#i was gonna do the keys scene as well but i decided Not Tonight rain gets to live another day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

1kook · 4 years

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espn & bdsm

this is part 6 of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills. warnings; smut (18+) in the forms of brief femdom, handcuffs, nipple clamps, blindfolding, flogging/use of a riding crop, soft dom kook, cunnilingus, spitting, unprotected but passionate, degradation, as always it starts horny n then turns into I love u kink miscellaneous; kook has a swollen ankle so idk how he did all this, jk abuses the fuck outta pet names part 7, revenge gone wrong tbh, this was honestly a beginner’s intro to vanilla bdsm word count; 12.7k

notes; this is like… a healing fic… for the part before lol. also i did not know what was going to happen next as I was writing. anyway entire smut scene was based off THIS bad boy ur welcome fellas and the Jungkook described here is from in the soop episode 2... cutie... yes every single 1 of those words is a link

lmk what you think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

You're at the nail salon with Doyeon when she first mentions it.

“Have you ever, like,” she pauses, making a vague, swivel gesture with her head. You furrow your brows and she sighs. “Topped him. Have you ever been the one to take control?”

Your nail artist blushes, furiously filing away at your nails until the most perfect stiletto shape stares you back in the face. “Oh. Not really,” you admit, wiggling your wet toe nails around in the styrofoam flip flops issued by the salon. “I mean, sometimes I talk him through it.”

Doyeon snorts. “Babe, talking him through it and being the boss are two completely different things,” she says rather dryly, seemingly unbothered by the fact your two nail techs are being subjected to this more than intimate conversation. But you’ve had weirder talks with Doyeon in public; this doesn’t phase you. “Listen,” she says suddenly, dropping her voice down to a whisper that has you leaning closer to hear her. “You know how I’m a member of that site, right?”

You nod. “Oh yeah— Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide!, right?” She kicks your shin, but the jab is muted by the bottom of her own styrofoam flip flop.

“Yeah, just tell everyone here my credit card number while you’re at it,” she hisses. Her anger fades soon enough. “Well, they’re always sending me all sorts of freebies for my devoted patronage,” she explains. She quirks her lips to the side, throwing one brief glance at the blushing nail artists in front of you. Eventually she seems to come to a conclusion. “Long story short they sent me some cuffs and I’m gonna give you them.”

Your jaw drops. “Woah, really? I don’t know… Don’t those usually run kinda pricey?” you ask tentatively. You’re trying to play it off, act like this isn’t something you want, but the reality is so much worse.

The minute the word cuffs had slipped through her lips it’s like a door opened before your eyes. A big, wooden door with chains strapped across it and a padlock you swore you’d never open.

Somewhere in your mind, you had always convinced yourself handcuffs in bed was something you’d like to have done to you. But, because she was your best friend and by extension a personified version of all your freakiest, often filtered, thoughts, it was like Doyeon had reached straight into your cranium and extracted your most secret fantasy— and that was Jungkook in handcuffs.

Your nail artist pats your hand, motioning you to head over to the drying station. Before you can be separated from Doyeon, you whip around to throw her one desperate look. “I have never wanted anything so bad in my life.”

She cackles loudly, easily garnering the attention of every employee and nail enthusiast in the salon with the evil witch vibes she exudes.

Truth be told, your argument with Jungkook had brought upon a newfound appreciation for him. Weird to say, considering you had wanted to kill the dude when it had originally happened. But the great thing about you and Jungkook was that you were flexible people— both in bed and out. A few long conversations later and you had reached the root of the problem.

And that root was your apparent lack of communicating when something was wrong. It was weird to think that anything could ever be wrong when Jungkook was involved. He was your honeybun, sugar plum, pumpy-umpy-umpkin. Your sweetie pie, for lack of better wording, and he could do no wrong—

—is what you’d like to say. But if there’s anything you’ve learned in the past year of dating Jungkook, it’s that perfection was a made up belief that revolved around the idea that someone’s flaws couldn’t possibly be a good thing. And as you’ve come to realize, Jungkook wasn’t the perfect gentleman you’d initially chalked him up to be. He was human, just like you, with his own list of worries and thoughts, and sometimes those thoughts manifested into flaws. They could be ugly or they could be beautiful, but at the end of the day, they all made Jungkook into the person he was— and you loved that person. Disgustingly so.

You had your moments, and he had his. Everything would not always be sunshine and rainbows for the two of you, but it was fine so long as you learned to play in the rain and stomp in the puddles.

Still.

You were you.

A slightly mean, slightly conniving, petty ass human who had been plotting his revenge since the day the two of you made up. I mean, you weren’t actually just going to let him get off the hook like that, were you? He had saved himself last time with a gooey, heartfelt apology and confession, followed by some extraordinary dicking down that had left you Naked and Afraid for three days after.

But you weren’t that easy! No, ma’am. You had to let him know that some gorgeous demon dick was not enough to satisfy you after a fight like that.

Jungkook was in for a desperately needed reality check, one that jingles in your purse when you step out of the Uber that drops you off at his place. You know he’s home because his front light is on, and also because he’d texted you that he was watching some soccer match on tv tonight. He’s a pretty big fan, especially of the club playing tonight, so you decide it’s a perfect night to strike.

Your copy of his key slips right into the keyhole. Your slippers are in the same place they always are, neatly set off to the side right by the stairs. He’s not in his living room, undoubtedly the most perfect place to watch any type of sporting event with that huge Jumbotron of his. The damn thing made it feel like you were in the stadium itself.

There’s a quiet hum coming from upstairs. You creep up the steps, carefully rounding the corner at the landing until you’re staring right into his dimly lit bedroom.

The way Jungkook’s got his bedroom set up is so that you can look directly at his door from the bed, terribly inconvenient for when that sleep paralysis demon hits in the middle of the night and you’re left staring into the dark hallway. He’s snuggled comfortably over his sheets, about three pillows supporting his back. The light of the tinier, more acceptable television he keeps in his room is dancing across his features in bright shades of green. You almost throw yourself onto his mattress like a starfish until you spot the carefully placed foot on the bed.

“What the hell did you do?” you blurt. A wrong move, considering he hadn’t seen you yet and your sudden appearance makes him jump nearly ten feet into the air, almost knocking down the bag of ice that sits on his ankle. “Oh my god, it was that damned Pilates class, wasn’t it?” you fret, rounding the bed until you’re on his side.

“Oh hey,” he says as if you’re not currently pulling the first eight seasons of Grey’s Anatomy to the forefront of your head to treat him. “When’d you get here?”

“Cut the crap, who did this to you?” you ask, sitting beside him with the utmost care. You drop your bag off to the side, the loud clatter of the inside contents vaguely registering in your head. The ice pack comes off easily, revealing a relatively okay looking ankle save for the slight swell towards the more medial aspect of it.

Jungkook takes the moment to sit up, joining you in your inspection of his injury. “No one,” he answers, using his new position to drop a kiss against the side of your head. “I fell off the ladder helping Mrs. Jung across the street.”

You choke. “You fell off a ladder?” you squawk, eyes wide as your gaze shifts from his ankle to his entire body.

He places a hand on your shoulder, “babe, I was on like the third step. It was one of those old wooden ones,” he explains with a nonchalant shrug. “The step just happened to snap on my way down.”

You scoff. “That old lady is out to get you,” you warn him. “Remember the time she almost had you plug in those burnt out Christmas lights for her? The ones that would have electrocuted you to death.”

Jungkook laughs, settling back into his stack of pillows. “In her defense, she’s old,” he offers. He’s wrapped up in a black hoodie, fluffy bangs parted down the middle. He’s got on some blue shorts, a huge difference from his usual dark-toned clothing. He looks so good and warm, and you’re suddenly hit with the fact you can’t possibly handcuff this poor, injured angel to his bedpost and ride his cock into the sunset. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.”

You deflate, wild fantasies thrown out the window. “Yeah, well,” you sigh, ditching your pants and climbing over him until you’re snuggled into his side. “Wanted to show you my nails.”

It’s a lame excuse. But he buys it, so.

“They’re cute,” he says, taking your hand in his. He turns your hand over, inspects your pretty new acrylics like he actually has any idea how much they cost or how sexy they look. He raises your hand to his face, pressing a smooch against your knuckles that has you heart thumping embarrassingly loud in your chest. God, you hated this fool.

You turn your nose up at him, like you’re some snooty rich girl who couldn’t give him the time of day. Except it’s not like that, and Jungkook knows.

“What’re you watching?” you ask instead.

He’s got that stupid dopey smile on you, the one that takes one nudge against his side to snap him out of. “Ah, just the game.”

You squint at the screen. “Is this Fox Sports?” you ask in disgust.

He pinches your side. “This is ESPN,” he corrects. “And you don’t know shit about sports channels,” he points out. “So sit this one out.” You give in with a huff, cuddling closer into his side while trying to jostle him as little as possible. Jungkook seems to have no deeply rooted concerns about his injured ankle if the way he hauls you into his arms is any indicator. “How did nails with Doyeon go?”

“You know, the usual,” you respond, idly toying with one of the strings on his hoodie as your eyes focus on the little figures running across the screen. He hums, gesturing for you to elaborate. “Talked about sex, how much better than you at life she is, some more sex.”

He scoffs at that. “Doyeon is not better than me, and I have a whole trophy case to prove it.”

“Okay, but have you singlehandedly Twitter beefed with an entire sorority in your freshman year of university and won?”

He frowns. “No.”

You give him a look, one that says stand down now unless you want to lose to my best friend and get your feelings hurt. Jungkook understands. “Anyway,” he announces, turning his attention back to the screen with you. You think his team might be winning—you vaguely remember seeing him wear a similar jersey once—so he’s pretty relaxed for now. “They’re doing pretty good considering they just lost their main striker.”

You have no idea what that means. “Who? Messi?”

Jungkook knows you don’t know. “He doesn’t even play in this league,” he explains anyway.

“Oh, I saw him trending on Twitter last week. Thought he died or something. Whole time it was just a bunch of soccer nerds crying about him leaving his team.”

He laughs. “You should be a sportscaster,” Jungkook decides after your ever-so-eloquent recap, tucking his head cutely against your shoulder. There was a study once that claimed the incessant need to squeeze a baby’s cheeks or hug puppies tightly was actually the innate human response to kill something they felt threatened by. Oddly enough, you find yourself thinking of that as Jungkook’s citrusy shampoo floods your nostrils.

“Oh, speaking of Doyeon,” he says suddenly. “Did you give her my address? I got a weird package from that store she likes that I genuinely don’t remember ever ordering.” You frown, sitting up slightly until you can look at the side of his face, the cute mole on his cheek calling your name.

“What?” you ask. “Was it in her name?” Jungkook nods. You’re about to tear the roof off his house and go hunt that evil wench down when realization dawns on you. “Oh, no, yeah I gave her your address. My mom stayed over last weekend and Doyeon needed to order something nasty. Guess it got delayed until now.”

Jungkook nods and then doesn’t say much else, which is weird considering the circumstances. You expected him to gently scold you for carelessly giving the psycho that was Kim Doyeon his address, but she’s been here a few times to pick you up, even came over for beer night once. She probably knew it anyway, but you still expected some type of reaction of disapproval from him.

Something’s off, and you know better than to leave it at that. You poke his cheek, right where that mole you’d been eyeing was. “Did you open her package?” you ask, grin slowly consuming your features at the fact Jungkook was apparently a mail snooper.

He looks away. You laugh. “Oh my god, you did,” you cackle, sitting up beside him to get a good look at the blush growing on his cheeks. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” he huffs, pretending to be overly invested in his soccer match again, but that ship died the moment you stepped into his room. “Babe, I can't see the match.”

You roll your eyes, purposefully shifting in front of him so he’s forced to look at the maniac look in your eyes. “What did you see, Jeon Jungkook, and are we going to steal it from her again?”

His cheeks bloom impossibly darker at that. “No!” he coughs, pointedly avoiding your gaze.

But your curiosity is at its peak now, his reactions only exacerbating it. You grab him by the shoulders, hands balling the material of his hoodie as you give him one firm shake. “What did you see,” you demand.

“Oh my god,” he gives in. You release him and he flops back onto his pillow mountain. “They were things,” he explains slowly, cheeks rosy. “For your, y’know,” a vague gesture over his chest.

You frown. “A bra?” you guess. “I’m not gonna lie, Kook, think I just lost a little respect for you.”

“No!” he huffs. “They were… little clamps. For your nipples.”

If this was a cartoon, you’re almost certain you’d be that character with the object in question in their eyes, heart fluttering in your chest at the words that leave his mouth.

Immediately, two things become obvious to you.

One, Kim Doyeon was a bigger freak than you’d expected who obviously dabbled in an assortment of trades. Clamps, your brain screams, overwhelmed with the image that appears in your head, the one that has a shiver running straight to your core. You would have to thank her for this gracious, unintentional gift she’s bestowed upon you.

Two, you’re gonna have to write her the best, most plausible apology letter tomorrow when you inform her those clamps have been lost in the mail, never to be seen again. Or you could just straight up tell her you snatched them up the moment you found out what they were, but you doubt that’ll go over well.

Jungkook groans. “You have that look in your eye,” he points out. You snap your attention back to him. “And I just wanna say in advance that I don’t think i can give you the fun night you deserve, baby,” he apologizes, motioning towards his still swollen ankle.

Something distinctly mean switches on inside of you.

You flash him a sweet smile that has him letting down his guard. You lean forward, pressing a soft peck to his cheek as you climb down the bed towards your forgotten purse that’d been resting on the floor until that point. “Who said I needed you to have fun?” you throw over your shoulder, carefully slipping Doyeon’s first gift close to your body so he won’t see.

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed look. “Really,” he says dryly, “you think you can have fun without me?” He almost sounds cocky, as if the idea of you even enjoying yourself the teensiest bit without his help seems unfathomable.

You grin, padding over to his bedside, where you carefully pick up his hand. You mirror his actions from before, pressing a sweet kiss against his knuckles that makes that conceited look slip off his features for a second, eyes soft.

Click.

Jungkook frowns. “What the—“ before the sentence can leave his mouth you’re lunging forward, wrestling his hands above his head, until they’re both secured at his headboard by the soft cuffs Doyeon had given you that afternoon at the salon. Jungkook’s wide eyes stare back at you, briefly leaving to glance up at the silver chain that wraps behind one of the rungs of his headboard. “Babe,” he says slowly. “What the fuck.”

You beam at him, leaning down to snatch a pillow from beneath him so he’s better positioned, leaning back more. “So cute,” you gush, taking in the way his raised arms have the hem of his hoodie lifting at the waist. There’s a faint trail of hairs around his belly button that disappear beneath the elastic of his shorts. “Do you like them?”

Jungkook blinks. “Baby,” he says a second time, much slower and a little too calm for your liking. It almost gets swallowed by the roar of the fans on TV. “What is this?”

You ignore him, scampering around his room until you find the hot pink Sexuality Unleashed packaging peeking out from beneath his bed. Sure enough, it’s in Doyeon’s name but his address. A whole complicated mess just for some nipple clamps she’ll never see again. It’s what’s inside anyway, not that you thought Jungkook was lying, but there’s something about the actual, carefully wrapped packaging that makes your heart and pussy flutter.

“Oh! Aren’t these the prettiest things?” you exclaim, whirling around to where Jungkook is shaking up a storm with his cuffs, pout growing on his features the longer you leave him there. The ice pack slips off his ankle, falling onto the comforter beside him from all his movement.

