingly. You watched her eyes screw together tightly before your own eyes fluttered shut.

Your hands found her hips and you pulled her against you.

Desperate groans and greedy moans were exchanged into your mouths between warm pants. Without conscious volition, your hands began to roam Wanda’s body, taking your best friend in ways you had never before as your hands ran up her back, gripping her sides with possession that made Wanda melt.

You disconnected from Wanda’s swollen lips and leaned down to bury your face into the crook of her neck, her soft hair shrouding your face as you peppered wet kisses up the side of her neck. You could feel the vibrations of her moans against your lips.

“Y/N,” Wanda whimpered your name out. Your tongue ran flush up Wanda’s neck, making her shiver and stumble in your hold before your lips reached her jaw and you sucked at her skin. You found yourself walking forward, leaving Wanda to stagger backwards in attempts to catch up with you and avoid tripping. She was led backwards until her back was pressed against something firm, and she was trapped firmly between you and the wall.

You raised your head and looked at Wanda, a small smile pulling at your lips at the sight of her dishevelled hair and flushed cheeks. “I love you too, Wanda,” you finally told her, your forehead pressed against hers as she looked at you.

Wanda was an enigma. Truly. Her eyes began to well in warm tears and her head hung as she cried into your chest. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” she sobbed. “I missed you so much. It was so painful to… But I didn’t know what else to do.” Your hands raised from her waist and you wrapped your arms around Wanda’s trembling shoulders, hushing her softly as she continued to cry. “I couldn’t stand seeing you with her, to know that I could never be what she is to you.”

Pulling away from her enough to cup her cheek and tilt her head up, you kissed Wanda’s tear-stained cheeks. “You are everything to me. With someone else or not, I love you, Wanda. I always will,” you said, your thumb stroking her cheekbone gently. “I shouldn’t have let you feel that way.”

“Don’t,” she argued. Wanda buried her face into the crook of your neck and closed her eyes. Her arms were wrapped around your waist and you wondered if she’d ever let go. You imagined that having Wanda hanging onto your waist until the end of time wouldn’t be such a bad thing. “I don’t want to think about that anymore,” Wanda muttered. She whispered, “Just be with me.”

“Always,” you replied. Your hand cradled the back of Wanda’s head, your other arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulling her into a tight hug. 

After a few silent moments of being embraced by one another, Wanda pulled away from you, slipping out from between you and the wall with a small sniffle. Her arm that was wrapped around your waist fell to her side before she took your hand in hers. With a smile that made your heart swell, as it had hundreds of times before like it would in your future, Wanda led you forward. She pushed open the door to the shower room and the two of you walked in, passing Wanda’s locker and handfuls of others while you followed behind her and watched the swaying of her long dark hair.

Once arriving at one of the showers, Wanda pushed the shower curtain open and turned the shower’s hot water on. While steam began clouding around the two of you, Wanda let go of your hand and undressed. Eye contact was only broken with you when she pulled her shirt over her head. Her ivory skin glistened with a thin layer of shower steam and she stepped towards you when she was simply in her bra and underwear.

Your hands rounded her body as you undid her bra while Wanda tugged at your pants’ waistband before it fell to the ground. Her bra slipped from her shoulders and it dropped on top of your pants. You wrapped an arm around her hips and leaned down to press a kiss to the valley of her breasts. Wanda looked down at you with a soft smile while she played with your hair. 

Slow fingers hooked the waistband of her panties and you pulled them down. Wanda stepped out of the garment once it fell to the shower room’s floor. 

Wanda undressed you next, her hands running up the soft plains of your body. Green eyes flickered over every inch of your bareness in attempts to saturate you into her memory forever. Her palms ran up your chest and she placed her hands on your shoulders. Wanda pulled the shower curtain back again and she led you in. 

Your fingers traced the stretch marks on Wanda’s hips as she walked backwards into the shower. The two of you were soon shrouded in its steam. “You’re so beautiful, Wanda,” you whispered, soaking in her bare body as a flower to the sun at the break of dawn. Her cheeks flushed pink and you kissed her when she tried to look away.

Neither of you bothered to close the shower curtain and you pushed Wanda into the shower wall carefully. Your hand found its way between her thighs and she let out a shaky breath against your lips. Both of your bodies became wet with hot water, but it was you who was responsible for the sticky slick that coated Wanda’s inner thighs. 

Your fingers delved into Wanda’s folds while your thumb drew lazy shapes against her clit. Wanda’s head was lolled back against the wall, moaning out in pleasure. Her arms were wrapped around your neck, pulling you ever closer as if frightened that you might leave without warning. Your other hand groped Wanda’s breast, your palm running smoothly against her hardened nipple. 

“Y/N, please,” Wanda pleaded, her eyes opening to meet yours, her emerald gaze seeping with desperation. Her hips jerked down against your fingers. Pride swelled in your chest as you watched her writhe for you, a sight reserved only for you. “I want to feel you,” she whispered against your lips. “I want to be yours.”

Moving forward to kiss Wanda’s cheek, you laid your forehead against hers as your slick fingers centred against her opening. You felt her thighs trembling against your own and pushed her further against the shower wall, holding her up. Smooth fingers delved past her opening and Wanda clenched her jaw, a restrained groan leaving her. With a fluttering heart, you watched as her eyes screwed shut, her mouth falling open to moan her hot breath against your chin.

Your lips captured hers, though it was short-lived as your fingers pushed through her velvety walls and Wanda panted out hasty exhales. Once before, you had discussed sex with Wanda. She wasn’t a virgin, although her first time consisted of a myriad of lazy kisses and disinterested fucking. From what you knew, Wanda hadn’t been seeing anyone, and although you had recently spent a month without speaking, the way she clenched around your digits and exhaled trembling breaths implied she hadn’t been touched like this in quite a while.

At the realisation, you ducked your head down and pressed openmouthed kisses to her neck, her wet hair sticking to every plain of skin it could find. Wanda's head was thrown back, her body arching into yours as her hips lowered in jerky motions. She craved more yet knew so little in what the tightening in her lower stomach meant with you. But you were receptive.

Fingers quickened and the Sokovian’s moans turned into what could only be described as squeals. She tried pulling back, pressing her ass against the wall at the sudden unfamiliar intrusion into her pussy, but your wrist surged forward, refusing to part from Wanda’s cunt. The heel of your hand met her clit and you flattened it against her sensitive nub.

Wanda whimpered in response, her entire body melting in your hold despite the juxtaposing quivering of her walls.

Leaving cold trails of saliva in your wake, your kisses reached the valley of her breasts and you let go of one to cup her cheek. At the feeling of your warm hand caressing her, Wanda’s eyes fluttered open. Her head tipped down and she met your eyes, audacious and unequivocal as you looked up at her from between her breasts.

With your hand still on her cheek, you made her look down at you when your lips wrapped around a rosy erect nipple. Shaky lips formed into a smile as Wanda watched the way you loved her. 

“Y/N,” Wanda whimpered meekly, “that feels so good.” Amongst the pleasurable writhing deep within her lower stomach as your fingers continued to fuck her pussy was the intertwining of something warm that only grew the longer she watched you suckle at her breast gently. “You make me feel…”

Your lips found her other nipple and Wanda struggled to maintain eye contact with you. You allowed her to loll her head back against the shower wall in mindless pleasure.

“... So good,” Wanda uttered, her words mumbled out from her mouth weakly. The shower fogged up with hot steam as hot water continued to stream down on the two of you, which was a partial reason as to why the rising and falling of Wanda’s chest was perpetually quickening. You hummed in response, the soft exhaling from your nose teasing at her nipple.

The sound of your thrusting fingers found an accelerating tempo while Wanda’s cunt squelched with the repetitive penetration of her tight hole. The soft hiss of the running hot shower behind you turned into a muddled hum as your senses were filled with nothing but Wanda’s moans, the feeling of her cunt wrapped around your fingers, the feeling of her soft creamy skin running under your hands.

A teasing tug of Wanda’s nipple from between your teeth made her yelp, and despite the reaction, she pulled you closer. You raised yourself up to her face again and began rubbing the heel of your hand against her clit side to side.

“You gonna come soon, Wands?” you asked her, a teasing smirk on your lips.

Through her weak haze, Wanda grinned in return at the use of the nickname. It’d been so long since she’d heard it last. She pulled herself against you, her head resting on your shoulder. “Gonna come,” she confirmed, hugging her arms around your neck tightly. “I love being with you, Y/N. I love you so much.”

Your arm raised to wrap around her waist, your hand pressing flush against her back and pulling her closer. You kissed Wanda’s temple and felt her smile against your neck. “I love you too, Wanda. So much,” you uttered against her wet skin. “Come for me, my angel.”

Despite the curling of your fingers deep within her pussy, it was your use of the pet name that brought Wanda to her high. She buried her face further into your neck when she came, but you raised your head, pulling back slightly to watch her screwed-shut eyes and parted lips. Her knees buckled and she fell forward against you, but you held her up. The raspy cries that left her from beyond her soft lips were comparable to siren’s calls, tempting and every moment alluring.

You had never seen her this way before, and no one else but you ever would. Wanda was every inch yours as you’d be for her from then on, belonging to her, your best friend and the only woman you’d ever love.

Wanda’s arms were limp around your neck as her orgasm washed over her in its final moments. Her arms slipped from your shoulders and dropped to your hips instead, holding you albeit weakly. Her thighs trembled as she held herself up, her hips buckling against yours. She panted against your neck, her warm breath travelling down your chest and hardening your nipples.

With a proud smile, you slipped your fingers out of Wanda’s cunt and she whimpered, hips jerking down at the empty feeling. After running the tips of your fingers through her folds, you slipped your hand out from between Wanda’s thighs. Hooded green eyes looked up at you as you slid your coated fingers past your lips, cheeks hollowing in as you savoured her tangy sweet flavour. Wanda flushed at the sight and you took your fingers out of your mouth to lean down and kiss her.

No resistance was present when you pushed your tongue past Wanda’s lips, spreading the flavour of her pussy through her mouth. When you parted from her lips to press a kiss to her forehead, Wanda mumbled out, “I love you.” The words gave her an instant high, having been burying it deep within her ever since she’d known you, the closest she’d ever gotten to bringing it to the surface being in platonic humorous confessions of love between friends. But now it was different. Wanda could love you without hesitation.

Your hand came to the back of her head, stroking her hair as you whispered sweet promises against her warm skin.

If given enough time, Wanda would’ve been able to fall asleep standing up as you held her, hot water encapsulating both your bodies. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, Wanda,” you told her and she smiled up at you sleepily. 

For the next little while, you washed Wanda’s hair, scratching at her scalp gently as she leaned back into you. You pulled her backwards to run her shampooed hair under the shower, your fingers raking through her long hair as you washed it through. You pressed kisses to Wanda’s body at every given chance, on her shoulders, her neck, her ears, her shoulder blades.

It was true that things were different, and after that day, it always would be. But there was something so special about loving silence that both you and Wanda shared, and irregardless of the changes that would come about, your hearts would continue to swell larger than any spiel of words could at the stillness your shared love brought.

You’d never love each other from a distance again, no word gone unexchanged, no moment of time spent hiding the way every instinct screamed out with a fervent desire to reach out to one another, yearning for the embrace of the other. 

You could embrace Wanda in a way you’d never been able to before, or rather because you hadn’t ever known what your feelings for her meant —the tightening in your chest when she had avoided you, the fluttering of your heart when she took your hand. 

Throughout the years that would pass spent with her, one thing would always remain true; Wanda and you have always loved each other, in the longing stares and the hidden blushes, in the stabilising of your quickening heart when you took Wanda into your chest and listened to her steady breaths.

When you’d rinsed Wanda’s body of soap and her hair of shampoo, she turned to pull you close and looked up at you. “I’ll be yours forever, won’t I, Y/N?” she asked.

Without even a moment’s worth of thinking it over, you answered, “Always.”

[an-act-of-will]

Episode Four- Editing Part Two

Thanks for tuning in to your regularly-scheduled writing journey podcast, An Act of Will. I’m your host, Sydney. Let’s get started.

So I actually made a small blunder last episode. But, in my defense, Scrivener decided to give me the wrong word count. So my beginning draft was actually sixty-four thousand, two hundred sixty words, and not the fifty-seven thousand number I gave you. So technically I only have to write sixteen thousand words, which is a lot less ouch than my previous number. More of an ‘owie’ than a full ouch. But I re-configured the document so that my word count going forward will be accurate.

And I’m still deep in the editing trenches. This episode will cover one day of re-ordering scenes, and writing a few new ones over the past three weeks.

Yes, I looked at my tri-fold and decided to see if I could re-order one more time. I knew last time there was something just slightly off about it, but I had to stop and write down the missing scenes, as well as get ready for work.

I did my usual process- got my post its, page flags, writer’s notebook, and pen out; set my Forest timer, this time for twenty-five minutes; and started from the beginning.

I only did one twenty-five-minute sprint because I re-ordered some scenes, but not a ton. I also added two new scene post its, thankfully with only 3-5 more combined. That brings my total number of scenes I needed to add is fifty-six to seventy-four new scenes. Ouch, with feeling this time. I realized that in order to progress, I need to write at least a few of the scenes I’m missing. So that’s what I started to do.

I also put a moratorium on myself for changing existing scenes in my manuscript to re-order them. I didn’t even let myself read through it because then I knew I’d start to tinker. This had to be purely new work. So I went through my list of scenes to be written and started with the ones I had at least a vague idea of the content of.

After writing one scene for two twenty-five minute sessions, I had to leave for work. When I was there, I had the idea of making goals for myself and then doing something satisfying when I do. I thought of ways I could do it, and decided on making almost a ‘progress bar’ like in video games when you’re leveling up or completing a quest. Gamifying things tends to work for me, even though I don’t really play video games. I still like the aesthetic.

So I allowed myself to go full geek and did a couple of progress bars. One for overall word count that I capped at eighty thousand and one for scenes completed. I have pictures on my blog of them that I’ll link in the description.

To start the first progress bar I wrote the scene I was working on until I got to sixty thousand, just to have a nice round number to start with and to make the math easier because math is just not my strong suit. I decided on an increment of five thousand words, for a total of five major tick marks. I also made tick marks for every thousand along the way.

For the second progress bar, I consulted my list of scenes. I’ll have an ‘overall’ progress bar and then secondary progress bars so I can see my progress a bit more satisfyingly. On the page with the word count progress bar, I made the overall progress bar and shot for the approximate middle of sixty scenes.

Every week, I decided to make myself a little calendar and track how many words, scenes, and working minutes I did that week, plus any other wins, like small epiphanies or something. That served the function of both keeping a record and having a handy place to put the secondary progress bars.

I decided on the goal of writing five scenes per week. I’ll adjust that as needed. I did the same thing as I did with the first progress bar, this time with just the five tick marks that I’ll track by. I won’t give myself credit for half scenes, just because that would be really hard to track.

For the final progress bar, I decided I wanted to work at least an hour each day, so seven hours a week. I’ll adjust that as needed, too. I made fifteen-minute intervals for that one above each week. Since I normally work in twenty-minute bursts, I should theoretically get at least fifteen minutes every day. Is this a bit cheaty? I mean, a little bit, but it’s only for myself so I feel like seeing everyday progress is more important than holding yourself to some imagined ideal.

As I complete the progress bars, I get to use a colored pencil and fill them in with a different color every bar. That should be motivating for a giant completionist nerd like me.

Now for the actual writing. The first day I did one scene and wrote four thousand, two hundred, thirty-four words in two twenty-minute and two fifteen-minute working sessions, which added up to seventy minutes. So I met my hour goal that day.

That first day I also went through my scene list with the scenes numbered and made sub documents in my writing program with the scene description in brackets at the top of the document. I also changed all the icons on the document’s outline to be different and made a key so my goofy self won’t forget it.

If I never mentioned, I use Scrivener as a writing software. It’s about sixty dollars but I found it’s worth it because I chose to stop using google docs because I found out that the program doesn’t let people send not safe for work documents to each other to beta read, and because I heard that AI might be trained off documents written there. Since I want to stop any AI from replacing artists of any kind, I needed a new software. Most of the people I follow on youtube use scrivener, so I thought I’d give it a whirl. I like it a lot, even though I’m probably not using it to its full potential and only have rudimentary skills with it. But that’s enough of me gushing about Scrivener.

The second day of writing, I had to decide on which scene to work on. I didn’t want to go chronologically because I had no idea for the content of most of them. I wanted to start with scenes I had a vague idea of to build my confidence and some momentum. So I picked a scene that fit that criteria. I started with one fifteen minute sprint to warm up. I had a singular bullet point that was an idea about the scene, so I started with that and saw where it took me. It ended up being an idea with legs, so after a five-minute break, I went at it again, this time for twenty minutes. Then another break, and then an attempt at another twenty minutes. I got distracted for half of it, so let’s call that one ten minutes. Then I took a break, then I did a ten minute session and then a fifteen. That pretty much tapped me out for the day, even though I didn’t actually finish the scene.

I was lucky enough that the next day I had free to work on my writing pretty much all day had a writing stream from one of my favorite writing youtubers/streamers Kate Cavanaugh that I’ll link in the description. Because of the twitch stream, I got 57 minutes which almost completed my entire goal for the day. I also added one thousand ninety-nine words to my document and pretty much finished the scene I was working on. I still had a bit to go, but I figured just a paragraph or two.

After all that writing, I needed to get away from the computer for a bit. I decided to spend some time walking around my neighborhood playing Pokemon Go. Is it way past its popularity? Yes. Yes it is. But I still like it and recently remembered its existence. I also remembered that one of the aspects of the game is that you walk a certain distance to hatch eggs. I had finished up my last egg the day before this stream and thrown in an ambitious ten kilometer egg. I did point one kilometers that first day. During my walk, I did one point eight additional kilometers of progress, or just over a mile in American. I also caught a few Pokemon and filled my whole 300 capacity section so I had to get rid of some. I just did the duplicates I had.

After the walk, I did more writing. I did a ten minute sprint, which completed the last bit of my hour goal for the day. In that time, I got three hundred thirty-two words which covered finishing the scene I was working on and starting on the next one I had marked. When the timer was up, I went through the scene list and marked the next one I wanted to work on with the icon I had designated for that purpose so that I don’t lose momentum later.

Then I decided to take a break from writing but still keep to the same task. I made myself a checklist of the scenes I need to do. The gel pen list from my ‘to move’ list wasn’t working out because a) I ended up having to move way more than I expected and b) the colors were just too bright and light to my eyes, so I just used black ink. I figured this would be a better checklist anyhow because I know I need to add at least this many scenes. I decided to do the thirty-three spots to add scenes, not the actual number of scenes. This way my wrist wouldn’t get tired and I wouldn’t scream when I saw how many I need written down. I just put the numbers of the spot according to my sticky notes and my document, not the descriptions of scenes. This way, it didn’t look like a wall of text and I can add the dates of when I completed each scene as documentation, if just for myself. And for you, of course.

Then, because my writing notebook’s cover had literally fallen off and I had to tape it back together, I decided to glue the binding back in. And because my hour goal for the day had been reached, I treated myself to an Internet break. I still wanted to think about writing, though, and not just watch people play video games, so I kept myself to writing vlogs. I’ll link the writing youtubers I watched that day down in the description. I don’t make any videos myself because I hate filming and this podcast is my replacement for vlogging, but I find watching others vlog super interesting. Different strokes for different folks, I guess. [[Link Diane mariee and Brielle writes]]

After the vlogs, I checked on my writing notebook and how the glue decided to hold the binding and cover together. It was, indeed, holding, so I went ahead and filled in my progress bars. And after that, I actually stopped for the day. I had reached my hour goal and I had finished the scene I spent two days working on, so I didn’t want to push it and get burnt out.

Over the next three days, I got little to no work done unfortunately. Then I managed to get my butt in the chair and write. I completed a couple short scenes in a few sprints so I was feeling better about it. I filled in my overall scene progress bar and my weekly progress bar and stopped for the day. Again, it’d been a couple days so I didn’t want to push it.

So, to recap: I wrote six scenes the first week, most of them pretty short so I got to almost seventy-four thousand words. Considering my goal for this draft is eighty thousand, I feel pretty good about that!

I have no idea how long the revising process will take for this draft, but I will continue to take you with me.

That’s all for this episode. Thanks for coming with me on my journey through storytelling. I have a Tumblr at an act of will with hyphens between the words if you’d like to keep up with me there. I will see you in a week. Until then, I wish you well and happy writing.

[jcwriting]

Written in the Stars

summary ↬ being soulmates with a werewolf? pretty easy. being jungkook’s soulmate? the easiest thing in the world. there’s only one teensy tiny problem. he doesn’t want to fuck you.

pairing ↬ werewolf!jungkook x reader

genre ↬ soulmate!au, abo verse, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort (this is so fucking dramatic and for what)

word count ↬ 10.4k my hand slipped

warnings ↬ swearing, angst (but with a happy ending bc im a sappy bitch), jk is stupid in love (emphasis on stupid), mentions of violence (very brief and i don’t go into too much detail but just to warn yall), slight nsfw (sex is a big topic for like half of this but not sex is had...i know im shocked too), half of this is background info/setting up the story the other half is finally addressing the summary lolol, jk is kind of an asshole but he has reasons!!!!!

authors note ↬ hello lovelies! here’s a small little thing for you all (laughs in 10k word count). this has been sitting in my drafts for fucking ever and i just needed to get it out there and out of my hands. im thinking about writing a part two where the actual ~*/sex/*~ is had but im still on the fence about that. please let me know what you think! i literally crave your interactions so pls dont be shy,,,,,okay love you bye :)

(ps i was so close to naming this Rewrite the Stars but since this has absolutely nothing to do with The Greatest Showman i didn’t. but i was close,,,,so fucking close)

You always knew Jeon Jungkook was destined for great things.

It was written in the stars, your mother had told you after he had first stepped foot into your family-owned grocery store. Your mother didn’t have any special powers, she just had a thing for astrology. While you normally shrugged off her random proclamations about divine intervention and planetary alignments, you found that Jungkook was something you couldn’t ignore or chalk up as your mother’s latest tea leaf reading.

From the moment you set eyes on him you knew he was different. While your family held zero claim to any sort of mystical or magical inclinations, you were well aware of those who did. It was no secret that non-humans roamed the Earth in plain sight, even though it had taken humans eons to realize this. After years of savage wars and civil unrest, agreements had come into place and governing bodies were adjusted to accept the changes that had finally been made. But, this was all before your time. You were the generation that was born into the period of peace, the first children to not experience bloodshed before they could walk. The world you knew now was almost a complete one-eighty of what it had been.

Where before those who were not of human blood had to do everything they could to blend in, now could be free of the shadows. Your classrooms had both humans and non-humans in their rosters. Some of your teachers were hybrids. Curriculum expanded to teach humans about a world that had once been entirely unknown to them. One of your favorite teachers was a witch who regaled your tenth grade class with stories of goblin wars, wizard duels, and vampire covens. All tales that you had once thought were nothing but fiction were now anything but.

Which is why, the second Jeon Jungkook entered the grocery store that your parents owned and that you had worked at since you were old enough to speak in full sentences, you knew who he was. You didn’t even question it.

He was a werewolf. A powerful one. You could see it in the way he carried himself. The purposeful strides he took down the narrow aisles, the confidence in his broad shoulders. Humans weren’t nearly as sensitive as their hybrid counterparts but you also paid attention in your classes. Or, perhaps you were more aware than other humans. Never in your life did you have the issues other faced when meeting a non-human for the first time. You always knew who they were without them having to tell you. You just knew.

So, when Jeon Jungkook stepped up to your register with a bottle of water and some raw beef, you didn’t flinch. Didn’t bend under his dark gaze or shuffle your feet in an awkward attempt to break the silence. Instead, you flashed him your customer service smile and rang up his items. He didn’t say a word as he paid, barely sparing you a second glance as he strode out of the store.

“He’s going to be a great and powerful man,” your mother said in that feathery light voice of hers. “It was written in the stars.”

You couldn’t help but agree.

Jeon Jungkook came into your store everyday for the next month. He bought the same thing every time. A bottle of water and a package of raw beef. The only time he spared you any words was to say thank you or the occasional hello if the sun was shining. Usually, he was alone. Sometimes, he came with a few members of his pack. You liked those days. He smiled a little brighter and talked a little louder when they were around. Especially around Taehyung.

Then, after a month, he didn’t come in. Not for an entire week. From Monday to Sunday, you hadn’t seen a hide nor hair of him. A part of you was worried, so worried that you almost stopped Taehyung in the middle of the street to ask of Jungkook’s whereabouts before realizing how insane that made you look, the other part was chastising yourself for caring. Jeon Jungkook was a customer. Nothing more, nothing less.

The following Monday had come and you had finally stopped glancing at the sliding doors every five minutes. You no longer expected his commanding presence to rock your little world. Instead, you continued your day as if it had been any other. That was, until, Jeon Jungkook stepped through the entrance looking as if he was walking on air. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

“Did you have a good heat?” You asked when he stepped up to your register. Jungkook fumbled the water bottle he had been setting onto the conveyer belt before turning to stare at you.

“What did you just say?”

You didn’t shrink under his intense glare. “I was asking if you enjoyed your heat. Seems like you did.”

“How do you know I was in my rut?”

“Oh, is rut the correct terminology? Sorry, they always interchanged them in class, I was never sure what was appropriate.” You shrugged and rang up his items. “It was kind of obvious, though. You seemed pretty agitated about a week-and-a-half ago, then you disappear for a week, and now you’re back looking happier than ever. If it wasn’t your rut then I want to know where you went on vacation because that’s where I’m heading to next.”

Jungkook laughed. That almost made you jump out of your skin. You had never heard him laugh before. It was throaty, it was deep, and it was wonderful. “I’ll be sure to send you the link to the Airbnb.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

He smirked. “I’m here every day, aren’t I?”

You tilted your head as you accepted the cash he handed to you. “Clearly, you’re not that reliable.”

Jungkook laughed again. It was becoming your new favorite sound. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to appear flaky.”

“You’re forgiven,” you decided as you handed him the plastic bag of his purchases. Teasingly, you added, “just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

He flashed you a smile that showed off his sharpened canines. “Don’t worry, darling. I never make the same mistake twice.”

Jeon Jungkook kept his promise. He showed up everyday, like clockwork. Bought the same thing. Arrived at the same time. The only thing that changed was how he treated you. It wasn’t that he treated you badly before, he had always been polite. But now, he talked to you. He asked you questions and answered yours. More often than not, he laughed.

(It had become your favorite sound.)

For three months, this continued. The two of you had settled into a comfortable routine, something you relied on and expected. Until, he changed that.

Until, Jeon Jungkook asked you out on a date.

“What did you just say?”

“Are you free? Tonight?” You glanced around, almost expecting to see some sort of supermodel posing behind you to explain the absolute absurdity of the situation. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for the hidden cameras. I think I’m getting Punk’d.”

Jungkook sighed and placed both hands on the counter that separated the two of you. “Look at me.” You did. Slowly and warily, but you did. “Does it look like I’m lying to you?”

Narrowing your eyes, you regarded him carefully. He seemed serious. But, then again, do you ever really know someone? “I don’t know. I’ve never actually seen you lie before so I wouldn’t know the difference.”

“Fine. Ask me what color my shirt is.”

“What color is your shirt?”

“White,” he deadpanned. You glanced down at his chest. His shirt was black.

“Jungkook!”

He threw his head back and released a full bellied laugh. Even in your exasperation you couldn’t help but soften a little. “I’m sorry, darling. I couldn’t help myself.” Annoyed, you huffed and spun to face the cash register. Stabbing your finger onto the touchscreen, you ignored Jungkook’s obvious presence on the opposite side of the counter. Until his hand reached around the card reader and grasped a hold of your chin. The warmth of his fingers forced your head to turn to meet his.