Jungkook doesn’t seem the least bit interested in the silver nipple clamps in your hands, too busy trying to free himself from the sudden trap you sprung on him. “Sweetheart, we can play with those tomorrow, alright?” he tries, relaxing his arms and finally looking your way. There’s a frustrated furrow to his brows, one you rarely see but adore very much. “Just undo these cuffs for me, yeah?”

You tilt your head to the side, placing a hand on the inside of his calf that you trail all the way up as you move to stand beside his hip. His thighs flinch at your touch, tensing when you stop just before the crotch of his pants. “Mmm, don’t think so,” you smile, dropping the thin chain beside him.

Your shirt goes first, peeled over your body until you’re left standing in your bra. It’s nothing too special this time, just your average run of the mill comfort bra hugging your chest. But that doesn’t really matter, especially not with the way you’re hoping things play out tonight. You’d discarded your jeans a few moments prior, so the shirt joins them on a pile on his floor.

As much as he tries to act irritated by your refusal to release him, there’s a slow stirring beneath his shorts. It’s emphasized by that bright blue material, cock swelling as he watches you take off your clothes. “Baby,” he warns, possibly for the last time. But you won’t know unless you push some more, you tell yourself, placing one knee on the edge of the bed, the other thrown across his lap.

“Wow,” you marvel, picking the chain up once more. Jungkook shifts beneath you, half hard cock brushing against the cleft of your cheeks. “Don’t you wanna see what it’s like, Jungkookie?”

He says nothing, watching you with solemn eyes that leave no room for reading him. Behind you, the game commentator is chattering up a storm.

Doesn’t matter, especially not when this flimsy metal had you so completely hypnotized. You reach behind yourself, unsnapping your bra with one fluid motion that has the cups falling onto your lap, soft chest on display for the man before you. Your breasts spill out slowly from their cage, pretty hardened buds slowly coming into his view. They make him pause his fussing, half-lidded gaze falling to the swell of your chest hungrily. His hands jerk, the cuffs doing their job of keeping them there.

You grin, placing a hand on his chest, over his hammering heart. “Do you wanna see me wear them?” you croon, tugging the material of his hoodie up his stomach, until your thighs are sitting directly on his tiny waist, thin thong just over his belly button. You trail your hand up, letting it brush up the side of his neck and bury into his scalp. You give an experimental tug that has his eyes squeezing shut. “Yes or no, Jungkookie?”

He’s being a huge brat for you, eyes scrunched up together like the sight of you enjoying yourself sans his touch is unimaginable. Another tug of his hair and he’s exhaling shakily, a quiet, “yes,” slipping past his lips.

The chain drops onto his chest with a quiet thud, shocking him enough to blink his eyes back open. Releasing your hold on his hair, you sit back on his lap, towering over his fidgety body like a goddess at a temple, him the lowly worshipper beneath you.

Your hands crawl over your body, starting somewhere around your waist. The glide up over your tummy, caress the underside of your breasts teasingly. Sure Jungkook knew your body well, but you knew your body best. One hand rubs teasingly over your breast, palm pressing down slightly against where your nipple lies, while the other drops down between your thighs, slowly grinding against your mound.

“Look, Jungkookie,” you gasp, body twitching at your own hands. You take a hardened nub between your fingers, rolling it back and forth until it’s standing at its peak. “I can do it without you,” you tease, rolling your hips against him slowly. The thin material of your thong does nothing to save you from the delicious swell of his cock against you. “F-Fuck,” you whimper, circling a finger over your clit. “It’s, it’s even better.”

His restraints jiggle against the bed frame, an obvious look of distress crossing his features. “No,” he huffs out a whine, tugging at the cuffs as you slowly unravel on his lap. They don’t give, no matter how much he pulls. You know he’s holding back, afraid of damaging his headboard, and you take advantage of the fact as you move to roll both nipples between your fingers. He groans harshly, jaw tight. “Hate you,” he hisses, hips wiggling beneath you. “Hate you, hate you.”

You breathe out an airy chuckle. “R-Really?” you ask, trembling hands finally reaching back for that second gift of the day. Your breath is shallow, so thoroughly wound up from your own playful hands, and you tremble at the mere brush of the cool metal. “Oh fuck,” you whimper, bringing them up to your chest, “I’ve never done this before,” you confess.

There’s a sense of amazement that consumes you at the thin chain you hold in your hands, the pretty gold painted clamps on each end. It makes you shiver, body unconsciously grinding down against Jungkook’s lap where his engorged cock was fighting against the material of his shorts.

“Then let me help you,” he tries, the childish tone from before melting into his usual silky smooth baritone. Jungkook even softens his gaze at you, let’s his tongue peek out to wet his lips as you almost seriously consider his request.

Had it not been for the sudden loud shout from the sports commentator behind you, a long obnoxious gooooooaaal, you probably would have fallen victim to that honey-eyed gaze. You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills.

Without a second thought, you bring one of the little camps close to your chest, giving it a few experimental squeezes until the nerves are replaced with an overwhelming wave of horniness that even Jungkook can sense. “Fuck,” he groans, shaking his restraints back and forth like a wild animal as you slowly get to clamping your left nipple.

You’re not sure what you expected; part of you had thought it was going to be an excruciating pain, one that would make you want to scream and shout in sheer agony. The other part had reduced it to a barely there pinch that would never live up to your fantasies. As it stands, the sensation of the clamp around your swollen nipple sits right in between, drawing in a choked gasp that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Baby, sweetheart,” Jungkook gasps alongside you, eyes zeroed in on the pinched off bundle of nerves. There’s a sudden grinding sound that fills the air, like the sawing off of wood that definitely doesn’t sound good, and it’s a direct result of the fight he puts up against his headboard. “Please, please,” he begs, muscled arms tugging back and forth. “I have to touch—“

The second clamp goes on, making your entire back arch as if you were possessed. You're not, just extremely overwhelmed by the prickle of pain on your tits that makes you grind down against his cock, hands fisting the front of his hoodie like it’s the only thing grounding you right now. “Oh,” you shudder, thighs quivering at the heightened stimulation you receive from the clamps sitting on your nipples. “Kook, I-I can’t.”

He growls, hips bucking beneath you in a crazed effort to better situate you on his lap. “You gotta take these off me,” he rasps out. The next buck of his hips makes the chain dangling between your breast brush dangerously close to his face. He’s unintentionally goaded on by the TV in the room, the annoying drone of the commentator shouting something about never giving up. “Can make you feel so much better, sweet girl,” he cooes, jutting his head out like he needs a kiss.

Your head feels woozy, pussy throbbing at the sensations being channeled down into your core. Your eyes flutter shut, and before you can think it through, you're blindly reaching for the chain, giving it one light tug that has you mewling like a kitten. “O-oh, fuck,” you sob, looping your finger around the thin chain carefully. Another tug that pulls against your nipples sends a gush of wetness down between your thighs. “Cock,” you slur dazedly, “need your cock.”

Jungkook shudders out a long breath. “Le-Let me go then, sweetheart,” he chokes out, “let me fuck that pretty little pussy for you.”

“Uh uh,” you disagree, bringing another angry buck out of him, metal cuffs rattling loudly. “Want you to watch,” you pant, reaching behind you for his shorts. “Watch me, Jungkookie.” It takes three tries for you to get a grip, the elastic material slipping from your fingers before you finally gain some semblance of control and paw them down . The shorts and the boxers came off together, his engorged cock springing up to tap against your ass. “W-Watch,” you repeat dazedly, leaning forward with one hand on his shoulder to line him up with your dripping hole. Behind you, the commentator is droning on about core balance or something of the sort. It takes two tries as you blindly have to tug your panties to the side as well, and just as you have his fiery red tip against your entrance, something else happens.

He catches you, pearly teeth biting down on the chain that connects your clamps in a motion you can only liken to a bloodthirsty shark jumping out of the water, jaws snapping to catch its prey. It dangles in his face, the same way his own necklaces have done to you so many times before. But the difference between you and Jungkook was that while you let his assortment of necklaces hypnotize you, drag across your face painfully, he doesn’t. He snaps forward, catches it between his teeth.

You mewl loudly, foggy vision turning onto him. Jungkook’s got this unreadable look on his face, likes he’s pissed off and turned on all at once. “You’re not in charge,” he murmurs around the chain, the s and c sounds all slurred together. “You will never be in charge, silly girl, you got that?” he spits, yanking his head back like an animal, pulling your upper body with him by the two golden clamps on your nipples.

There’s tears in your eyes, lining your waterline and threatening to fall with each tug his mouth gives against the chain of your nipple clamps. He’s got his neck craned back as far as he possibly can with a pillow beneath him, chain links digging into his bottom lip. “Y-Yes,” you sob, your entire body quivering at the way he so easily manages to overthrow you, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, solemn eyes flickering across your twisted features once more. He gives another purposeful tug, head snapping back just the tiniest bit, but it’s enough to tug you forward again, a loud whimper torn from your throat. “Undo these cuffs for me, sweet girl,” he commands softly, jiggling the same restraints he’d spent the better part of fifteen minutes fighting against.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper, hands wildly slapping down on his bedside table. You had had half the mind to leave the key there when you had retrieved the cuffs, telling yourself it would be easy access afterwards. It’s not, apparently, the silver pick falling just out of reach. For some reason— it’s probably the sensitivity and horninesss, the pinpricks of pain that originate from your nipples —this fact frustrates you to the point of tears.

“Easy, doll,” Jungkook talks you through, voice low and soft beneath you, “relax and grab it for me, okay?” You nod, angrily blinking away a tear that drips down your face. It splatters on Jungkook’s cheek, bringing a soft huff of amusement from him.

Finally the key brushes your hand, and you sigh in relief, shakily leaning forward to undo the lock above his head. He releases his killer chomp/grip on your chain just as you release his cuffs. “I-I’m sorry,” you sniffle, a sudden need to apologize as you watch him rub at the raw skin around his wrists. “I didn’t—“

“Shhh,” he says, cuddling you into his chest. “It’s alright,” he says simply and you believe him.

Which ends up being a terrible mistake exactly ten seconds later when he’s shoving your face into the sheets, your cries and whimpers muffled by the sounds of the game on TV as he winds your arms behind your back. You struggle for all of five seconds before a soft click resounds from behind you.

“Did you think I’d just let that slide, sweet girl?” he growls against your ear, hot breath fanning across your skin. “I'm not your dog, __,” he spits, suddenly yanking you up by your cuffed wrists. Your chest is heaving, arms aching from the way he’s got you on your knees, blind to whatever he’s doing behind you. “Don’t lock me up, because I’ll always come back to bite.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you stammer, flinching when a hand snakes around your waist, an experimental tug to the chain of your clamps. It sends a shudder down your spine, amplified by the hot press of his body behind you. “I won’t do it again!”

“I know you fucking won’t,” he laughs meanly, trailing his hand down over your mound. One finger circles your clit through your underwear, a shaky sigh exiting your lips at the jarringly light touch. “Because I’m gonna fuck you until you’ve learned your lesson, silly girl.”

“I said sorry,” you whimper, thighs quivering. His cock brushes up against you, the same cock you were about to ride until the sunset. Oh how the tables have turned.

A hand slips beneath your underwear, pad of a finger rubbing against your swollen clit. “Oh,” you exhale, surprised with the suddenly gentle touch following his words. “Th-That’s nice,” you murmur, head lolling forward at the slow rhythm he sets, playing with you like you were a toy that needed warming up.

“Yeah?” he husks out. There’s a yank to your clamps that makes you gasp, chest following the motion as if it’ll reduce the shock. “You think this is about making you feel nice?” he murmurs. Another tug, followed by another, until he’s raining down a series of rhythmic shocks onto your tits that make you shiver and twitch, tongue heavy in your mouth to the point you feel like you’re drooling.

“Wait,” you whimper, arms twisting behind you. “Hurts, hurts” you cry, arching your back like it’ll save you from the steady stimulation against your rock-hard nipples.

“Does it?” Jungkook hums, one hand working away at your clit. He swirls it around his finger, pressing down on the nub in an attempt to distract you. But it only heightens the sting coming from your breasts, the blossom of pain that grows over each mound the longer he plays with you. “Good. Want your pretty little body to hurt for me, baby.”

Right after saying that he releases the grip on your chain, letting it swing back and forth until it eventually rests on your stomach, throbbing nipples spared for now. A breath of relief washes over you now that you only have to worry about the hand playing along your folds. The TV is still flickering to your right, but the commentator's voice sounds fuzzy and so far away, like he’s in a whole different dimension while you and Jungkook are here.

Your reprieve lasts shorter than you expected, as his free hand slowly begins creeping up your waist, fluttering over the little gold clamps pinching your nipples. “Pretty girl,” he compliments, nudging one tender nub with a playful finger. “Pretty, pretty baby,” Jungkook murmurs as he begins massaging the scorching hot skin around your nipples gently. There’s a warm kiss pressed to your shoulder, followed by a trail up the side of your neck. You shudder, trying to focus on the hand that creeps down your folds, teases itself against your entrance.

“Jungkook,” you whine softly, rolling your head to the side so he can suck bruise after bruise onto your skin. You’re definitely drooling, the saliva thick and heavy in your mouth. “T-Too much.”

“Thought you wanted that,” he mumbles, kissing up and up until he’s at your jaw and then he’s at your mouth, languidly kissing you. He’s doing that thing again where he’s hellbent on drowning you in his spit, and if you didn’t know better you’d think he was preparing you for something. “Wanted me to watch you bounce that tight little cunt on me while your tits were like this,” he says, punctuating his statement with a light slap against the side of one breast. It makes you jump, a moan catching in your throat.

The finger that had been playing meanly along your wet folds eases itself past your lips, plunges head first into the aching heat inside of you. He works it against your walls, thumb over your clit as he curls his finger inside of you. You moan loudly, shaking in your restraints. The hand over your chest squeezes, pushes the clamp deeper against your breast until your entire body is short-circuiting.

Your first orgasm comes over you with all the grace of a lightning bolt; it’s sudden and jerky, has every nerve ending wildly spasming as you whimper his name. “No more, no more,” you beg, head lolling back against his shoulder. He shows you no mercy, simply rubs furiously over your clit, until you’re jerking into his maniac hand.

When it’s over, he places a kiss against your jaw, curling his finger inside once more “Play with yourself,” he whispers.

“H-Huh?” you stutter, the rattle of your cuffs loud in both your ears, but not as loud as the breath you were trying to catch post-orgasm. You wonder if maybe he got ahead of himself again—he occasionally did that, thinking ahead to a point you hadn’t reached in your normal progression of sex —but suddenly he’s shoving you back down again, the finger that was slowly driving you insane rudely exiting your cunt.

You flop down against the mattress with a squeal, wiggling around like you actually had a chance of doing anything with him watching you like he is. You struggle for a few beats, every shift against the mattress rubbing harshly against your breasts until you nearly want to cry.

Just as you reach that point, he’s rolling you into your back, hands uncomfortably bent beneath you. It leaves you unwillingly arching to accommodate them, tits practically presented for him to see. “Pretty girl,” Jungkook groans, reaching down for the first time that day to touch himself.

His self restraint was truly unmatched, you realize, watching him squeeze the base of his cock. He runs a palm over his abdomen, up his chest. He drags the material of his hoodie along with it, eventually shucking it off somewhere to the side. His hair, so fluffy and soft, flops over his forehead, a few defined strands tickling his eyebrow.

The mere sight of him alone made you shiver, pussy clenching at the wet dream before you. He’s not an idiot either, obviously aware of what the sight of his body does to you, the tattoos littering his entire right arm that hypnotize you. The faint glow of the TV screen against his side makes him look like the cover star of every middle-aged wife’s erotic romance novel. He reaches said arm down, runs a hand along your thigh until you’re spreading them wide for him.

He doesn’t touch you like you want, only slides over your body until he’s toying with the chain of the nipple clamps that were slowly becoming the bane of your existence. “Open,” he says suddenly, and you do. Your mouth drops open, tongue stuck out slightly even if you don’t know why. He’s ingrained the response into you by now, made you into a desperate slut always ready for anything in your mouth.

This time it’s the stupid, stupid chain connecting your nipple clamps. He tugs it until it’s pulled up, the pull against your nipples making you whimper and writhe. The metal is cool when it touches your lips, but his fingertips are warm. “Good girl,” he praises once you bite down; even this sends a shock of nerves down your spine and to your pussy. “Just like that.”

A muffled whimper escapes your lips, tears clouding your vision at the stimulation that was quickly overwhelming you again. Part of you thinks no more, please, I can’t. But the other has you spreading your legs for him, quivering pussy desperate to be filled.

The distress must be obvious in your face if the way Jungkook kisses your neck is any indication. He’s got one hand massaging against the underside of one breast, like he’s soothing the striking pain of your pinched nipples for you. If anything, it only strings you along more. “Stupid baby,” he chuckles meanly, a soft puff of laughter against your jaw, “thinking she could push me down.”

He leans back onto his knees, that same careful brush against the inside of your thigh bringing about an embarrassing whimper as he peels your thong away. “But you didn’t really want that, did you?” he eggs on, slowly shifting down against the bed, until his mouth is hovering over your exposed lower lips. His breath is warm, makes you yearn for him to be closer. “You like when I shove my cock into your little pussy, right? Like how it feels when I turn you into my little slut like this,” he sighs, pressing one chaste kiss against your thigh that makes you pull at the cuffs behind your back.

Soon, his mouth is on your clit, the same clit he had previously pampered with his hands but chooses to play with again. He licks an obscenely wet stripe from your throbbing hole to your clit, tongue curling devilishly towards the end. You whimper, though the sound is distorted around the chain in your mouth. Jungkook groans, dives mouth first into your cunt until he’s suffocating himself. His cute nose is pressed against your clit, and he takes advantage of the fact by taking one, dramatic sniff with his eyes rolled back. A soft moan escapes him.

“Fuck,” he shudders, “smell like heaven for me.” You moan at his sweet words, eyes squeezed shut as if that’ll stop the buckets of overwhelmed tears that you’ve been fighting off since the moment the clamps came on. “Wanna give you the world, angel,” he breathes, licking languidly against your folds, tongue occasionally peeking inside.

You mewl and writhe, every movement sending a tug of pain over your nipples. You want that gorgeous cock deep in your cunt, want to feel him in your womb, but you can’t voice any of this with the chain of the clamps between your lips.

Jungkook sits up suddenly, and you’re thinking yes, finally, before the look on his face has you screeching to a halt. There’s something distinctly different about him, a look you don’t think you’ve ever seen in bed before. Your thoughts are only confirmed when his foot slides onto the floor, as if he’s about to leave.

The panic must be evident on your face, because Jungkook is quick to swoop in and reassure you he’s not done with you yet. “Wanna fuck your little pussy,” he admits, carding a hand through your hair. “But the truth is I don’t think you deserve that just yet.”

With that he slinks off the bed, leaving you writhing in confusion as he heads off for the closet behind you. You can’t see what he’s doing, can only hear the shuffling of something back and forth. The TV is still on, the loud cheering of the fans muffling his clattering. You’re suddenly reminded of his swollen ankle, craning your neck to tell him to not overdo it, when something dark covers your eyes.

He’s standing just beside the edge of the bed, his signature teddy bear heat emanating off in waves so thick you could touch them. “Do you trust me?” he murmurs, voice close but not close to your ear.

Something swells in your chest, an emotion so intense your entire pelvis tightens up at the realization that Jungkook was asking for permission to blindfold you. You’re almost certain it’s one of his ties, a silky black thing that covers your vision for the most part, save for a little crack by where your nose juts out. A shuffle to your side, and then he’s gently prying the chain he had pushed past your lips earlier out. “Need an answer, ___,” he says quietly, almost nervously.

“Yes,” you gasp, your entire body set aflame at the sudden turn of events.

If you were being honest you would have never predicted your night would end like this. Maybe you came in a little too cocky, a little too optimistic for the night. It was supposed to be Jungkook handcuffed and powerless, you remind yourself— how on earth did you get here?

“Good girl,” he praises, giving you a little encouraging nudge to raise your head for him to actually tie the knot behind your head. It’s definitely one of his suit ties, you realize, because there’s a distinct cross-stitch pattern that you can feel only when it’s tightened against your skin, pressing against your fluttering eyelids. When he releases you, you’re suddenly all too aware of the sense he’s deprived you of.

“K-Kook?” you call out with a tremble in your voice. The rhythmic pattern of his footsteps rounds the bed again, and then there’s a soft touch against your leg.

“Right here, sweet girl,” he reassures you. The bed dips by your legs as he closes in on you, still tied up and on the verge of a second orgasm that he snatched away before your very eyes; not that you can see it anymore. His hand slides over your stomach, tugs playfully at the clamps. You moan, the sensation magnified tenfold by the fact you can’t see nor anticipate his actions now.

His hands glide like two sailing boats over the broad expanse of sea that is your body, molding against your curves like waves as they go. He hums appreciatively, and you find yourself glad you can’t see him. You can’t possibly imagine with what eyes he’s looking at you now.

You bask in the glory of his attention for another beat before he retracts his touch.

And then, suddenly, something distinctly not hand-like, and weirdly soft traces over the inside of your thighs. “Kook?” you ask tentatively.

No response.

It runs over your skin in the same way his hands just did, a unique shape your brain scrambles to put a name too. It’s soft, so soft. But cold to the touch. Inanimate for sure. It’s a toy, your brain supplies belatedly, but that much you already know.

It’s heart-shaped, you realize, just as it thwacks down against your pussy.

You shriek at the suddenness of it all, thighs clamping shut. Your heart is thundering at a pace of a rabbit’s, chest rising and falling as you blindly piece together what just happened. “Kook?” you whimper a second time, head craning back and forth in a desperate attempt to track his next move.

He’s not touching you anymore, but the bed is still dipping by your feet, so you deduce he must be there. You test your theory by sliding your foot against the sheets, lower lip trembling at the idea of him not being there.

Jungkook catches your ankle with one warm palm, slightly calloused from years of weightlifting. He raises it up, the cold air of his room hitting your exposed pussy. “You liked it,” he says, not a question but an observation. Your pussy throbs, the phantom strike against it lingering. A kiss to your ankle.

“Wh-What is it?” you cry, unconsciously pressing your leg closer to him now that you have his location. (You don’t see the soft smile on his face at your action.) Ever so slowly you let your thighs open again, now anticipating the next touch of that thing— that riding crop, you realize.

Jungkook confirms. “It’s a riding crop,” he explains, excitement curling around his words. Suddenly, it returns, this time against your stomach. He doesn’t strike you like he did before, simply lets it run across your tummy. “Heart-shaped. It’s so pretty,” he sighs dreamily. “Reminds me of you.”

You nod anxiously, stomach muscles tensed the longer it stays there. Jungkook obviously sees this, lifting it to give you the lightest of taps that still manages to make you gasp. “Cute,” he laughs, trailing it back to where it first touched down.

“Oh,” you tremble, thighs twitching as it pats tenderly over your clit. “Wai-Wait,” you warn, body arching as he runs it down, down your swollen folds. “No,” you weep, going to close your legs. But Jungkook predicts your moves, pressing your thigh down harshly against the bed.

“Shh,” he soothes, tracing the heart down your folds, pressing it flat against you. There’s a distinct lining over it that makes your hips jump, a faux-velvet covering the tip that tickles your skin. “Sit still for me.”

“No!” you gasp. Your back arches, body betraying you as it pushes your pussy against the toy. “I can’t, I can’t, Kook,” you sob, lips contracting around the gaping nothingness in your hole.

He condemns your attitude with a harsh swat of the riding crop against your cunt, tearing another high-pitched squeal from your lips. It’s followed by another against your clit that makes your body spasm. “Bad,” he chides. “Supposed to be my perfect girl.”

“I c-can’t,” you whine, the darkness over your eyes making the sensations ten times more intense. You don’t know where he or the riding crop are if they’re not directly touching you. Even then, the image is fuzzy in your head. “Need you,” you pant.

You try to reach for him, try to pull him into your arms. But you’re reminded of the cuffs holding you back, the metal digging into your skin behind you. You sob at the realization, angrily shaking your hands back and forth like maybe acting like a tantrum-throwing child will save you. It doesn’t.

Instead there’s a tug at the chain resting on your stomach, one that makes you cry out in pain when it pulls at your terribly sensitive nipples again. Jungkook uses it to pull you close, just a small inch off the bed that has you gasping for breath nonetheless.

“N-No,” you wail, nipples throbbing from all the sensations you’ve put them through tonight.

A chaste peck against your trembling lips. “Tell me how it feels,” he purrs, nose brushing against yours. Even with the tie obstructing your vision, the latest version of your boyfriend burns itself into your eyelids, force feeding you his sweaty skin and damp hair until even his breath against your face is enough to bring you to the edge.

“I-It’s scary, Kook,” you sniffle, listening for any signs of a reaction. But even if he did show one, your breathing is too loud and the ESPN channel is still blaring on screen. “Scary,” you whimper, lunging forward in a desperate move to feel the familiar brush of his tongue against yours. You miss.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks carefully, like he’s afraid he’s pushed too far.

He has. But fuck, do you love it.

“No,” you wail, lips smushed somewhere along his cheek, near his jaw and not his mouth like you wanted to. “Feels good, feels so fucking amazing,” you babble, cut off halfway through by a hiccup from your sad cries. “Wanna cum, wanna cum for you like this.”

Jungkook chuckles in relief, tilting his head until you can catch his lips with yours. It’s probably an awkward angle you assume, him adjusting for your vision-less whims, but it feels so good. It sends a shock to your pussy, his plush lips against yours. Without him telling you, you’re opening your mouth for him. “Spit on me,” you beg pitifully.

Jungkook groans, and you can almost visualize the look on his face perfectly— the tensing of his jaw, the push of his Adam’s apple, the pucker of his lips. “God, you’re disgusting,” he sighs, a fat glob of spit hitting the back of your tongue. Without your vision, you don’t see it coming, recoiling with a whiny mewl. The thin trail of saliva that follows trails across your chin when he finally reels back. You swallow greedily, wondering how soon is too soon to ask him to do it again.

With your full permission to move forward, Jungkook wastes no time trailing the riding crop over your wet folds, collecting your oozing pre-cum on the tiny heart as he roves it over your cunt. “Fuck, you can probably cum like this too, can’t you?”

You can’t answer, too caught up in the featherlight brushes. Even if you wanted to say something, one sudden strike against your pussy renders you speechless. “Mmh!” you hiss, biting down on your lip.

“Come on,” Jungkook encourages, resting a hand on your thigh. He presses the crop against you again, pushes down until the flat apex of the heart where it meets the flexible stem of the toy is pressing against your cunt hotly. He grinds it down against you, takes a sick pleasure in the pathetic way you arch up into it, rut against the little heart like it can provide even half the pleasure his hands usually would. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Your body is on fire, every nerve, every sensation shooting straight to your most erogenous areas— your cunt and your nipples. Talking seems like the farthest thing from your mind right now, too caught up in the way he roughly pushes the crop against your clit. A whimper rips itself from your throat, shuddering at the sensation. Unconsciously you jerk away from him, only to be scolded with another thwack against your quivering pussy lips. “A-Ahh,” you wail, squirming beneath him like a worm that can’t sit still. “Good— it feels good, Jungkookie,” you weep.

The soft mushy pet name has him raining down two snacks against you in quick succession. “No baby names,” he warns, frown evident in his voice.

Even with you completely under him like this, shackled and blinded with your love, something unmistakably childish and obnoxious curls around your throat, has you biting down on a grin as the coil in your stomach tightens. “D-Don’t like that, Jungkookie,” you choke out hoarsely, wildly bold for someone in your position. “D-Don't like being m-my baby?”

The crop loses its position over your folds, and for a minute you’re left anxiously anticipating its next touch.

It’s on the side of your breast, harder than the rest, combining with the already powerful pinch of the clamps. It makes you cry out painfully, stomach tightening at what is probably the most unexpected orgasm you’ve ever had. It isn’t like your usual ones that overpower you and make cum trickle out between your folds.

No, it comes in waves— literally. Your pussy spasms, pushes one splurt of cum out between your thighs, almost likes your lower lips are spitting it out. And then again, more the second time, against his mattress. He pushes your legs up to your chest to marvel at the cum coating your lips and thighs. “You’re my baby, stupid,” he hisses. He grabs at your clamps then, twisting the little chain in his hand harshly. You sob at the yank, at the way your nipples feel two seconds away from being ripped off. But you can’t even complain, because the sudden touch has your pussy clenching, before a final trickle of cum oozes out of you.

Even still, your mind babbles on. “N-No,” you choke, shaking back and forth. Despite the tie covering your eyes, they flicker like a mad man beneath it, like you’ll somehow get lucky and develop Seeing Through Fabric Ability if you try hard enough. “My, my baby,” you fight weakly, pelvis trembling from aftershocks of that orgasm. “My idiot b-boy,” you smile dazedly, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sting you’ve become familiar with by now. “T-Tell me, Jungkookie,” you croon, biting down on your lip to keep a moan from spilling out mid-syllable. “Still the same, r-right?” you stutter, “still think you’re better than me, don’t you?”

He scoffs. “No,” he vehemently denies, brashly landing an unexpected smack against your hip, no warning in sight. “That’s not true,” he defends. You can hear his pout, the little push of his lips when he grows defensive.

You laugh, every bit the insane lunatic, fueled by your two orgasms and slipping sense of reality. “Ffffuck,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into nothing. “S-Say it again, baby,” you plead, tongue licking across your lips. “Tell me, tell me you don’t care about my problems, Kook-ah,” you whimper.

There’s a hesitant pause on his end, an unexpected lull in your play as he’s torn apart between doing what you want or playing it safe.

You know you’re confusing him, because you’re certainly confusing yourself. You don’t even bother trying to dissect your emotions— you’ve long since accepted your mind was a dangerous place when horny and presented with Jungkook’s sole attention. Well, you knew you were into the whole degradation bit, but this whole having-your-boyfriend-throw-the-words-that-made-you-question-your-entire-worth bit was certainly new and unexpected.

But there’s something in your heart (and in your libido) that needs this, needs him to fix this memory for you that maybe, kinda sorta, has haunted you for days, weeks now, as much as you hate to admit it. Needed him to fix the booboo he gave you with a bandaid, only leave a scar you could look back at and laugh off, not a gaping wound that opened at the slightest mention of it. Because while you forgave, you certainly never forgot*.