“Come to dinner with me.” His voice was nothing but a rumble in his chest, his eyes so black and all-consuming you couldn’t do anything but agree with him. He seemed pleased by your response as his fingers tightened against your skin and a grateful smile flicked past his lips. His gaze darted down to your mouth and your breath froze in your chest.

“Are you going to kiss me?”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to?”

“No.” You tried to shake your head but his grip didn’t allow you much movement. He was taken aback by your answer, a small frown tugging at his mouth. You quickly backtracked to fix the situation. “I don’t want our first kiss to be in a grocery store. That’s a new low that I refuse to reach.”

Jungkook chuckled and tapped your chin gently. “Alright, darling. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Again, he kept his promise to you. He showed up at your parents house exactly at seven, wearing a button-down shirt and slacks. The tulips he had gotten for you was thrust into your hands the moment you opened the door. Flashing him a genuine smile, you hurried into the kitchen to set them in water while your mother grilled him on his birth time. You were quick to drag him away, practically throwing him towards the car as you waved goodbye.

“Sorry,” you sighed as Jungkook opened the passenger door for you. “She has a…thing for astrology. She’s probably creating your star map or whatever right now.”

“It’s okay,” he responded once he got into the drivers seat. “It’s sweet of her to care.”

You snorted. “She’s delusional is what she is.”

“So, you’re saying you don’t believe in astrology?”

“Do you?”

Jungkook shrugged as he pulled out of your dirt driveway. He looked so damn attractive behind the wheel it was honestly unfair. “Not really saying I do or don’t. All I know is that there are a lot of things out there that are out of our control. If believing in the stars and planets helps you gain some of that control back, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”

“God, don’t talk like that in front of my mother. She’ll want to start dating you.”

He grinned and placed a hand on your knee. “Tell her I’m already taken.”

You didn’t get a chance to respond to that. Not that he didn’t give you one, it was just that you literally had nothing to say. With just one sentence he opened the floodgates of your brain and the amount of thoughts that were flying through your conscious was painful. Anxiety fluttered in your stomach and you pressed your lips together to keep you from word vomiting onto him. No, it was better to keep your mouth shut and let the moment pass.

By the time you reached the restaurant you were a trembling mess of nerves. Were you guys dating? You thought this was just a ‘testing the waters’ date, not a ‘you’re my girlfriend now’ date. Did you have to make it Facebook official? You hated that shit.

Jungkook didn’t comment on your obvious distress, though. He merely placed a hand on the small of your back, ignoring how you jerked in surprise, and led you into the quiet bistro. Nodding politely to the hostess who was practically panting at the sight of him (you honestly couldn’t blame her) and pulled out your chair for you. When he sat down, he started talking. Idle chat at first. Commenting on one of the dishes, asking about the college classes you were taking at your local university. Before you realized it, wine was in your glass and your shoulders were loose. Previous nerves forgotten, you lost yourself in Jungkook. You drank, you ate, you laughed, and genuinely enjoyed his company. Honestly, it was the best date you’d ever been on.

“I have to be honest with you,” Jungkook spoke after he finished his raw steak. “I have an ulterior motive for asking you here tonight.”

“Oh,” you mumbled around the shrimp you had just tossed in your mouth. “So…this isn’t a date?”

“No, it is,” Jungkook clarified quickly around a dry chuckle. He seemed…nervous. It put you on edge immediately. “This is definitely a date. And, also, more.”

“More? What, is this a proposal too?” You were joking. A 100% joking. But Jungkook was staring at you so seriously it made you panic. “Jungkook, if you get down on one knee here I swear-”

“I’m not proposing,” he assured you. “This is something more than that.”

“More?” You parroted. Jungkook sighed.

“Do you know what a true mate is?”

Right there, in that quaint little bistro, on a date with quite possibly the most untouchable man you’d ever met, he explained how you were irrevocably his. His true mate, his soulmate.

Jungkook explained everything in great detail, which you appreciated, because honestly, you had no words. He explained how when he was born, the witch who cared for him told his father that his future glared brightly ahead of him, but only when he met his other half. True mates were rare. Mating was common, the wolves in his pack could have multiple mates or a lifelong one, but true mates were destiny. Someone or something out there had forged the two of you together. You were essentially each others other half. He was made for you and you were made for him.

“But…aren’t true mates only for wolves? I thought it’s impossible for a human to be a true mate,” you asked in a shaky voice once Jungkook took a breath.

“It was supposed to be impossible. Until, I met you.” Jungkook stared at you with a sort of reverence that made your entire body blush. “I have no idea how you are. I’ve spent hours researching. I’ve consulted with members of my pack and others. No one knows why.”

“Are you sure, though? I mean…what if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not.” Jungkook shook his head. “I visited the witch right after I met you. She took one look at me and told me that I had finally found my true mate. She said she’d never seen a future so bright before.”

You had no words for that. For the first time in your life, you were speechless. Jungkook seemed to understand. He let you sit in silence as he paid for the bill and walked you out to the car. The drive back to your parents house was the same. You couldn’t speak. The shock rendered you stupid.

By the time Jungkook pulled into the driveway you still hadn’t spoken a word to each other. You stepped out of the car before he could open the door for you. Walking up to the porch steps in a trance, you didn’t hear him follow you until he clasped your wrist in his hand. Turning to face him, you were surprised to see his brown eyes so big. They practically sparkled in the moonlight and he looked so soft and sweet you nearly melted into the wood beneath your feet.

“Please,” he whispered. “Can you…just - are you okay? You’ve been so quiet. I’m worried I’ve scared you off or something.”

With that voice, it was impossible to deny him. So, you said the first thing that popped in your head. “Do we have to make it Facebook official?”

Jungkook stared at you before bursting into laughter. “Really? That’s all you have to say?”

You blushed and glanced down. “I’m just worried, that’s all. I can’t remember my Facebook password so even if you wanted to change it I don’t think it’ll work.”

“So that’s why you never accepted my friend request,” Jungkook teased. Before you could squeak out a response, he wrapped his arms around your waist and tugged you forward. You kept your arms crossed across your chest but let yourself fall against him.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you whined as you buried your face into his shoulder. He smelled so good, a mixture of pine and spice. “My brain hasn’t worked since you told me I’m yours, so bear with me.”

Jungkook chuckled and gently swayed you from side to side. “Does that mean you’re okay with this? All of this?”

Sighing, you lifted your head up and stepped away from him. Jungkook was not impressed and pulled you back to him. Your heart swelled in your chest and you wrapped your arms around his neck in consolation. “Honestly? I haven’t really processed anything. You’ve had your whole life to come to terms with this. I just found out thirty minutes ago that I’m someone’s soulmate. It’s a lot to take in.”

Jungkook nodded as he tapped his fingers against your hips. “I know. It’s a lot…I’m a lot. I just want you to know that you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to be with me. I won’t-”

Now it was your turn to burst into laughter. You couldn’t believe those words had left his mouth. It was easily the most absurd thing you’d ever heard. “Jungkook, I want to make something very clear. I have no problem being your true mate. That’s not the issue here. Well, there really isn’t an issue. It’s just…hard to believe, I guess. I have to process that this is my new reality.”

“Really?” Jungkook perked up and looked so fucking cute you couldn’t help but cup his cheeks. His skin was so warm despite the cold autumn air that surrounded you both. “You want to do this? Be with me? Be mine?” All you could do was nod. You were so overwhelmed with emotions. The shock was evident, but a piece of you was so happy. You felt whole.

Jungkook’s face split into a wide smile that caused his nose to scrunch up. He wrapped his arms around your waist and spun you around. Squealing, you slung your legs around his hips and held on. Normally, you’d rather die than show this much affection to someone. But, this was Jungkook. Your soulmate.

“So…what do we do now?” You asked once Jungkook set you down. “Is there, like, a ceremony or something?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted as he stared down at you. He had a hand against your jaw and was rubbing your cheek tenderly. “I really didn’t think I’d get this far.”

You scoffed at his ridiculousness. While recognizing you were Jungkook’s true mate was going to take some time, believing that he thought you’d deny him was utter nonsense. “What if…what if we date, first?” You suggested timidly. “I know that sounds kind of weird considering we’re supposed to be the loves of each others lives. But, I don’t really know you all that well. And, I think this is going to take sometime for me to get used to. Maybe we should date, get to know each other, and just learn how to be with one another.”

“Whatever you want,” Jungkook agreed. “We can do whatever you want. Just as long as I have you, I’m happy.”

Two years passed.

Two blissful, wonderful years. Two years of dating, two years of loving, two years of being Jeon Jungkook’s. It was everything you could’ve asked for and more. You had never felt so loved and cherished in your entire life. He respected you, he took care of you, and most importantly, he was there for you in every sense. Since the moment you met him, you hadn’t been alone. He hadn’t let you. Jungkook knew you better than you knew yourself.

And, it was the same for him. You were there for him when he transitioned into the leader of his pack. You were there when he took over the CEO position from his father and encouraged and supported him every step of the way. You let yourself be loved and in return he let you love him. It was wonderful.

Except, for one tiny thing.

While the emotional aspect of your relationship flourished and bloomed into something beautiful, the physical side remained stagnant. Make out sessions and heavy petting were a norm in your relationship. At first, it didn’t bother you. In fact, you loved that Jungkook was taking things so slow and so seriously. But, eventually, your needs began to grow. You found yourself wanting him in more ways than one, wants that only he could satisfy. Jungkook refused. Every time.

It wasn’t like he refused your every need. No, Jungkook was extremely attentive. When it came to himself, that’s when things got dicy. He had no problem spending hours between your legs, worshipping you until you were crying from the overstimulation. Yet, he wouldn’t let you anywhere near him. Not without lack of trying on your part. The minute your hands went down to his waistband, he pushed you away. Every time you tried to dip your mouth to the obvious bulge in his pants, he lifted you up and kissed you breathless until you forgot your name. It wasn’t until after a year of dating that he finally let you grind on his clothed cock. Even then, he held off until you finished and then walked out with quite possibly the worst case of blue balls. You hated that he did this to himself. The worst part was, you couldn’t understand why.

The one time you had brought it up to him it had resulted in the worst fight the two of you had ever gotten into. It was the only argument that was never really resolved. After the yelling and the tears, all you got out of Jungkook was that mating with a wolf was not pretty. It was extremely dangerous and he refused to put you in that kind of danger. End of discussion. No matter how hard you tried to persuade him or broach the subject, he shut it down. Hard. Eventually, you gave up.

He even spent his ruts away from you. Every three months, he left you for a week. You knew he had a place somewhere up in the mountains and you assumed that’s where he went. You had no idea. There was no point even asking to come along. You loved your boyfriend and didn’t want to purposely give him a heart attack. You hated it when he left. As much as you tried to hide it and convince him that you were just fine, he wasn’t stupid. Being away from him was tough. A piece of you was missing whenever he was gone. And you were only whole again when he returned.

This past week had been one of those weeks. He had left on Sunday for the mountains. He was agitated and clingy, how he normally was pre-rut. Jungkook wouldn’t let you leave his side and you spent most of the weekend on his lap or wrapped in his arms. Not that you minded. When he left your parents house on Sunday night, you’d had to coax him out of the door. Promising him that you’d be okay and that you’d see him next week. It wasn’t until several kisses later did Jungkook finally leave.

While you’d been doing this for two years, it never got easier. More manageable? Sure. But definitely not easier. All you could do was go through the motions. You went to work at the local bakery, came home and helped your mom with dinner, watched TV with your dad before going to bed. Taehyung and Jimin would visit often, threatened by Jungkook to keep you company. While you assured them it wasn’t necessary, you secretly didn’t mind. They made you laugh and made you temporarily forget your boyfriend was miles away from you. Sometimes, if you were lucky, he’d call you to tell you goodnight. But those times were rare. Normally, you didn’t hear from him until Friday or Saturday when he was finally coming out of his rut and returning to the world.

By the time Sunday rolled around, you were a jittery ball of nerves. Not in a bad sense. You were just excited. The anticipation killed you and it took all of your willpower to sit and wait for his text to tell you to come over. Your parents always left you alone on these Sundays, unable to deal with your hyperactiveness and constant fidgeting.

This Sunday was no different. You puttered around your room for the better part of the day. You spent the other part in the kitchen, baking like your life depended on it. Jungkook loved your cookies and you always made sure to come over with at least three batches after his ruts. He always said that was his second favorite part about coming home, after seeing you, of course.

You had just finished packaging the final batch in a glass cookie jar when your phone dinged. You didn’t have to read the message, you knew exactly what it said. Pure joy rushed through your system as you threw on your coat and shouted a hasty goodbye to your parents. Juggling the cookies and car keys, you sprinted to your car. The drive to Jungkook’s was thankfully not long. About ten minutes, as long as you didn’t hit any traffic on the main road. Luck was on your side, though, and you showed up at Jungkook’s house in eight minutes.

Taehyung’s car was in the driveway when you pulled up, which wasn’t odd. Although Jungkook owned the house, the members of his pack were almost always around. While most preferred to travel in their wolf forms, you knew Taehyung and Namjoon preferred cars. Something about being able to listen to their own music without comments from the peanut gallery. You didn’t really understand and didn’t really need to. You had just chalked it up as one of their many quirks.

Carrying the trays of cookies in both hands, you shut your car door with your foot before speed-walking up the stone walkway to Jungkook’s home. The screen door was shut, but the wooden door was swung wide open. You had just reached for the metal handle when you heard it.

A deep, threatening growl ripped through the peaceful quiet and froze you in place. You knew it was Jungkook. While you had only heard it once, you’d never forgotten it. It was when the two of you had attended a party and an alpha from a neighboring pack had cornered you in the hallway. Jungkook had found you cowered against the wall as the other alpha had caged you in. The sound that had left his chest had given you equal parts comfort and fear. Comfort, because he was there and you knew you were safe. Fear, because you could see in the way he bared his teeth and how his muscles vibrated, he had been furious and bloodthirsty.

That’s what you felt now, fear.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

From your vantage point in front of the screen door, you could see directly into the kitchen. Taehyung was leaning against the granite countertop and Jungkook was seated at the island. The tension was so thick you practically choked on it.

“Enough, Taehyung.”

“No,” Taehyung snapped, seeming just as angry as Jungkook. “I’m not dropping it. Not this time.”

“Yes, you will,” Jungkook snarled. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Too fucking bad.” While Taehyung was also an alpha, he acted so much like a beta you never really noticed. Until now. “I’m not going to sit by and watch you do this to yourself anymore. Not spending your ruts correctly is only causing you more harm than good.”

“I’m doing things the way I want to, and it’s working-”

“The hell it is!” Jungkook growled at the interruption but Taehyung ignored him. “It’s not working, and you know it. Anyone with two fucking eyes knows it. It’s getting so bad that the pack is noticing, too. Even Namjoon has realized something is wrong, and he’s as oblivious as they come.”

“If they have a problem with me they can take it up with me.”

“No, they can’t. Because you won’t listen. Your head is so far up your ass you can’t even hear yourself anymore. What you’re doing right now is not working. Something needs to change.”

“Like what?” Jungkook spat.

“You know what,” Taehyung bit back. Jungkook was practically vibrating from rage. You knew you needed to go get someone, someone from the pack to calm the two of them down. Things were only escalating, but you couldn’t move. Your brain screamed at you to run but your legs were rooted in place. “That’s is what’s so frustrating, Jungkook. This, all of this, could be solved. She’s right there-”

“Don’t.” Jungkook stood up so fast the chair he sat on flew backwards and hit the wall with a resounding crack.

“Why?” Taehyung threw his arms up in the air. “Why not? I don’t get it-”

“Because I don’t want her!” Jungkook yelled, the force of it rang throughout the house. You had no idea who the she was that they were referring to. You assumed it was someone from the pack. It was well-known that wolves with human mates sometimes turned to other she-wolves to help with their ruts. You figured that’s what Jungkook did whenever he went away for a week. It had bothered you at first, but you knew he had his needs and that they were at a biological level. You refused to make him feel guilty or ashamed for taking care of himself.

“You don’t want her?” Taehyung was enraged. You could tell by the way he straightened his spine and unfurled himself to his full height. Jungkook bristled in response and the muscles in his back strained against the thin material of his shirt.

“No, I don’t!” Jungkook exploded. “What don’t you understand about that? I don’t want her around me. I don’t need her, I’m fine on my own. The thought of having her there when…God - it makes me physically ill.”

“She’s your girlfriend. Above all of that, your true mate. You’re seriously going to deny yourself of her, for what? Just because you don’t like having her around?”

Oh.

That’s when it hit you. They weren’t talking about some random she-wolf. They were talking about you. You were the one Jungkook didn’t want. You were the one Jungkook didn’t need. You were the one he didn’t like having around. As the weight of the words sunk into your mind, you felt your chest becoming tighter and tighter.

Then, you’re heart broke right in half. You dropped the container of cookies and didn’t flinch when it shattered against the wooden slats. The sound unstuck your feet from their position on the porch and your fight or flight system took over. Without a second thought, you turned on your heel and ran.

You didn’t know if anyone was behind you, you didn’t turn around to check. Hands fumbled for the car door as you threw yourself into the drivers side. Pain ricocheted throughout your chest cavity and you struggled to breathe. Your brain was blank, the only thing your mind did was move your body to get you somewhere safe. You had to leave and you had to leave now.

Miraculously, your fingers found your keys and inserted them into the ignition on the second try. A flutter of movement occurred to the left of you but your eyes didn’t let you look that way. Instead, they focused on the rearview mirror as you reversed out of the driveway. Your right hand found the gearshift and moved it to drive. Soon, you were tearing down the street as your ears refused to register the agonized howls that echoed behind as you kept staring forward. Adrenaline pumped through your system and your body shivered in response, the splash of hormones had created a blanket of fake calm over you. The emotions, the pain, the thoughts were swirling inside of you, ready to break free and drown you, but your brain wouldn’t allow it.

It wasn’t until you reached the end of your long driveway that you felt the original spike of adrenaline fade away. Your mother was in the front, tending to the flowers, and looked up when she saw your car fly into its usual spot. She stood up and her face twisted into a frown when you got out of your seat.

“Honey, your aura…it’s concerning.” The blanket was yanked away and the pain crashed over you.

You couldn’t say a word, all you could do was collapse in your mother's arms and cry, cry, cry.

It took you two days to calm down. The tears had stopped rolling and your shoulders no longer shook from trying to hold your sobs behind your teeth. Your mother hadn’t left your side, leaving your father to answer the door whenever someone knocked. The only person who did was Taehyung and Jimin. Jungkook never showed up.

Well, that was a lie.

Jungkook did show up every morning and night, without fail. But he never came to your doorstep.  Instead, he was in the woods behind your house, patrolling, not daring to leave the protection of the forest. A part of you wondered if he was respecting your obvious need for space or if your mother had paid a witch to set up boundary lines that didn’t allow him to cross. Either way, you were grateful that you couldn’t see him. There was an incessant tugging in your heart to be near him but you staunchly ignored it, which would’ve been impossible if you saw his achingly beautiful face.

I don’t want her. I don’t need her. Having her there makes me physically ill. Those three sentences played in a constant loop in your head, like a horror movie you couldn’t escape from. You were the protagonist who couldn’t escape the maze, but the villain wasn’t kind enough to kill you off. No matter what you did, your brain wouldn’t stop repeating those three sentences. Your mother burned sage, she pressed crystals into your palms, she muttered ritual after ritual, but nothing worked.

You hated how affected you were. You had always told yourself that you would never be the girl who’d get so wrapped up in someone else they didn’t know who they were anymore. Independence was something you prided yourself on, but you seemed to be at a complete loss now. You couldn’t stop the waves of sadness and self-hatred at your depressed state. It was amazing how empty you felt yet so full of pain at the same time. Your mind and heart couldn’t seem to decide which hurt worse; your heart for having your soulmate so obviously reject you, or your brain for trying to make sense of the situation. When did this happen? How did this happen? How had you been so blind as to not see it?

“I don’t think we’re soulmates,” you rasped to your mom on the third morning. It had been the first words you had spoken to her since you had fell into her arms. She looked up from the bundle of herbs she was smoking.

“Why do you say that?”

You stared at your hands that had curled in on themselves. “I don’t make him happy. I-I never realized how uncomfortable I made him. I wish I had known. How did I miss it?”

Your mother tutted gently and gathered you in her arms. She smelled of lavender and wax. “This is good. I’m glad you’re letting yourself have this moment. Let’s sit in this and allow yourself to be embedded here.” But you didn’t want to have this moment. You didn’t want to have any moment and you’ve felt enough to last a lifetime. Instead, you rolled over, let sleep overtake you and tried to ignore the distant howling that rattled your window pane.

By nightfall of the fourth day, you were forced out of bed. Partly by choice, partly by force. Your parents had dipped out to run to the grocery store, despite your mother’s insistence that she could stay. You and your father managed to convince her to leave and you had gotten up to wave them goodbye. Sure, your heart was broken, but the least you could do was kiss them on the cheek before they left. You had turned around to shuffle into the kitchen to try and shovel something down your dry throat when a loud knock sounded at the front door. Hesitating, you carefully peeked through the kitchen window and saw Jimin on your front doorstep, dressed in all black.

Sighing, you stumbled over and pulled the door open. You figured you couldn’t avoid them for much longer. “Hey, Jimin.”

“Christ, you look like shit.”

You huffed out a laugh as Jimin stared at you in horror, not having the energy to be offended. You also knew, in a weird way, that this was Jimin’s way of caring for you. “Yeah. My mother’s covered all the mirrors in the house.”

Jimin nodded as he glanced at you from head to toe. “I want to ask if you’re okay but…” He gestured to your gaunt frame swaddled in a heavy sweatshirt and sweatpants. For the first time in two years, they were your own clothes, not Jungkook’s.

“I’m fine, Jimin,” you heaved a heavy sigh and leaned against the doorframe. “Do you want to come in? I think my mom boiled some tea not too long ago.”

Jimin shook his head. “Can’t. Jungkook would have a fit if I got that close to you right now. I’m already pushing my luck just by showing up.” He doesn’t care, you thought bitterly, and almost said it out loud but you caught yourself at the last second. Jimin wasn’t stupid, though. He knew what you were thinking. “Hey,” he murmured, eyes going soft, “are you ready to talk about it?”

“No.” You shook your head. A wave of sadness washed over you but the telltale prick of tears didn’t come.

Jimin understood. He tucked his hands into his pockets as he rocked back onto his heels. “Are you going to talk to him?”

Letting out a heavy breath, you crossed your arms over your chest. “I know I have to. I just…I just need time.”

“Take however long you need.”

It was another 48-hours before you finally snapped. While you had spent the majority of the two days that had passed to make yourself resemble a human being, you couldn’t focus. You couldn’t move on. Why?

Because Jungkook wouldn’t leave you alone.

His presence was constant. He circled your house every hour of ever day, the large shadow of him in wolf form darkened the trees behind your house. The howling had stopped but the pacing hadn’t. You hoped he was at least sleeping, but then you got annoyed at yourself for caring. You didn’t know why he was out there, it made no sense. Jungkook’s words were so different from his actions it made your head spin.

But, you needed to move on with your life. You had to. The only way it was going to happen was if Jungkook did too. It hurt. God, did it hurt. Yet, as sad and utterly pathetic as it sounded, you were used to the pain at this point, had resigned yourself to it. A part of you worried you wouldn’t know what to do without it.

Shaking off that depressing thought, you tugged on your rain boots and stepped outside for the first time in a week. The air was heavy with the promise of rain, the clouds low and gray. You tugged the hood up on your sweater to prevent your hair from completely frizzing out before you walked to down the back deck steps.

The backyard of your parents house was expansive. The home you had grown up in sat on top of a sloping hill that your mother had turned into her personal greenhouse. You stepped past rows of raised garden beds and pruned plants until you reached the line where the neatly mowed grass met the twisted ferns of the forest floor. As you had suspected, the ground was scorched with the evidence of past rituals. While your mother hadn’t out right admitted, you had figured someone had come and created a boundary line. It was obviously specific to Jungkook since Jimin and Taehyung were still able to visit. While your mother’s methods were extreme, you understood. As difficult as it was to move on with your life with Jungkook sequestered to the forest, you couldn’t imagine what it would’ve been like if he was within a few feet of you.

With a deep inhale, you sat down on the damp grass and waited. After a few minutes, you could hear the faint sounds of paws hitting the wet earth. The galloping got louder and louder until there was a momentary stretch of silence before it changed to footsteps.

When Jungkook emerged from the trees, you weren’t prepared. Although you knew you wouldn’t be, you still weren’t expecting it to hurt this bad. Your chest squeezed painfully at the first look of his broad form. Technically, it had been two weeks since you two had truly seen each other, the longest you’d ever gone. What hurt the most was how badly you longed for him. You wanted nothing more than to run straight into his arms, bury your face into his chest, and forget everything. Just forgive and give your heart what it wanted. But you remained firmly in place.

Jungkook looked as if he had seen a ghost. Which, to be fair, was probably true since you hadn’t seen the sun in seven days. His normally golden skin was pale and even from where you sat you could see the dark circles bruising under his eyes. Clearly, he hadn’t been sleeping. You hated that you noticed. You hated that you cared. He was dressed in all black and his chest strained against the material of his sweater. His hands were balled into tight fists at his side and the sight reminded you of why you were here.

“Hi.” Probably wasn’t the best start but it was the best you could do. Jungkook didn’t respond so you soldiered on. “I-I know you don’t want to be here, so I’ll make this quick. I just…wanted to apologize. I had no idea I made you so uncomfortable. I’m not sure how long you’ve felt this way about me, not that it really matters, but I wish you had told me sooner. Maybe things would’ve been easier for you, who knows.” You released a heavy sigh and tried to shove down the stone in your throat as you forced the next words out of your mouth. “But, all of that doesn’t matter anymore. I think I understand what you need, now. I know you loved me at one point, but I’m obviously not what you need anymore. And…t-that’s okay - I swear it is. All I want is for you to be happy, Jungkook. And I think, in order for that to happen, I need to move on. We both need to move on-”

“Stop it,” Jungkook broke in with a harsh voice that cut your sentence in half. “Stop talking.”

It felt like he had slapped you in the face. A wave of humiliation washed over you and you visibly flinched. Staggering to your feet, you locked your gaze onto your boots in an attempt to hide the tears that dripped down your nose. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, not expecting it to change anything. You began to turn away but Jungkook stopped you in your tracks, again.

“Wait, no - stop. Stop. Please…don’t go,” he pleaded. When you turned around, his eyes were frantic. Jungkook’s hand was raised from his side as if he thought about reaching out to you but something stopped him. His words were at war with one another and you were caught in the middle, at a loss for what he was trying so desperately to convey to you.

“Jungkook, I’m so confused.”

“I know. I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry.” Jungkook tucked his head into his hands before dropping down into a squat. “This is all wrong. This is all so wrong.”

You knew you should walk away. You had said your piece, it was time to move on, just as you had said. Yet, you couldn’t. It was as if your heart was tethered to him and your body couldn’t handle the pain of walking away. “Listen-”

“I don’t know what to do.” He cut you off but the bubbles of anger that had risen from being interrupted popped once you saw how lost he looked. His tattooed fingers threaded through his hair, allowing you to see the pure anguish that twisted his features. “Whenever I feel like this, I come to you. Because you always know what to do. Any situation, no matter what, you can handle it. It’s something I’ve always admired about you.”

The way he spoke to you now, so reverently and so full of awe, made your head spin. Nothing made sense.  It was such a blatant contrast to the brutality that he had spat out a week ago. As much as you wanted to believe what he said now, those stupid words could not get out of your head. It was a constant reminder that never shut up.

“I don’t know what to do either,” you admitted in a quiet voice.

“Tell me,” Jungkook begged, as if he couldn’t and refused to comprehend what you had just told him. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Whatever you want from me, I’ll give you.”

You were shaking your head before he could finish. “There’s nothing you can do, Jungkook. Nothing.”

“Don’t say that.” He stared at you, horrified. “Don’t say that to me. Please, there has to be something.”