(*Unless forgetting meant having your boyfriend overwrite said memory that couldn’t be forgotten with the sheer power of his monster demon cock and wicked tongue. Only then could you forget.)

“Don’t be a fucking pussy, Jungkook,” you spit, feeling the hesitancy in the riding crop that brushes against your skin. It fades away quickly. “S-Say I’ve a dead-end office job; just holding you back,” you beg, trying to pretend the entirety of his little outburst hasn’t been ingrained into your mind for the last couple of weeks. Something flashes in your chest, throat closing off when the toy finally leaves your skin. “Tell me, tell me—“

He looms over you, teddy bear warmth covering the entirety of your body. “Is this what you want?” he asks seriously, lowly, breath fanning across your lips. Your makeshift blindfold feels distinctly damp over your eyes, chest heaving with an exertion that can only be emotional when he speaks so softly to you after routinely raining down brutal thwacks on you for the past half hour. “__,” he says sternly, “is this what you want?”

You gasp on a sob, unsure when these emotions had time to manifest outside your heart like this. You nod your head like a bobble head doll sitting on someone’s dashboard, lower lip trembling on a shameful cry that is not sex-induced like all the other ones until now. “I-I need this, Jungkook,” you admit, voice so tiny and soft, it almost gets drowned out by your shaky exhales and the crowd roaring on screen. “Need to overwrite it.”

He presses a soft kiss to your quivering lips, slow and so devastatingly loving. It’s nothing like the one from before where he’d spit down your throat per your request, and the unbridled adoration he packs into one simple kiss makes you crumble in his arms, sniffles piling on by the dozens.

He leans back after a moment, pulls your thigh over his forearm and finally lets you feel the hard ridges of his cock against your folds. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, trying to sound angry and annoyed, but there’s a lilting tone to his words, a love and trust you wouldn’t have been able to see with or without your blindfold, but can feel nonetheless. He pulls it off you anyway, the warm glow of the TV illuminating his face for you for the first time in about half an hour. Eyes soft, sweat trailing down his body. His body lines up against yours, but so does his heart. You feel it in the way he holds you in his arms, the way he’s careful about sinking into your folds. He slips an arm beneath your waist, uses it to hold you up so you’re not uncomfortably squishing your arms anymore. But if you ask, he’ll pretend he’s doing this for convenience sake only.

“T-Terrible fucking job,” he starts out, the stammer eluding the obvious discomfort he has saying those words, but he does it for you anyway. “Big fucking baby,” he tries again, slowly pushing past your tight walls with a shudder. “C-Can’t look away from you for two seconds because you’re such a fucking kid.”

“Worse,” you choke out. “Meaner. Please, Kook.”

He nods, holds your waist carefully when he finally bottoms out inside of you. “Dead-end office job,” he says, repeating the words that had made you want to crawl into a whole and never come out from. “Got some stupid fucking problems,” he tacks on, slowly withdrawing his hips from your heat. “Always complaining about the stupidest shit,” he hisses, fingers digging into your waist when it’s only the tip of his cock inside of you. “I don’t fucking care about it,” he seethes, forcefully snapping his hips into you.

They’re scrambled fragments of what he’d really said to you that night. Line after line that don’t carry a quarter of hurt or even make coherent sense for that matter. And still.

You whimper, mind fuzzy from the thrusting pace he picks up, body fluttering at the glide of his cock against your walls. But your heart is thundering in your throat, his willingness to help fix this memory for you tightening around your every being until you can’t breathe. “I-I love you,” you cry, clenching down around him.

Jungkook groans, pulls you flush against his cock until the thin hairs around the base of his cock are tickling your skin. “Stupid, fucking child,” he groans, “immature ass nobody,” he grunts, bucking into you like your words don’t mean a thing.

“I am, I am,” you wail, suddenly hit with the cold hard truth that your body was desperately on edge. From the stimulation your nipples had gotten all night, to the ghost of the riding crop that lingered across your skin; your body was tired, so ready for a final orgasm that you’re certain Jungkook will provide. “T-Tell me y-you—“

“Shut up,” he barks, sweaty skin gliding against yours. “D-Don't tell me what to do,” he huffs, nailing you into the bed. He’s pushing you hard into the mattress, like he wants to brand you into it. “Need to fix this— alone.”

You nod numbly, the crowd behind him cheering loudly. It’s like they’re rooting for him— for the two of you —as silly as it sounds, and as bothersome as it would be any other day, today the obnoxious sounds of the ESPN soccer match only serve to fix a bad memory from before. It’s loud and cringey as all hell, but you’ll look back to this moment and laugh.

And that’s what you want most of all. You want that memory from before, that nasty fight, to go away, to disappear forever and be replaced with this one. Of him, pounding you into the sheets as his TV blares beside you, just another day, another round of sex filled with your usual kinks. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Ffffuck,” you whine when the tip of his hard cock prods against your cervix. He’s going deep, he’s going all out, because he wants to fix this too. Wants to do anything to make it right, and he’ll never know how much you appreciate him for it. “S-So deep,” you whimper, hips jumping when he rams back inside.

“Stupid slut,” Jungkook snarls, tucking his head against your neck the same way he always does. “Making me do stupid shit like this,” he bites, but you know he doesn’t mean it, know he never will again. He rocks his hips into you, no longer concerned with holding you up from uncomfortably laying on your cuffed arms anymore as he pistons into your squelching heat. He’s pressed so close over you, lips brushing against your collarbone with each snap of his hips.

All the pushing and jostling about has the chain of your clamps wildly jumping about, sprawling across the planes of your chest, above your breasts, where he snatches it up between his lips again. “Stupid, fucking—“ he slurs, jutting his head to the side like a wild stallion. You sob at the tenderness of your nipples, at the way he pays them no mercy as he continues rutting into you like a mad dog in heat. “Slut,” he spits. “S-So fuckin’ pretty.”

Your mind is in another universe, and when that last word, that devastatingly familiar term, slips from his lips mindlessly, something inside you snaps. “N-No,” you sob, legs fidgeting around his waist at the orgasm that wracks through your body against your will. “No,” you cry in frustration, “didn’t, didn’t want—“

“Stupid, stupid angel,” he babbles, seemingly unaware of your orgasm as he continues fucking into your leaking cunt, ignorant of the cum that dribbles out, creams his cock as he carries on. “Fuck,” he pants, gnaws against the chain of the stupid clamps like he can’t bare this any longer. “Love you,” he says, though he’s still stuck in that mindset from before and his sweet confession sounds more like a threat. “L-Love that childish side of you,” he confesses, finally dropping the chain— much to your relief —and surging forward to kiss you on the mouth. He tastes weirdly metallic, a thought you can’t ponder too long as he continues ramming himself past your clenched lips and into your pussy. “Your fffucking dr-drive to succeed,” he grunts, mouth smushed uncomfortably against your cheek.

“Kook, sweetheart,” you shudder, sensitive pussy spent as he drills on. His cock is still so achingly hard, and he doesn’t seem anywhere near completion. “Take it easy,” you gently remind him, can’t brush your fingers through his hair like you usually would, so you settle for pressing your lips to his cheek.

“Fuck, fuck,” he heaves, pushing so deep you practically feel him in your womb, swollen mushroom head begging for entry. “Give me it all,” he stammers, “want you—want this forever.”

“I know you do, baby,” you coo, nuzzling your nose against his when he sloppily surges forward, panting and gasping over you like a crazed caveman. “I’m yours,” you gently remind him.

“No,” he chokes out hoarsely, eyes screwed shut. “Need more, all of it,” he mumbles. “Give me yourself, ___, need you for the rest of my life—“ he cuts himself off with a shuddered whine, so airy and wispy it makes you shiver. “Ffffuck, shit,” he howls, each thrust into your walls only unraveling him more and more. “Give me, give me—“

“Anything,” you whimper, body trembling from his excessivity. “What do you want, Kook-ah?”

He says nothing, losing himself in the warmth of your pussy as his orgasm rounds the corner. He’s in the final stretch, the final straight until achieving nirvana alongside you at the finish line. And, as you’ve long since come to understand, a true Jungkook Danger Zone. He loses all sense of self, random syllables and phrases slipping through his lips.

“Fuck, fuck, marry me— marry me,” he moans, snapping his hips into you with a ferocious speed that has you bouncing against the sheets, and that’s despite the tight grip his has on you. “Let me— fuck— let me fuck a baby into you, sweetheart,” he purrs, eyes shining like an absolute psycho, but you’re apparently into that because the idea squeezes around your chest and burrows it’s way in. “A baby,” he marvels like an idiot, eyes big and sparkly, “f-fuck.”

“Wh-What?” you choke, flinching when he bites down against your lower lip. He’s got you trapped beneath him, stuffing your brain with these ideas that make your heart enter cardiac arrest, body tingling like in Mario Kart when you’ve got the star power up. “Kook—“

“Sh,” he groans, digging his fingers into your sides as he rolls his hips against you. “Almost,” he informs you, but the blood rushes to your ears. “Oh, fuck,” he pants, jaw clenching, “oh, baby.”

Jungkook cums with a shivered cry, body hunching over you like some entity has just exited out of his spine. Maybe something did, because afterwards he manages to hold himself above you for exactly three seconds before dropping the entirety of his hefty muscles onto you. “Ouch,” you whine, wrists twisted uncomfortably beneath you.

“Sorry,” he huffs, completely out of breath and dazed as he rolls away from you. He ends up spread out like a starfish beside you, completely fucked out and definitely zooming through the fifth, sixth, and seventh dimensions.

He doesn’t say anything for a hot minute, chest rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon, until you butt in. “Kook. Undo me,” you remind him.

He looks over at you, dark hair falling over his eyes and sprawling around his head like a halo. Oh, he was going to be the death of you. “Oh,” he says, like his brain has just processed the information. “Right.” He sits up, tucking himself back into the shorts he never fully took off. That was his character flaw; never bothers to get completely naked during sex. Anyway, his straight male-equivalent of booty shorts come up around his thighs again, stretching sinfully across the thick muscles.

The five sonnet poem that was gearing up in your head comes to a halt when he touches your breast. “No, no more,” you cry, instinctively withering away.

Jungkook snorts. “I’m just taking them off, baby,” he says, reaching forward again with the same practiced ease you’d use on an animal. The clamps come off, all the nerves suddenly coming back to life. It’s a weird sensation, not having your tits subject to that prickling pain anymore, and it makes you moan softly. Jungkook soothes you with his wannabe masseuse hands, but you think it’s just an excuse for him to fondle your breasts.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks gently, hovering over you like a damned surgeon or something. His voice is so silky and smooth, hands soft against your chest. He’s so careful in the way he turns you over, somehow magically producing the tiny key pick you swore was lost between the sheets after its first use.

Being on your chest makes you tremble like a leaf, the faintest brush of the cotton against your tits enough to make your pussy clench weakly. “ I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, carefully detailing his actions like you’re not watching him with your very own eyes. But it’s oddly comforting, having him walk you through the process of rolling your sore wrists. The inside of the cuffs had a plush lining, but it was a pretty cheap thing. After he’s done massaging the skin, he pads over to his dresser and returns with a shirt and undies for you. “Shirt,” he says, helping you into the clothing.

When you’re all snuggled under the sheets again, the television still loud as hell, he mumbles, “wanna talk about it?”

You exhale against his chest, feeling so light and fluttery from your orgasms and the way he runs his fingers through your scalp and the way his heart thunders by your ear. “Hm,” you hum pensively. “Nah. Think I’m fine now,” you admit.

Jungkook chuckles. “A full miracle recovery?” he teases. You nod, taking in the comforting scent of his fabric softener and just him in his entirety.

“Yep.” A beat of silence, the commentator is back to filling the space between you two. He talks about a mile minute, spewing stats and plays you could never understand in a thousand years. But you know Jungkook will get sucked in soon enough, so you strike while the pot is hot. “Do you wanna talk?”

He cranes his neck a little to look at you. “What do you mean?”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself up to look at him straight on. “Oh, my mistake,” you drawl. “I seem to have missed the part where we were going to act like you didn’t just ask for my hand in marriage and then offered to get me pregnant—,” you pause, the realization suddenly hitting you like a trash can whipping down a hill on a rainy day at a thousand miles per hour. “Pregnant!” you exclaim, cheeks warm at the fact he really just said that to you.

Jungkook’s cheeks fare no better, a Flaming Hot Cheeto shade dusting his skin. “I, it was just…” he tries, poor tiny monkey brain working overtime to offer an excuse. “It-it doesn’t have to be a thing,” he blushes, big Bambi eyes flickering from you to the television to the heart-tipped riding crop by the foot of the bed. “I was just…”

You raise your brows. “Consumed by the spirit of King Henry IV to have fourteen kids?”

He blinks. “Wait, you actually paid attention to that film?”

“That’s not the point!” you exclaim, shifting onto your knees in front of him. “What,” you inhale sharply, heart beating wildly in your chest, “what was that?”

Jungkook can only play the shocked angel card for so long before he’s sinking back into his pillow stack with the sigh of a man who’s worked in construction for the last sixty-four years. “I just,” he mumbles, “I think about it sometimes.” His admission makes your heart lodge itself into your throat, wide eyes watching him spill out his heart to you.

He misreads the expression on your face. “I-Not now!” he hurries to explain. “Like,” he stammers, rosy hue slowly crawling down his neck, over his ears. “Maybe, y’know? In the future…”

You blink, brain reduced to a series of beeps and clicks like that of an old computer trying to compute information that is simply not processing. “Yeah…” you murmur, unsure of what to do with the film reel that suddenly flashes before your eyes, a look into a doorway you had never considered before. “I— me too.”

Jungkook chokes on his own saliva. “Really?” he yelps, has those sparkly anime girl eyes you always tease him about.

The gulp you do sounds loud in your ears. “Yeah,” you breathe, throat drier than the desert, but more confident than the first peabrain response. “I-I’d like that.”

There’s a bright beam of light that shines right in your face, so vibrant and dazzling it makes you flinch and by the time you’ve recovered you realize it’s his smile. “Yeah?” Jungkook mumbles back, pearly teeth framed by his pretty smile, brows raised at your stuttery confirmation. You nod. His lips twist into a smaller grin, a condensed version of the superstar one he gave you just moments before. Before you can brush it off with a joke, he’s snatching your hand up in his, a soft smooch pressed to your knuckles. “Okay,” he says quietly, dark eyes meeting yours. “One day?”

Your heart constricts in your chest, and all you can do is nod. “One da—“

“Goooooaaaaallllll!” the announcer on screen shrieks, the loud sounds of the TV killing your mood instantly.

Any dumbstruck, love struck, idiotic, ditzy expression on your face is wiped clean, replaced with an unimpressed glare you narrow on him. His nose is scrunched up like he wants to laugh, lips pressed into a thin line at your annoyance. He swipes the TV remote off the side table, arms spread open for you to crawl back into. You do so with a huff, pout smushed against the front of his hoodie.

“That’s enough ESPN for today,” he chuckles, switching the channel about a thousand times until Rick and Morty is playing on screen. “I’ll just watch the highlights later.”

“ESPN,” you scoff like an evil villain in a movie who’s just been presented with their mortal enemy, fisting the front of his hoodie.

Jungkook nods. “ESPN,” he repeats. A beat passes. “Kinda like BDS—“

“Go get your ice pack.”

epilogue

Because Jungkook couldn’t sit still for that one eventful night following his ladder injury, he ends up in a medical boot for one week, loudly clunking around the place like a reverse pirate. You snap a picture of him that you post on Twitter for your twelve followers to see, just him pouting at the doctor’s office with his new boot and club jersey on to celebrate last night’s victory.

It’s just a cute pic for you and your friends to laugh at.

Until it’s not, and his handsome face is circulating around the entire internet.

He’s being called the Face of FC Seoul, with desperate women messaging you left and right for his information. Other fans are bragging about the beauty that is an FC Seoul fanboy. It gets to the point where his face appears on the next night’s ESPN Nightly Recap, a special on social media stars posting about the game. Except Jungkook is neither a social media star nor did he even post about the game— you did.

But there he is, all five feet and ten inches of him smiling brightly at you from the ESPN Sports channel, wearing the boot he got from hand cuffing and whipping you to completion.

#goldenclosetnet #bangtanhq #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jjk smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeongguk smut #jeon jeongguk smut #bts smut #mine

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strawbearisamu · 3 years

Text

for a day like this

timeskip! hanamaki takahiro x gn! reader

summary: a coincidence on a train ride home leads to a confession and kissing in the rain.

note: requested by anon :) here, semi long one guys

cw: light swearing, semi makeout scene

wc: 1.8k

the sky shrouded by a dense fog, the blue of it completely concealed by a covering of wooly grey clouds. rain continuing to pour from the desolute atmosphere as you heard a disembodied female voice announce the departure of the train. you sighed, train starting to move as you look out your window only to see a strike of lightning, the muffled thundering of the storm only growing louder, reminding you of the impending consequences of today's events.

"miss..miss...excuse me miss?" shaken from your daze, you meet the face of a middle aged woman carrying an infant and a young child, "miss, would you mind switching seats with me? there just isn't enough space for my baby's breastfeeding equipment on the other side." she asked apologetically, "even though i specifically requested it," mumbling the last part under her breath.

you press your lips in to a small smile, grabbing your things as she thanked you in relief, your eyes light up at a familiar shade of strawberry brown, occupying the very seat next to the one you were supposed to replace, "makki?" you couldn’t help the grin as called out from behind.

he whipped his head towards you, eyes widened, mouth slightly agape as he eyed you a few times. as if making sure you weren't a fake, making sure the familiar resonance and tenor of your voice, the one he replays to himself some nights, making sure it wasn't just an auditory hallucination. "y/n."

eyes lighting up with excitement, you speed up towards him, engulfing his sitting form in a warm hug, arms wrapped around his neck as he breaths in your scent.

"missed me huh?" you don't miss the playful glint in his eyes as you finally let him go. "yeah," a beaming grin displacing the forlorn look on your face.

"what were you doing in the city?" you asked, squeezing past him into the window seat as he towered over to the side of the walkway to make room, you see his eyes glaze over for a split second before he says "just a reunion with the boys."

"how are they! you guys were always quite the gang."

"yeah," he paused, slight hesitation lingering in his voice, "they're good i mean, really good."

the thunder crackling, a shot of lightning briefly lighting the gloomy sky as the scenery beyond your cabin window blurred with the speeding train.

"you look awful," he says, words slipping out absentmindedly, his eyes widening in absolute horror as he spluttered an apology, rambling on, "not as in you're ugly but your clothes, your stuff, it just looks a little...disheveled."

you burst into laughter, the first time today, "my bag was stolen today, some guy on a motorbike snatched it and knocked me over, it was crazy! i tried chasing him too!" you recounted the story again, but for the first time today, in humour.

"pfft, sorry not the point, you tried chasing him?" his mouth curving into his signature lazy grin.

"what's your point strawberry head?" narrowing your eyes at him as he raised his hands, pleading innocence. "you okay though?"

"i'll survive, can't say the same for my job, had some really important work documents there, weren't supposed make copies, now they're gone."

"oh..."

"yeah, i'm so pissed but well the jury will be out after the weekend," you sighed, "but anyway should we be talking about how you look just as bad as me, makki?"

a boyish laugh resonates from him, it does something to you, the familiar scratchiness of it inscribed in your mind from long ago. the corner of his eyes crinkled, "shit i guess i do," he said. "mhmm," you hummed, nodded along in laughter.

"the reunion," he cleared his throat, "i mean first off, this is not even close to being as bad as your day," he precautioned.

"just get on with it," you rolled your eyes.

twisting and fiddling the ring on his pinky, "just saw everyone doing really well, what with oikawa and iwaizumi being on olympic teams, even mattsun has a steady career and plan you know? i think i'm second guessing myself? i thought i was living life, having fun, but sometimes everything feels like filler before death.”

you nodded along to him, listening intently. you had always known makki to be more of a free spirit so this was rare.

"we all have those days," you mumble under your breath.

you let a comfortable silence fall between you, rummaging your bag for the slightly squished convenience store sandwich and your earphones.

"it’s tough huh, trying to find our place now.” you said, handing him one side of your earphones.

“yeah, so much easier when you’re two dumbasses goofing around, playing with erasers and tic tac toe during class," he slotted in the bud, and you do the same, as the ambient music filled your ears.

“you and mattsun?" you probed.

“no you, you and me.” for second his playful facade falters. his eyes lingering on yours as you held each other captive, your stare burning through his enigmatic grey eyes, a raw emotional intensity that made it seem like time had slowed down, neither of you finding the courage to make a move in the moment of impenetrable tension.

"i guess the rain is quite fitting for a day like this." you finally dared to look away, taking in the storm weathering just beyond your window, "but somehow i feel a little better now makki. maybe it's your pink hair."

"you do love it," he said, "i feel a little better too," he whispered, and you barely catch it.

—

he took a deep breath in, releasing it in a heavy sigh. “miyagi air right? nothing like it.”

“can’t tell if you’re a free spirit or an old man now.” you stepped off the platform, bags in hand.

"let me walk you tonight. you don’t have an umbrella.”

“neither do you?” you pointed out, handing him one of your bags as the both of you walked towards the exit.

"don't worry, i've got a plan," he winked a cheeky smile playing on his lips.

—

the wind howls, your hair violently blowing into his face, "this was your genius plan makki? run a little faster will you!" you shout over the blaring pour of the rain, incredulous.

"easy for you to say, you're not the one hauling your heavy ass bag." one of your bags slung around his shoulder, arms stretched around the both of you as he holds his jacket up for cover. well, your cover, his exposed side completely drenched.

"we're close," you called out, awkwardly trudging across the puddle ridden road, his warmth emanating from beside you as your heart raced in your chest, though you couldn't decide if that was the rain or makki, more probably both you finally decided.

"we actually made it in one piece." you breathe a sigh of relief as you finally made it under the roof of your home, catching your breath a little as he twisted his rain soaked jacket.

"what are you waiting for? aren't you gonna open it?" he asked.

"okay what?"

"open the door?"

"i don't have the keys, they got stolen remember?" you said dubiously, now working the water out of your clothes as he gave you a baffled look.

"what? how are we gonna get in?

"well i assumed you had the keys?"

"how in the world would in have your keys?"

"in that confe-, letter i gave you? said you were here all the time you might as well have the key and gave you a key?"

"letter? what letter, y/n?"

"wait the letter...you didn't receive it?" the colour in your face drained, you took a sudden notice to his drenched figure.

"you're soaked dumbass." you say in an attempt to quickly move on, unzipping your bag to pull out a fresh t-shirt. he tries to stop you but you don't let him.

"shut up just let me do this makki." you pull on his forearm, tugging him down to meet your eye-level, his face inches from yours as you gently pat his face and neck dry.

"is this just an excuse to kiss me?" the same lazy smirk playing on his face again but his expression morphs into an unreadable one, eyes clouding, "the letter," he whispered looking down at you, his bangs skirting his lashes as you dabbed his cheek with a t-shirt.

"you wish you could kiss me," you joke.

"i do wish," he doesn't.

"was it a confession?" you didn't answer him, "can i kiss you makki?" the burning desire held off long enough as you somehow found the courage to ask.

makki broke into a smile, clumsily taking your hands in his, hurriedly dragging you back into the rain shower. hard rain hitting you, massaging your head, but even as you felt your senses become overwhelmed your attention was still singly engrossed by the man in front of you.

"what are you doing? i just patted you dry!" you reprimanded him, shouting over the pour of the rain, looking up at him, now 6'1, his soft gaze easily slipping past your faux stern one.

"it's more dramatic this way," he whispered, his hand gently caressing your face, thumb running circles on the now flushed apples of your cheek, his eyes becoming clearer to you as you finally begun to understand the liquid grey eyes that held you captive for so long. your heart speeding up again, butterflies fluttering aggressively in your stomach.

you tiptoed a little, eagerly reaching a hand into his now drenched strawberry pink hair that you were always so fixated on. he responded in kind, securing an arm around your waist, hoisting you up, you body colliding into his warmth, lower lip tingling a little as he traced it with his slightly calloused thumb. finally, he cups your jaw, taking your lips in his.

his lips warm, soft, impossibly plush against your own, the soft tickle of your hair on his cheek, your honeyed taste playing on his tongue, the shared warmth between you melding into one, your heartbeat synchronous, in perfect parallel with your harmonised movement. lips slightly parted, he bit your lower lip as you moaned a little.

"you think the neighbours can see us?" you pulled away, holding his cheeks in your hands, still in a slight daze.

"don't know, don't care."

"when did it become a drizzle?" you asked as he shrugged in response, desperate to capture your lips in his again.

and you guys stood there, in the light drizzle of the rain, soft rays of sunlight finally peaking through the glum clouds, making out for the audience of your entire neighbourhood, enjoying the petrichor of the rain. because yeah you were still locked out of your house, yeah you were probably getting fired and yeah he still didn't know shit about what he was gonna do, but everything seemed just a little bit better.

"i guess the rain was quite fitting for a day like this.”

sol's comments: can you tell i have no idea how to write a makeout scene? :")

m.list | each and every reblop is appreciated ☻ (+ free hugs)

#sweet by sol 💗#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #hanamaki takahiro x reader #hanamaki takahiro #hanamaki x reader #makki x reader #makki fluff #strawbeari requests: mailed #i made something! — sol ⋆·˚ ༘ *

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xonepeacelovex · 3 years

Text

stray kids imagines as taylor swift’s songs from taylor’s version album ft. hyuncam | part 2

part 1

han jisung

jump then fall

it is rude to stare

you know and yet you can’t stop yourself

you are surely deeply madly lovestruck with jisung

and it’s driving you crazy

jisung, a transfer student

good at everything

aces every exam

that you studied hard to pass

that he made it looks so easy to ace

he’s a threat to your standing

and yet you can’t hate him

not when he’s the only one who is not scared of you

he became a friend

and then someone who makes your heart flip

truth hit you too hard

when the uninvited feeling crawled to your heart

you hate how jisung makes you feel like a puppet doll

you mirror everything he does

when he smiles you automatically smiles

you laugh at his dad jokes

which you don’t do

you like a quiet and peaceful high school thus the lone wolf facade

catching yourself smiling

you cough and made your way to your seat

beside jisung

he greeted you a good morning

which you just nodded

and despite the tight lipped smile and cold greetings

he still smiles at you and excitedly listens to your class

accustomed to you already

“it’s rude to stare”

your eyes widen, caught red handed

you are in the library, looking for a reference book

when you saw jisung sleeping, sun shining down on his face

you’ll walk away that moment when your heart starts pounding

though you thought he’ll be uncomfortable with the sun light

and what if the librarian caught him

so you absentmindedly walk towards him

blocking the sunrays with a book

like you are bewitched you stare at his face

he still hasn’t moved, eyes closed

you can’t think of any good excuse so you decided to go with the flow

he opens his one eye, to check your reaction

closing it again before chuckling

he sit up properly and stretch his arms

“if you’ll remain silent, i’ll think you did it on purpose”

“what if i did?”

“are you telling me you like me?”

“yes.”

you said confidently, there’s no backing out

you nervously look at his reaction

he’s searching your eyes for a hint of mischievousness

he remained silent

“if you’ll reman silent, i’ll assume you don’t like me”

“no. it’s not like that. i’m just scared.”

“of what?”

“of falling harder for you”

lee felix fearless

“wait felix. you’ll catch a cold.”

you shouted to your prom date

he happily hopped on the way to his car

you look at the suit in your hands

he gave it to you to use as a shield from the rain

“have this” he said then running towards his car

if only you have a choice not to go to this prom

but felix somehow made you go

*flashback*

“what the heck is this felix?” you whispered to him, making him satnd up from his kneeling position

“a promposal” he answered

your friends are giggling behind you

“for whom?” you asked him, perplexed

“for you.” he said a little louder, kneeling again with the bouquet of flowers

you look at him

he’s definitely paying you back with the stunt you did to him

everyone is cheering him on

you smile at them and look at felix

holding his arms to make him stand up again

you accepted the flowers without words

and he smiles at you and then at everyone surrounding both of you

you want to wipe that grin in his face

*end of flashback*

you can’t let him be alone in the rain with his suit above your head

so you decided to run under the rain, following felix

and he’s still unlocking his car, you cover his head too

even though it’s useless now

the suit too small for the both of you

you became soaked up by the rain

you thought you’ll hate being wet by the rain

but as every rain drop fell on your face you felt different

it’s exhilarating

lowering the protection you are holding, forgetting to use the suit as a cover up

a smile making it’s way to your lips

you look up at the sky

feeling every raindrop, it makes you feel like a kid again

no wonder why felix is smiling while looking at you

“you look like a kid” he teased

you look at him, keys still on his hands

he planned this

he has no intention of getting in in the car

“may i have this dance with you?” giving his hand out to you

you take his warm hands

he suddenly pull you towards him

heat radiating from his body made you stayed close to him

hugging him completely, closing your eyes

while he sways and your body just follows his

going to prom isn’t bad at all, you thought

and you are glad he asked you to his date tonight

you open your eyes, and he’s already looking at you

“not bad, right?”

“not bad if we don’t-”

he sneezed, moving away from you

“catch a cold” you continued

he shiver and then fix his messy wet hair

and your heart did a somersault

you look at the man responsible for it

“glad i didn’t turned you down”, you whispered

he heard you and hold your gaze

you sneezed also, ruining the moment

while you both laugh heartily under the pouring rain

kim seungmin

hey stephen

you don't really see the point of crushes

until you met kim seungmin

your first happy crush

and you see, happy crushes are supposed to be happy

but you're not

seungmin indeed is one of those heartbreakers

that didn't meant to hurt others

he's either oblivious that everyone likes hin

or he doesn't care about love

like you, before you developed feelings for him

it was just supposed to be a happy crush

plus feelings are not your thing

but seungmin really did captured your heart

and you are happy with just his existence

so you don't know why he's walking towards you

smiling, waving at you, like he knew for years

"y/n"

your brain stopped working that moment

how the hell he did know your name

and why is he smiling 🙂

that moment you thought to yourself, “you’re doomed”

and started thinking “is is still a crush?”

seungmin called you again

flustered that he caught you staring at him

“hey seungmin”

you brushed off the way he’s looking at you with playful smile

“what are you writing?”

and not to be simp but you are writing a poem about feelings

feelings for him, specifically

you immediately closed the notebook

“how do you know my name?” you asked, getting yourself together

“what?”

“how do you know my name? we are not even classmates”

“uhm... you are right” he looked around, avoiding your eyes

you looked around also, noticing the group of girls from a distance

you chuckles when you saw it

“are you using me as an escape?”