“What could there be?” You cried. Tears streamed down your cheeks now. “You said it yourself, being near me makes you sick. Why would I stay? Why would you want me to? I refuse to make you uncomfortable anymore - so that’s that.”

“It isn’t,” Jungkook argued back. “It can’t be. I-I can’t lose you, I can’t. I need to make this right, please just let me. Please.”

But, you were tired. You were so fucking tired. You were exhausted of the emotional rollercoaster that you were on that you just wanted to crawl away and hide. All the fight seeped out of you as your shoulders slumped forward. Jungkook saw this and the blood drained from his face. You were giving up, he could see it, and it scared the shit out of him.

“Jungkook, I need to go, okay? I-I can’t do this.”

“No!” Jungkook shouted and shot up to his feet. The pure panic that choked his voice brought on a fresh set of tears that you struggled to hold back. “Just let me explain, okay? I swear to God, after you hear what I have to say, if you still want me to, I’ll let you go. I won’t fight you on it. But, please let me tell you the truth. Give me a chance to make this right. You deserve that.”

You hesitated for a moment. Deep down, you knew you should let him talk. Not because you necessarily thought he deserved to, but because he was right. You did deserve the truth, no matter how much it broke your heart. With a heavy sigh and a quick swipe of your cheeks, you nodded. Once Jungkook was sure you weren’t going to leave, he began pacing. Looking every bit like the wild animal you knew him to be but never got to see.

“Mating with a werewolf is…brutal. It’s intense, it’s painful and it isn’t pretty. It’s essentially a breeding session where I use you as a vessel to fulfill my innate biological needs. It’s not romantic, it’s not gentle. Even for she-wolves it can be too much. The thought of subjecting you to something like that - that type of pain…I couldn’t fathom it. I don’t think you understand just how precious you are to me. The image of you being battered and bruised because of me, something I did…it tormented me, day and night.” He paused for a moment, the pained look in his eyes made you shiver. You hated that he had gone through all of this turmoil on his own, and you especially hated how you never made more of an effort to try and relieve him of it.

“I couldn’t do it. That’s partially the reason I waited so long to tell you that you were my true mate. I knew ruts were something I would never expose you to even though it’s such a huge part of my life, a wolf’s life.” Jungkook looked you straight in the eye, the intensity of his dark gaze took your breath away. “I know the practices other wolves partake in when their own heats or ruts arrive. I know you know them too. But, I need you to understand something. The moment you allowed me to be yours and vice versa, I haven’t had anyone else since. I swear on my life, I’ve spent every single one of my ruts alone. I wouldn’t and I won’t do that to you.”

“Isn’t that painful, though?” Your voice cracked but neither one of you acknowledged it. While your knowledge on ruts were expansive, having done plenty of research since being with Jungkook, you had obviously never experienced one.

“It’s manageable. It’s way more painful for a she-wolf to go through her heat alone than it is for a male.” Jungkook clenched and unclenched his fists as he resumed his pacing. “The worst part is being away from you. I’ve been going through ruts since puberty, I can handle them. But not being able to be with you for a whole week…I hated it. Still do. I dread that three month mark. And as time went on, I became more and more miserable. Being apart from you was almost unbearable but the other option…I never even allowed myself to consider it.

“It came to the point where the pack was noticing. I wasn’t getting the proper pheromonal release from my ruts and it was beginning to affect those around me. Taehyung has been on my ass for months now to get over myself and take you with me during my next rut. Each time I’d give him some excuse, but it was getting harder and harder to justify what I was doing. At first, I was convinced it was because I was protecting you. But you’ve been so understanding and so patient with me and my life, those excuses were becoming useless. Eventually, I think it was because I was protecting myself. I was - am - so scared. I’m terrified that I could hurt you when I’m like that. That I wouldn’t be able to notice or worse, ignored, if something happened to you. Living with that type of fear became debilitating. So, I just kept my mouth shut and kept you away from that part of me.”

Jungkook shook his head and chuckled humorlessly. “Now I know that was the worst possible thing I could do. That I was just hurting you more. What you walked into last Sunday was a culmination of my frustrations that I was refusing to deal with. While it’s not a valid reason, I’m well aware of that, I need you to know that what you heard was not the truth. It couldn’t be further from it. Because the truth is that I’m hopelessly in love with you and the thought of being without you hurts worse than I ever thought was possible.”

It wasn’t the first nor would it be the last time that Jungkook left you speechless. It took you a full minute to process what he had said. Jungkook granted you the silence although he became increasingly more agitated as time passed. His boots scuffed the dead leaves that littered the ground and his pacing led him closer to the ashes that lay before your feet. Then, he’d suddenly stalk off with a growl as he was forced to keep away.

“I-” you cleared your throat around the lump that had found a home there. “I had no idea. This whole time…I thought it was because you didn’t want me.”

“God, no.” Jungkook swore heavily as his muscles bunched and coiled beneath his clothes. “The - the fact that…you - fuck. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. That’s not it, that’s not it at all. You’re my dream girl, you’re the love of my life, and I want you every second of every day.”

Maybe it’s because you were emotionally drained and had no mental strength left. Maybe, you needed to hear those words from Jungkook more than you realized. Whatever the reason was, it wasn’t worth trying to figure out an explanation as you sunk to the ground and burst into tears.

Jungkook lost it across from you. Broken whines stained the air as he carded through his hair anxiously. He kept trying to get to you, to try to soothe you. But the boundary was unfortunately doing its job and each attempt was met with failure. Curses were spat out until eventually, he got as close as the boundary would let him and fell to his knees. He began spewing whatever came to mind first, unsure of what to do. All he knew was that you were crying because of him and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He thought hearing you cry from your bedroom window was torture, but nothing could compare to hearing you break down in front of him. Nothing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m sorry…please, I’m so sorry. I - don’t cry, darling. Please don’t. I’m so sorry I hurt you, I didn’t mean to, I swear.”

It wasn’t tears of heartbreak that leaked from your eyes. Instead, it was tears of relief. While your heart had wholly accepted his words as the truth, the logical part of you reminded yourself that the two of you had way more talking to do. This was far from over, but the relief of knowing that he loved you and he was yours…it was indescribable.

You finally lifted your head up and were shocked to find Jungkook’s cheeks glistening with moisture. Your only thought was to comfort him as you scrambled forward to do just that. Instead of feeling his smooth skin against the palm of your hand, you were blocked by what felt like a wall although nothing stood in your way. Frowning, you realized with a start that the boundary worked both ways. Jungkook let out a frustrated growl as he glared at the ashes that was stopping both of you from getting what you wanted. It was silent for a few moments until an idea popped into your head.

“Wait here,” you announced before jumping up and taking off for the house. Ignoring Jungkook’s distressed cry, you ran inside. You yanked your car keys off from their designated hook and quickly typed out a text to your parents to let them know where you were going before spinning around and sprinting back outside. Jungkook was where you left him, although he stumbled to his feet when he saw you reappear.

“I’m going to your house,” you announced, breathless. “No witch is stupid enough to go that far into werewolf territory. If you want to talk to me there, then follow me.”

Jungkook stared at you for a heartbeat until the words you spoke clicked. “Y-yeah. Yes. Okay. I’ll be there.”

With a curt nod, you ran to your car. For the first time in a week, a faint sprout of hope bloomed in your chest.

It was the longest and shortest ten minutes of your life. The drive to Jungkook’s seemed to last a lifetime but also was over within a blink of an eye. The tears had stopped flowing by the time you pulled your car into his driveway, but you felt the telltale prick in your eyes when you saw him burst from the trees. Your heart ached as his long legs ate up the distance between you two as you wrestled with your seatbelt and threw the car into park. By the time you freed yourself, he was at the hood of your car.

The two of you stared at each other for a few breathless moments. You weren’t sure who moved first, but it didn’t matter as you crashed into each other’s arms. The moment his searing warmth enveloped you, you dissolved into another puddle of sobs. The feeling of his thick arms banded across your back, his torso molded to yours, and his hair tickling your ear, felt so right. Another wave of crippling relief washed over you and you practically melted against Jungkook. But he held you up, just like he always had.

He leaned against the front bumper while his hands were everywhere. Cradling your head into his neck, smoothing over your hips, or running circles over your shoulders. He was crying, you could feel the tears dampening your hair. But you were soaking his shirt so no one was in any position to complain.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Don’t,” Jungkook hissed fiercely as he squeezed you tighter. “Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault, not in the slightest.”

“Kook,” you sighed and pulled your head back to get a good look at him. “It takes two to tango.”

“Not this time,” he argued. “You’ve put up with so much. You’re everything I could’ve asked for and more. It was my own fears that got in the way and created this mess. And I’m so sorry for that, darling. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You shushed him gently, running your thumbs over his cheeks to swipe at the dried tears. “I know you’re sorry. I believe you.”

Jungkook dipped his head further into your touch with a pleased rumble vibrating through his chest. He kissed your palm gently, sniffing at your wrist. It made you giggle. “Missed that,” Jungkook mumbled as he stared at you with stars in his eyes. “Missed you. Missed you so much.”

A fresh wave of tears cascaded down your cheeks. You were positive that you looked like a mess, hair in a knotted bun, face red and puffy and you kept sniffling every two seconds. But Jungkook looked at you as if you held the world in your hands. “Missed you too,” you murmured in return. “Please, next time, just talk to me. I may not have the answers you’re looking for all the time, but I’ll always be here to listen.”

“I know,” Jungkook whispered. “There won’t be a next time, promise. If I happen to be stupid enough to put us in this position again, I give you full permission to punch me in the face.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You lifted yourself onto your toes to brush your lips against his, dropping back down to your feet when his head chased after yours. “Or maybe I just won’t kiss you for a week.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened comically and he actually looked terrified. “I’d rather you just punched me in the face.” You tilted your head back and laughed. Jungkook tugged you closer and nosed your throat before peppering gentle kisses along the exposed skin. Sighing happily, you tilted your head to allow him better access and rested your cheek on his shoulder.

“I love you,” you said quietly. Jungkook froze for a split second before he sank against you. Squeaking in shock, you scrambled to brace yourself against the sudden weight pressing you towards the house.

“Say it again,” Jungkook pleaded. You couldn’t deny him. Dusting feather light kisses to the shell of his ear, you repeated those three words again, and again, and again. Each time you did, Jungkook held you a little tighter and cried a little harder.

Eventually, you’re murmured promises became softer and softer until the two of you just enjoyed each others presence. “C’mon,” you finally whispered as you started to lift yourself off of him. Jungkook growled and refused to let you move an inch farther. “Kook, come on. Let’s go inside. Your ass must be numb by now.”

“Don’t care,” he grumbled but he at least shuffled forward a bit more so that your combined weight wasn’t squashing his ass against your car.

“You might say that now, but you won’t be saying that later.”

Jungkook grunted at your logic but he at least raised his head and looked at you with the sweetest eyes. “Please tell me you’re staying.”

Giggling, you asked, “do you want me to?”

“Obviously,” he scoffed. “I want you here forever.” Jungkook tilted his head thoughtfully. “Actually, you should just move in with me.”

Christ, this boy was going to give you whiplash. You couldn’t help but laugh. “Jungkook, we just made up. The whole reason we were in this mess is because of poor communication. Don’t you think we should work on that first before anything else?”

“But…we could work on communication all the time if we’re together 24/7.” Despite his pout, you knew he wasn’t totally serious. Although you were sure it was going to come up again.

“Alright, you maniac,” you said fondly. “Take me to bed.” Jungkook’s chest rumbled happily as he lifted you up and wrapped your legs around his trim waist.

It wasn’t a long walk to his bedroom, but the exhaustion of the past week caught up to you and the gentle rocking of his steps lulled you into a serene state. Not quite asleep, but not quite awake either. You were aware when Jungkook placed you on his bed, practically engulfed in his scent. The last thing you remember before falling asleep was the words Jungkook pressed into your hair has he slid in behind you.

“Love you forever, my darling girl.”

©jcwritings Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

LINKS:

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TAGLIST:

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[violettelueur]

— JUJUTSU KAISEN EPISODE TWENTY || NONSTANDARD

↳ featuring : basically everyone at this point from jujutsu kaisen

↳ warnings : mention of blood + mention of violence + slight mention of suicide + EXTREME grammar issues

↳ form : story

↳ published : 15 april

↳ pronouns : she/her

↳ word count : 3.1k

↳ synopsis : within the jujutsu world, there were three famous clans to be aware of, the Kamo clan, Zenin clan and the Gojo clan. However, unknown to many sorcerers there was one last family that was known to be apart of the three, only for them to disappear after the golden era leading some to speculate that they had died in battle after the sealing of ryomen sukuna, but....

↳ previous episode : black flash

↳ next episode : jujutsu koshien

↳ barista’s notes : let me admit, this episode took so long to plan and so long to type out because i did at least 4 drafts and this was the best out of all of them...sorry for the lack of activity today but enjoy this episode and good luck ╲ʕ·ᴥ·　╲ʔ

BEFORE READING, I NEED YOU TO BE AWARE OF THIS:

1. the whole story belongs to Gege Akutami and the credits go to them and them only.

2. the spell curses used belong to Tite Kubo due to them being the ‘Kidos’ being used on the manga and anime ‘Bleach’ - but none is mentioned in this chapter.

2.5. for the ‘cursed spells’/kidos (bleach) i will link this video here and tell you the time stamp to check out what i am intending to show - remember i add a few twist here and there by adding the katana to link with Y/N’s cursed technique : hopefully this video is slightly better...

Destructive Curse Spell Number Thirty-Three : Sokatsui (6:00-6:07)

Destructive Curse Spell Number Eighty-Eight : Hiryu Gekizoku Shinten Raiho (6:55-7:12)

Domain Expansion : Hanging Evergarden (BLACKPINK DDU-DU-DDU-DU : 2:30-2:42)

3. if you are confused on anything, please don’t hesitate to message me since i know this whole thing is so confusing.

“Mother?” you whispered, as your arms began to gradually become limp causing your polearm to be lowered while you still stared at the woman in front of you with extreme shock residing in your eyes as you both stood at each side of the river.

“Hi there,” your mother replied back with a soft smile on her face while waving her hand to you as if she was just a longtime friend that you haven’t seen in a while when in reality it had been six years since you saw the face that you dearly missed. Yet, for some reason, there was something creepy about the woman standing in front of you right now.

“Is that...really you?” you asked in a stutter trying to make your mind comprehend that the person in front of you was really the person that was announced dead six years ago leading tears to begin welling up in the corner of your eyes which caused your sight to waver slightly.

“Yeah, alive and well in the flesh...I can see that you are also doing well, that’s a nice uniform you’re wearing there,” your mother commented, as her eyes started to travel up and down your body coming to the realisation that you were now wearing a Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College uniform.

“Why?” you then question, ignoring the fact that she was giving an offended look at the clothing you were wearing right now while a plethora of questions began floating around in your mind, trying to understand and process everything that's happening at this current moment in time.

Right now, there was an attack happening right now at your sorcerer school with a veil constructed over the Exchange Event’s location (probably due to the mole telling the intruders where it was going to happen) while currently there was a special-grade curse located at least two kilometres in front of you with Itadori and Todo fighting it with a least three other intruders lurking around due to the faint cursed energies you could sense. However, there was also a minimum of four people being injured, who were Inumaki, Kamo, Fushiguro and Maki with you having no clue about the others due to the tournament that had commenced before the ambush happened and now you were here with the woman, who you thought was dead.

“Recall situations huh? That is the Y/N I know,” your mother mentioned leading you to snap out of your concentrated thoughts to focus back on the other intruder that was now standing with pride written all over her face.

“You didn’t answer the question,” you replied back with a lowered threatening tone, as your arms began to gain back their strength leading you to grip tightly onto the gift the Gojo had given you as if it was something that could give you the comfort you needed right now.

“Which one do you want me to answer dear? Why am I alive? Why did I fake my death? Or why am I attacking Jujutsu Tech right now?” she answered with a smile on her face as if she was mocking you for not already having the answers for yourself.

“ALL OF IT!” you screamed, as the tears began to decline down your face, dripping down on to the earth below you with your shoulders trembling. “Why are you here? Why are you doing this? Why are you on the curses and curse user’s side? WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME FOR SIX YEARS?” you yelled out in agony as if you were now releasing all the pain and suffering that you had bottled up with more tears continuously streaming down your faces as if they were waterfalls at this point.

“Why wouldn’t I leave you?” your mother then queried leading your eyes to widen further in shock after what she had just announced.

‘What…’

“What did you say?” you replied back in a whisper-like tone, as confusion and betrayal began to cloud your thoughts, questioning if you were hearing right on what she had just asked you.

“Why wouldn’t I leave you? You’ve grown stronger without me, I think it was the perfect decision to leave you, in my opinion,” your mother commented with the smile on her face becoming a smug smirk until it suddenly turned upside down into a frown as if something just came up in her mind, “well, that was until you got caught and found by none other than Gojo Satoru,”.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT? WASN’T IT SUPPOSED TO BE A MOTHER’S JOB TO PROTECT THEIR CHILDREN? WASN’T YOU THE ONE THAT TOLD ME THAT?” you cried out in extreme agony leading your voice to become strained. “What happened? What made you come like this mother?” you whimper as the torment of your mother’s word became evident with the expression you were presenting. An expression you never wished to show anyone.

“I WOULD HAVE PROTECTED YOU IF YOU WERE MY REAL DAUGHTER!” your mother yelled back before freezing once her words began to process in her mind, while you were now just standing in front of her with nothing but complete astonishment written on your face leading your once tightened grip to now completely loosen causing the polearm to fall down with a clung once it hit the ground before rolling off to the side, more than an arm’s reach away due to the small gust of wind blowing against you.

“Huh?” you gasp out as the sudden announcement that was violently thrown at you to as more tears descended, which caused the woman in front of you to start laughing once she had now fully finalised what she just exclaimed at you leading her to cover her face with one hand as she threw her head back with her laughter echoing the whole forest - something that the others could hear if they were still in the forest.

“Ah~ I messed up, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that now~” the woman giggled before facing you again with a smug smirk landing on her face once she witnessed your disheartened face that was painted in both betrayal and confusion.

“Ah, damn it~ this is what I get for breaking the seal of the baby that Lady L/N left for the L/N clan to figure out,” the woman began to mutter under her breath. Although, it was somehow still loud enough for you to hear with the fact that your heartbeat seems to cloud all your senses right now.

With your staggered breathing, you began to aggressively wipe the tears off your face while trying to construct the newfound information that the intruder in front of you just declared before placing your hand on the tree trunk behind trying to balance yourself as you didn’t want your legs to give out.

“What’s the point in hiding it anymore, I’m not your mother Y/N,” the intruder announced as if you needed another reminder leading your breathing to stagger once again, as you struggled to get into a regular breathing pattern.

“Might as well tell you now huh? You are not my daughter...but rather the daughter of the last sorcerer of your inherited curse technique a thousand years ago...the same sorcerer that sealed you away for some reason, leading the L/N clan to flee once Sukuna was sealed away by the same woman,” the woman explained before letting out another fit of laughter as if it was stuck in her throat for a long time and it now needed to be coughed out. 

“I am too from the L/N clan, we both are...it’s just...we are not related as you thought we were...but I do wonder how powerful the sealing was? After all...you didn’t age one bit within that sealing crystal,” the woman questioned causing you to turn your head towards her with both distrust and rage within your eyes.

Your body was in pain, mind clouded with uncertainty and heart filled with betrayal. As much as you didn’t want to believe the woman in front of you - you still didn’t, but rather you were indecisive of what to believe - she seemed quite certain to be telling you everything that was nothing but the truth.

Yet, for some reason, you now just felt extremely empty.

“I don’t care,” you muttered under your breath causing your opponent to turn to you with a surprised expression on her face.

“Pardon?” she then asked, in a perplexed tone.

“I..don’t...care anymore...how many of you are there? Four? Five?....Actually, that doesn’t really matter right now huh?” you muttered before taking your hand away from the tree trunk as you processed to turn your body to make it face directly towards the stranger, who now seemed to be worried about what was going to occur.

‘This is going to be quick enough to wipe them out...ah...what a drag...I don’t want to use this…’

Lifting both your arms together, you gently placed your pinky and thumbs together before spreading your other finger, representing what seemed to be like petals on a flower, leading the woman to be more confused about what you were planning to do.

“Domain Expansion,” you announced, causing the intruder in front of you to widen her eyes in shock before lifting her metal tonfas in a complete panic as if they were going to shield her from whatever was going to come towards her.

Just below the ceiling of the veil that was overcasting everyone, there was a sudden construction of a stone square ceiling with pink flowering hanging with their petals downwards leaving a white squared light to shine down towards you, who was now standing on a stone pedestal with empty eyes casting down on the woman in front of you.

“Hanging Evergarden”

You could tell that everyone within the battle right now was confused about what was going on since there was a sudden darkening within the veiled area due to the stone ceiling that you had constructed with your cursed energy. However, they could not have been as more perplexed than the woman was who standing below you, looking fearful of what you had just cast.

“Since you want to play with my heart and the lives of everyone here, I might as well gamble with your life as well as your little friends in the area,” you commented in a deadpan tone, while a few on the pink petals from the flowers above became to fall down gracefully giving the people below an eternally beautiful atmosphere away from the stale yellow coloured view they were in right now.

“By the way, I think you should somehow tell your friends that they shouldn’t let the flower petals touch them in any way…” you announced desolately, as you noticed one of the petals slyly beginning to gently land itself upon your opponent’s shoulder.

“Destructive Curse Spell number thirty-three: Sokatsui,” you chanted, leading to the same flower petal to explode with a torrent of blue cursed energy to which caused you to notice how there were other explosions around the area, noting that the other curses and curse users were also inflicted with the same curse spell.

“Sorry, did I give you the warning too late?” you mockingly asked before looking up to see one of the flowers beginning to slowly fall leading to a small smile appear on your lips. However, it wasn’t one with happiness.

“My domain expansion is barrier less and uses as much space as it can to fill the void that I want it to fill, the flowers are just cursed energy manifested into that shape allowing me to use them at will with any curse spell I cast without suffering the consequences of losing more cursed energy or permanent ones...from what I could remember...there are at least 10,000 flowers with 100 petals each...that means...I can cast up to a million curse spells if I use each petal individually,” you explained as the smoke in front of you began to subside leading to an appearance of a woman with a large gash going from her shoulder to the middle of her stomach with slight burns concealing her whole left arm.

‘Maybe that petal didn’t have as much cursed energy as I thought it did’ you mention internally, as you looked at your opponent in front of you before lifting your arm to lightly grasp on the flower that finally descended within arms reach above you.

“Or...I could use a whole flower with 100 petals to cast a stronger curse spell,” you muttered as you lifted the flower to your face while your fingertips held on to the stem as delicately as possible.

“Pretty right?” you rhetorically asked, as you tilted your head to the side as you began to inspect the flower that you were holding onto right now.

Even with its vast amount of petals, the flower was quite light as the petals were quite small, leading them to be somewhat difficult to detect by your opponent once they had landed on the ground or somewhere upon their body. However, even with the explanation, you had given to your opponent, who was injured to somewhat critical lengths, that wasn’t all you could do with your domain expansion - yet, you weren’t going to hand over that information so easily.

Unexpectedly, there was a sudden change in the colour of lighting causing you to look up to find that the veil was beginning to rapidly deconstruct as the sides began to subside causing your stone ceiling to be the only thing sheiling the entire area, as well as the person who was on top of your stone construction right now.

‘Gojo?’

Steadily, your stone ceiling began to also subside due to you deactivating the structure leading the stone that was starting to gradually crumble from the side to convert themselves into the same petals from the flowers that began to fall down as well leading to a rainfall of the pink flower petals to pour down upon everyone.

Standing above the floral blanket was Gojo, who was floating in the air without his blindfold on, leading you to widen your eyes in surprise since it was one of the first times you had seen them exposed due to the fact you were used to them being covered by his black-tinted glasses.

Suddenly, your white-haired teacher disappeared from your sights leading you to sense his cursed energy from the other side of the area in front of you to which caused you to concentrate on the woman in front of you, who was holding her wound with one hand, which was a futile attempt to halt the bleeding that was dripping down from her large wound.

“I’m retreating! There is no way I am facing both you and Gojo at the same time,” your opponent suddenly announced, causing you to look at her with a deadpan expression painted on your face, as you slowly stepped down from your stone pedestal - which the stone began to crumble while turning into pink petals like your stone ceiling did - with nothing filled within your eyes.

Lifting up the surviving flower in front of the woman (who you used to call your mother), you stare directly into her eyes as a wooden structure begins to enclose around her causing you to come to the conclusion that it was the special-grade curse that was helping her escape.

“Destructive Curse Spell number eighty-eight: Hiryu Gekizoku Shinten Raiho,” you chanted in a whisper, causing the flower to suddenly fire a gigantic beam of blue electrical and cursed energy leading to anything in front of you to create an impact as flames began to engulf the tree on the other side.

However, your eyes unexpectedly notice an immense purple beam rapidly coming towards you leading you to widen your eyes in shock before your body began to relax even in the current situation you were in.

‘Could I block it? Nah, it’s a technique that convergences and divergences...it probably cancels everything like a black hole...that’s quite nonstandard for him...I don’t care anymore...I guess I can go to sleep again....’

On the other hand, before you could even feel the agonising impact of what was coming towards you, there was a sudden feeling of impact pushing you away from the purple hallow, causing you and whatever had pushed you to just marginally avoid the attack leading you to look over the person’s shoulder with broadened eyes as you didn’t expect someone to save you from the blast that you were willingly going to take.

“What were you thinking?!” Someone shouted at you before painfully grabbing your shoulders to make you look at him, only for you to discover that Gojo was right in front of you with a rare terrified look on his face - but all you could give him was an empty look with wide eyes.

“Why?” you whispered, causing Gojo to now look at you with shock as he didn’t understand why you were asking such a type of question.

“WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?” you then screamed painfully as multiple tears began to burst from your eyes as you violently shock your adoptive father, only to finally let your body lose all its strength it somehow maintained as you instantly dropped onto your knee (which the fall was pillowed by the immense amount of petals covering the ground) causing Gojo to come down with you, as he became even more surprised on the sudden tears that were spilling down your face.

“WHY, WHY, WHY, WHY?” you cried with agony coating your voice leading Gojo to peer at you with compassion as he then gently pulled you into a hug, letting your painful scream ring into his ear as he allowed you to let whatever you were holding in escape.

Gojo didn’t know the reason why you were crying, nor did he know how he could comfort you at this very moment in time. As much as he told you to call him your father, he never really had that much of an experience of being one, let alone how to even act like one. All he knew was that you were now suffering and he didn’t know why at all.

“I’m sorry,” Gojo muttered before pulling you back to make you face him leading the sorcerer to find you with bloodshot eyes as well as the known wet stains of the tears that were still flowing down as redness covered your whole face.

Pressing his two fingers in the middle of your forehead, you began to subtle notice how your vision was getting hazier causing your mind to be plagued by confusions before your consciousness was suddenly lost leading your head to land upon Gojo’s shoulder before he proceeded to pick you bridal style before gradually making his way back to Jujutsu Tech.

“It’s going to be okay, just rest now”

© violettelueur 2021 : written and published by violettelueur - do not steal or repost

[sambvcks]

crawl home to her, b.b. x reader

chapter one // body’s working on empty

summary: bucky isn’t as receptive to this new life of his as everyone had hoped. he’s cold, sharp-tongued, and closed off. except to the tenant across the hallway from him, who always wears pajamas and bakes a dozen too many of his favorite cookies

warnings: food, nothing too bad this chapter!

word count: 1.5k-ish

author’s note: i thought my marvel phase ended five years ago...here we are again. i haven’t written in awhile so please be kind! title and chapter titles taken from hozier’s ‘work song’.

[ read on ao3 | series masterlist | inbox | join my taglist! ]

[ NEXT ]

Five minutes into their first session, Bucky decided he was going to make Dr. Raynor’s job as difficult as he possibly could.