“yes” he confessed without hesitation

you nodded

“and i knew your name through jeongin”

it’s safe to say you are not the only one with a happy crush

i.n/yang jeongin today was a fairytale

directing a play is stressful

you are not even the club president

your best friend was though

so when she asked for help with puppy eyes

you can't just say no

you did say yes to production

making stage props and wardrobe are manageable

and watching them rehearse for it is enjoyable

the leading man, jeongin, is a good actor and singer

he also helps you make the props during their break

“does this need a second paint?”

you jump from the scare, hands flying to your chest

you are currently humming the song for the play

when you saw him, laughing at you, you sigh

“please don’t scare me like that again”

“i’m sorry”

“okay, and yes”

“why are you alone though? where are the others?”

you shrug and his facial expression turned into some kind of anger

that you don't think he can express cause he's so nice every time

he silently paints with you

it’s not that you are not aware the other official club members are not helping at all

cause they are, leaving all the works to you

and you can’t complain to your best friend

she’s stress enough to manage the production

you came home exhausted that day

the next day, all the club members that are supposedly helping you with the production are there making props

and you see jeongin winking at you

you thought it will be smooth sailing from there until

when the leading lady literally broke her leg

your best friend breakdowns in front of you

you and jeongin are comforting her

“who’s gonna replace her?” your best friend said, exasperated

jeongin points at you, “y/n has the script memorized!”

your eyes widen, “what?!”

your best friend looks at you with expectation “do you?”

you bit your lip, “yes”

she holds both of your hands “please?”

you sigh, “okay,”

and now, you found yourself as a leading lady

you are not for the spotlight and yet you are starting to enjoy acting

"okay now we are at the scene where jeongin will kiss you"

"what?!" you both said as you look at each other

"did i forget to give you the updated script? oh my gosh yes!" your bestfriend answered her own question as she opened her laptop searching for its soft copy

"i'll print it for you guys but let's continue rehearsing"

jeongin slowly walks up to you

following every words of your bestfriend

your eyes stayed at him, as he stop in front of you

you gulped, heart beating faster

your first kiss

your first kiss will be with jeongin

you bit your lower lip as he leans forward

his left hand on your back while the other is holding your cheek

you closed your eyes, not ready for any of these

jeongin felt your nervousness

so he angled your face

you felt his breath on your cheeks

he kisses your nose

you opened your eyes and stared at jeongin

as he smiles at you

"cut! let's take a break" your best friend shouted

you back away from him, heart pounding louder

you cleared your throat as you walk to your best friends without saying anything to jeongin

dragging her outside the theatre

"why you didn't say there will be a kissing scene?" you confronted her

"i'm sorry really the scripwriter changed it last night. he thinks it is necessary to the story," she apologized

you sigh, you can't just say to her that it will be your first kiss

on the day of the play, you are nervous but for another reason

you don't know if jeongin will kiss your lips

you can't fake the kiss in front of a hundred people

but he act so well that he made the kiss like a real kiss as he angles your face

and you are thankful and disappointed too

why?

for the past weeks you've harbored a crush for jeongin

as the curtain closes and all the actors and actresses went to the backstage

jeongin slowly walks up to with a rose in a hand the one he got, he handed it to you

"i know you don't like me but i like you" he confessed and as he walk away you hold his hand and pull him to you

finally kissing him

A/N: I need to make a part 2 because Tumblr won’t let me add anything on the first post. I had to cut Jeongin’s part abruptly because this post is too long (Tumblr said it). Anyway, have a good night.

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libsterslobsters · 4 years

Text

The Wanton Song

Summary: How do you broach the topic of sex with the 90-something super soldier you've found yourself dating? That's the reader's question. Luckily, she and Bucky are no strangers to awkward conversations...

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem!enhanced! Reader

(Reader can see bits and pieces of the future in visions and understands all languages)

Warnings: SMUT, tiny bit of angst, lotsa fluff, maybe some past dub!con if you squint

Author's note: Wow... here I am posting smut on the internet. Never thought that would happen. Tmi, but I'm married, so I have a good amount of sex 🙀 and I actually had a great first time, but some people don't, and that's what I tried to represent. That, and CONSENT!!!! Consent is sexy, y'all. Safe, sane and consensual all day every day.

As always, the reader's name isn't stated so that you can read as a self insert, but I've written so much at this point that I refer to the Reader as Violet in my own mind.

*************************************************

Life has been going swimmingly these past few months. Better than ever before in fact, or at the very least, better than in a long time. She’s still a fugitive, living life looking over her shoulder, but now she has a steady job, a steady paycheck, and oh yeah, a steady boyfriend. Those three things have never aligned for her before (especially the last one). Overall, she’s pretty happy. But, because she’s her, there’s still a question niggling at the back of her mind.

The transition from “you’re my only friend” to “we’re together now” went smoothly, helped in part by the fact that Barnes had been at that particular juncture the whole time. From the outside looking in, the only major changes have been the addition of those three simple but very key words and an upping the anti in the cuddles department.

Speaking of cuddles, that’s a very mild term for what’s going on these days. It starts out innocent enough. The usual location is on the couch at one or the other’s apartment. There hadn’t been much distance between them since that first time where they ended up talking more than watching the movie playing from her laptop, but now, the space is nonexistent. As a general rule, within the first ten minutes, her legs somehow end up over his lap or in some way intertwined with is. The intention is always to pay attention to what’s on the screen but, well, when you’re that close, it would be rude not to snuggle up. And, when the other person looks that damn kissable, it would truly be insulting not to take the plunge.

Now, considering the angle, one of them has to lean in. Otherwise, it would be awkward. That generally determines who, somewhere from two to ten minutes later, is on top of who. Of course hands wander, and even though it’s understood that the word “no” can be employed at any time and immediately obeyed (not to mention the copious amounts of “Is this okay”’s being asked), she can’t remember a time either of them have said it.

If she had to attach a term to what comes next, it would be ‘dry humping.’ And then… nothing. It always ends far too soon, leaving her flustered and with her heart racing. At first she thought it was because he simply didn’t want her, but, well, there’s certain physical signs that point to that not being the problem. Her next guess was that he’s simply being respectful. Well, as sweet as that is, she’s ready to get on with it. She’s only human after all, and as such, has needs. Sure, she could take care of them herself, but if she had to guess, he’s experiencing those needs too, and from what she’s heard, it’s more fun to take care of it together.

The only issue: how the hell do you bring something like this up, especially when the person you’re bringing it up with grew up in a much more repressed era than you did? She’s been debating it for the past week, and despite having multiple visions, none of them have given her that key insight into what to do.

Finally, she decides to just say it. They’ve made a point to be honest with each other, and it’s probably best to get it out of the way. They’re adults, after all. They can have this discussion. She’s going to come straight out with it.

“Hey, can I ask you something? It’s kind of personal, and maybe a little uncomfortable.”

“Sure, Doll.” The response is immediate. “Fire away.”

Glancing up to make sure they’re not at a pivotal scene in tonight’s movie (they have a system; at his place, watch something he grew up with, at hers, something made literally anytime after 1945), she spits out the whole sentence in one breathless go. “Are we ever going to have sex?”

It feels like a branding iron where his arm is still wrapped around her shoulder. Still, it’s comforting. At least he’s not moving away.

“I gotta admit, that’s not the question I was expecting. What brought this on?”

She shrugs, carefully keeping her eyes trained on the wall behind his head instead of on him.

“Nothing in particular. Just…” is there a delicate way to put this? “...I think things are going well between us, and sometimes when we’re together… I’ve noticed that there’s a physical response.” She’s really hoping that’ll suffice, because she can’t think of a good way to say “I can feel that you’re hard when you’re on top of me”.

“Oh.”

Apparently, her meaning is indeed clear enough, because he removes his arm from her shoulders. She’s about to apologize (all the while mentally berating herself) when his hand closes over hers.

“I’m sorry about that, Doll. I’ll try to stay calmer.” Wait, that’s not- “It’s just an issue guys have. Don’t think it means you have to do anything that you don’t want to, because I would never-”

“I know you wouldn’t.” Without thinking, she cuts him off. “And I want to.” It feels like she’s sitting in a sauna, she’s so flustered from this conversation. “But only if you do, and I understand if you didn’t-”

“No.” It’s abrupt, cutting her off. A definite answer that leaves no room for questioning. “No, I do. I just-” He clears his throat. “-I didn’t want to bring it up, in case we weren’t on the same page. “ This seems to be a recurring theme, so far. “And it’s not a must. If you change your mind-”

It’s pure instinct. There’s no thought involved as she closes the gap between them, this time with her on top, and presses her lips against his. The response is immediate and enthusiastic. She considers just going on, not putting a stop to things, but realization hits that, although overall she’s ready for this to happen, she’s not ready for it to happen tonight. There’s still things she needs to take care of. Most importantly, protection.

So, gasping for breath, she pulls away. “I’m calling for a rain check, but if after that, you still think I’ll change my mind-” she pushes back her hair and forces herself to take a deep breath. “-then you may just be beyond help, Barnes.” If the chuckle is anything to judge from, she’s made her point.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Wow. Bucky thinks to himself as he exits out of the browser tab on his phone. That’s enough internet for one day. Too much, actually. He knows that it’s the information superhighway, but good god, no one needs THAT much information. He really needs to be more specific with what he googles… or less… or just not at all.

He’d never admit it (and really, who the hell is gonna ask him anyway), but he spent the last hour looking up how to have sex. He’s engaged in the act before, yeah, but it was seventy years ago. Plus, it used to be this huge taboo thing that you suspected was going on behind closed doors, but no one (not even the married couples) owned up to it. If you were ever found out, there were severe consequences. As a man, he didn’t have to worry as much, but if whoever the woman was had her dirty laundry aired… oh boy. She’d be a pariah, a “scarlet woman”, unfit for marriage or to even give the time of day. That led to limited encounters, and, well, it just seemed smart to brush up on what information is out there. As it turns out, people have written a lot about the fine art of love making. Unfortunately for him, most of it is absolute garbage. Some of the positions he just read about (because at that point, the article was like a train wreck; he badly wanted to look away, but he couldn’t) don’t even sound possible, much less pleasurable. He’s all for society being freer, but good grief!

He’s halfway through a bottle of straight vodka (it won’t have any effect, but he’s hoping maybe the alcohol will travel to his brain and sanitize his eyeballs from most of the shit he just read) when his phone rings. Great. He’s always happy to talk to her, but right now… wow. It’s gonna take him some time to recover, so he hopes she doesn’t need him to say much.

“Hey, Doll.”

“I am so fucking pissed off right now.” That sounds promising.

“At what?”

“The city of Bucharest, my apartment, the landlord, whoever the fuck did the plumbing in this building! God!” She’s clearly out of breath, so it takes a minute before she can speak again. “I’m sorry, Buck. It’s just that I came home from work, and one of my neighbors told me the entire sixth floor is under a good inch, inch and a half of water.” Wait-

“How-”

“I don’t know. Busted pipe. It’s leaked down onto the fifth floor, so I’ve got about fifty other pissed off people for company.”

“Jesus.”

She chuckles harshly. “Yeah, we could use him right about now to perform a miracle. This is a shit show, and I haven’t even told you the best part.”

“So the spontaneous flood wasn’t the highlight of your day?”

“I fucking wish! So, naturally, I tried to call the landlord, along with basically everyone else. Get this: since it’s after five o’clock on a Friday, he’s not gonna do anything. Told us collectively to suck it up! And of course, when there’s a leak, they have to cut the power…” He’s starting to see a pattern here.

She sighs. “I really needed to get that off my chest. How are you?” Still slightly weirded out by the information overload, but feeling a little more steady now that he’s got a good catastrophe to concentrate on. However, that’s probably not the best answer to go with.

“Better than you are.”

“What, the sky isn’t falling where you are?” He chuckles.

“No, it’s right where it’s supposed to be.” Which reminds him… “But since it seems like you’re short a functional home, why don’t you just stay here until they sort things out?” He’s got a couch that, while it doesn’t have anything on an actual bed, he can manage to sleep on for the next few nights. Or maybe they can share his bed. He shakes his head. That thought needs to be put to the side, even if it’s meant in the most innocent way possible. Of course, in case she decides to cash in that rain check…

“Yes. I mean, that would be great, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” Actually, he can’t think of a better way to spend the weekend. The plan was to meet up either Saturday or Sunday, possibly both, so this isn’t that far out of the ordinary.

“Okay, but just a warning: They’re not letting us go up to our floor in case there’s been electrical damage as well-” That’s smart. If the pipes are in that bad of condition, who knows what the wiring looks like. “-so all I have is my purse, backpack, and what I wore to work. No toothbrush or pajamas, or anything like that.”

“That’s alright. All you have to bring is yourself.” He’ll have to look, but he’s pretty sure he has something in his closet that’ll work okay for her until she gets the all clear to go into her apartment. Plus, there’s a laundry mat just around the corner, not to mention a pharmacy.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“Not a problem.” He glances at his bedside clock. Five thirty-four. It takes roughly half an hour to get across the city by bus, so… “I’ll see you around six fifteen?”

“See you then.”

As soon as the line goes dead, he springs into action. First thing’s first: make sure there’s no dirty clothes, old dishes, or trash laying around. That takes all of five minutes. He should probably check that he does indeed have something she can wear so they won’t have to fumble around later. Tshirts are pretty universal and… yes, he has a few pajama bottoms that have a drawstring waist. How much time does he have left? The phone screen lights up, giving him his answer. Twenty-seven minutes. More than enough time to run around the corner and pick up a few things.

His intention is to buy the basics: spare toothbrush, deodorant, hairbrush, maybe a different shampoo than his three-in-one body wash (it’s convenient for him, but she might prefer something designated for hair specifically). But, well, there’s quite a few aisles, and he gets sucked in. Does he need to buy razors, or is that rude, like he thinks she’s hairy? What about aspirin? How often do most people get headaches? He honestly can’t remember.

By the time he realizes that he really needs to get a move on, his basket is full and he has no idea what aisle he’s on. Desperately, he looks around, and his eyes land on… huh. So they just have them out in the open these days. Last time he was in the market for that, he had to beg a married friend to make the purchase for him. He briefly wonders if he’ll need to produce proof of marriage or something similar, but pushes the thought to the side. It’s the 2000s. He can probably just go up to the register and pay, and no one will give him a second look. But there’s just one problem: which brand? He should google… suddenly remembering his adventure from earlier today, he decides to just go with his gut and pick one. There. Now, he needs to pay and get the fuck out of here because there’s only ten minutes left, and he’d rather not have these out in the open, in case she thinks that’s the reason he’s asked her to stay over. If it happens, great. If not… well, he’s made it for the past seventy years. What’s a few more?

___________________________________________________________________________________

She was still pretty shaken up when she arrived at his apartment, carrying her backpack and purse, slightly damp from the drizzle of rain now covering the city. But immediately receiving a long hug, being instructed to make herself at home, and hearing the offer to take a shower so she could warm up did a lot to restore her good mood.

It was one of the sweetest thing she’s ever experienced in a lifetime where most people have showed her their worst, going into that bathroom and finding a new toothbrush, stick of deodorant, nail clippers, hairbrush, and even shampoo. That and Barnes bashfully informing her that, “I’ll stay in the living room until you’re done. Take your time.” She almost suggested that he just join her in an attempt to broach the subject they left off on two nights ago, but thought better of it. She’s just started to strip when a knock comes from the other side of the wall.