It wouldn’t be an impossible task, seeing how this whole ordeal depended on him opening up and talking, two things that he had abandoned decades ago. Her unwavering stare was nothing more than a challenge, these fifty-minute sessions once a week were nothing more than a slight inconvenience to his lackluster day to day routine. He would play along, do whatever exercises she asked, and feign stability until he never had to see her again.

“Since this is our first session together, we’ll take it easy.” She promised with a forced upturn of her lips before whipping out her notebook.

Suddenly, it felt like he was encased in bulletproof glass in Berlin again. He remembered that the last time he had been forced into receiving psychiatric help, it hadn’t exactly gone to plan. His chin fell to his chest, hands wringing together as he thought of any excuse to request a different doctor. 

“Let’s begin.”

It was already getting too hot to wear leather gloves and his heavy jacket. New York’s heatwave was supposed to be the highest on record this year and while kids popped open fire hydrants in the street, Bucky would be settled on the hardwood floor in the back corner of his apartment, waiting.

Waiting for what, he wasn’t quite sure.

It was a fairly nice apartment, newly renovated and practically barren. Government issued and funded, of course, and he had spent the first night pulling the furniture from the walls to the center of the room in search of bugs and cameras. He found thirty-four, destroyed them under a rolling pin, and they hadn’t come to replace them. Message received.

The one thing he really liked about the apartment building were his neighbors. The price tag for a one bedroom was substantial to say the least and only older couples could really afford it. No children, no dogs, no outsiders. The only break from his undisturbed routine would be occasionally helping Mrs. Johnson down the hall carry her groceries as she struggled to get the door unlocked with her brittle hands.

They affectionately called him James and the older women were quick to get a hold of his arms, saying things like “They don’t make them like you anymore, James!”. He swallowed the bile prickling at the back of his throat as he nodded, and they moved on to telling him about their single granddaughters.

It was almost nice, his routine. Almost.

Outside of those small encounters, he spent most of his waking hours jogging in the park and cooking the same three meals. He had his appointment every Wednesday with Dr. Raynor, but that was it. He’d take two trains back to his apartment and wouldn’t emerge again until he needed groceries two days later.

It was when he was returning from one of his biweekly grocery trips, a paper bag settled on his hips, that he spotted you outside his door.

He stilled in the hallway, taking a quick step back to peek around the corner without being spotted. His breath stalled, his ears picking up your soft humming and the crinkle of plastic as you set a bundle of cookies at his doorstep, the only one without a mat. His eyes flicked to the other doors, where identical bags of cookies sat propped up, tied with blood red ribbons.

His shoulders relaxed. No threat.

The bottom of his grocery bag suddenly gave way, fruit rolling in every direction. Bucky fell to his knees, glove clad hands snatching up everything he could reach as quickly as he could manage. You were faster, though, and scooped up a plum that had rolled your way, offering it over as he tried to balance the rest of his groceries in his arms.

“Thanks.” He was quick to sweep past you, hand digging in his pockets for his key.

“James, right? Ms. Robinson downstairs is like, in love with you.”

“Yeah, but, uh-“ Dr. Raynor’s instructions from their last session rang in his head, as much as he tried to tune her out: make connections. “You can call me Bucky.” He cleared his throat. “And Mrs. Robinson is far too good for me.”

“Bucky it is then.” You trailed him down the hallway, “Y/N.”

Bucky tried to sneak a glance at you from the corner of his eyes, which was harder to inconspicuously do now that he had gotten a haircut and couldn’t hide his wandering eyes behind long tresses. Young was Bucky’s first thought. much younger than the other renters in the building. Bright was next, followed by much too smiley for a Tuesday morning.

Pretty, he admitted as he turned his back to unlock his door. Maybe in another life he would have lingered in the hall, his so-called effortless charm seeping through as you swooned at the very thought of a date with James Buchanan Barnes. But that life was long gone, and instead he rushed to retreat.

“Oh, don’t forget these.” You swooped down to collect the bundle of cookies you had left at his door, handing them to the hand that wasn’t delicately balancing the pile of groceries he still held against his impossibly broad shoulders. “Oatmeal raisin, super-secret family recipe.”

He was back in the doorway of his ma’s kitchen, watching his little sister balance on a wobbling stool as she struggled to crack and egg with her little fingers. He can so distinctly see the pale green of the cabinets, remember the fight his parents had when she begged for that shade of green while his dad had wanted white. Of course, she won.

“These are your brother’s favorite.” His ma whispered to his sister; her flour covered hands reaching for the age faded index card with their grandmother’s script detailing the ingredients. “Our family’s recipe. One day, you will make these for your children. And your children’s children.”

Rebecca, still so young and with a hatred for smelly boys deep in her bones, giggled at the mere thought as her fingers fished out the bits of eggshell that snuck their way into the bowl. She wiped it away on the spare apron tied twice around her waist, much too big for her. 

Bucky would never see her grow into it. He would be drafted only a few months later.

In the meantime, he would bundle half a dozen of them in a tea towel and split them with Steve on the walk to the movie theater. Steve would begrudgingly admit that Buck’s ma made the best cookies, but his made the best brisket. They’d sneak in through the back door and do it all again the next weekend, until they ran out of weekends together.

“Oatmeal raisin are my favorite.” He admitted, accepting your offering like a stray cat does to the first scrap of food from a stranger.

“I think you’re the only person under the age on one hundred to ever say that.” You teased, backing away to the door adjacent to his, “Anyway, don’t tell me things like that. I’m a stress baker and with finals coming up…” You winced at the image of the dozens of batches you would surely be whipping up in the coming weeks.

“Finals?”

“Law school, one semester left.” You fished your own keys from your back pocket. Bucky barely held in the scoff at the shiny Spider-Man keychain that dangled from your fingers. “You?”

“Oh, no. I haven’t been in school in what feels like…a century.”

“Well, I’m all alone here and as much as I would love to, I can’t eat everything that I bake. So, expect a few dozen muffins and cookies every few days.”

“No arguing from me, doll.”

You both lingered in the small hallway, only a few steps apart, each leaning against your respective doors. Keys in each hand, with no intention of using them any time soon.

“Law school, you said? How do you afford a place like this?” Bucky was sure he was the only recently pardoned fugitive under this room.

“Well, this used to be my grandma’s apartment and it was handed down to me in a maybe no so legal way. If the landlord asks, I’m an eighty-year-old woman who doesn’t know how to work her answering machine.”

He huffed a laugh, mostly because that wasn’t particularly far from how he felt with today’s tech. The flip phone that Dr. Raynor had described as archaic sat heavy in his back pocket with only three names programed into his contacts. Don’t get him started on his television.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

With that, you each stepping into your respective apartments. Bucky stalled at his door for a moment, listening as you locked and dead bolted your door behind you. He sighed, dumping his half-ruined groceries on his barren kitchen island.

The next day, he’d have another appointment with Dr. Raynor. This time when he’d say I’m trying, as he did each week, it wouldn’t be a complete lie. His phone buzzed in his back pocket.

2 New Messages

From: Sam

You coming up this weekend?

Don’t ignore me this time. He’s getting worse, Buck.

[hyunnows]

1:36 a.m. | scb

PAIRING(S): Changbin x reader

RATING: g

WORD COUNT: .5k+ / 525

CONTENT/WARNING(S): fluff, established relationship, dancing together all romantically

SUMMARY: Inspired by Thomas Rhett's Die A Happy Man

SKZ TAGLIST (+): @hyunjun-jpeg @geniejunn @koroleva--rezni @jannine00742 @im-questioning-my-existence @sunshinelixie-lee @mythicalamphitrite @minspalette @koovvie @felix-neverbad @danihow @lolalee24 @kookthief

A/N: revamping old drafts/works again haha! also this is dedicated to my Changbin biased sister who will never read this <3 thank you to my beta @luvseos so much for reading this over for me, 🥰! i hope you all enjoy and have a great day/night!

Positive note | SKZ M.list | Taglist

Changbin grinned softly as he cuddled your sleeping figure closer to him, loving how the sun reflected on your hair and skin. Thinking of how he got your beautiful self in his arms, it made his heart flutter. Who wouldn't be happy waking up to your gorgeous face every day?

It made absolutely no sense to him how he ended up lucky enough to get you all to himself, to be able to see all your sides, even the hidden ones. He loved how brave, strong and goofy you were, but also how you were smart and adapted to whatever situation you were in so quickly.

But what he loved most was how you loved him. Always trying to make him blush—keeping him on his toes. You always knew how to make him feel better when he was down and hype him up until he wanted to break his bones. How could one person make his moods do a complete one-eighty?

He was a dreamer, sure, and always had high hopes and big plans. Yet, sometimes you could make him want to drop all his fame and glory just so he could lay in bed holding you tightly to his chest day morning long.

Changbin just loves taking you out to dinner. He not only got to spend 1080p quality time with you, but watching you choose your outfits was what really made him weak.

Strutting out of the bathroom in your red dress—he could feel his knees buckle, he had to rely on the bed frame for support to stand.

"Alright Bin, I'm going to try the black one now," you smile confidently, anticipating his next reaction and satisfied with your current one.

Then, he stopped breathing. Pretty—no, lovely—no, stunning? You were indescribable and definitely perfect, if it was possible to even be that amazing. Feigning an oblivious face at his reaction, you blushed and wiggled around in the magnificent dress, heels clicking as you walked over to him.

"How do I look?"

Damn you, and being so hot and adorable at the same time! It wasn't fair to him! He couldn't even imagine you looking this great on his own—it was too incredible.

Forget the damn dinner, let somebody else have his reservation. You could cook better anyway, and nobody else was going to be able to see you in this number. This was only for him tonight, and however long you decided to love him.

Besides, what was the point of the beautiful house he'd bought if you weren't going to spend time in it?

Cranking up a slow song from his old cassette player, he grabbed your hands and waist, leading you to the magnificent living room, with a perfect spot for dancing.

He didn't need all the riches and fame he had, all the luxury. No amount of money or type of car was enough to come close to you. All he needed was for you to be with him.

"This is the perfect moment to be the last thing I experience..." He mumbled into your hair, eliciting a gentle giggle from you.

"But then we wouldn't finish our dance."

Positive note | SKZ M.list | Taglist

[nincompoopydoo]

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— PALM TO PALM IS HOLY PALMER’S KISS ; PART 3 / ?

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 1846

SUMMARY: You’re back to teaching at Gotham High and you end up overlooking rehearsals for the GHS drama club’s upcoming annual play: Romeo and Juliet that no one ever attends. In the spirit of keeping your students’ hopes up, you decide to take it upon yourself to draft out a plan to drive more people to come to the play. The key is the man you’re in love with.

WARNINGS: Vague description of a nightmare, death and an annoying teenager.

A/N: This is really going slowly like a true slow burn. I hope yall like this one. Enjoy!

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

In the light of your unemployment as a teacher, Gotham High miraculously offered your old job back after Mrs Wilson, one of the senior English Literature teachers, died of a heart attack unannounced. In all seriousness, apologies were made, admitting they had a mistake with firing you because well, you were clearly a passionate teacher. To your surprise, you were told your students even missed you. Hence, you accepted a job from GHS once again because you would do anything to avoid the smell of burgers and the sounds of hungry crying children. After the whole burglary incident, the Big Belly Burger at midtown was forever doomed as customers gradually decreased over time. It was Gotham after all, people should be used to these kinds of things by now. Including witnessing Batman saving you, the whole experience felt like a fever dream. As excited you were and weirdly unbothered by the whole near-death experience, you realized that if you were to talk about it, no one would genuinely believe you anyway. He was a myth to most citizens of Gotham, but you’re an exception because you’re well acquainted with the knowledge that Bruce definitely knows Batman.

And oh boy, do they talk.

It’s your secret to keep and so is the Batarang you stole. You’re also dying to tell Bruce.

So, you find yourself back in the hallways, crowded with sweaty teenagers, but you would choose this over anything else in a heartbeat. Apart from returning to teaching uninterested students about the works of Shakespeare and Harper Lee and forcing reading lists onto them, you are also replacing Mrs Wilson as the GHS Drama Club’s advisor. Stage performance may be personally foreign to you but plays were practically your forte. That was how you ended up spending your Tuesday afternoons, preparing the members for the club’s annual play. This time, they decided to perform the classic: Romeo and Juliet.

As an English teacher, you were frankly sick of the play, forbidden love was a tad overrated to you. Yet the kids were genuinely trying their best. Shaniqua and Oscar were currently rehearsing their lines as the two infamous star-crossed lovers; You watched them with pride. The two were quiet in your classes but they truly shone on the stage of the school theatre.

“And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss—teach, what does this whole scene even mean?” Shaniqua exclaims and you chuckle, “This scene is simply a metaphor where Romeo is a pilgrim wanting to erase his sins and Juliet is a saint. So, he is basically trying to convince her to kiss him so that he can truly be free of sin,” your explanation echoes through the room, and you notice Oscar turning red when you mention the word ‘kiss’. It was clear as day that the poor boy really liked the girl he’s currently hand in hand with but you don’t want him to feel nervous and uncomfortable about the thought of kissing her. “Now Oscar, you can kiss her on the cheek and that’s fine. Shaniqua, say it with more emotion, okay? Everyone got it?” The response you received was a sputter of hums and nods. Before you could continue, Josh, who plays Lord Capulet and is sitting lazily on the handmade throne, speaks up much to your dismay, “Why is it so important that we put so much effort into this. It’s not like anyone is going to come.” The kids around him began agreeing with his statement, and it was honestly completely expected of him but it was the truth. No one attends the drama club’s annual play. As you're trying to calm everyone down, your phone buzzes on the table in front of you. It’s a text from Bruce, asking if you could come over tonight, phrasing it like he’s a schoolboy sneaking from his parents to meet with a girl late at night. Then, like an epiphany you have an idea although there’s an eighty percent chance it wouldn’t go through. Nevertheless, you turn to the rest of the students with a hint of a smile on your lips. “I might have just the idea to solve that.”

-

A brief span seemed like an eternity when sleep doesn’t come easy to you. Tonight was a different case; thoughts were completely clear and concise. In much need of sleep, you steal the chance to savour in this clarity and serenity for as long as you could. To feel his warmth, arm gently resting on your abdomen and the occasional whiff of his deodorant from his ebony shirt you’re dressed in. If this was what bliss feels like, you never want it to go away. Your eyes grow heavy, flickering into darkness due to exhaustion from a long day of rehearsals. At once, you’re struck with the reminder of the idea you had this afternoon. It is more of a favour, involving none other than Bruce. There’s a tinge of guilt whenever favours are involved because you never liked asking for help. You were furiously independent and responsible, relying on others was out of the question. Yet, Bruce has always seemed to find a way to weave himself in your mistakes and problems, constantly there to help out. You have to remind yourself this isn’t about you. It’s for the kids. Special guest, Bruce Wayne, playboy and billionaire. Sounds awesome.

As your consciousness begins ebbing away, you feel Bruce shift from beside you, grasp tightening upon your waist. Before your dazed mind could even fully process that he was in the midst of a nightmare, his eyes are wide open, heart-pounding and it seizes him up instantly. With deep breaths, he closed his eyes once more, unable to shake the feeling of dread that rattles in him. Then, a sudden cold touch to his arm—he jumps and snaps his head to look over his shoulder.

It’s you, still laid in bed with a prominent frown upon your brows. Your hand squeezes his forearm and all he feels is instant relief. His heart still pounds, not in fear but with affection. “Are you okay?” you drawled as you watch his lingering hand, fingers weaved between the strands of hair. The silver ones glint under the low light, contrasting the deep brown ones. You notice how his hair had grown along with his five o’clock shadow becomes more evident by the days. His face away from you, finally nodding in response to your question. “Yeah, just... a bad dream. His voice is subdued as he shifts under the sheets, head leaning against the headboard. Despite your weakened state, you bring yourself to sit up, twisting your body to face him properly. "You wanna talk about it?” you say, patting his shoulder lightly in a comforting manner. You watch him rub his eyes, exhale tightly and shake his head. “No. Anything but that.”

His response comes out almost harsh but Bruce doesn’t mean for it to be perceived in that way. His dream was the usual, the normal ones he’s used to by now but in times of stress overwork, they have started to become more intense and violent. This time it involved you, for the first time, and he watched you vividly get shot in the forehead—trails of his memory as Batman when he encountered you at the burger restaurant with the muzzle of a gun inches away from you. It haunts him to think that if the circumstances were different if you hadn’t texted him those dreaded four words, you might be dead.

He certainly is not telling you about the dream. Never in a million years.

Bruce turns to you and you’re still staring at him, worry carved deep in your furrowed brows. Change of topic was merely necessary at this point. “So, how has school been? The kids still mean to you?” Classic Bruce, always sweeping his problems under the antique Persian rug. You don’t blame him because you wouldn’t know better.

It was your turn to sigh at the mention of school but since tonight’s pillow talk is heading towards your job as an English teacher at GHS, you might as well use the opportunity to pitch in your plan. “Still mean, but the drama club kids are really great,” You thumb the edge of the blanket, unable to hide your growing smile. “Speaking of which, the annual play is next Friday and they have been rehearsing all week but,” you paused as you watched his right brow gradually lift. “No one comes for it. Like, no one and I hate to see all their efforts just thrown out the window like that—”

“So, you want me to go for it.”

You blinked, wondering if your explanations were too obvious of its underlying intent or Bruce could just read you like an open book. You won’t be surprised if it’s the latter.

“If it’s no biggie. You don’t have to because I know you’re very busy but I don’t want the special guest to end up being the Big Belly Burger mascot.” Your smile widens and Bruce chuckles. Hell, it’s probably past midnight and you’re still able to find ways to be terribly funny. Literally terrible. After a beat of silence, he clears his throat. “I’ll clear my schedule.” It didn’t need much anticipation or thought because despite everything going on in his life, he knows he’ll do just about anything for you. You’re practically beaming at him and he finally sees it’s all worth it in the end. “Thank you, Bruce.” Your voice is sweet, and it makes his heart swell ever so slightly.

He sometimes wishes the two of you weren’t trapped in this loophole of unsaid confessions and hidden strong emotions for the other.

It almost comes naturally when he leans to you and presses a swift kiss to your forehead. Instead, it’s contradicting everything the two of you consider normal. He isn’t thinking straight and now your smile has disappeared, mouth agape and eyes very wide. Your brain stops.

Uh, what the hell just happened?

It hits him like a punch to the gut and the growing awkward silence is deafening. Yet, he doesn’t apologise because if he does, it doesn’t mean anything when in reality, it means so much more than just an accidental gesture. You don’t mention anything because you don’t objectify his actions. Kissing Bruce was fine when there are no strings attached but a peck to the forehead is way too affectionate for the man.

Before the both of you begin to overthink the events of a few moments ago, Bruce’s rational conscience kicks in and he clears his throat. “Get some sleep. You had a long day today.” He pats you on the shoulder awkwardly and you hum, shifting your head to lay back on the pillow. “Yesterday.” you correct him as it’s well past midnight. He chuckles, now laying flat on his back as he stares at the ceiling. Silently, the two of you agree to forget whatever happened a minute ago and to just...sleep it off.

TAGLIST:

@raineeace

[meat--grindr]

another trans man fixated on Martin here!! 💕

could i request some NSFW of an ftm S/O teasing Martin while hes on the phone trying to do another interview as The Count? not a lot of talking from the S/O while hes on the phone, mostly physical stuff & feeling him up thru his clothes. the rest is up to you >:)))

(def going to use as a drawing prompt im just so so embarrassed to request off anon 😔😔😔)

Alright, so, this prompt has been living in my head rent-free ever since I first read it and I am so freaking excited to finally get to it. I’m sorry it took so long. I will admit this was a bit of a challenge for me because I am notoriously bad at writing dialogue. But I feel like it was good practice. Sorry if it sounds a little stilted in spots, I’m still learning.

Please, please, please link me to that art if you ever get around to it! You knocked it out of the park with this prompt and I’d love to give the art some love if you’re comfortable with sharing!

The Count Didn’t Count on This – Martin Mathias (Trans-Masculine Reader) – NSFW.

·       It’s late, and for once, you’re exactly where you feel you should be at this late hour—not sprawled across a chair reading, or gazing out of the window, watching the cars pass and counting the neighbours’ lights as they flick on and off in lieu of stargazing. And for the first time in at least a week, you’re not trapped at your desk, frantically typing the final draft of a paper, hindered by the slow keys of a typewriter that does not care a whit about the deadline steadily hurtling toward you. No, thankfully, this night has brought with it far more comfortable circumstances—you find yourself in bed, tired bones sinking into the plush mattress, consciousness caught in the bleary space between sleep and not.

·       Even better, you aren’t alone.

·       Tonight, your bed is warmed by another body, long and thin, curled tightly against your own, as though it were some sort of crime to leave even an inch of space between you. A bony hip digs into your thigh and you’re sure the press of your head and shoulder against his chest must make breathing difficult for him. But he’s made no attempt to shrug you off or shift your weight to a more comfortable spot, so you likewise let it be. In all honesty, you’re simply too comfortable to bother and you feel it’s safe to assume the same is true for Martin too.

·       The slow, even beat of his heart pulses against your cheek, and his long fingers stroke absently over your bare shoulder. The rough texture of burgeoning callouses catches against your skin—the sensation, though not wholly unpleasant, makes you shudder. Sometimes, you forget Martin works with his hands. When you hold them, they seem so delicate—his long fingers better suited to playing the piano than tightening screws or hammering nails. But he’s good at repairs and more importantly, he seems to find enjoyment the work. It certainly keeps him busy enough on the few afternoons that Cuda isn’t running him ragged in the shop, much to your personal dismay. But his nights—the nights like this—belong to you and you alone.

·       Your eyelids flutter closed, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, maybe even longer, you feel like you can rest. Really rest. Dimly, you find yourself wondering if it had more to do with finished papers and diminished responsibilities, or the reintroduction of the physical intimacy you’ve been missing so dearly. Though you can’t say for certain, you have a sneaking suspicion it’s the latter.

·       The longer you know Martin, the more you’re convinced that there is a preternatural bubble of calm that hangs around him. You can feel it in the way even the grouchiest old women in the store seem to soften toward him—hiding small smiles behind their sleeves, sometimes even calling him ‘dear,’ or in the way Cuda’s volatile temper deflates when his cruel words slide off Martin’s back as though he’s heard it all before from people who frightened him far greater. You’ve seen it at work on the feral cats that roam the neighbourhood—while they hiss and swipe at the children who chase them through the dusty streets, they sit willingly at Martin’s feet, rubbing against his legs with a familiarity that borders on friendly. And it’s in the way he looks at you—looks into you with those dark eyes that seem far too old for that handsome, youthful face—intense and all-seeing, but never judgemental. He is a point of unflappable calm in a world which never seems to slow for even a second. That calm has settled into you now, seeping into your bones as you lay there, listening to his heart thumping in the darkness.

·       The low crackle of the radio hovers at the edge of your hearing, a burst of static cutting through the droning voices. You’d stopped listening properly ages ago—the third time the DJ had made an attempt to dismiss his latest caller. It was an old man who was seven shades of pissed about the ‘teen-age hooligans’ who were ‘tipping over his bins every night and eating his trash.’ Of course, everyone with half a brain, including the host himself, knows it’s an animal—probably a raccoon, or a family of raccoons, but this old geezer has somehow convinced himself it’s a gaggle of ‘Satan-worshipping teenagers who have been brainwashed by heavy metal music and Pepsi Cola.’

·       Okay. Sure.

·       It’s utterly ridiculous, and just the sort of thing you’ve come to expect from the people who live in Braddock. Or the ones who call in to a show like this anyhow.

·       In a way, you feel bad for the poor DJ. Sure, he welcomes strange callers of all kinds, from alien abductees and bigfoot hunters to bereaved parents who teenagers are ‘just growing up too fast,’ or ‘a little too interested in the works of William Shakespeare.’ He even encourages them at times, but you’ve got to draw the line somewhere, and in your mind, this, funny as it may be, is probably it. You’re sure whatever the station is paying the guy, it isn’t enough to suffer through being called a ‘brainless sack of human garbage’ by a crazy old man.

·       “And that’s about all the time we have,” Despite his cheery tone, the poor guy sounds exhausted. “Thank you for calling!”

·       Another burst of static drowns out the old man’s reply, but you’re sure that whatever he’d said, it was not ‘radio-friendly.’

·       “…our next caller. You are on the air, Sir!”

·       “Yeah, uh…hi, Barry.” The man sounds young—probably not much older than yourself��and very nervous. He must be a first-time caller. As he and the DJ share opening pleasantries—what’s your name, how old are you, where are you calling in from tonight, is that a cat I hear in the background? —your attention begins to drift again. You teeter for a moment on the edge of sleep, the clean scent of your linen sheets and Martin’s shampoo filling your nose.

·       “I was just wondering if you’ve heard from the Count again since last time?”

·       And just like that, you’re awake again, attention fully focused on your radio and the funny little show that whispers through it.

·       The caller is asking about Martin. A cold shiver rumbles through your body. People ask about Martin on the show all the time—of course, they don’t know that’s who they’re asking about, but you do. It’s so strange, to hear a stranger talk about someone you know so well—even worse when they speak about him like they know him too. Sometimes, they make you laugh with their outlandish theories, but sometimes they make you sick—sick with worry: when he’s threatened with violence or exposure, sick with fear: when they make guesses that hit a little too close to home, and sick with jealousy: when they claim to have had an ‘encounter’ with him, or worse, try to set one up on air.

·       You know about Martin, of course—that he is a vampire, or at least he thinks he’s a vampire. Whether or not you believe him is another question entirely. He certainly does not abide by the ‘vampire rules’ as you know them from stories and television—he doesn’t sleep in a coffin, filled with dirt from his homeland or otherwise, rather he sleeps in a bed (curled up beside you more often than not these days). He cuts a handsome figure in mirrors and the photographs that you have pinned up above your desk. He walks about in the sun most days without complaint despite his pale complexion, and though he may not be a sleek. Predatory creature that oozes confidence, grace, and sex appeal, he’s no slouch either—lithe and handsome in a boyish sort of way, all knees, elbows, and wide dark eyes.

·       In fact, the only requirement he seems to meet on the proverbial ‘vampire checklist’ is his fixation with blood—and the need to consume it. Maybe that means something, maybe it doesn’t. You’ve come to the conclusion that what you think really doesn’t matter in the end—your opinion isn’t going to sway him on the subject one way or another. This is a truth about himself he believes perhaps more deeply than anything else. Who were you to try and change that?

·       So, you do your best to take everything in stride, and when you can’t, you humour him. Still, every once in a while, something will trip you up—you still can’t quite decide if he’s joking about being over eighty years old or not. But you do your best. You had even let him feed on you once. Though only once. In the end, it was Martin who had decided the experience was not one he would like to repeat.

·       He had laid you out on your bed, “I don’t want you to get hurt if you faint.” Though you’d told him nearly a hundred times that you’d be just fine, that you’d had blood taken before at the hospital, he had insisted.

·       You had expected things to be different. For a start, you had expected him to climb into your lap, to press his lips against your neck, seeking your pulse the way it’s done in the movies. Instead, he’d taken out a little white kit from his bag. He had unzipped it and laid it out on the bed, revealing a little bottle of clear liquid, a row of sterile, hypodermic needles, and a pack of fresh razor blades.

·       His long fingers fell upon the needles, caressing them lovingly one by one. Much to your relief, he did not pick one up. As if he could sense your apprehension, he’d said, “Don’t worry, I won’t need these.” He’d glanced up at you, measuring your reaction, “I won’t need them because you’re not going to fight me. Are you?” It wasn’t really a question. You shook your head, and the corners of his lips quirked up into a smile, “Good. It’s so much easier when they don’t fight me.” Those words had made you shudder. He really had done this before, then. Part of you hadn’t believed him—he seemed so…harmless

·       He’d picked out a single blade from the package, meticulously removing the white paper wrapping, taking extra care not to tear it, or let the blade cut into it. When he was through, he folded the paper into a neat square and dropped it onto the comforter. He lay the blade flat on his palm for you to see. “I don’t have pointy teeth, you see.” He took your hand, opening his mouth and guiding your fingers along the edges of his flat, dull teeth. “They aren’t sharp, so they don’t cut deep enough. You understand?” You’d nodded and he had kissed your fingertips gently, one by one.

·       “I’ll be careful, I promise,” He’d said, “I’ll only take a little. Just enough to take the edge off.” Despite the hungry glint in his eyes, you’d known he was telling the truth. He didn’t need to reassure you of that. You trusted him. Besides, you had asked for this. At least, he’d stopped asking if he still had your permission every five minutes. Of course he did.

·       And yet. Your heartbeat had kicked up, jittering like a frightened bird when you’d seen the needles and the razor. It was as though actually seeing them had made the whole situation feel more real. There was no denying you were afraid, but you didn’t tell him to stop—you didn’t want to. You had made up your mind. You wanted this; wanted to help.

·       He’d held your hand in his own like it was a thing made of glass. His fingers gripped the razor with a practiced grace as he held it just above your palm. Watching him, you were struck for the second time by just how rehearsed this seemed. How many times had he done this, with or without permission?

·       “Take a deep breath for me, okay? There’s a good boy.” Did he talk to the others too? Even the ones who fought back? You could picture him, chattering softly against the skin of some poor soul, sprawled limp across the floor.

·       Limp or lifeless?

·       The thought unsettled you, but you did as you were told, filling your lungs nearly to capacity as the sharp edge of the blade bit into the meat of your palm just below your thumb. As promised, he had been quick, pressing only as hard as was necessary. Even so, the sting of it made your flinch, your hand jumping in his own. His fingers tensed around yours, the tightness of his grip reflected in the grimace that flashed across his face as he bent his head to seal his lips around the wound.

·       You had expected to feel him pulling the blood from you, but he simply let it flow into his mouth, the coppery taste heavy on his tongue. He exhaled through his nose, long and low—a pleased sound. Something about that set you more at ease. He hadn’t recoiled or wrinkled his nose at the taste of your blood. You hadn’t even realized you were worried about how you tasted until that moment.

·       You had started to feel dizzy beneath him—dizzy not from a loss of blood, but the wet heat of his mouth against your skin. Your heart had stuttered in your chest as his tongue probed gently around the edges of the wound, soothing your sparking nerves, even as the blood continued to drip down his throat.

·       When at last, he pulled away, his face was flushed, and his breath came hard; his chest heaving as though he’d just run a great distance. Immediately, his hand shot to his front pocket, fingers searching for the roll of gauze bandages he’s swiped from Cuda’s first-aid kit.

·       He’d wrapped the clean white fabric around your hand with such care it made your heart ache almost as much as the wound itself. When he was finished, he’d flipped your hand over and pressed a gentle kiss against your knuckles. Then, he spoke. His voice was small, barely more than a ragged whisper, “Thank you.”

·       “Was that…was it okay?” Your skin felt feverish, as though the heat of his mouth had seeped into your flesh and was burning you from the inside out. And the dizzy feeling had only grown worse, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut for a long moment.

·       Martin was still struggling to get his breathing under control, “Yes. I-It was good…better than good, actually. But…”

·       “But?” Had you done something wrong? Had you tasted bad after all? You cracked open one eye, then the other. The spinning had mostly subsided, but you still felt unsteady. “What can I do better next time?”

·       He’d gone stiff all over then, and his reply had come sudden and sharp, “No!” He cringed, the force behind his words clearly surprising himself as well. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, “No ‘next time.’ I…I can’t stand hurting you like that. I won’t do it again.”

·       You’d gazed up at him, blinking in confusion for a second. Then you realized what he’d meant—you had flinched when he’d cut you. Oh.

·       You reached up, cupping his cheek, “Oh, Martin. You didn’t hurt me. Not really.” It wasn’t strictly true—it had hurt a little, but you had been prepared for it to. You brushed a stray droplet of blood from the corner of his mouth with a careful swipe of your thumb.

·       “Yes, I did. I saw it.” You had tried to protest further, but he’d cut you off, much to your surprise. Martin almost never talked back like this, though perhaps you’d simply never given him a reason before. “I saw you flinch. I won’t put you through this again.”

·       And he hadn’t. Though you’d brought the idea up more than once, he had dismissed it each time with the same stubborn shake of his head. If Martin was anything, he was true to his word.

·       “…and it’s been such a long time since we heard from the guy.”

·       The DJ hums in agreement, “It has indeed, my friend. Maybe we’ll hear from him later tonight. If you’re out there listening, Count, don’t be a stranger! Give us a call,” He begins rattling off the stations toll-free number. “We’re all dying to hear from you again!”

·       You feel Martin stiffen up against you. You knew about the interviews he had done; you’d even heard one of them, back when Martin was little more to you than a silent, sullen face behind the counter at Cuda’s shop. And even when he’d started talking to you, he sounded different over the radio—his voice was deeper, and he sounded so confidant, so sure of himself when he talked about his ‘sickness.’ He almost never sounded like that in day-to-day life. You weren’t embarrassed to admit you found it attractive.

·       Martin on the other hand, was mortified to know you had heard him. He had known that people were listened to him, obviously, but they were supposed to be strangers. You actually knew him, and he’d talked about sex. Of course, reminding him you’d done a lot more in your time together than simply listen to him talk about sex did little to lessen his horror.

·       Of course, you also knew he’d been doing fewer and fewer interviews now that he had you to talk to and share his life with. But on occasion, when the pleading from the DJ gets too desperate, or he was simply that bored, Martin could be coaxed back onto the other end of the phoneline once again.

·       You glance up at him, but in the darkness, his expression is unreadable, eyes cast down toward the end of the bed, long lashes throwing feathered shadows across his pale cheeks. From the very beginning, he’s been hard to read. As you’ve come to know him better, you’ve needed to get comfortable with the idea of asking when you want to know something you could easily intuit if speaking to anyone else. He’s very good at hiding his thoughts and feelings behind a neutral expression and placid silence, but he would tell you almost anything if you asked him directly; so long as he had the words to explain it to you.

·       Do you want to make a call, Martin?”

·       For a long moment, he’s silent, turning the idea over in his mind a few times. You had never actually been with him when he’d done an interview in the past. He’d usually wait until you were three days deep in an assignment with no quick end in sight, or out of town with family. Maybe he would be too embarrassed to do it with you here or maybe he’s just not in the mood tonight. But, after a minute, he tilts his head down toward you and says, “Why not?”

·       The radio crackles out a jaunty tune—a commercial for some small business or another. “I’ll call in a few minutes. He doesn’t seem busy tonight.” Martin sits up, bracing his back against the headboard of your bed, and dislodging you from your perch. You grumble a little, irritated by the loss of your comfy spot, but you crawl into his lap anyway.

·       You press soft kisses into his skin, beginning at his hairline, and trailing down over his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks—the right then the left—the very tip of his nose, and finally his lips. He smiles against your mouth, leaning into the kiss with his whole body.

·       When you pull away only a moment later, you can practically hear the pouty turn of his mouth. He whines softly, but you pay him no mind, trailing kisses down his chin. “Are you nervous, Martin?” The question comes out muffled by the soft curve of his jaw.

·       “Not really, no…” He trails off, eyes cast to the ceiling, “I like the attention, I s’pose.”

·       You pull back to look at him, barely stifling a snort of amusement, “Don’t I give you enough?”

·       His eyes slide from the ceiling, falling upon you dark and wide. For a moment, you think he’s taken you seriously, but the pouty turn of his mouth breaks into a blinding grin, “You give me lots, sure, but I’m a creature of the night, remember? We always want more.”

·       The two of you sit there for a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes, the silence stretching on into the night. Then, you collapse into each other in a fit of giggles. Martin buries his head into the crook of your neck, shaking with quiet laughter. Sure, when he’d said wasn’t untrue, but when he put it like that, it was hard not to laugh.

·       “Welcome back, everybody. It’s almost the top of the hour at 01:57! I’m your host Barry…”

·       You hadn’t even heard the ads end! Martin scrambles for the chunky landline phone that rests on the beside table, nimble fingers punching in the numbers at speed. Though his calls had become less and less frequent, he evidently kept the number somewhere in his memory.

·       Martin’s voice is hushed as he speaks to whoever manned the phones down at the radio station, muttering something about ‘the Count.’ As he speaks, he winds the coiled phone cord around a delicate finger. It’s a simple, distracted habit of Martin’s but it makes your heart flutter whenever you catch him doing it.

·       You stretch your arm as far as you can, reaching for the radio, unwilling to give up your perch in Martin’s lap for even a second. Your fingertips brush the cool metal—once, twice—then you manage to curl your fingers around it. Pulling it into your lap you turn the volume down low so only you can hear it.

·       “I’m just getting word that we have a special guest on the line,” the DJ sounds positively elated, “Folks, it looks like the Count is back in town. Hello, Count! Where have ya’ been?”

·       Martin hesitates for a moment, his jaw working as he searches for the words, “Around.”

·       There is a definite lag between the words in his mouth, and those same words coming through the radio. The dissonance confounds your ears and makes your head ache in a dizzy sort of way, but you want to hear both halves of this conversation, not just Martin’s.

·       “So, what trouble have you been getting into since we last spoke, Count? Murdered any pretty ladies recently?”

·       There’s a smile in Martin’s voice, “Not ladies, no.”

·       “Oh really? Any men then?”

Martin glances down at you, though he makes a non-committal noise. The DJ takes a breath, as though he’s going to say something, but Martin cuts him off, “I wouldn’t call what I do murder, anyhow.”

·       “No? But you still need to drink blood, right?”

·       “Oh, yes.”

·       “How have you been getting your food, then? Don’t vampires uh…kill with every strike?”

·       Martin laughs, a soft, breathy sound that sends a shudder through you. “I’ve been managing.” His tone is damn near conversational. You gaze down at him, marvelling at how easy this seems to be for him. The Martin you’ve come to know and love rarely (if ever) speaks to strangers, and when he has no other choice, he’s never this talkative. It’s strange, but by no means an unwelcome change. You nuzzle against him, letting his voice thrum through your skull as it vibrates around in his chest.

·       “Enough talk of blood and guts, Count. What about your other problems, huh? Tell me, are the streets of Braddock safe at last from the real terror stalking them? Have you…” He pauses conspiratorially, “Found yourself a girl yet?”

·       Those words drive an icy spike of hurt deep into your guts. No, he had not found himself a girl. Martin must have felt your jaw clenching, as his free hand begins to card through your hair—soothing and soft.

·       “I’ve found…someone.” The implications of that word settles you almost as much as his touch. ‘Someone.’ Not a woman, but someone of significance, nonetheless. He bends down to press a quick kiss into the crown of your head. “Someone special.”

·       The DJ gasps, sounding scandalized. “Someone special! Well, I never. Good for you, Count.” You can’t say you’re a fan of the man’s tone—pleasant enough, but with a sharp edge that borders on condescending. But there’s little you can do but grit your teeth and bear it. “How long until you suck this one dry and move on?”

·       Wow. Fuck this guy. On some level, you’d known he was an asshole—sure you felt bad for him when people were rude, but he could dish it out just as well as he could take it. Every once in a while, he’d push a caller too hard or make a snide comment the conversation could have done without. You didn’t like hearing it when strangers were involved, and now that you were the subject of such a comment, you like it even less. He makes it sound like you’re some random conquest, or worse, little more than a meal to Martin. How wrong he was.

·       Suck this one dry and move on? Fat chance, Buddy. Though, his wording did give you an idea…maybe you could make this night just a little more interesting for the both of you.

You sit back, uncurling your legs and dropping your knees to either side of Martin’s hips, straddling his lap properly. Settling your weight back into his lap, you pull a face, pointing to the radio in your lap and mouthing, ‘What a jaggoff!’

·       Martin’s lips press into a thin line as he tries to stifle his laughter. He nods sympathetically but doesn’t say anything about it to the DJ. He’s slow to anger, preferring to divert the conversation rather than cause a scene. You can’t help but admire him for that. You lean forward, stamping a kiss against his collarbone.

·       “I…uh…try not to eat the things I love.”

·       “Ooooh, so it’s love, huh?”

·       You roll your eyes at the DJ, though you can’t deny hearing Martin say he loves you sends a little thrill through you—it was the same thrill you’d felt the first time he had said it to you, and the same thrill you hoped to feel for years to come. You trail little, open-mouthed kisses up the column of Martin’s throat, your mouth feverishly warm against his skin. A shudder jolts through him like an electric shock as your teeth scape across his Adam’s apple. You grin against his flesh, sliding up to nip along the underside of his jaw. There is a sensitive spot at the very corner that you love to exploit, and now seems like the perfect opportunity to do so.

·       Your teeth graze over the spot and his body jitters beneath you. His voice catches in his throat, though if the DJ notices, he doesn’t comment. You nip gently at the spot, reddening the pale skin as you worry it with your teeth. You long to suck a bruise there—the purple-blue hue would doubtless look stunning against the pallor of his skin, but you knew Cuda would have a conniption if he saw it, and you didn’t want to put Martin through that again. Not after last time. The pair of you had agreed that perhaps in future, it would be better if any hickeys you left remained under your clothes.

·       Pressing one final kiss against that spot, you pull back to look at him. You can tell he’s getting flustered—there’s a flush beginning to creep up his neck from beneath the collar of his t-shirt, deep pink and blotchy. You know, given time, it will reach his cheeks, the colour blooming high on his cheekbones. When you get him worked up enough, you could make Martin blush to the very tips of his ears. It was adorable.

·       Your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt as you drag your nails down his chest. His teeth catch his lower lip. You can almost hear the whine trapped behind those pearly teeth.

·       “Why don’t you tell us a little about this special someone, Count?”

·       Martin hesitates, “I don’t know about that.”

·       “Nonsense! You can tell your good ol’ pal Barry. Who am I gonna tell?”

·       Martin isn’t that stupid. He knows Barry doesn’t need to tell anyone anything—he’s live on air, he’d be telling them himself. His eyes flick down to yours, searching for something, be it permission or resistance. He pulls the phone away from his ear, resting it against his shoulder as he waits for you to make up your mind. You know he’d hang up in an instant if you asked him to—he’d likely do you one better and never call in again if the DJ was just going to ask questions about you all night long. But you trusted Martin not to give too much information away—he’d managed to stay hidden all this time, after all.

·       You nodded at him, smiling and thumbing gently over a nipple. Though your touch is light, and the sensation is dampened by the fabric of his shirt, Martin makes a sound as though he’s been punched in the stomach. He shifts beneath you, tucking the phone underneath his chin as he moves.

·       You grip the striped fabric of his shirt, working it in your hands. You lift it a little, fingers slipping just beneath it to splay against the flat plane of his stomach. His skin is warm and soft beneath your hands. You look down at him, arching a brow and asking for permission with only your eyes.

·       “Fine.” He says, and though the word is an answer for the DJ’s pleading, he’s talking to you, looking directly into your eyes—granting the permission you were so hoping for.

·       “Great! So, how long have you been together?”

·       You fall into him, hands pushing the soft cotton of his shirt up over his chest. Your lips are on his skin in a matter of seconds, trailing kisses across every inch of exposed skin—stomach, ribs, hips, and everything in between.

·       “It’s been ahh—” His words are cut short by a tight little moan as you bite down hard just below his left nipple. However, he manages a solid recovery as your tongue laves over the spot soothing the sting, playing the whole thing off as though he had needed time to stop and think about it, “—bout a year, maybe a little longer.”

·       Clever boy.

·       You drag your tongue a little higher, flicking over the sensitive skin of his nipple. He arches into your touch, hips canting up against yours, threatening to buck you from your perch. He tilts his head, trapping the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, reaching for you with both hands.

·       He takes your cheeks into his hands, pulling your head away from his chest. You grin up at him, taking in his expression—his pupils blown so wide with want they swallow all but the slimmest ring of brown iris, his lips parted and shining in the semi-darkness, flushed to the tips of his ears.

·       You surge up to kiss him, remembering only at the last moment, he needs to keep his mouth free to carry on the conversation. With a huff, you divert your course, and fix your lips back against the skin of Martin’s neck.

·       He swallows hard as you press your lips back against his pulse, pushing his hips back up into yours. You can’t keep the grin form your face as you feel him pressing up against you—the outline in his pants far more noticeable now.

·       His hands tremble slightly as they search for yours, dragging them down to the front of his jeans. You grin widens as you press down. Even through the thick denim, you can feel his cock throb under your palm. Someone’s excited.

·       You look down at him and he turns his head away, flushing a shade darker. He was so easy to wind up like this, it was almost unbelievable. A few kisses here, and gentle touch there, and he was a blushing, whining mess spread out on your sheets for you to enjoy however your pleased. You had chalked the over-sensitivity up to a lack of experience, and had expected it to fade after a few months, but it hadn’t. He was just that reactive, not that you were complaining.

·       With deft fingers, you pop the button of his jeans, quietly dragging the zipper down. He lifts his hips, wriggling helpfully as you drag his pants and underwear down over his thighs.

·       His cock bobs free, flushed and leaking already. You ghost the pads of your fingers over the soft skin of his shaft, and he shudders, his whole body tensing. His knuckles are white where he grips the phone, and his jaw is tight with the struggle of keeping quiet.

·       You wrap your hand around him, stroking gently from base to tip. His back arches off from the headboard, and he falls forward, burying his head in the crook of your neck. The phone receiver bumps against your collarbone, hard and hollow. The plastic is pleasantly cool against your feverish skin.

·       “Is it different being with a…uh…forgive the expression, normal person?”

·       “They’re a…” His laugh is breathy, almost a moan as he glances down at you, “a real handful.”

·       You barely stifle a laugh. You glare down at him in mock disapproval, and he sticks his tongue out at you. Cheeky little bastard. Though the colour still sits high on his cheeks, and his breathing comes through parted lips in short puffs, he seems to have adjusted well to your pace.

·       “Nothing you can’t handle though, I’m sure. Do they know about your…condition, shall we say?”

·       “They are aware, yes.”

·       The DJ laughs, “And how did that go? Can’t be an easy thing to hear—that your boyfriend might vamp out and eat you whole!”

·       Martin sighs, “I already told you, I don’t eat people…” His voice is much steadier now, even as your fingers brush along the sensitive spots on the underside of his cock. That means its time to switch things up. You can’t have him getting too comfortable. Where would the fun be in that? You tighten your grip—something that usually makes Martin thrash against the sheets and sob into your pillows—and begin to swipe your thumb gently over the tip of his cock with every upward stroke. He almost drops the phone as he yanks it away from his mouth. He covers the receiver with a shaking hand just in time, as a soft whine slips through his teeth, “Oh, fuck…”

·       You press a finger up against your lips, reminding him to be quiet. He presses up into your fist, his hips stuttering as your thumb traces a lazy circle around his head. His free hand flutters nervously about his mouth, as he tries desperately to keep quiet. His breath comes sharp and quick though his nose as he struggles to keep control. You shift your weight, pinning his hips back down with your thighs, and though he tries to buck back up against you, you hold him firmly in place. He whines high in his throat, shooting a pleading look up at you, but you just shake your head and point at the phone, ‘Keep going.’

·       Slowly, Martin brings the receiver back up to his ear. His tongue flickers out over his lips and he lets out a shaky breath, “S-Sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

·       “I said, ‘let’s circle back to what you said before,’ about not eating what you love. Why not? If you don’t need to kill to feed, why not feed on this special someone? Surely if they love you back, they’d be willing.”

·       You slow your hand, wanting to give Martin a fighting chance at answering. You were momentarily intrigued by the DJ’s line of questioning. You knew why Martin didn’t want to feed on you, but you were curious as to what sort of excuse he would give.

·       “W-Well…it’s come up mo-ore than once but…” Martin goes silent as you squeeze down on him, his posture going rigid, his head thrown back against the headboard.

·       The DJ lets the silence hang for a moment, but when Martin doesn’t finish his thought, he cuts in, “But…? You still there, Count?”

·       You let up, and Martin takes a big gulp of air, as though he had only just remembered he needed to breathe. “Y-Yeah, I’m here. It’s…it’s complicated.”

·       “Oh yeah? How?”

·       “Well, it’s not about whether they’ll let me or not…” He takes a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he steadies himself. When he speaks again, his voice is low, barely more than a whisper, “It’s that I want more.”

·       He tries in vain to buck up into your fist, his hips rolling in shallow, abortive little thrusts. His teeth are sunk into his lower lip, his eyes boring deep into your own.

·       ‘I want more.’ Those words were meant for you.

·       You blink down at him, momentarily dumb founded. Then a grin spreads across your face, sharp and hungry. If he wants more, you’ll give it to him—you’d give it to him until he was begging you to stop.

·       Sliding down his body, you know this is risky. Martin has never been good at keeping quiet, especially not when you’ve got your mouth on him. But the idea is simply too enticing to pass up on. When were you ever going to get the change to suck his cock live on air again? Besides, this might be good practice for him in the art of keeping his voice down—not that you didn’t love to hear him, it just might be nice to keep your…activities a secret from the whole neighbourhood for once.

·       You wriggle down onto your stomach, bringing your face level with Martin’s cock. Settling yourself into a comfortable position between his knees, you bend your head, pressing a gentle kiss against the tip of his cock.

·       He makes an involuntary choking sound in the back of his throat. You look up at him, resting your chin on the tops of his thighs. You want to give him the time he needs to make up his mind. If he tells you ‘no,’ or pushes you away, you’d gladly go back to stroking his cock and kissing his neck. You would get just as much pleasure from the shivers and whimpers you could wring out of him that way.

·       But he doesn’t tell you no, rather he pushes his hips up against you, pressing the tip hard against your lips. You flick your tongue out, ghosting for only a moment over his sensitive flesh, but it’s enough to make his eyes roll back, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. You do it again, and his mouth falls open. Though no sound escapes the look on his face is just as glorious.

·       This is going to be fun.

·       You crane your neck, opening your mouth and gently taking the head inside.  Martin’s free hand shoots to his mouth, and he bites down hard on the meat of his palm to stop himself from sobbing out loud. You press your tongue flat against him, dragging it slowly against his hot flesh. He thrashes beneath you, jostling the phone against his cheek.

·       Carefully, you sink further down on him, taking him in inch by inch. He lets out a long sigh around a mouthful of palm.

·       “What was that, Count?”

·       “Oohh…nothing,” Martin grinds out, “Just…closing a window.”

·       The lie was flimsy, but the DJ, despite his skeptical tone, didn’t seem interested in pressed him on it further, “…Right…so how is your control around this person, huh? Do you ever get the urge to just go to town on them?”

·       Martin’s laugh comes out as a low purr, and he bucks into your mouth once, “Mmm, sometimes.” Ever so slowly, as you’ve sunk down onto his cock, he’s been curling in on himself. His head now rests atop your own, and you can feel the heat of his cheek radiating against your scalp. If that heat is anything to go by, he must be positively scarlet.

·       “And what does that entail for you exactly?”

·       With a little jolt, his cock brushes up against the back of your throat. You swallow down a little choking noise, breathing steadily through your nose in an attempt to calm your gag reflex.

·       The warmth of Martin’s cheeks is suddenly gone as he straightens up again. His head hits the headboard with a thump. “I-I just wanna…” He swallows thickly, his breath coming hard, “Push into…p-push my teeth into their throat and just,” He bucks up into your throat, either unable, or simply unwilling to stay still any longer, “just take what I want.”

·       “Their…blood?”

·       You swallow around Martin and his back arches so far he practically lifts off the bed “Yes! Yes, everything they have to give!”

·       “Right…for a moment there it sounded a bit more, uh, sexually motivated than that.”

·       Again, your throat contracts around him, and a hiss of air escapes through his teeth, “No difference really…”

·       The DJ is silent for a moment, “Now that’s an interesting tidbit about you, Count. I’m sure all the ladies out there would love to hear more about that.”

·       Marin fucks up into your throat again with a soft groan, “I’m…I’m sure they would but,” His breath is coming harder now, “unfortunately, I’m taken.”

·       The DJ laughs, “Hear that, Count? That’s the sound of hundreds of hearts all over Braddock breaking. Sorry, folks but it looks like you’re out of luck.”

·       Oh. He’s taken alright. You can just imagine the anguished looks on their faces when you learn he gets taken almost every other night by another man.

·       Though you’d love to keep him in this position, you’re struck by the sudden, possessive urge to have him on his back. You tap his thigh thrice in quick succession and Martin withdraws almost immediately. He’s always so respectful of your wishes, even if he whines a little when his cock slips from the wet heat of your mouth. The sudden chill of the air on his wet cock sends a shiver through him.

·       You scoot back, grabbing Martin by the calves, and pulling him down into a more horizontal position. He fumbles with the phone, as it slips from his grasp, landing on the bed near his shoulder.

·       “What’s going on, Count?”

·       “S-Sorry, I just…I just dropped the phone is all. I’m…I’m feeling awful shaky these days.”

·       “Oh, yeah? How long has it been?”

·       Martin’s tone is distracted, “Ages.” He is far more focused on you, his dark eyes trained on yours as you loom over him.

·       The DJ asks another question, but you’re not listening as you slip Martin’s slick cock into your mouth, wasting no time in taking him back into your throat where he belongs.

·       Though you can’t make out his words so well over the rushing in your ears, Martin’s voice sounds strained, slightly higher than usual. He’s fighting the pleasure hard.

·       His free hand fists itself in your hair, pushing you down tighter against his cock. You swallow hard, trying desperately not to gag as he rolls is hips into your mouth. He’s come such a long way since the first time you asked him to fuck your mouth. He’d been so nervous that you did most of the work, bobbing your head faster and faster until he’d spilled deep into your mouth. He had apologized for almost an hour after, thinking the rasp in your voice was all his fault. Now? He’s practically asphyxiating you, and you hadn’t needed to say a word.

·       Martin is shaking—his thighs tremble on either side of your head, and the phone in his hands nearly slips from his grasp again with the force of the tremors passing through him.

·       You hollow your cheeks and he’s forced to cover the receiver again as a series of whimpers tear free from his lips. You press your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, and he sobs, his hips canting up off the bed.

·       “I-I’m close,” His frantic whisper comes tight through his teeth, an edge bordering on panic creeping into his voice. You grip his thigh and redouble your efforts, gaining a high whine in return.

·       “Hey, Count? Count there’s a lot of interference on your end…I can’t really hear you. I think this is where this conversation has to end, but call back another night, huh?” Martin doesn’t even respond, he simply slams the receiver back into the cradle, ending the call.

·       Almost as soon as the call has disconnected, he’s a whimpering mess. “Oh, fuck! Your mouth…I-I can’t! Is it okay? Is it okay if I…?”

·       He can’t bring himself to say it, but you know what he means and hum a soft affirmation around his cock. He cries out as the sound vibrates around his over-sensitive flesh.

·       With a whimper, he fucks up into your mouth, once, twice, then he shudders, his whole body going rigid as he cums. His knees clamp around your ears, squeezing your head as he shakes with the pleasure. His fingers pull at your hair, any tighter and you’re sure he’ll pull some out. But you press on, hollowing your cheeks, letting him ride the high for as long as he can.

·       The sound he makes as you swallow around him is nothing short of wrecked. His fingers claw the sheets as though he’s trying to drag himself away from you, from your mouth, but his body remains locked in place beneath you.

·       His cock twitches against your tongue as you slowly pull back, the wet drag of your tongue digging raw little whimpers from his throat, and a shudder passed through him when you pull of and his cock is again exposed to the chilly air of the room. His hips press forward, seeking the tight heat of your throat again. It would seem almost desperate if the motion wasn’t so sluggish, almost sleepy.  