“Sorry. I just remembered that I forgot to give you a change of clothes. Can I leave them outside the door?” A smile forms on her face.

“Sure. Go ahead.” No one’s given this much thought to her comfort or boundaries before. Yet another reason she knows this is the right decision.

She doesn’t stay in the shower for long, just enough time to wash and stop shivering. After toweling off and brushing out her hair, she cracks open the door. Sure enough, a worn but clean tshirt and pair of pajama bottoms are waiting for her. The familiar scent of the laundry detergent he uses envelopes her as she dresses and, at long last, leaves the safety of the bathroom.

True to his word, he’s still sitting on the couch, thumbing through a book she gave him some months back (he’s missed so many feats of literature that have made their way into pop culture; today’s choice is The Hobbit because, while it was out before everything happened to him, he’s never read it) when she emerges. Just in case he’s so absorbed that he hasn’t heard her, she repeats his gesture from earlier and knocks softly on the wall.

“Hey. I’m out. You can have your apartment back.”

“Hey.” That smile always makes her feel slightly unsteady on her feet. “Find everything okay?”

“I did.” She settles into the place next to him. “Thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to go out and get supplies.”

“I know.” He nods, hand closing around hers. “But I wanted to make sure you had whatever you needed.”

They chat for a while about their days, discuss what they should do with the weekend ahead, even throw out ideas for dinner. The entire time, she’s trying to figure out the best way to bring up that she’d really like to finish what they started the other night. However, by the time he’s left to grab some sort of takeout, she’s still no closer to an answer.

Fortunately, their dates usually follow a pattern. Food, a movie, and then the not-so-innocent cuddles. This time, he’s on top of her when she feels the tell-tale sign that he’s as fired up as she is, so she suggests,

“Do want to maybe move to somewhere more comfortable?” His already dilated pupils grow even larger, and he nods.

“Yeah. That sounds like a plan.” She waits for him to roll off of her and head towards the bedroom before she grabs her purse and, digging around inside, grabs one of the foil packages she bought after their last date.

It’s only once she closes the door behind her, shutting them into an enclosed space with a bed (not to mention it’s pretty damn clear what both of their intentions are), that nerves get the better of her. He takes a step towards her, and she leans up to kiss him, but he ducks his head out of the way.

“You’re shaking.” His hand ghosts over her arm, making it obvious that, by comparison, she’s practically vibrating on the spot.

“Sorry.” She chuckles nervously. “It’ll pass.”

“It’s alright.” As he says it, he meets her eyes. “We can stop. Nothing has to happen.”

“I know.” She nods, swallowing hard. “But I want it to.” Their lips briefly meet before he pulls away again.

“Let me ask you, just before we get started, is this-” He stops short, eyes darting from her face to the wall and back again. “...have you… before?” Oh. “Not that it matters, not to me, I just wanted to know so that-”

“I have.” She nods, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “Once. I was eighteen, and-” It was awful. She’d been seeing the guy for a few months and he kept whining about her not putting out, so she decided to get it over with. He went in dry without any warning, and when she asked him to stop, give her a second to adjust, he told her he couldn’t. She was bleeding and in pain for days afterwards, and to top it off, when her period was late, she thought that, even though he’d pulled out, she was pregnant. That turned out not to be the case, but it, along with the fact that she usually doesn’t stay in one place for very long, has put a damper on her ever wanting to do that again. Except for now. “-it wasn’t a great experience.”

“I’m sorry.” On instinct, she searches for the judgment in his face, the disgust. It’s nowhere to be found, only genuine sympathy. “I’ll do my best to make sure this time is better. That is, if you’re still up to it.”

“I am.” Not waiting for a reply, she wraps her arms around him and starts trailing kisses up his neck towards his ear. “I am. I trust you.” She hears his breath catch, but before she can comment, he’s hoisted her up and is carrying her in the direction of the bed.

As he sets her down, she pulls him on top of her, letting her hands wander over his sides, up his back. After a few moments, she feels his fingers move from her hips to toy with the hem of her… his.. shirt.

“Is this okay? Can I take this off?” She starts to nod, but remembers just in time that he’s so close, they’d butt heads.

“Please.” She expected to feel exposed once she was at least partially undressed, but instead she feels… adored. His eyes are roaming over her newly exposed skin, though his hands have respectfully returned to her waist. In a moment of confidence, she reaches behind her and unhooks her bra. There. Now she’s completely shirtless.

“You’re so beautiful.” The flush from her cheeks is spreading down her neck, but she still smiles.

“Care to make things even?” It’s brief, but she catches the look of hesitation.

“Sure.” Before she can offer to do it, he shrugs his shirt over his head, revealing to her, for the first time, the entirity of his metal arm. She must look for a moment too long, because with a shrug, he informs her, “I can put my shirt back on. No big deal. I know there’s some scarring…” That’s not going to fly. She needs to reassure him, make him feel as desired as he’s made her feel.

“Or if you want to stop-” She stands and, after briefly making eye contact, places a kiss on the most prominent scar.

“Don’t you dare think that way for a second.” They’re flush against each other, chest to bare chest. “Not for one.” Slowly, she slides her hands from his shoulders down to his waist, hesitating just over the button. “Is this okay?” Another shakey breath.

“Yes.”

Going forward, it’s much less awkward. The rest of their clothing is shed, and soon they’re back to their previous position; on the bed, with him on top of her. She feels his fingertips brush the inside of her thigh and gasps.

“May I touch you?” She nods.

“You’d better.”

It’s gentle, more of him feeling her out than anything else. Still, she can’t help but think this is infinitely better already than last time around. Suddenly, he pulls his hand away, and it takes all her effort not to whine at the loss of contact. Before she can ask if something’s wrong, does he want to stop, he’s flat on his stomach, head between her legs.

“Tell me if you need me to stop.”

“What-” Her breath catches as it becomes infinitely clear what he’s doing.

Again, she’s expecting pain when, after several minutes he eases a finger into her, but at this point, she’s so wet that there’s absolutely no difficulty.

“Are you okay?” She nods.

“Don’t stop.”

The process is agonizingly slow, he’s so intent on his task. When, finally, he pulls away, she’s so close that she can almost taste it.

“Do you still want to-”

“If you don’t stop asking me that, I’m gonna slap you.” It’s a joke, and she thinks he knows it, but just to be sure, she siezes his hand (the metal one, which is usually cold but has now warmed from being held close against her body. “I’m ready, so long as you want this too.”

“I do. You wouldn’t believe how much.” Yeah, she thinks she would. “Just give me a second.” Perfect timing. He rolls off of her, which gives her the opening she needs to grab the packet she managed to hide under the pillow while he was… otherwise distracted. When he returns from digging inside the wardrobe, she holds it up, only to realize-

“Oh.” He’s got one as well. “Seems like we both came prepared.”

He chuckles. “Just in case, although that wasn’t why I asked you to stay.”

“I know.” She nods and pats the space next to her. “Not why I said yes either, although I can’t say I’m disappointed.”

He returns to the bed and drops his packet onto the nightstand. “Save this one for later?”

“Definitely.”

There is a bit of discomfort once he starts to push inside her, but it’s not painful. Just… overwhelming. Slightly embarassed she asks,

“Can you wait a second? Please?”

“Of course. Are you alright?” She shifts her hips slightly, making them both groan.

“Fine. You can move now.”

She may have only done this once before, and she has no idea what his experience consists of, but as she hits her peak mere seconds before he does, gently coaxed over the edge, she can’t help but think some things are better the second time around.

“I love you.” It’s whispered against her neck as, once she cleans up and returns to bed, she settles herself against him.

“I love you too.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

The first thing he thinks when he realizes that he’s not alone in bed is that HYDRA’s found him. He’s being activated. His eyes shoot open although apart from that he doesn’t move a muscle, and that’s when he recognizes the person next to him. It’s her. She’s here.

The events of last night come back to him all at once, and he feels a smile forming on his face. It’s been a while, and in any case, it would be wrong to run a comparison, but what they shared, the pure intimacy of it both physically and mentally was incredible. Maybe he should feel a sense of shame. That’s what he was taught growing up. But instead he feels… peaceful.

That is, until her eyelids flutter and she rolls over, shifting the covers so that he gets a good view of her still naked body, and with it, the bruises on her thighs and hips. Bruises unmistakably left by his fingers. Dammit. He’s done the last thing he ever wanted to do: he’s hurt her.

“Good morning, sleepy head.” She yawns, the teasing words muffled. “It seems like we overslept.”

His mouth goes dry, and all he can manage to choke out is a simple, “Yeah.”

She frowns, sitting up slightly, and lets out a small groan. “You alright there, Bucky? You look a little off.” The late morning light only serves to highlight more marks he’s left, this time on her shoulders, neck, and breasts. Stubble burn. Hickeys. Why the hell was he so rough? At the time, he thought he was being gentle, but obviously he’s just as much of a monster as Bucky Barnes as he is once the Winter Soldier takes over.

She’s still staring at him, brow furrowing in concern.

“Fine.” He clears his throat and begins to sit up. “Stay here. I’ll make you a cup of tea, maybe some oatmeal.”

“Alright. Don’t be gone too long.”

Her words follow him out of the room, and into the kitchen. Fuck. He should’ve known better.

Maybe once upon a time, he was a decent man, one who could be with a woman like her and not do her a disservice. But now, it’s clear that he falls short in every way. In an act that was supposed to be pure pleasure, a way of communicating how much they mean to each other, he’s hurt her.

“I trust you.” The words from last night ring in his ears. He shouldn’t have let her. It’s pretty damn obvious that, even at the best of times, he can’t be trusted.

“Tell me what’s going on.” Even with his enhanced senses, he still jumps in surprise as the unexpected words come from behind him. He turns around slowly, not wanting to startle her. She’s standing there, clad in only one of his shirts, arms crossed over her chest (now bearing his marks), staring him down.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head.

“Bullshit. I had a vision of you staring off into space, and here you are, jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.” At another time, her choice in phrases would make him chuckle, but right now, he can’t muster it.

“Last night-” Her eyes widen, but she stays silent. “I hurt you.”

“No, you didn’t. Not at all.”

“I did.”

She frowns. “Bucky, I think I’d know if you’d hurt me, and I’m telling you, I’m fine.”

“Doll, look at yourself!” He reaches out to take her arm, but immediately freezes. “Go in the bathroom and take off your shirt. Take a good look in the mirror and then tell me I didn’t hurt you.”

“Alright.” Her jaw clenches, and she marches off in the direction of the bathroom. A deep sickness gnaws at the pit of his stomach and, completely worn out, he sinks into a kitchen chair.

Not thirty seconds pass before she walks back into the room, this time completely undressed.

“Tell me you’re not talking about a few love bites.”

“And bruises! You may not have noticed, but they’re in the exact shape of my fingertips.”

“Oh my god!” She shakes her head. “It’s a sex injury. A minor one at that! If you didn’t heal so damn fast, you’d probably have nail marks all over your back!”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“How is it not the same thing?”

“I’m a monster! And you’re not.”

She takes a determined step towards him, and he leans as far back as the chair will allow.

“Bucky, you are not a monster, and I am not afraid of you.”

“Then you’re stupid.” He hates himself for his sharp words, but she needs to take this seriously. Underestimating how dark, how evil he can be, is a mistake. A deadly one.

“Hey!”

“Don’t you get it?” Without any input from his brain, he stands. “They could find me, and with a few words, I could stare you dead in the eyes as I murdered you! If you were my mission, I wouldn’t even hesitate, and you’d be dead before your body hit the floor!” Her mouth falls open, but she immediately closes it again. “This isn’t something that can be worked through with some patience and a positive attitude! I could kill you!”

“So could a million other things!” Her voice rises in volume, and before he can contain it-

“But they’re not in the bed sleeping next to you!” He’s shouting at her. God. Everyone is right. He’s beyond saving.

A few tense seconds pass before she looks up at him, a steely look in her eyes.

“Look, I get it. I know what you could do to me.” As she speaks, she pulls out a chair and sits. “But I could also get run over when I cross the road, or the room could fill with carbon monoxide while I sleep. I could have an aneurysm and drop before anyone knows what’s happening.”

He opens his mouth to tell her the likelihood of any of those things happening is far lower than the chance that he’ll hurt her, this time in a major way, but she holds up a hand, silencing him.

“I’m gonna be cautious, but I’m also not going to live my life in fear that the ceiling is going to collapse or nuclear war is going to strike, or that someone is gonna turn up and say the magic words that make you go cuckoo for cocoa puffs-” What? “-and I just realized you’re too old for that reference.”

“That’s another thing-” He’s about to remind her exactly how big their age gap is, that although he’s physically close to her age, chronologically, he’s closer to the age of her great grandfather, but she lets out a sudden groan of frustration, and that makes him bite his tongue.

“Oh, fuck off, Barnes! If you’re about to start in on how you’re too old for me, then I’m not gonna wait for you to go full Winter Soldier before I kick your ass!” Out of all things, that’s what snaps him out of it, makes him feel like maybe, just maybe, there’s still a chance they can make the best of things.

Smirking, he asks her,

“You think you could kick my ass? Really?” It must be the breaking point for her too, because she snickers.

“Of course. It’s the little bitches you have to watch out for.” That’s it, he’s laughing, nearly doubled over, and from the looks of things, she’s in much the same state.

“You’re something else, you know that?” He asks between stilted breaths.

“I think we both fit in that category, Pal.” Her smile fades, but only slightly. “Bucky, if you really want me to go, if that’s what’ll give you peace, then I’ll do it, but I meant what I said. I trust you.” Never. He’ll never want her to go, he’s sure of it. Well then, that only leaves one option.

“I know what we’re doing today.” It’s an abrupt segue, but it’s the only thing he could come up with on short notice.

“And what’s that?” The microwave dings, reminding him that he needs to stir the oatmeal, and he pushes past her.

“Sit down and have your tea. You’re going to need all your energy if I’m gonna show you how to use a gun.” If she’s staying, then at least he can teach her how to defend herself beyond the basics she already knows.

“So I guess this means you’re keeping me around for a little while longer?” It’s spoken like a joke, but he turns to her, meeting her eyes to drive the point home.

“Yeah, Doll. As long as you want me."

#marvel #captain america #the winter soldier #bucky fanfic #fanfiction #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #pre civil war

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purrincess-chat · 4 years

Text

Will You Be My (Fake) Lover? CH10 *FINAL*

Listening to In the Rain is mandatory while reading this chapter. I make the rules. (bonus music box version)

Read on AO3

Chapter 10

Marinette surged forward, heart jumping up to her throat. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.

“What?” She repeated, hoping that she’d simply misheard Alya even if her gut told her she hadn’t.

“There’s a video online. It’s Adrien saying he doesn’t want to fake your relationship anymore,” Alya said, and Marinette scrambled to her computer.

Her hands shook over the keys, breath hitching when she clicked the video, and Marinette watched the scene replay with a grimace. Somehow seeing it from an outside perspective cut deeper, and for a moment, she thought she might be sick.

“I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m tired of lying to everyone and pretending that this is real when it isn’t. I never wanted any of this,” Adrien said, and she watched the shock and horror flash on her own face. “I can’t do this, Marinette.”

“We can still do this,” she said. “I don’t want to break up. Please.”