·       He reaches for you then in the dark. His hands, hot and sweaty from exertion and gripping both the phone and the sheets for so long, grasp either side of your face as he pulls you up for a kiss.

·       The salty taste of his cum still coats your tongue, but he doesn’t seem to care as he presses his lips against yours with a desperation you rarely see in him.

·       Pulling back, you whisper against his lips, “Was that enough attention?”

·       He smiles, “For me? Yes.” He presses another soft kiss against your lips. “But now it’s your turn.”

[whindsor]

the trials of online dating, pt 1

so @witchofinterest asked about mika and bucky meeting online, as is alluded to in the first episode of falcon and winter soldier, and, well...here’s part one oops!

After hours of research and thought and more research and more thought, Bucky decided HiLove was the best option. The general consensus on the forums was that people were looking for something more than a hookup, and it was an app that only allowed those identifying as female or non-binary to send the first message after a reciprocating match. The very, very small part of him that remained in 1943 balked at this, but the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. His entire past was a quick Google search away; his potential matches deserved to know, and he didn’t want to feel the sting of rejection if they found out the hard way. A win-win.

At least, as much of a win as an ex-hydra-super-soldier was going to get.

It was all Dr. Raynor’s idea, and it wasn’t his favorite, but he was willing to jump through the hoops and say all the right things so that he could be done with this probationary period and move on with his life.

He did his best filling out the profile. Age? 106. Interests? Well he couldn’t very well put knives and psychotherapy, so instead he put hiking, technology, and reading. Job? That was easy. Former military. He didn’t need to put that he originally got drafted in the 40s, and spent the last however many years as the fist of a rogue military organization; that would be part of the Google search. He put his real name, because Dr. Raynor made him, and clicked okay. He’d been avoiding this for weeks now, and if he didn’t at least have it up whenever he saw her later that day, she would write in that stupid notebook like those scientists used to.

This was a terrible idea.

This was the worst idea.

Somehow the goddamn push notifications got turned on, and within the hour the app started going off. He eyed his phone for the first few minutes before giving in a swiping it open.

Mistake number two.

A woman in her 50s messaged him, and apparently he had to swipe a certain way to see this message. Once he saw the message - and the photos attached to it - he nearly threw his phone against the wall. Back when he last dated, in 1943, he thought he appreciated a bold woman. Bold by today’s standards was a little more than he was ready for.

He was afraid to open the app after that, and so he just let his phone sit and buzz while he watched the EuroCup matches and counted down the minutes until his appointment. There were other things he could do to occupy his time, like visit the sushi shop or the library. But that seemed overwhelming, so instead he sat on the floor and watched his games until it was finally time to go into the clinic.

“So, James,” Dr. Raynor started, crossing her legs and pretending to be casual. Bucky sat with his hands clasped, his knee bouncing as he readied himself for the interrogation. Or therapy, as they called it. “Anything new to report today?”

“Well, I tried that dating app thing you told me to do,” he said. If he started with this, then maybe he could take up enough of the time with the bullshit and avoid having to talk about stupid stuff, like what he thought about during his panic attacks or whether his arm still hurt. The look on Dr. Raynor’s face said she didn’t believe him.

“Oh yea? Which one?” she asked, her voice just as convincing as her face.

“HiLove. Seemed the best option,” Bucky said, hoping that was the right answer. She raised her eyebrows.

“Well, it wasn’t a bad move,” she said. “Any matches so far?”

He allowed one bark of a laugh before schooling his features again. “One woman, uh, wanted my appraisal of her physical appearance.”

“She sent you a nude.”

“She - what?”

“She sent you a nude. A nudie, a dirty picture, a-“

“Yea, yea, I get it,” he interrupted, not wanting to beat the dead horse. “Yea, she sent me ‘a nude’.”

“Any others?”

“Any others what?”

“Don’t be stupid,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Did any other women send messages? Or nudes?”

“I don’t know, I stopped looking after the first one,” he said. Oftentimes he lied to Dr. Raynor, but this time he could be truthful. She sighed, holding her hand out and beckoning with her fingers. He pulled his phone from his back pocket and handed it over, watching as she easily keyed in his passcode. Casual security breach. That was fine. That totally wasn’t something that kept him up at night.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” she muttered, expertly swiping through the notifications. She moved a little too easily, as if she were familiar with the app. He decided not to comment on that. “Alright, James, we gotta filter some of the shit outta here.”

“I’d prefer to filter all the shit, but that’s just me,” he said. This was a stupid exercise, but at least it was manageable, and it would keep her occupied for a while.

“Too young, too young, way too young…” Was Dr. Raynor talking to herself or to him? It didn’t matter. She kept swiping. “Chaser, chaser, catfish…ah, here’s a good one.” She opened the profile and handed it over to him.

“She’s also way too young,” he said, looking at the picture of a beautiful woman. Dark hair, dark eyes, bright smile…someone that definitely would catch his eye, if he didn’t feel the weight of his past keeping his head down.

“She’s thirty-three.”

“That’s, like, a third of my age.”

“Well, if we discount all the times you were in ice, really you’re somewhere in the thirty-five to thirty-seven range. That’s not a bad gap.”

He glared up at her for a moment before going back to the profile. He furrowed his brows as he read further. “She’s Romanian.”

“Ah, you finally noticed that, did you?” she said, and he could hear the gloating in her voice. “What, is she not your type?”

“I don’t think I have a type anymore.”

“Then swipe and see what happens.”

“I don’t know, Doc,” he said, shaking his head. This was not how it was supposed to go.

“Don’t know what?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. He shrugged, looking off to the side. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her slide the notebook off the table.

“Oh, c’mon, Doc, that’s not notebook worthy,” he said. She paused her pen, but still tapped it threateningly against the paper.

“Then tell me what you ‘don’t know’ about matching with that woman,” she said.

“I haven’t been on a date in eighty years, I think a little trepidation is normal even without the shit I’ve dealt with between now and then,” he said. “It just doesn’t feel right going into something without…without the other person knowing the full story.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you a virgin, James?”

“No.” What did that have anything to do with it? “Why?”

“Just making sure I have the full story,” she said. “So you don’t want to chance anything cause they don’t know everything about you.”

“Well…”

“Counterpoint: do you know everything about her?”

He gave her an annoyed look, the matching sensation bubbling behind his sternum. “It’s not the same, and you know it.”

She sighed again, scribbling something down. Inside, he wanted to rip the notebook from her hands. On the outside, he just glanced down at his phone. The screen had darkened from lack of activity, and he tapped it to wake up again. The same pretty woman smiled up at him, the little pink bar waiting for him to confirm or deny their connection.

“Want me to do it for you?” Dr. Raynor asked, her pen now still. “Cause I will.”

“I can do it, thank you,” he said. “I just don’t know if I want to.”

“Bullshit, James,” she said. “She’s a pretty girl, and it’s online. You can ghost her if you get too scared. It’s an asshole move, but technically it’s an option.”

He’s a ghost story.

“I’m not gonna do that to anyone,” he said.

“What, ghost them? Or burden them?” she asked, leaning forward and resting her elbow on her knee.

“Either. Both.” Again, with the honesty. Idiot move.

“James, listen,” she said, making him look up at her. Her tone was gentle - at least, Dr. Raynor version of gentle. “Everyone has baggage. You’ve gotta start unloading some, or you’re gonna end up getting crushed by it. The worst has already happened to you. Sometimes, if you want the good stuff, you have to go out and get it.”

Bucky stared down at the phone, wishing that it was just the jitters that he felt instead of a cold stone of dread. The worst had already happened to him, a thousand times over. Would rejection feel like nothing, or would it break him?

Well, Dr. Raynor was right. He wouldn’t know unless he tried.

“Alright, Mika Corsof,” he said, swiping the pink arrow. “Let’s see what happens.”

[xadoheandterra]

@redvsbluesecretsanta of 2020 for @averagejoey2000

This took longer than I like to have written, but in being perfectly honest writing Grimmons is...not something I’ve had a lot of chance to practice, so it was an exercise in focusing on Red Team. It turned...out interesting. Not really so much as being openly gay/bi. It’s really just a lot of Griff pining with supportive Sarge, but...it IS Grimmons. And uh. It’s more mushy then I usually write. Soft red team and all that. And ah, slice of life is HARD. :/ So slice of canon life? (except not?)

I write angst for a reason. Mushy stuff is...hard. Some angst might’ve crept in, but I tried to keep it light and soft. I hope you enjoy it?

Power and Pine

Griff rolled himself over and stared at the ceiling with a tired sigh. He wondered if Simmons was awake; what time even was it? Half a glance at the alarm clock--and he hated the alarm clock; it went off at ass o'clock in the morning--let him know it was 2am. Griff muffled a groan, well aware that his bunkmate was bound to rip into him if he even so much as woke up the hard-ass. Taylor didn't understand anything except regulations and rules. Hell the fucker made the kiss-ass that was Simmons look like a rebellious teenager! Griff scrubbed his hand over his face and contemplated every utter mistake that had led him to this moment, awake at 2am, in a room with a bunkmate who couldn't care less if Griff lived or died, with Simmons just down the hall but unable to even so much as go and bother the ginger haired young man.

For a moment Griff laid then, thought maybe he could roll over and slip back into slumber and pretend that his bunk was the bunk back at Blood Gulch. For a moment Griff contemplated that chance--and then he quashed it a second later as his eyes slipped closed and he could see the way Sarge sat him down, peppered hair cropped short, face helmet free and pulled down into a grimace. It was the last clear memory of the man that Griff had, set in the mess hall of Blood Gulch, in the aftermath of Agent Texas and Blue Team.

"Son," Sarge said, voice gruff but softer than Griff had heard in recent months. Griff was used to Sarge's more callous nature; the man had gruff, toxic masculinity down to a fucking art form, and while at least eighty-five percent of it was pure bullshit, there'd always been an underlaying slight sadistic glee behind most of the insane stunts Sarge liked to pull. This softer, near kind Sarge had thrown Griff for a loop the first time it happened--after the accident with the puma that had near crushed him--and it no less put Griff off-kilter now. "I want you to listen, and listen well."

"Sir?" Griff had replied, voice pitched slightly with confusion. He was in fatigues instead of armor, safe in Outpost One after the bullshit of the last week. A neutral ceasefire had been called by Church, and agreed to amazingly enough by Sarge, in the aftermath of the dropship and the Freelancer Agents. There would be no shenanigan's or chicanery or anything of the sort in the foreseeable future.

"Command is going to relocate our team," the words were blunt, but they settled into Griff like a lead weight. He knew all about being relocated. First it'd been when the UNSC had deemed him unfit to continue service, and then when his service file had been picked up by Freelancer. He'd been deemed unfit to serve a second time and relegated as worth only a grunt, something to be used as potential canon fodder in training simulations. When he'd been picked for Outpost One on Blood Gulch it seemed like a fucking godsend--until now.

Still, Griff decided to be obviously obtuse because fuck they weren't going to separate them, were they? Despite their ups and many downs, the insane trips and troubles they went through, Sarge had been the best commanding officer Griff had ever had--and a part of that Griff knew came from the fact that the man was a failed out old helljumper. Sarge understood the actual horrors that evolved out of the UNSC as much as Griff did; he knew what being relocated to Freelancer, and then relegated to grunt work, actually meant.

"Are we finally getting an upgrade then?" Griff said, and Sarge gave him this look. The man knew what he was doing, and he wanted none of it. Griff looked away.

"As much as I wish we were getting a damn good retirement package," Sarge said, "that is not the case." His words were blunt, not coated in the typical insanity Griff was used to hearing from the man. "The orders haven't come through yet, but it's looking more like we're going to be split apart."

No, Griff wanted to curse, and he spat something out under his breath, something unfavorable, even as he made his protests clear. Sarge raised a hand.

"I know, son." A pause, then softer, "Dexter." Griff swallowed heavily. "I have a request of you, if you will." For a moment Griff said nothing, and so Sarge barreled on. "I'm going to try and keep you and Simmons together. Lord knows that boy doesn't have a lick of sense if it came and bit him in the ass; he'll need you to keep him out of trouble."

Griff snorted; he'd been doing just that ever since he met the skinny ginger haired menace. Half the shit Griff had gotten up to before coming to Blood Gulch had been trying to keep Simmons' ass out of the line of fire. It was far too pretty to waste the way most troopers in Freelancer went, although Griff could hardly tell Simmons that. He hadn't known the man well enough back then. Now? Well now it was because he knew the guy too well.

"I will, Sarge," Griff said instead. "Do you...have an idea of where they might reassign us to?"

"Not a one," Sarge grumbled. "Now I gotta go and try and talk some sense into that weaselly fuck up at Command. Keep an eye on Simmons while I'm out, y'hear?"

"Aye sir."

Griff muffled a sigh and opened his eyes. Yeah he wasn't getting any more sleep tonight.

"Stocking duty?" Griff drawled as he stepped into the storage room of Rat's Nest, a slight grin curled up under the helmet of his power armor. Visor buried in an open crate to manually count each individual roll of toilet paper, one hand wrapped around the PDA inventory list, Simmons grumbled near unintelligibly. Griff leaned himself against the side of the doorway, hip cocked to the side, as he took in the other. Even with the bulky power armor Simmons' lithe form was a treat to see, especially after a hard day stuck cleaning the mess hall in a base that barely let him feel comfortable.

"Shut up, Griff," Simmons grumbled out, voice tinny behind the helmet.

"You know you can do this in your fatigues, right?" Griff said, and Simmons huffed as he pulled his head out of the box.

"Eighty four," Simmons mumbled absentmindedly and marked something off on the PDA. Then he looked up and Griff could imagine him arching his eyebrow above his remaining organic eye. "I could say the same about you. Why are you in full power armor, Griff? I thought you hated the stuff."

Griff shrugged. He didn't say anything in response; he bet Simmons already knew. It was the same reason Simmons was doing something as simple a inventory management in full power armor, after all. Neither of them felt comfortable in Rats Nest. The the way they had back at Blood Gulch with Sarge at their backs. There they could at least trust that the bullet in the back or the explosion off to the side was not truly malicious in nature. Here all they could do was wait for the other shoe to drop. For a moment neither of them said anything, then Simmons turned his head back toward the box which he tugged closed and slipped back onto the shelf.

"Have you heard from Sarge?" Simmons asked. The bitterness that once coated his voice those first few days at Rats Nest were long gone now; Griff had worked hard to get the ginger to accept that Sarge contacted him and not Simmons because it was easier and not due to any failing on Simmons part. After all Kaikaina was allowed to contact Griff since they were siblings. It was through her that Sarge contacted Griff; Rats Nest at least could care less what Griff's sister had to say aside from laughing about what recent drama she'd written about.

They never noticed that over half of the nonsense Kai sent him was just that, nonsense. Griff doubted his little sister was honestly throwing illegal rave parties and orgies in Blood Gulch, or that she was dragging Sarge into that mess by his own damn pubes, forcing pot brownies onto him to get him to chill. Kai got up to some ridiculous shit, yeah, but she knew how to bullshit even better. Griff had taught her everything he knew, after all, before he'd been drafted by the UNSC.

"Nothing new," Griff said instead. "He's been left to do as he will in Blood Gulch. I think Command finally gave up on relocating him as long as Kai's there after the mess he made of the last dropship."

Griff and Simmons had quietly had a laugh about the dropship that had 'mysteriously' crashed while attempting to transport Sarge to his next assignment. The old fucker had survived thanks to not actually being on the dropship at the time. Kai'd laughed her ass silly in the message, words peppered with loud booming rave music that drove any eavesdroppers away from the video.

"What about Donut?" Simmons asked, even as he pulled out another box.

"Some sort of diplomatic mission, it sounded like?" Griff shrugged. "I don't know how he swung that. UNSC doesn't like to touch us troopers for anything." It wasn't a lie; any trooper in Freelancer was a trooper because they weren't worth the hassle in the regular outfit. They were misfits, drop outs, failures of all kinds. Either they weren't fit for actual live combat, or had some other glaring red flag in their file. In Griff's case he knew it was the raging depression and suicidal tendencies that came from being the sole survivor of his unit.

In Sarge's case it'd been the PTSD of his helljumper days. Too good to really let go, too fucked up to keep on the payroll.

Griff couldn't parse where Donut fell on the spectrum of trooper bullshit. The man was a damn good grenadier; good enough to fuck up a Freelancer Agent. How he hadn't been snapped back up by UNSC before now Griff didn't understand. Maybe it was the fact that Donut was a walking, talking lawsuit waiting to happen. He spat out innuendo like it was going out of style--every other word from that man's mouth as filthy as one could get.

"Huh," Simmons muttered. "I thought he'd be shot by now."

"You know, me too." They lapsed into a period of silence. Griff watched Simmons move; he wondered if he could get the other out of power armor for a little a while. They both needed a damn good few moments of R'n'R between the two of them. A chance to destress from being so on alert here in Rats Nest could only do them both a world of good.

Maybe, also, Griff missed seeing Simmons face. The freckles that coated pale cheeks, or the way the mess of red curls went every which way. Hell even the metal graft that surrounded the artificial eye was a sight Griff hadn't seen in far too long. Some days he could catch a glimpse of Simmons, if he looked in the mirror and stared at the left side of his face--the place where Sarge had grafted pale skin and implanted one lone blue eye to replace the crushed and damaged brown one. Sometimes, alone in the wash room, he'd stare into the mirror with that one eye and imagine it was Simmons who stared back at him, who drank in the scars that melded the skin graft to his face, how it blended into the parts of his skin that were caused by vitiligo that he'd once been embarrassed about.

With a sigh Giff shook his head and straightened from the doorway. He came in for a mop and bucket, not to get distracted by Simmons. The base commander was bound to give him another stern talking to at this rate, for being so slow in such a simple task. He couldn't help it, though. Simmons was the only thing that felt even the slightest bit like home these days.

"Mops and buckets?" Griff said, instead of uttering any of his thoughts.

"Back left corner," Simmons replied, distracted by the task of counting inventory. Griff's comment of thanks went unacknowledged. They both returned to work without anything else said between them.

One moment they were in Rats Nest, uncomfortable and unwelcome. The next life turned into a whirlwind adventure that Griff didn't know how to name, with the crazy insanity that came from Blue Team and the AI that they tried to pass off as a human. The drama was something they could practically drown in, and really Griff could do without all the crotch shots from the other AI that had single handedly put them out on their ass. And of course Blue Team got themselves their own crazy Freelancer in the midst of it all, as if the first one hadn't been bad enough. Some days Griff wanted to bash his head into the wall and never wake up.

"Hey Griff have you seen Lopez around anywhere?" Simmons came up from behind him and it took Griff all of his willpower not to jump. His heart rate skyrocketed either way and he clutched at his chest, bare of the power armor because they were safe here even if here was full of insane would-be retiree's who didn't know the meaning of safety if it bit them in the ass. Yet Griff loved it, somehow, even that mad cow Caboose could be a riot when he really got going.

"Have you been practicing being a ninja?" Griff said as he turned around, and then felt his throat close up from another emotion. Simmons had his hair actually down. It wasn't regulation length anymore; he'd let it grow longer and Griff knew that but he hadn't actually seen Simmons with his hair in anything but tied up and out of the way. Today he apparently chose to let his hair hang loose about his shoulders, held back lightly with a tie that did nothing to stop the racing of Griff's heart.

"Griff?" Simmons asked, and waved a hand across Griff's vision. It snapped Griff back to reality and he wondered how long he stared at Simmons. "You okay?" Simmons looked at him, concerned. His eye was wide and so blue that Griff had to shake himself for a moment to get his heartrate under control and to just breathe.

"Yeah, I'm fine," the words came out more squeaked, but could you blame him? He hadn't seen Simmons this relaxed in what felt like years. Was that a smudge of oil across the man's cheek? Heaven have mercy. "Just...ate something bad, I think."

Simmons frowned and reached a hand up to feel against Griff's forehead, to which Griff fought back the urge to stare.

"Hm, a little warm. You should rest. I'll ask Sarge about soup for tonight," Simmons said.

"I'm fine," Griff grumbled. "I don't need Sarge's damn stew. Really, Simmons." Simmons lips quirked up into a little smirk and Griff had to look away.

"I'll tell him you want seconds, then," Simmons said, like a devil, and turned around and left the room. Griff stared after him, mouth agape for a second. He wasn't ashamed to admit his voice hit a pitch that was embarrassing in retrospect, but really. No one could stomach Sarge's stew, and Simmons knew that. By the time Griff got out into the hall, Simmons was long gone.

Griff was not ashamed to admit he whimpered just the slightest bit. Sarge was going to murder him.

Chaos defined their life for what seemed like years, leading all up to this very moment--this place in time. Griff scrubbed his hand along his face as he stared down at his naked lap, the haze of the past twenty-four hours finally washed away with something like regret and longing that curdled in his gut. He couldn't look at Simmons, because somehow despite the years working together and secretly pining after a face he couldn't name Simmons was still Simmons. He was Richard, or Dick, even though he could've been. Just the same Griff wasn't Dex or Dexter even though Simmons ought to know his name now with how often Kai screamed it at him either in rage or out of sheer whining because Griff refused to pay attention to her.

The only other person who used his name was Sarge, but even then it was for rare occasions when the man grew soft enough to speak it. Typically it was son if he was being affectionate, Griff if he was being authoritative, but oh so rarely was he Dexter. Griff swallowed heavily and forced himself to look over to Simmons, who leaned against overturned boxes and breathed heavily, a still somewhat dazed look across his face like he couldn't believe what just happened. Honestly neither could Griff if he were honest. What kind of hell planet had they landed on to have something like this among the civil war insanity?

"Simmons?" Griff said, and when that didn't garner a response he uttered, "Uh. Hey. Dick?"

Simmons wrinkled his nose a little at the nickname, rolled his eyes, and sat himself up with slow carefulness. He didn't say anything at first, and Griff wondered if he should just offer the out, let the man breathe and not have to worry about his sanity or his sexuality or whatever ran through Simmons mind like a herd of cats. Griff imagined what would happen if he did so--he could see how it would play out. They wouldn't talk about it. It'd become a shameful thing, hidden, secretive--and then Griff would be alone. Like always. Maybe he'd go insane. Maybe he'd jump off that deep pool of his barely clung to sanity and just turn into--into something unnamable as life churned out more crazier and crazier stunts raised to attention by Blue Team and how everyone he cared about was just dragged along for the ride.

"I wonder if Kimball knows how that system functioned," Griff heard Simmons mumble, half to himself, and felt his heart jam up in his throat. "Some sort of pheromone maybe? Like a roofie or--"

Griff choked on his spit, and then said quickly, "Dick!" to which Simmons snapped his head in Griff's direction, face flushed red even as he mumbled analytical scientific nonsense under his breath. The words paused at the name, though, which Griff hoped was a good sign until he realized Simmons had his nose scrunched up.

"Don't call me that," Simmons said shortly.

"Okay Richard--"

Simmons looked away and muttered a short, "Don't--you just--it was just--"

Griff swallowed his fear, reached out, and grabbed Simmons by the hand. "It's not...pheromones. Or whatever." Simmons stilled and Griff found within himself the courage to forage on. "I didn't--it wasn't because of whatever that misty shit was, Richard." Simmons looked at him, stared at him with a stiff spine out of the corner of his eye, cheeks as red as his hair. "You--you get that, right?"

A second, a beat, then softer, "What are you saying?"

Griff clenched his hand around Simmons and said, "I'm saying I like you."

Simmons laughed, a bit tinged hysterical. He uttered a short and sharp, "Of course you like me that's how pheromone--"

"I love you."

Silence. Griff breathed out, slowly, and took the chance to barrel on while Simmons froze and stared at him with a face that said something that Griff didn't want to interpret in case he was wrong. "I've loved you for a while honestly. I just didn't want to screw everything up when we were at Blood Gulch and you'd given me your organs. Or when we were at Rats Nest and uncomfortable with things. Then when we got to Valhalla you seemed to finally relax and I couldn't just--I couldn't break that so--I mean this didn't happen from nowhere I'm not some animal. I love you and--and yeah maybe I would've liked to tell you someway other than--I mean the mist was weird but it didn't--"

Soft, plaintive, Simmons said, "You love me?" like he couldn't believe it. Griff ducked his head. He felt like a fifteen year old school girl even as he nodded, cheeks flushed out of his own embarrassment that he just blurted things out like that. "But--"

"Is that ok?" Griff said, and he was afraid at how vulnerable he sounded.

"I--Sarge--" Simmons spluttered, eyes wide. Griff snorted. He could figure what Simmons meant; the man looked up to Sarge like a father.

"Pretty sure Sarge knows," Griff grumbled. The man did keep telling him to man up, and he wasn't subtle with all of his teen girl magazines that he tossed into Griff's face when they were alone.

"And he hasn't shot you?" Simmons hissed, surprised. Griff jerked back, equally surprised by the terror in Simmons' face. Not for the first time he wondered just where Simmons came from, how he got into the Simulation Troopers, to result in sheer terror over--what? Sexual attraction?

"No?" Griff said, voice cautious. "Why would he?"

Simmons looked around, and then hissed, "Because your gay?" and Griff jerked back.

"Bi, actually," Griff said, words shorter. He wondered if he read Simmons wrong. "And so's Sarge. I mean he's got one helluva crush on Master Chief, and then another on those old vids of some chic called Lady Gaga." Simmons jerked back, surprised. "But then you know that because he doesn't ever really shut up about it. Right?"

Simmons looked caught out, surprised. "He's...not making jokes?" Simmons said, a little more hesitant, a little more like the Simmons Griff knew. "It's not a 'man crush' thing?"

Griff let go of Simmons hand and scrubbed a hand down his face. He said softly, "No, it's not. You--you thought he was joking?"

Silence, and then a moment later Simmons asked, "Uhm. Can you--can you call me Rich?" Griff found himself smiling.

"Sure. And it's Dex," Griff said. "Dexter if your Sarge, or mad at me." He reached out, touched Simmons face, and leaned in to give him a kiss then paused. "This ok?"

Simmons blinked, murmured, "Yeah. It's ok."

They spent a few more hours in the closet together.

Two days post the mess of mist-inducing sex on the planet Chorus Sarge walked up to Simmons and Griff and patted them both on the back. He addressed Griff first with a sharp, "Attaboy. About time," and then turned to Simmons and said. "Let me know if he mistreats you son," and then without a word sauntered off with a pep in his step. Griff blinked after him.

"Damn," Griff mumbled, "Sarge got some." Simmons let out a hysterical half sort of laugh like he couldn't believe what Griff said, but Griff knew Simmons caught it just the same. "Wonder who?"

A few minutes later a cheerfully humming Emily Gray danced her way down the hall, dressed in civvies, and Griff and Simmons exchanged a glance. They promptly decided they did not want to know who. It's not like it mattered anyway.

[etherealwaifgoddess]

One In A Million - Chpt.9

Summary: Now that the timeline is irrevocably altered Rose has to make a tough decision. Content Warning: smut, a good bit of it.

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! Well, we’re winding down now. Only one more chapter and the epilogue to go. Honestly this chapter is a bit of serious plot followed smut, like half the chapter is smut lol. So... enjoy! XOXO - Ash

Chapter Nine

You know there is no fixing what’s happened. The timeline is irrevocably changed now that Bucky made it through the draft. Your jump point is a month away, circled in red on the calendar hanging in your kitchen. You had spent so much time thinking of ways you could extract yourself from their lives but now the looming reality is, you don’t necessarily have to. You had forged a split in the timeline and this reality is going to keep going whether or not you’re a part of it. The pressing need to jump back to your time so as not to disrupt realities is no longer an issue, the damage is done. 

You’re quiet that night while the guys celebrate Bucky’s good luck. They dance around the living room to old records, trying to get you to join in on their fun. Steve puts on La Vie En Rose, imploring you to dance with him to the sweet tune that initiated your first kiss. You relent, dancing around your tiny living room in his arms, Bucky watching from the sofa with soft eyes. It’s difficult to accept that this could be your life. There are so many pros and cons to staying and you had never really stopped to consider it as a real option. 

Later that night you lay awake in the darkness on your side of the bed. Steve is tangled up with Bucky like an octopus but you only have one ankle looped into their jumble. You stare up at the ceiling running through plans and calculations and options. It’s some time around 2am that you come to the conclusion that you don’t want to go back. A scary revelation for sure, but one a small part of you had suspected was coming for months now.  

The 1940s are problematic compared to your modern life but all the issues don’t overshadow your love for Steve and Bucky. You’ll have to be careful, hiding your relationship until well into your old age when polyamory becomes more acceptable. Steve and Bucky will have to hide their love until then too, unfortunately. You’ll have to put up with society considering you inferior just because you’re a woman. There won’t be a Starbucks latte back in your life until you’re too old to really enjoy one. You won’t have the luxury of a smartphone or a decent computer until you’re well into your eighties. It’s jarring to realize how much you had taken for granted when you were volunteering to go back. 

You look over at your guys, sighing quietly to yourself in the darkness. It’s still worth it. Every inconvenience, every struggle, it’s worth it to have them in your life. To get to see the soft little looks Bucky gives Steve when he’s overcome with love for him. To spend a quiet day listening to the scritching of charcoal on paper as Steve loses himself in another drawing. Getting to see the way the first rays of sunlight hit Steve’s golden mane of hair in the early morning. Hearing Bucky’s laugh, so loud and authentic, when something funny catches him off guard. The way they both will randomly scoop you up in their arms, peppering you with kisses and whispers of I love you. Staying with them is worth it all in spades. 

The next day you’re the first one up. You had caught a few hours sleep in the wee hours of the morning but they were restless ones. A pot of coffee brews on the stove, the smell alone helping to wake you up. You’re making pancakes for your guys, a special Saturday morning treat that you make sometimes when the mood strikes. There are fluffy stacks waiting on plates when Steve finally emerges from the bedroom looking adorably sleep rumpled. Bucky is only a few steps behind, yawning and stretching as he joins you. 

“Wow, I got lucky two days in a row now. I should put down money on a game or something.” Bucky teases, snatching up a plate for himself. 

“Actually these were a treat for Steve.” you say just to be smart. 

With a wicked smirk, Steve grabs the plate away from Bucky who scrabbles after it frantically, unwilling to lose his precious breakfast treat. 

You roll your eyes and give one of the other plates to Bucky, placing a kiss on top of his disheveled hair when he takes his seat at the table, “You’re lucky I love you both.” 

“And we know it.” he tells you before taking a bite of the hot syrup laden cakes. 

You spend a lazy weekend at home with the guys, quietly working through your plans to get word back to your team that you’re okay. Steve paints with watercolors and Bucky works on repairing the broken slats in your fence out back, both of them happily occupied while you plan. You’ve run through every scenario you can think of and it should work the way you intend it to. The jump point is designed to take you back to the lab and it’s timeline, but it may not necessarily need you. The brooch needs to be activated and then, after a short countdown, the brooch and whatever it’s attached to will blink back to the lab. You don’t know if it requires an actual living creature or if an inanimate object will do but you figure something with a pulse is a safer bet. Some poor little mouse or bunny is going to have the journey of a lifetime. The team will be displeased you messed up the timeline but hopefully they understand your reasons for staying. 

Plans set in your mind, all you have to do now is wait a few weeks until the jump point. The world seems to shift again now that things have been decided. You feel connected to the thrumming city around you again. The older man running the butcher shop seems kinder, the girl who works at the bakery could be a potential new friend. Possibilities are endless now that you have time. 

Dinner is a lively affair. All three of you are restless after a whole day of hanging around the house. Bucky cooks up the steaks you’d bought on your quick trip out and you toast the bread you’d gotten from the bakery in the oven with lots of butter and garlic. Steve mixes up a salad of vegetables from your kitchen basket and your garden, wanting to contribute to the meal. It’s a nice spread by the time you’re all done and you choose to eat outside on a blanket so you can watch the sunset. The weather is warming up finally and as long as you have a light sweater you’ll be okay to stay out for a bit even once the sun goes down. 

As expected, none of you want to go inside, even after nightfall. Stargazing in the city isn’t great due to the light pollution but you can still see some of the twinkling stars in the night sky. You’re lying between Steve and Bucky who are wrapped around you and holding hands across your middle. It’s sweet and you can see why Bucky loves being in the center of the bed. The guys are up to something, you can tell when they start to stroke along each other’s hands and wrists with slow, fluid motions. Soon they’re littering kisses on your shoulders and nuzzling in closer. 

“You see that pretty little constellation there?” Bucky says pointing at the night sky, “The one to the right of the moon?” 

“Cassiopeia?” you ask him, zig zagging your finger along its shape.

“Our girl is smart, Steve.” Bucky praises, “Yeah, darlin’, cassiopeia. Did you know you have almost the exact same pattern in freckles on the back of your right thigh?”

“I do not.” you snort.

“You do,” Steve chimes in, adding in a low tone, “I would be happy to show you if you’d like to move this inside.” 

You roll your eyes at his antics but shrug, “I think that can be arranged.” 

Bucky is standing before you can even fully sit up, he scoops you up into his arms and you let out a very unladylike squeal. Steve is shushing you, grinning as if he approves of Bucky’s ridiculous show of bravado. You’re glad you ran the dishes in earlier but the cups and blankets will have to wait until morning. All three of you have other things in mind.

Bucky carries you all the way to your bedroom, depositing you on the enormous bed with a playful flop. Bouncing on the mattress elicits another squeak from you and Bucky chuckles at the sound. Crawling over your body like a lion going in for the kill, Bucky starts unbuttoning the long trail of opalescent buttons on the front of your dress. He only gets down to your waist before he showers your breasts with kisses, mouthing over the slippery satin of your brassiere until your breaths are coming in harsh gasps. You roll your head to the side, eyes fluttering open for a minute and you catch sight of Steve. And what a sight it is. Steve is leaning up against the door frame, still fully clothed, palming himself over his trousers. His cheeks are stained a deep pink, pupils blown wide with lust. “Stevie.” you gasp out his name like a prayer.

Bucky lifts his head at your voice and looks back catching sight of Steve himself. “Gonna join us?” he asks, pulling back from you to extend a hand.

Steve gives him a lazy, smug smile before coming over to take his hand. Bucky pulls him in quickly, Steve slamming against his chest roughly. Bucky’s mouth is demanding, possessive, and Steve can’t get enough. You lay back, content to watch them have their moment. Fumbling with your buttons you get them all undone and push the sides away, leaving you bare except for your bra and panties. Your guys are taking their time loving on one another above you so you take the opportunity to slip a hand down between your folds. If you’re going to have a front row seat, you might as well enjoy the show. 

A breathless unf slips past your lips; you got yourself closer to the edge much faster than you’d expected. Both pairs of blue eyes snap down to look at you and your hand stills beneath your panties. “Hi” you say sheepishly. 

“Whatcha doin’ doll?” Steve asks with a smirk.

“Enjoying the show.” 

“If you’re enjoying it so much maybe you should join in.” Steve leans down to trail kisses from your throat down to the lacy edge of your panties. Bucky is kissing lines along Steve’s back and you don’t know which is working you up more, Steve’s mouth on your skin or Bucky’s on his.

“You like watching us?” Bucky taunts, having caught on to your not so subtle staring.

You nod, “Yeah. So much.”

“What if, instead of taking turns, tonight we can all enjoy ourselves together?” 

Steve’s whole body shudders at the suggestion but you’re unsure of the logistics.

“How? I mean, yes. But, how?”

“Well, you can stay right there and let Stevie fill up that perfect little pussy of yours, and while he’s busy doing that I’ll be busy filling him up.” 

Steve whimpers and you moan. Bucky knew his suggestion would be a hit but he loves hearing your reactions. You nod frantically, helping Steve get your clothes off while Bucky undresses himself and starts tugging at Steve’s shirt. “Stevie,” Bucky coos after he gets all three of you bare, “Why don’t you go down on our girl while I get you ready?” 

Steve doesn’t have to be told twice, sliding quickly down your body to oblige Bucky’s request. You lean up a little on your elbows, wanting to watch. Bucky is so careful with Steve, slowly pressing a vaseline coated finger into his hole until Steve gasps against your throbbing clit. Bucky is babbling a stream of praise as he adds another finger, slowly working Steve open. Steve has to pause, resting his head against you, hips thrust involuntarily, when Bucky grazes his prostate with two curled fingers. “Buck, enough. I wanna feel it. Enough.” Steve pants out, desperate. 

“You good, darlin’?” Bucky asks you, making sure you don’t need more time yourself. 

“Mhmm” you moan in assent. 

Steve moves up from between your legs, holding onto your hips with a loving squeeze as he lines himself up with your entrance. He pushes in slowly as always, letting you get used to the size of him before burying himself fully inside you. Steve stills and you see Bucky running a hand along his back, giving Steve a moment before he breaches the tight ring of muscles and drives himself home. Steve is shaking, breaths coming in pants, and he’s gripping your hips so tightly you’re certain you’ll have bruises in the morning. You’re not sure who starts moving first but after a moment the three of you fall into a rhythm, gradually increasing your pace until it’s frenzied and desperate. Steve reaches a hand down to toy with your already too sensitive clit and you fall off the edge of your orgasm. Steve curses, knowing he should have expected the chain reaction he just set off. Between Bucky hitting his prostate with every thrust and your inner walls squeezing around his cock while you come beneath him, it’s all just too much. Steve comes with a shout, harder than he has ever before in his life, and thinks he may actually black out for a breathless moment. Bucky, driven to his own edge watching you fall apart for Steve, is lost when Steve’s muscles clamp down around him while he comes. Bucky gets a few more stuttering thrusts before he’s spilling deep in Steve who shudders a few more futile thrusts in you at the sensation. You’re breathing heavily under the pile of your guys, amazed and blissed out beyond words. 

Bucky is laying delicately on Steve who is laying not delicately on top of you. He’s so light though, it doesn’t bother you and you wrap your arms around him when he starts to roll off to the side when Bucky finally lets him go. All three of you need cleaned up but no one’s brains are working quite yet and instead you lay in your tangle, idly stroking whatever limbs are closest and enjoying the quiet post orgasmic bliss. 

A little while later Steve nudges your chin with his, getting you to look him in the eye. “That was okay, right?”

You give him a reassuring smile, “More than alright.” 

He lets out a relieved breath at your words. “Good. Great. I love being with you, I really do. But Buck and I… we go way back and I still need him too sometimes.” 

“Sweetheart, I didn’t expect you and Bucky to stop having sex just because we started. You two should still enjoy each other whenever you want, whether it includes me or not. I’m sure there will be times when it’s just you and me or just Bucky and me. That needs to be okay too.” 

“You really are one in a million.”  Steve says, his voice soft with something akin to wonder. He snuggles closer, wrapping you so tight you can scarcely breathe. Bucky huffs seeing Steve enveloping you and dives on top of you both so as not be left out. Between the squirming and laughter somehow you get comfortable and a shower is put off again until cooler heads can prevail.

Tag list! @wolfarrowepz​

[ficklepicklefandoms]

in dublin’s fair city ~ t.h

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Requested: no

Word count: 2,537 (my longest one ever!)

Warnings: Binge drinking, swearing, Irish slang and pure Dublin shenanigans.

Hi guys! I’ve had this in my drafts since July which is highly criminal if you ask me! There’s a lot of things that I love about my fair city of Dublin (nickname comes from the song Molly Malone. Listen to this classic!) and I am so excited to be able to share lots of them with you through this one shot! Here comes the bad news... I have final exams in June and need to study hard to get the points I need for my university course. I’m hoping to get some things out to you guys before then but it may be Easter break before anything comes your way. Thank you for your constant support and love with my writing. Please make sure to request things in my ask box for the future! Love and hugs as always xx

My friends and I sat around a small table in The Temple Bar Pub nursing our third or fourth pint of the night. It was nearing 8 and I’d lost count of how many drinks I’d had. The Irish trad music lilting through the air and the harmonious laughter of my friends reminded me my pint was slowly emptying. It would fill up soon without a doubt on earth.

“Ah here now, would you fill your glass before you embarrass us!” My friend Faye called out to me with a large smile adorning her face.

“Well, my drink is nearly gone too so if you’re going you better fill mine too,” Jess called out to me. The rest of our large group agreed and knocked back their drinks.

“Only if you’re buying.” I hit back wittily, knocking back the remainder of the liquid and feeling the tiniest burn on my throat. I held out my hand and she placed a fifty euro note in my hand. I laughed knowing she was being scaldy and reached into my pocket to pull out another fifty euro note.

“Pints again there Y/N, you’ll need at least another two before you get a fella.” Emma laughed loudly and I rolled my blurry eyes. I scooted past Max and Sammy in our booth, collecting the empty glasses before Alannah followed me to help me carry the pints.

“John, we’re gonna need another round,” I called out to the barman. He sauntered over and took the money out of my hands. I placed the empty glasses on the bar and Alannah stood against it

“I assume yous all want the same again. Orchard Thieves or Heineken?” He asked with a chuckle, his accent thick and warm.

“What do you take us for, fecking eejits? Orchard Thieves, ya bollocks.” Alannah laughed and John moved to pull the pints. 

Our group was quite large. We all kept in contact after school ended and it was rare that we were all together like old times. 

John had pulled the first two pints and Alannah took them over to the table. I waited for the next two and did the same. Alannah collected her last two and I waited for my pint to be pulled. John handed me back far too much money for what we got but I accepted it, knowing it’d be a lost war.

I picked up my glass and began to head back to the table until my journey was disrupted by a body colliding into me.

“Ah swinging Jaysus watch where you’re heading!” I exclaimed as my pint went all over the floor. I silently cursed more in my mind as I was known in this pub for constantly spilling drinks. John never minded pouring me another on the house but I always felt guilty.

“I barely understood that but I sincerely apologise and I’ll buy you another pint.” A British accent spoke apologetically. I sipped what was left in the glass before meeting the eyes of the English man in front of me.

“Holy Mother of Mary I’m bloody locked if I think I’m seeing Tom Holland.” I choked as my drink got caught in my throat. Tom’s hand came in contact with my back gently as I coughed. 

“You’re seeing Tom Holland love, don’t worry about being locked or whatever you called it. What’s your name?” Tom said with a slight chuckle in his voice. His hand left my back and I felt the remaining warmth

Just then, Faye came running over. She was drunk and probably thought I’d left in her state.

“Y/N, sweetheart you need to be more careful with your pi- OH MY GOOD JESUS IS THAT THE SPIDERMAN FELLA?” She shouted. Tom looked alarmed and he seemed to be looking for someone. I hit Faye a smack on the arm and she rubbed it gingerly.

“Faye head back to the table I’m getting a pint with Tom. I’ll be back in a minute.” I ushered her quickly towards the group and she began gossiping as soon as she sat down. The boys at the table bounced excitedly in their seats, wanted to meet the movie star.

“So, that pint?” Tom laughed as we walked to the bar beside each other. “What’re you drinking Y/N?”

“Thieves,” I said waving my hand to John. “It went on the floor John, you’re gonna need a mop.”

“Ah, it’s grand love don’t be worrying. The same for your fella as well?” He smirked.

“Um yeah, can we get three pints?” He asked politely as he shifted from one foot to the other. I looked at him sightly funny as he ordered the three. “Harrison should be here somewhere, MATE!” He shouted as he spotted him. Harrison walked through the crowded pub and greeted his friend. I could feel the alcohol taking effect and I could hardly believe that Tom Holland was buying me a pint.

“Who’s the girl Tom?” Harrison asked as our pints came and Tom paid.

“Y/N, Tom spilt my pint and he owes me one,” I said with a wave as I began to gulp down the cider. “My mates are at that table over there, do yous want to join us?” I asked feeling a bit confident. My mind was buzzing Tom Holland had just bought me a pint and I wasn’t going to lie to myself and say I wasn’t attracted to him. And I also quietly thought of Max and Sammy, the Marvel geeks who’d kill to chat to the web-slinging hero. 

“Drinking with the prettiest girl in the pub? How could I say no?” Tom said as Harrison patted his back. I let out an embarrassed giggle and led them to the booth where my friends sat staring at us.

“Hey Y/N, the pretty girl with the short blonde hair, what’s her name?” Harrison asked as we made our way through the crowd carefully.

“Her name’s Alannah. She’s studying human nutrition in Queen’s up in Belfast. Slide in on her I doubt she’d mind,” I whispered quickly. I saw Alannah glance our way and Harrison waved softly.

“Tom and Harrison are drinking with us tonight, no objections. Tom and Harrison, the gang. Gang, Tom and Harrison. Play nice you wallys,” I said plopping down beside Tom after Harrison took a place beside Alannah, introducing himself quickly.

The group began chatting, Sammy and Max asking Tom about Spiderman and the sort. Alannah and Harrison seemed to be hitting it off quite well. Soon enough Tom and I started having a chat of our own. We talked about life, my law course at uni and his acting career. We had scooched closer together after the second pint, the cosy pub creating a homely atmosphere.

“So Y/N, where is one place I have to visit while I’m here? I know about the Guinness Storehouse and all that jazz but what’s your favourite place?” Tom asked me quietly as the group chatted around us. Without hesitation, I answered.

“The Iveagh Gardens without question. It’s so beautiful. We’re heading to a concert there tonight if you and Harrison want to tag along, Emma will get you tickets in minutes.” I said with a wave to Emma. She nodded her head and began texting on her phone. “She’s owed a favour by the lads at Aiken.” Tom smiled widely and placed his arm around my shoulders. I felt my body stiffen at his touch but I rapidly moulded into his body, enjoying the heat it provided. 

“I’m sure it’s beautiful but I doubt anything I see will ever be as beautiful as you.” He whispered into my ear. My cheeks were already quite red from the pints I’d been drinking but I swear at that moment I was officially a tomato.

“Y/N, polish off your drink there it’s nearly 10. Gates are opening in fifteen minutes. It's not too far a walk but you know what we’re like.” Max spoke to me across the table. He completed his pint as the table began to finish up their drinks and grab their coats.

My pint remained virtually untouched, Tom’s stunning eyes distracting me from it. Me being myself, I couldn’t let a good and full pint go to waste so, I did what any good Irish girl would. I decided to neck it.

“Hey Y/N watch it!” Tom laughs as he watches me intently.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s done it more than once.” Jess laughed. The girls started playing a drumroll on the table as I continued to knock back my pint. Tom’s eyes glinted with something I couldn’t quite place but he clapped loudly with the others as I slammed my glass onto the mahogany table.

“Right darlings, let us head to the gardens of Iveagh to hear the kings play,” I announced as I tugged on my leather jacket and grabbed my bag.

“The Kings? Are they some cool Irish band or something?” Tom asked as our group began to leave the pub.

“No silly, I just call them that. It’s a benefit concert for the homeless and there are tons of great Irish artists playing the gig. Walking On Cars, Keywest, Inhaler, Kodaline and the greatest band to come out of Dublin City, Aslan.” I waved goodbye to the barmen and John as the warm July air greeted me.

Tom looked visibly confused as we followed the group out onto the cobbled streets of Temple Bar.

“I’ve never heard of them before. Are they any good?” He asked curiously as we began our walk to the park at the back of the group. I could see Harrison and Alannah chatted animatedly and smiled to myself. I was hoping things would go well with the pair.

“Well you see, they were huge in the eighties. My ma was a huge fan of them and ended up becoming mates with them. She and her friends used to get all-access passes to the gigs in The Towers in Ballymun and they’d have a mental time.” I finished quickly with a sigh. My cheeks burned as Tom’s gaze held mine as we trudged up Grafton Street, the sound of buskers and their music made my heart warm.

“If they’re any good I might become of groupie myself.” Tom laughed as we passed by the gates of St Stephen’s Green.

“Luas! Quick leg it!” I shouted as the tram began to move along the tracks. MY group of friends yelled loudly as they rushed to get the other side of the tracks in one piece. Seeing that Tom had no idea what I was on about, I grabbed his hand and pulled him across the tracks with me, the two of us laughing loudly as we broke our hands apart to have a spontaneous race to the top of Harcourt Street.

We finished our race out of breath with Tom winning by the skin of his teeth. I want to emphasis that strongly. Skin. Of. His. Teeth.

“Not bad at all. But please tell me we’re almost there, I could use a drink.” Tom laughed as his body heaved, begging for air to enter his lungs.

“It’s a two-minute walk but we’ll need to wait for Emma. She has the tickets and I’ll have to name drop so we can get barrier.” I breathed, placing my hands on my knees as I gasped for air with a smile.

“You are one of a kind aren’t you Y/N.” Tom grinned as I looked up at him from my defeated position.

“Mr Holland, what  in the world do you mean by that?” I let out a schoolgirl’s giggle and silently kicked myself in the arse. I’d known this handsome man for no less than three hours and was slightly tipsy but that was beside the point. As I stared into his eyes, my heart began to burn with a feeling I hadn’t ever felt before.

“What I mean is, you don’t meet a girl like you ever Millenium. You’re unique and funny and seem to have the coolest life. I don’t want this night to end. Ever.” He replied. My cheeks flushed with an unknown feeling. My heart was fit to burst and I finally had the strength to straighten myself into an upright position.

“I’ll have you know that the night hasn’t even started yet. Our little group is on our tail so we’ll be in the gates where our night will begin in a matter of minutes.” I smiled. He stared back at me with a mixture of relief and happiness. “And this is completely off record, but when the night officially starts, I don’t think I’m going to want it to end either.”

He let out a breathy chuckle and took my hand in his as the group caught up to us. Alannah and Harrison were snuggled closely together thanks to Harrison’s arm perched around her shoulder. She sent a giddy smile my way and my heart exploded with pride. She had truly grown up now.

Our group seemed to be louder than the whole queue combined and it was no different when Emma flashed the tickets to gain us entry into the beautiful park. I had to become a storyteller to try and convince the lovely security man, Declan, to let us in to get barrier, but it turns out I didn’t have to.

“L/N? As in your mother is Y/M/N? Christy has you all sorted don’t worry. Take it as the babysitting money.” Declan smiled at me. I let out a laugh and thanked him graciously before he led us into the park for prime standing room.

“Whatever you need, just ask. Drinks are free. Christy’s orders. I’ll grab yous all some pints and I’ll be back in a few.” Declan smiled. We all shouted our thanks and stood to wait for the band to come on.

The 10 minutes came and went. Soon enough Aslan’s set began and I truly had an out of body experience. Tom kept his arm gripped around my waist as the set went on. I felt warmth and safety with his arm around me. 

“Oh my god, this is my favourite song!” I let out a loud yell as the chords of their song Crazy World were heard out of the speakers. Tom laughed as I wiggled out of his grasp to down my pint and start dancing. Everyone in the park could feel the cosmic energy that the band emitted as they played their most famous song.

Tom joined me in my dance, spinning me around and acting the eejit as I screamed the lyrics at the top of my lungs. When we locked eyes through our hazy, adrenaline-induced vision I felt like home could be anywhere as long as I saw his eyes.

“What would you do if I kissed you right here, right now?” Tom shouted over the noise as my breath caught in my throat. My mind went completely blank as I let my ‘fuck it’ mentality kick in. I did what any good Irish girl would do. I kissed him. Pure. Bliss.

In that very minute, Dublin became even fairer. And I had never felt more alive.

[life-observed]

The Crane Wife

Ten days after I called off my engagement I was supposed to go on a scientific expedition to study the whooping crane on the gulf coast of Texas. Surely, I will cancel this trip, I thought, as I shopped for nylon hiking pants that zipped off at the knee. Surely, a person who calls off a wedding is meant to be sitting sadly at home, reflecting on the enormity of what has transpired and not doing whatever it is I am about to be doing that requires a pair of plastic clogs with drainage holes. Surely, I thought, as I tried on a very large and floppy hat featuring a pull cord that fastened beneath my chin, it would be wrong to even be wearing a hat that looks like this when something in my life has gone so terribly wrong.

Ten days earlier I had cried and I had yelled and I had packed up my dog and driven away from the upstate New York house with two willow trees I had bought with my fiancé.

Ten days later and I didn’t want to do anything I was supposed to do.

*

I went to Texas to study the whooping crane because I was researching a novel. In my novel there were biologists doing field research about birds and I had no idea what field research actually looked like and so the scientists in my novel draft did things like shuffle around great stacks of papers and frown. The good people of the Earthwatch organization assured me I was welcome on the trip and would get to participate in “real science” during my time on the gulf. But as I waited to be picked up by my team in Corpus Christi, I was nervous—I imagined everyone else would be a scientist or a birder and have daunting binoculars.

The biologist running the trip rolled up in in a large white van with a boat hitch and the words BIOLOGICAL SCIENCES stenciled across the side. Jeff was forty-ish, and wore sunglasses and a backward baseball cap. He had a winter beard and a neon-green cast on his left arm. He’d broken his arm playing hockey with his sons a week before. The first thing Jeff said was, “We’ll head back to camp, but I hope you don’t mind we run by the liquor store first.” I felt more optimistic about my suitability for science.

*

Not long before I’d called off my engagement it was Christmas.

The woman who was supposed to be my mother-in-law was a wildly talented quilter and made stockings with Beatrix Potter characters on them for every family member. The previous Christmas she had asked me what character I wanted to be (my fiancé was Benjamin Bunny). I agonized over the decision. It felt important, like whichever character I chose would represent my role in this new family. I chose Squirrel Nutkin, a squirrel with a blazing red tail—an epic, adventuresome figure who ultimately loses his tail as the price for his daring and pride.

I arrived in Ohio that Christmas and looked to the banister to see where my squirrel had found his place. Instead, I found a mouse. A mouse in a pink dress and apron. A mouse holding a broom and dustpan, serious about sweeping. A mouse named Hunca Munca. The woman who was supposed to become my mother-in-law said, “I was going to do the squirrel but then I thought, that just isn’t CJ. This is CJ.”

What she was offering was so nice. She was so nice. I thanked her and felt ungrateful for having wanted a stocking, but not this stocking. Who was I to be choosy? To say that this nice thing she was offering wasn’t a thing I wanted?

When I looked at that mouse with her broom, I wondered which one of us was wrong about who I was.

*

The whooping crane is one of the oldest living bird species on earth. Our expedition was housed at an old fish camp on the Gulf Coast next to the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge, where three hundred of the only six hundred whooping cranes left in the world spend their winters. Our trip was a data-collecting expedition to study behavior and gather data about the resources available to the cranes at Aransas.

The ladies bunkhouse was small and smelled woody and the rows of single beds were made up with quilts. Lindsay, the only other scientist, was a grad student in her early twenties from Wisconsin who loved birds so much that when she told you about them she made the shapes of their necks and beaks with her hands—a pantomime of bird life. Jan, another participant, was a retired geophysicist who had worked for oil companies and now taught high school chemistry. Jan was extremely fit and extremely tan and extremely competent. Jan was not a lifelong birder. She was a woman who had spent two years nursing her mother and her best friend through cancer. They had both recently died and she had lost herself in caring for them, she said. She wanted a week to be herself. Not a teacher or a mother or a wife. This trip was the thing she was giving herself after their passing.

At five o’clock there was a knock on the bunk door and a very old man walked in, followed by Jeff.

“Is it time for cocktail hour?” Warren asked.

Warren was an eighty-four-year-old bachelor from Minnesota. He could not do most of the physical activities required by the trip, but had been on ninety-five Earthwatch expeditions, including this one once before.Warren liked birds okay. What Warren really loved was cocktail hour.

When he came for cocktail hour that first night, his thin, silver hair was damp from the shower and he smelled of shampoo. He was wearing a fresh collared shirt and carrying a bottle of impossibly good scotch.

Jeff took in Warren and Jan and me. “This is a weird group,” Jeff said.

“I like it,” Lindsay said.

*

In the year leading up to calling off my wedding, I often cried or yelled or reasoned or pleaded with my fiancé to tell me that he loved me. To be nice to me. To notice things about how I was living.

One particular time, I had put on a favorite red dress for a wedding. I exploded from the bathroom to show him. He stared at his phone. I wanted him to tell me I looked nice, so I shimmied and squeezed his shoulders and said, “You look nice! Tell me I look nice!” He said, “I told you that you looked nice when you wore that dress last summer. It’s reasonable to assume I still think you look nice in it now.”

Another time he gave me a birthday card with a sticky note inside that said BIRTHDAY. After giving it to me, he explained that because he hadn’t written in it, the card was still in good condition. He took off the sticky and put the unblemished card into our filing cabinet.

I need you to know: I hated that I needed more than this from him. There is nothing more humiliating to me than my own desires. Nothing that makes me hate myself more than being burdensome and less than self-sufficient. I did not want to feel like the kind of nagging woman who might exist in a sit-com.

These were small things, and I told myself it was stupid to feel disappointed by them. I had arrived in my thirties believing that to need things from others made you weak. I think this is true for lots of people but I think it is especially true for women. When men desire things they are “passionate.” When they feel they have not received something they need they are “deprived,” or even “emasculated,” and given permission for all sorts of behavior. But when a woman needs she is needy. She is meant to contain within her own self everything necessary to be happy.

That I wanted someone to articulate that they loved me, that they saw me, was a personal failing and I tried to overcome it.

When I found out that he’d slept with our mutual friend a few weeks after we’d first started seeing each other, he told me we hadn’t officially been dating yet so I shouldn’t mind. I decided he was right. When I found out that he’d kissed another girl on New Year’s Eve months after that, he said that we hadn’t officially discussed monogamy yet, and so I shouldn’t mind. I decided he was right.

I asked to discuss monogamy and, in an effort to be the sort of cool girl who does not have so many inconvenient needs, I said that I didn’t need it. He said he thought we should be monogamous.

*

Here is what I learned once I began studying whooping cranes: only a small part of studying them has anything to do with the birds. Instead we counted berries. Counted crabs. Measured water salinity. Stood in the mud. Measured the speed of the wind.

It turns out, if you want to save a species, you don’t spend your time staring at the bird you want to save. You look at the things it relies on to live instead. You ask if there is enough to eat and drink. You ask if there is a safe place to sleep. Is there enough here to survive?

Wading through the muck of the Aransas Reserve I understood that every chance for food matters. Every pool of drinkable water matters. Every wolfberry dangling from a twig, in Texas, in January, matters. The difference between sustaining life and not having enough was that small.

If there were a kind of rehab for people ashamed to have needs, maybe this was it. You will go to the gulf. You will count every wolfberry. You will measure the depth of each puddle.

*

More than once I’d said to my fiancé, How am I supposed to know you love me if you’re never affectionate or say nice things or say that you love me.

He reminded me that he’d said “I love you” once or twice before. Why couldn’t I just know that he did in perpetuity?

I told him this was like us going on a hiking trip and him telling me he had water in his backpack but not ever giving it to me and then wondering why I was still thirsty.

He told me water wasn’t like love, and he was right.

There are worse things than not receiving love. There are sadder stories than this. There are species going extinct, and a planet warming. I told myself: who are you to complain, you with these frivolous extracurricular needs?

*

On the gulf, I lost myself in the work. I watched the cranes through binoculars and recorded their behavior patterns and I loved their long necks and splashes of red. The cranes looked elegant and ferocious as they contorted their bodies to preen themselves. From the outside, they did not look like a species fighting to survive.

In the mornings we made each other sandwiches and in the evenings we laughed and lent each other fresh socks. We gave each other space in the bathroom. Forgave each other for telling the same stories over and over again. We helped Warren when he had trouble walking. What I am saying is that we took care of each other. What I am saying is we took pleasure in doing so. It’s hard to confess, but the week after I called off my wedding, the week I spent dirty and tired on the gulf, I was happy.

On our way out of the reserve, we often saw wild pigs, black and pink bristly mothers and their young, scurrying through the scrub and rolling in the dust among the cacti. In the van each night, we made bets on how many wild pigs we might see on our drive home.

One night, halfway through the trip, I bet reasonably. We usually saw four, I hoped for five, but I bet three because I figured it was the most that could be expected.

Warren bet wildly, optimistically, too high.

“Twenty pigs,” Warren said. He rested his interlaced fingers on his soft chest.

We laughed and slapped the vinyl van seats at this boldness.

But the thing is, we saw twenty pigs on the drive home that night. And in the thick of our celebrations, I realized how sad it was that I’d bet so low. That I wouldn’t even let myself imagine receiving as much as I’d hoped for.

*

What I learned to do, in my relationship with my fiancé, was to survive on less. At what should have been the breaking point but wasn’t, I learned that he had cheated on me. The woman he’d been sleeping with was a friend of his I’d initially wanted to be friends with, too, but who did not seem to like me, and who he’d gaslit me into being jealous of, and then gaslit me into feeling crazy for being jealous of.

The full course of the gaslighting took a year, so by the time I truly found out what had happened, the infidelity was already a year in the past.

It was new news to me but old news to my fiancé.

Logically, he said, it doesn’t matter anymore.

It had happened a year ago. Why was I getting worked up over ancient history?

I did the mental gymnastics required.

I convinced myself that I was a logical woman who could consider this information about having been cheated on, about his not wearing a condom, and I could separate it from the current reality of our life together.

Why did I need to know that we’d been monogamous? Why did I need to have and discuss inconvenient feelings about this ancient history?

I would not be a woman who needed these things, I decided.

I would need less. And less.

I got very good at this.

*

“The Crane Wife” is a story from Japanese folklore. I found a copy in the reserve’s gift shop among the baseball caps and bumper stickers that said GIVE A WHOOP. In the story, there is a crane who tricks a man into thinking she is a woman so she can marry him. She loves him, but knows that he will not love her if she is a crane so she spends every night plucking out all of her feathers with her beak. She hopes that he will not see what she really is: a bird who must be cared for, a bird capable of flight, a creature, with creature needs. Every morning, the crane-wife is exhausted, but she is a woman again. To keep becoming a woman is so much self-erasing work. She never sleeps. She plucks out all her feathers, one by one.

*

One night on the gulf, we bought a sack of oysters off a passing fishing boat. We’d spent so long on the water that day I felt like I was still bobbing up and down in the current as I sat in my camp chair. We ate the oysters and drank. Jan took the shucking knife away from me because it kept slipping into my palm. Feral cats trolled the shucked shells and pleaded with us for scraps.

Jeff was playing with the sighting scope we used to watch the birds, and I asked, “What are you looking for in the middle of the night?” He gestured me over and when I looked through the sight the moon swam up close.

I think I was afraid that if I called off my wedding I was going to ruin myself. That doing it would disfigure the story of my life in some irredeemable way. I had experienced worse things than this, but none threatened my American understanding of a life as much as a called-off wedding did. What I understood on the other side of my decision, on the gulf, was that there was no such thing as ruining yourself. There are ways to be wounded and ways to survive those wounds, but no one can survive denying their own needs. To be a crane-wife is unsustainable.

I had never seen the moon so up-close before. What struck me most was how battered she looked. How textured and pocked by impacts. There was a whole story written on her face—her face, which from a distance looked perfect.

*

It’s easy to say that I left my fiancé because he cheated on me. It’s harder to explain the truth. The truth is that I didn’t leave him when I found out. Not even for one night.

I found out about the cheating before we got engaged and I still said yes when he proposed in the park on a day we were meant to be celebrating a job I’d just gotten that morning. Said yes even though I’d told him I was politically opposed to the diamonds he’d convinced me were necessary. Said yes even though he turned our proposal into a joke by making a Bachelor reference and giving me a rose. I am ashamed of all of this.

He hadn’t said one specific thing about me or us during the proposal, and on the long trail walk out of the park I felt robbed of the kind of special declaration I’d hoped a proposal would entail, and, in spite of hating myself for wanting this, hating myself more for fishing for it, I asked him, “Why do you love me? Why do you think we should get married? Really?”

He said he wanted to be with me because I wasn’t annoying or needy. Because I liked beer. Because I was low-maintenance.

I didn’t say anything. A little further down the road he added that he thought I’d make a good mother.

This wasn’t what I hoped he would say. But it was what was being offered. And who was I to want more?

I didn’t leave when he said that the woman he had cheated on me with had told him over the phone that she thought it was unfair that I didn’t want them to be friends anymore, and could they still?

I didn’t leave when he wanted to invite her to our wedding. Or when, after I said she could not come to our wedding, he got frustrated and asked what he was supposed to do when his mother and his friends asked why she wasn’t there.

Reader, I almost married him.

*

Even now I hear the words as shameful: Thirsty. Needy. The worst things a woman can be. Some days I still tell myself to take what is offered, because if it isn’t enough, it is I who wants too much. I am ashamed to be writing about this instead of writing about the whooping cranes, or literal famines, or any of the truer needs of the world.

But what I want to tell you is that I left my fiancé when it was almost too late. And I tell people the story of being cheated on because that story is simple. People know how it goes. But it’s harder to tell the story of how I convinced myself I didn’t need what was necessary to survive. How I convinced myself it was my lack of needs that made me worthy of love.

*

After cocktail hour one night, in the cabin’s kitchen, I told Lindsay about how I’d blown up my life the week before. I told her because I’d just received a voice mail saying I could get a partial refund for my high-necked wedding gown. The refund would be partial because they had already made the base of the dress but had not done any of the beadwork yet. They said the pieces of the dress could still be unstitched and used for something else. I had caught them just in time.

I told Lindsay because she was beautiful and kind and patient and loved good things like birds and I wondered what she would say back to me. What would every good person I knew say to me when I told them that the wedding to which they’d RSVP’d was off and that the life I’d been building for three years was going to be unstitched and repurposed?

Lindsay said it was brave not to do a thing just because everyone expected you to do it.

Jeff was sitting outside in front of the cabin with Warren as Lindsay and I talked, tilting the sighting scope so it pointed toward the moon. The screen door was open and I knew he’d heard me, but he never said anything about my confession.

What he did do was let me drive the boat.

The next day it was just him and me and Lindsay on the water. We were cruising fast and loud. “You drive,” Jeff shouted over the motor. Lindsay grinned and nodded. I had never driven a boat before. “What do I do?” I shouted. Jeff shrugged. I took the wheel. We cruised past small islands, families of pink roseate spoonbills, garbage tankers swarmed by seagulls, fields of grass and wolfberries, and I realized it was not that remarkable for a person to understand what another person needed.

https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2019/07/16/the-crane-wife/

[lavenderbones22]

Video Games - Ben Hardy

Summary: Ben's obsessed with his new video game and his girlfriend must find a way to get his attention back to her.

Requested: 'Hey👋🏼 I was wondering if you could do an imagine with Ben where you're sitting on his lap while he plays fifa or something, this is vague sorry!'

Word Count: 2314

A/N Okay....I had this sitting in my drafts...haven’t posted in a while, let me know what you guys think! love xxx

PS. It wouldn’t let me post a gif...weird.

--------

The sounds of Fifa echoed through our apartment. Crowd cheers, commentator voices, Ben swearing and complaining. This had been going on for five days straight now and I'd had enough.

I was sat on the edge of the sofa rolling a joint on the coffee table. It was nearly one in the morning and thankfully neither of us had work tomorrow (or today really). I was a little drunk on red wine and high from smoking half the joint that Ben hadn't finished. I was tired too, but also horny.

"For fucks sake!" My boyfriends voice bellowed down the hall in frustration. He was honestly being crazy about this game. Maybe I should call his mum?

I fell back onto the forrest green velvet sofa that my mum had bought us when we moved into this place a year ago. It was my favourite thing to suck Ben's dick on. I fiddled with the perfectly rolled joint between my fingers. I relied on this stuff too much these days. I should cut back.

But not tonight.

Reaching over to the arm of the sofa for my baby pink lighter, I placed the spliff between my lips and brought the flame to it. The burn to the back of my throat as I inhaled the smoke eased me.

"Right," I said out loud to myself. "Ben!" I called out, standing up, wobbling, catching myself-giggling. "More fucked than I thought," I mumbled absentmindedly whilst meandering towards my lover.

"Ben," I attempted to gain his attention again when I reached the doorway of the study. Watching him I couldn't help but smile. Eyes wide with focus, biting his lip in concentration. He always did that whenever he was paying particular attention to something. The lip bite on those perfect, plump lips made me wet.

He still hadn't acknowledged me after a minute, so without another thought I sat myself down on his lap. "B-babe," he groaned, eyes still glued to the television, fingers to the controller. I threw my arm around his neck, my spliff moving back and forth to my lips in the other as I continued to puff away.

"Are you losing?" I asked, bringing the joint to his lips where he inhaled sharply.

"Mmm."

"Then why are you still playing?"

No response.

"Ben," my fingers delicately glided along his neck and although he tried to hide it, I felt him shiver under my touch. "Then why are you playing?" I asked again, a lowered voice this time.

The sounds of the game and the clicking of his fingers on the controls resonated around the small room. The study was one of my favourite places of our small Notting Hill apartment. The walls were adorned in bookshelves and black and white framed photos of bands from the seventies and eighties. I was a huge glam rock fan, Queen being a vice of mine, so you could imagine my excitement when Ben called to tell me he had gotten the part of Roger Taylor in the movie.

My fingers slid from his neck up into his hair, a shiver again.

"Do you like that?" I whispered into his ear, kissing just under it.

The sounds of the controller were getting less frequent. I was getting to him.

In between turning my boyfriend on, I shared the spliff with him, reaching the end quicker than anticipated. Dropping the roach on the ground carelessly, my lips attached themselves to the soft skin along Ben's neck. Licking, biting, sucking, everything to make him forget this stupid fucking game.

"Give up yet?" I murmured against his skin. Both hands were now wrapped around his neck whilst I still sat on his lap, both legs to the side of him. I wanted to straddle him desperately but his hands holding the remote like it was life or death if he didn't, prevented me from doing that.

I could feel his dick growing underneath me so whatever he said to convince me he wasn't turned on now was completely redundant.

"What would you rather do Ben?" I sighed, agitated. His lack of response to me was insulting now. "Me or the game?"

His green orbs met mine briefly, moving back to the television. At my wits end I grabbed the controller and threw it on the ground.

"Hey!" Ben's voice was a pitch higher than usual. "D'ya really have to do that?"

I raised my brows, unimpressed. "Did I really have to do that?" I threw back at him.

"Yeah..."

"You've been ignoring me for days now! I'm over it Ben. Any other girl with sense would have left you to fuck your video game console for christ sake!"

He tried to stifle a laugh at my ridiculous comment.

"Shut up," I slapped his arm playfully before he grabbed me tight around my waist and kissed me hard.

"Better?" He asked, his voice now lowering as his attention was fully turning to me.

"Much better," I smirked.

"Get up then," his hands guided my body off of his lap, as I stood a tap to my bum made me chuckle. "Lemme just turn it off and we'll go to bed," he told me, leaning down to turn his game off and pack the controller away.

"What's so good about it anyway?" I questioned as I raised my arms into the air stretching my back.

"Dunno really," Ben shrugged, looking over his shoulder at me from his spot on the floor. "Just love playing it."

"Well it's time you play something else," I winked at the gorgeous man in front of me who was now raised to his full height, a cheeky smirk plastered on his face as he walked closer and picked me up so I could wrap my arms and legs around his body.

"I love playing that game," he began with light kisses to my neck. "But I fucking love playing you even more."

He carried me into our bedroom, throwing me down on the bed recklessly, giggles flying out from between my lips. Ben was stood in the middle of the bedroom on the red patterned rug we had adorning the floorboards. Ben hated floorboards but I for one loved them. His compromise when he wanted to remove them to put carpet down was that we put a rug in the middle of all the rooms he would have preferred carpet. Although I would never indulge him in knowing I thought it was a good idea, I really loved the coziness it brought to our little townhouse.

"Come here," I beckoned him with one slender finger. He shook his head, laughing, and pulled his sweater over his head taking his t-shirt with it. His ripped chest was exposed, a sight that never got old for me to look at. I must have bit my lip, licked my lips or something suggestive because Ben's face turned animalistic and before I even could process the thought, he'd stripped the rest of his clothes off and was on top of me.

"God you're sexy," his voice breathed heavily into my ear where he was kissing up and down the side of my neck. "So, so sexy." Travelling down my body ever so lightly. I was itching for him to rip my clothes off.

"Touch me, Ben," I begged. "Be rough...you know I love it like that." I was whining and I didn't even care. I'd been so fucking annoyed at his obsession over that stupid game that I'd held out on him for the past few days. We hadn't had sex and what annoyed me even more than not having sex was the fact that Ben hadn't seemed to notice.

"Baby you don't need to tell me how you like it," he croaked, his rough hands that had become rougher recently from all his drumming pulled at my singlet and bra straps. "I know your body like the back of my hand." I shuffled myself around in order to help him remove my clothes easier which after a second he managed to do and threw them across the room.

I arched my back, grinding my still clothed hips into his not-so clothed ones. His erection was huge, pulsing and poking right into me. His moans were drowned out by my nipples that his tongue was appreciating at a rather nice pace. One hand cupped my lonely breast while the other creeped its way down into my pants.

Ben knew how to tease me better than anybody I had encountered before him. He was rough and intense but always knew the juxtaposition that I loved which was him being slow and sensitive right before he fucked me senseless.

I kept telling Ben how much I was enjoying him and what he was doing to me. My words seem to fall onto deaf ears though as he continued to be silent, still endlessly appreciating my body. I supposed I couldn't complain too much, he was about to unleash his inner beast on me and by god was I ready for it.

My hands were ravaging his hair while he undid the buttons and zip of my jeans, pulling them down my tanned legs, pressing a soft kiss to my saturated panties now thanks to his delicious fingers.

Kicking my jeans off Ben pushed them to the corner of the bed in a crumpled heap. Leaning on his shins, he rubbed the outside of my soaked panties purposely pressing harder on my clit that was incredibly swollen by now. I could feel myself throbbing. I could also see Ben throbbing right in front of me, his rock hard dick standing practically on it's own by how turned on he was. Leaning over me, he grinned while he kissed from the middle of my chest down to my belly button.

"Ben please," I begged, arching my back into him more.

"Calm baby," he soothed me, putting his finger to my lips. My neediness subsided for a moment when I took a second to admire him naked before me. The soft glow of the fairy lights that wrapped around our bedhead made him shine in an almost angelic way. It was a warm, orangey glow that illuminated him like he was sent from the heavens. And he kind of was.

His lips that were always so pouty and pink looked even more so in this light. Those lips, fuck. They had been in every single place on my body and I needed them there once more.

"You're so fucking wet," he pressed his finger harder against me pushing a small yelp from me, a squelching sound too coming from my pussy. "You're soaking my fingers even through these panties."

"Then rip them off of me," I dared him, an evil smirk released on his face right before he did just that; ripped them right off my body.

His lips were against me, tongue delving right where I needed it within seconds, lapping at my folds and bringing me as quick as he always did to my orgasm.

I couldn't control the erratic movements of my body as I writhed underneath his strong forearms that he was using in a failed attempt to keep me still. His fingers were opening me up to him fully so that my clit was completely exposed and at the helm of the pleasure train he was currently driving through my body.

"Fuck Ben," I cried, pulling at strands of his blonde locks making him groan in response. "Fuck yeah, nearly there...like that!" I coaxed him running my feet along the curves of his gorgeous ass and up along his lower back.

My piercing screams electrocuted the air when I finally let go and came screaming like a banshee. I could feel Ben smiling as he continued licking me out through my come down obviously very pleased with the result.

"Good?" He asked, sitting up and watching me try to catch my breath.

"What do you think, Einstein?" I rolled my eyes playfully, running my hands through my hair.

Ben laughed and gripped my hips, indicating he wanted me on my stomach. "Over," he demanded simply, yet incredibly animalistic. Giggling, I did as told but not before he pressed his lips to mine.  I could taste me on him; a mix of sweetness and Ben.

I felt him lining himself up against me and a shiver ran through my body in anticipation. Uncontrollably, a moan left my lips as he placed his rock hard dick inside of me. I honestly felt like I was floating. The feeling of us being connected every time was magical,  unlike anything I'd ever experienced with any other guy I'd been with before.

We both moaned simultaneously, the feeling of us united as one almost too much after the short time I'd held out on the boy. I'd never forget the first time we had sex. The sexual tension that had radiated between us until we finally fucked and connected in a physical form was mind blowing.

It hurt in the best way possible as he pulled out almost completely then pushed back into me as hard as he could.

"Fuck," I whined in pleasure, writhing beneath his body, my head hanging between my shoulders trying to control the pleasure he was delivering me.

His lips connected to the side of my neck as he licked along it, leaving little kisses and bites. I would be littered with bruises in the morning.

The moans and groans that left my lips every time Ben thrusted into me, hard, fast and passionately over and over again; they were not human.

We went at it for a good while until Ben quite literally collapsed on top of me.

"You need to stop playing that game so much," I told him, out of breath.

"I think I need to keep playing it if this is what it makes you do!"

Cheeky shit.

[anogete]

Untitled Fake Marriage (Post-Civil War AU) Wintershock - Update and Sneak Peek #1

What’s it about?

Two years after Civil War and the US government is relying heavily on Tony to defend against threats. It’s killing Steve to pull back and not help, but he and his team are wanted by the governments of several countries. Public opinion has turned from supporting the Accords to wanting their superhero defense team back, which makes General Ross parlay with Steve and offer a deal--come back and help us and we’ll grant all of you amnesty, among other things. Steve likes the deal, but he also wants Bucky (who has been living in Wakanda) included in the negotiation.  General Ross and his advisors are reluctant since he is responsible for some high-profile assassins around the world.  They question whether Bucky can be trusted to reenter the country and not disappear in the woodwork. Natasha attends one of the meetings and casually mentions that she doesn’t understand why they’d think Bucky would cut and run or do anything to jeopardize his amnesty since he’s married and trying to start a family.  General Ross and his team latch onto this and agree to include Bucky as long as he’s married and they can send a social worker over to check on Bucky and his wife every week for the first few months. Steve takes this to Bucky, but Bucky rejects it. Shuri finds out what Steve is trying to do and insinuates herself into the situation by contacting the woman picked to act as Bucky’s wife.  Shuri likes Darcy Lewis and thinks Bucky will as well.  Besides, she’s worried about the way he’s isolating himself and working until he passes out at night.  He definitely needs a life and he isn’t finding one in Wakanda.  With a little nudging, she convinces Bucky to talk to Darcy.  And Darcy convinces Bucky to give this crazy plan a shot.

What should you expect? 

Conversations and a resolution to the conflict between Bucky and Tony.  Sassy, fun, and wise Shuri.  Okoye rolling her eyes at Bucky being nervous to meet his future wife and also the clothing Shuri made the poor guy wear to the formal dinner.  A slow burn.  Fake marriage (which is legally a real marriage).  Lots of sexual tension and mutual pining.  Bed-sharing. Bucky struggling to find his place in modern western society with Darcy’s help. Darcy trying to not fall for this guy she’s getting paid to pretend to love.  Some awkward times, some overheard masturbation.  A road trip and a getaway.  A deceptive and heartless government.  A Bucky that would kill for this woman he’s come to care for, and a Darcy who is extremely protective Darcy who will burn down any organization who even tries to mess with her man.  It’ll be a long one.  Exactly how long I’m not sure.  Definitely more than 60k.  Probably more than 80k.  Maybe as much as 90-100k.  We’ll see where the story takes me.  I hope to have the first draft finished by the end of July and something to post within the first two weeks of August.  I can’t promise that at this point, but it’s my goal.

Where am I at?

A few pages into chapter 6 of the first draft.  I believe the word count is sitting around 27,000 right now. I have a general idea of where the story is going and the conflict that will begin to take shape, but I don’t have an outline just yet.  That won’t firm up for a few more chapters.

Where is the damn sneak peek?!

Oh, here you go:

“Do you always get up at this awful hour, Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky closed his eyes when he heard Shuri’s voice behind him. She’d become like his little sister these past two years. He owed her a debt he could never repay, but she seemed to think his gratitude was silly. She’d been brushing it off since they pulled him out of cryo and she fixed his head. “Good morning to you, too,” he said.

She walked over to stand beside him, casting her gaze out over the hazy water. “How are you feeling?”

Looking up at her, he said, “Conflicted.”

Shuri looked down at him, the light catching on the ornate gold jewelry at her ears and neck. The sky was pink and the sun was cresting the horizon. It would be a hot day. “I hope my brother told you that you’re welcome to say if you wish to.”

“He did,” Bucky said. “Thank you.”

She stepped on the high grass growing next to him, flattening it out with her sandals before sitting down. “Do you think they are lying to you?”

Her question caught him off guard. “Steve?”

“No, the others. The American government.”

“Maybe,” Bucky conceded. “I trust Steve. I know he wants to help, but I don’t know if I want the help.”

“Don’t you want your life back?”

“My life is over.” The words were out of his mouth before he could censor them. People didn’t like when he said things like that even though he thought it all the time. His life was over. He was just going through the motions here in Wakanda. It was peaceful and serene and he wasn’t unhappy, but he wasn’t living. He was existing.

Shuri nodded slowly. “You do act that way, don’t you, Sergeant Barnes? Insisting on staying here in this hut and never talking to anyone.”

“You know, you only call me Sergeant Barnes when you’re sassing me, Princess Shuri?”

She glanced over and smiled. Bucky liked when she smiled because her entire face lit up like she was a little girl. She reminded him of his sister when she smiled like that. His sister was dead. She died at the age of eighty-two in a nursing home in New Jersey. Bucky hadn’t been there for her. At the time, he’d been HYDRA’s most prized asset and wouldn’t have even been able to tell you her name.

“Your life is not over,” Shuri told him. “Steve Rogers transmitted the paperwork his government wants you to sign last night. My brother’s advisors are not too happy with me because I made them review it into the early morning.”

“And?” he asked.

“It’s exactly what your friend said it was. They’d be breaking laws if they violate it. Of course, it isn’t like they haven’t broken laws before--their own and others.”

They sat there in silence for a moment before Bucky said, “I’m more worried about everything else.”

“Oh, living, you mean?”

He chuckled softly at her taunting question. “Yeah, living. They want me to pretend to be married. I don’t… I haven’t been around people that much here. I don’t know if I can do that. They’re going to expect me to fight for them and… I don’t know...”

Shuri nodded. “Evil men ask others to fight their battles.”

Her words cut deeply into him. Bucky felt all the emotions--all the frustration and fear and anger and hopelessness--well up in him, tightening his chest and making it difficult to pull in a breath. Unshed tears threatened to spill over his lower lids. He tilted his face up to the sky and blinked them away.

“If they try to force you to fight, then you will come back here,” she said, voice matter-of-fact.

“Shuri, that would put you brother in a bad spot. I’m a diplomatic nightmare now and him harboring me would be even worse.”

“Wakanda can protect itself. You are a friend to us, Bucky. You are not asking, we are offering.”

His chest hurt so badly. “Shuri, you can’t--”

“We can and will.” She looked over at him and smiled again. “I spoke to the woman who will be your wife.”

Bucky’s laugh was strained and lacking any humor. He turned his head away from her for a moment. “I can’t do that. I can’t… I can’t ask someone to give up a year of their life for me.”

“I like her,” Shuri replied, ignoring everything he’d just said. She really could be a brat sometimes.

Sighing in resignation, he caved into the little voice in the back of his mind that was curious about what woman Steve would pick, what woman would agree, and what woman Shuri approved of. “What’s she like?” he asked.

“Would you like to see her?” Shuri asked, grinning.

“No,” Bucky said, the answer almost jumping out of his mouth. “No. I’m not… I can’t do that.”

“You can’t see her?” Shuri asked, her expression some strange mixture of amusement and pity.

“I can’t go through with this,” he replied. “What she looks like doesn’t matter.”