“This was never even real. I have to draw the line somewhere, Marinette, and I’m drawing it right here. Game over. I’m done,” he said, and Marinette bit her lip hard. “You pressured me into this.”

This wasn’t what happened. Adrien hadn’t meant it that way. The video was fabricated. Cut. A lie. Her stomach dropped. First, she was horrified, but horror soon surrendered to anger. This had one person’s name written all over it, and Marinette didn’t have to think twice about who that was: Lila.

“M? Are you alright?” Alya said, and Marinette pressed the phone back to her ear.

“Okay, yes, Adrien and I faked our relationship, but it was for a good reason,” Marinette said with a sigh. “And I didn’t pressure him into it, he was the one who asked me.”

“Whoa, whoa, Adrien asked you to be his fake girlfriend, and you said yes?” Alya asked, and Marinette could almost hear her eyebrows raising in her typical, ‘girl, are you crazy?’ expression she often gave Marinette when it came to dealing with Adrien. “Marinette, how could you do that to yourself? That’s it. I’m coming over. We need ice cream and pedicures, and you’re gonna tell me everything.”

“What about your sisters?” Marinette asked.

“Nino is gonna watch them until my parents get home in an hour. I’ll be over soon, okay?” Alya said like the best friend in the world she was, and Marinette’s eyes teared up again.

“Thanks, Alya,” her voice rose an octave.

It was going to be a long night, but the truth was finally going to set her free.

***

“What were you thinking, Adrien?” Gabriel paced the length of his office.

Adrien sat in one of the chairs staring out the window completely desolate, and too numb and angry to really register. The evening hadn’t gone according to plan at all, and now that the truth was out there, he didn’t know what to do to fix it. If Marinette didn’t hate him before, she was bound to hate him now.

“How could you embarrass me like this?” Gabriel continued, and Adrien shifted his gaze to his lap.

“I’m sorry, Father, but you weren’t listening to me about Lila. If I’d dated her…I couldn’t have dated her,” Adrien said, shaking his head. “I never meant for any of this to happen. Marinette and I were just supposed to break up. No one was ever supposed to find out, I swear!”

“Our poor judgment on Miss Rossi’s part aside, you should have told Nathalie your relationship was fake. We could have taken measures to ensure that this type of thing didn’t happen,” Gabriel said, and Adrien leaned back in the chair with a sigh.

“I’m sorry, Father. It won’t happen again. Believe me, Marinette won’t want anything to do with me after this,” Adrien said, leaning against his fist.

“The phone hasn’t stopped ringing since that video went live. Everyone wants to know the full story,” Nathalie said, deleting yet another voicemail from a magazine asking for an interview. “We need you to appear on Side-by-Side tomorrow to do some damage control. You’ll tell everyone that your relationship was a planned publicity stunt, and you can even say that Marinette is innocent to clear her name.”

“Yes, Nathalie,” Adrien sighed, and at his father’s dismissive nod, he stood and stalked from the room. He already had the number dialed by the time he made it to the top of the stairs, and she answered on the second ring.

“I know it was you,” he growled, letting his door shut behind him. “You doctored that video so that everyone would hate Marinette.”

“Oh, Adrien, I’m flattered,” Lila cooed, but he was done playing games.

“Don’t get coy with me. I’ll bet you had something to do with those girls that attacked her tonight too,” he said, hands balling into tight fists.

“I didn’t tell them to attack her. I’ve just been feeding them little exaggerated truths for several weeks and letting them come to their own conclusions,” she said with a laugh that made Adrien’s blood boil. “The haircut was a nice touch. It really pushed you over the edge.”

“You set us up.”

“I warned you, Adrien. I said you’d be the one to destroy your relationship. All I had to do was wait,” she said with a singsong lilt. “But don’t worry. I’m willing to help you, for a price.”

“What do you want?” He asked, voice full of venom.

“I want you to get me back in the good graces of your father. I want you to admit in an interview that I was the one you were supposed to date and that your father and his assistant cheated me out of that chance, and I want a photoshoot. Front page, full spread,” she demanded, and Adrien sank into his computer chair.

“And what do we get out of this?” He asked. “How are you going to fix everything?”

“I have the full video. If you do those things for me, I’ll release it and then everyone can see that it wasn’t really Marinette’s fault,” Lila said, pausing before adding, “it was yours.”

Adrien tapped his fingers on his desk, pursing his lips. “How do I know you’ll do it?”

“Because we’re friends, aren’t we?” Adrien shuddered at the word. “I’ll give you until the end of tomorrow to make up your mind, but I think we can both agree that Marinette has suffered enough.”

“Fine. I’ll do it, but you better hold up your end of the deal,” Adrien said.

“Oh, don’t worry. I just need to make sure you’ll give me what I want. I’m not a sore winner, though, if I’m being honest, playing you two has been the most fun I’ve had in a while,” she said with a laugh. “I’m always open for a challenge.”

Adrien hung up and tossed his phone on the desk, face falling into his hands. Plagg floated up from his shirt, tiny arms crossed and ears flat.

“That girl is seriously evil,” he said, and Adrien glared down at her name in his contacts.

“Yeah,” he said. “She is.”

***

“Okay, time out, so Adrien didn’t want to fake date Lila, so instead, he decided to fake date you?” Alya cocked her head to the side. “Why would it matter which one of you he was fake dating?”

“Because, Alya, Lila isn’t who she says she is, and Adrien knows that. He’s the only other person besides me who knows what she’s really like,” Marinette said with a sigh. “Look, I know I’ve never exactly been able to prove it, but Lila is a liar. She made up all that stuff about me to get me expelled because she didn’t want me to expose her, and Adrien’s the one who made her lie to let me back in school.”

“But Adrien hates lying,” Alya said, and Marinette threw her head back with a groan. “Okay, okay, I know. It just all sounds so crazy. You get that, right?”

“Of course, I do, but I’m not making this up, Alya. Please, you have to believe me. I’m your best friend, and I wouldn’t lie about something like this,” Marinette said, holding up her pinky. Alya studied her, and after a moment, she sighed and locked their pinkies together.

“Okay, I’m with you, and given that Adrien did say your relationship was fake, I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt about Lila,” Alya said then shook her head. “What I don’t get is why you would agree to be Adrien’s fake girlfriend? That must have eaten you up inside hearing him say all of those things to you knowing that it wasn’t real.”

“Well, Adrien needed me, and the alternative was him dating Lila which wasn’t an option either of us could afford,” Marinette said, shifting her gaze down to her hands. “And even after everything that’s happened, I’d do it all over again if he asked.”

“M,” Alya said, pulling her in for a hug.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell him how I feel now,” Marinette said, and Alya pushed away with a frown.

“Why not? I mean, you two could date for real,” Alya said, but Marinette averted her gaze.

“Well, it’s just that…I thought toward the end that Adrien was starting to see me differently, but then this happened.” She gestured to her pixie cut and sighed. “I don’t think Adrien wants to be with me again after everything, and it might only do more harm than good if I told him.”

“But you’ve tried so hard, and you’ve had his back all this time. You never ask for anything for yourself, girl.” Alya placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay for you to be happy too, ya know.”

Marinette searched her warm expression before falling back against her shoulder. Alya held her close as she cried for the dozenth time that evening, but her words didn’t matter. She would never get her happy ending. Not with Adrien.

***

“Did you memorize your cards?” Nathalie asked the following evening, picking lint from his jacket while someone powdered his cheeks.

“Yes, Nathalie,” Adrien said with a nod, lowering his head when she walked away.

He wasn’t one to get nervous seeing as he’d done interviews countless times before, but this time his stomach churned, head spinning as he scrambled to find a story that fit. He hadn’t told Nathalie and his father about Lila’s demands – they’d never approve them if they knew, but this wasn’t about his father’s company or even himself. It was about Marinette. He needed her to be safe and free from all of this mess even if it meant he took the fall, and after everything he’d put her through, he deserved every bit of it.

“Are you really going to go through with this? I mean, you’re giving that horrible girl exactly what she wants,” Plagg hissed from Adrien’s collar.

“This is the only way to help Marinette. Lila won this round. There’s nothing I can do,” Adrien said, glancing over at the couch he and Nadja would share in just a few minutes.

“And if you do this for her then you’re just playing right into her game. Do you really think she’s going to stop tormenting Marinette after this? She’s just going to keep using you to get what she wants,” Plagg shot back, and Adrien ran a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“What else am I supposed to do?” He shrugged in defeat. “We can’t beat her. She’s too good at lying.”

“So why don’t you stop lying? Take her down for good?” Plagg asked, and Adrien held up the note cards Nathalie had written for him to memorize.

Plagg was right. If he gave into Lila now, then none of it would ever end. She would find new ways to get back at him and Marinette until she clawed her way up high enough to damage them for good. Lila making it this far was his fault. If he’d let Marinette expose her from the beginning, none of this would have happened. This was his mess, and he needed to be the one to fix it.

“Adrien, you’re on in five,” the producer said as she passed, and Adrien trailed his thumb over the tiny box in his pocket.

It was time for Lila Rossi’s reign to end, and he would make sure she never lied to anyone again.

***

“We don’t have to watch, you know,” Alya said as Marinette sat beside her on the couch. Thunder cracked outside, the windows rattling against the wind, and Marinette stared ahead, hugging her knees to her chest.

“We could just go to the park and get some air, or we could go downstairs and ask your dad to show us how to make shapes in the pie dough,” Alya suggested, but Marinette barely heard.

“I’ll be fine,” she insisted, and Alya looked her up and down with pursed lips. “I trust him.”

“Alright, but if it’s too hard for you, we’ll turn it off, okay?” Alya said, placing her hand over Marinette’s and giving it a squeeze. “I’m gonna go grab a drink before it starts.”

Marinette sat back on the couch with a sigh, rubbing her palms on her jeans. Adrien was going to set the record straight then everyone would know that she wasn’t the villain here, so why did her heart still feel so heavy?

Maybe it was because of the abrupt way things had ended between them, or that Lila had been ready to leak it to the whole world. Maybe it was because the foolish part of her thought that she and Adrien would get to ride off into the sunset together at the end of all this. Maybe she just didn’t want to hear the love of her life stand up in front of the whole city and claim that everything was all a lie. That he’d never loved her, and it was all just pretend. Maybe she just wished she could have told him her feelings before everything fell apart.

She glanced over at her gift and shook her head. It didn’t matter what he said in the next few minutes. The truth was bound to come out eventually, and she’d known that. Neither one of them was as good at weaving webs as Lila, and they’d been fools to think they could get away with it forever. She’d been a fool to think that pretending to be his girlfriend would change anything.

“Here,” Alya said, dropping her sketchbook on the couch beside her. “Maybe you can distract yourself by designing.”

“Thanks, Alya,” Marinette said, flipping through the thick pages. She turned to the next blank page to find it filled with neat script signed by the one name that made her heart flutter.

Dear Marinette,

You’ve got some really amazing designs in here. No wonder my father was so impressed. I hope you don’t mind that I peeked! Listen, I know things have been weird lately since we started all of this, and we have to be careful talking about it, but I just wanted to let you know that you mean the world to me. This whole mess with Lila is so complicated, and it’s nice to know that I have someone I can lean on. When this is all over, I owe you like a million favors, but if I’m being honest…I kind of hope we have to keep this up for a while.

Being with you is fun, and it’s made me feel really special. Every day I wake up, and I can’t wait to see you and talk to you. For a long time I didn’t know how to approach you because all of this stuff is still new to me, so even though we have to keep sneaking around and lying, I’m actually glad that we did this because it’s allowed me to get closer to you. I don’t know how to describe it, but lately, when we’re together, I feel like nothing else matters. Sometimes when I look at you, it’s like there’s only you and me. You’re really amazing, and I hope we’ll be friends for a long time. Thank you for everything.

Adrien

Outside the storm raged, droplets hitting the roof as Marinette read his words. She’d forgotten that Adrien had written her a note when she lost her sketchbook at his house. Tears bubbled in her eyes as she read it over and over until one dripped down onto the page, and she jumped when Nadja’s theme music boomed from the TV.

“Don’t be bemused, it’s just the news! I’m Nadja Chamack, and this is Side-by-Side! Tonight’s guest is a hot topic right now - famous teen fashion model and target of recent romantic controversy Adrien Agreste!” Nadja started with her usual enthusiasm, and Marinette’s gaze snapped up to the screen as the camera moved over to him, heart jolting.

“Thanks for having me, Nadja,” Adrien said with his trademark dreamy smile.

“You are quite the controversial young man right now, Adrien,” Nadja said with a knowing smile. “Fake romances, crazy fans, and everyone in Paris is wondering what’s the real story?”

“Well, Nadja, that’s why I’m here because the people of Paris deserve the truth…My friend Marinette deserves the truth.” He looked into the camera, and Marinette’s heart skipped as those green eyes seemed to stare straight at her. “A lot of you saw a video online of a conversation I had with Marinette, and in it, I said a lot of things, most shockingly to everyone, that our relationship wasn’t real. That it was fake, and I want to be honest with all of you.”

He paused for a moment, flicking his gaze to his lap and biting his lip before continuing.

“3 months ago, I did a photoshoot with a girl in my class, Lila Rossi, and my father and his assistant thought that she and I would make a cute couple to rake in more attention to our brand, but the only problem with that was that Lila and I don’t get along very well. In fact, Lila has a nasty habit where just about everything out of her mouth is a lie.” Marinette’s hands shot up to her mouth, and Alya’s draw dropped beside her.

“And this is the part where I really messed up because I didn’t know how to tell them that I didn’t want to date Lila because she was just using us to get fame and glory, so I told them that I couldn’t date her because I was already dating someone else,” Adrien said as everyone in Paris hung onto every word.

“Your friend Marinette,” Nadja said, and Adrien nodded.

“Now, Marinette is the only other person at the school who knows that Lila is a liar, and shortly before all of this, Lila had actually schemed to get Marinette kicked out of school for it, and when I came to Marinette and told her what a terrible friend I was and begged her to help me, she agreed.” Adrien shook his head with a shrug and continued.

“So, she and I started dating to cover up my mistake, and Marinette is such an amazing friend that even though it only ever caused her grief, and Lila constantly attacked her – falling in the fountain at our photoshoot? Lila. Crazy ‘fan’ ripped her dress at the gala? Lila. Attacked by rabid fangirls? Lila’s doing. And now this video that exposes all of our secrets from the past three months was shared by, you guessed it, Lila.

When I came here tonight, I was met with a choice. My father wanted me to tell you all that Marinette and I’s relationship was just a planned publicity stunt, but that’s another lie. Lila wanted me to stand up and tell everyone that my father wronged her by allowing me to date Marinette instead of her in exchange for her releasing the full video of my conversation with Marinette, but then I started thinking, and I realized that if I did that, I’d only be continuing to play her game, and truthfully, I’m tired of lying and protecting people who only ever think of themselves,” Adrien said, looking back into the camera with a shrug. “So, Lila, I’m done.”

“Oh my god,” Alya said as they both blinked at the screen.

“Wow, this situation certainly is messier than we all thought,” Nadja said, adjusting her blazer. “We’ll be right back with more on this story after the break.”

Marinette jumped up from the couch and made her way for the door.

“Where are you going?” Alya asked as Marinette grabbed her gift and slipped on her shoes.

“I have to get to the TV station,” she said, and Alya jumped up after her.

“Have you lost your mind? It’s a monsoon out there!” Thunder clapped as if to prove her point.

“I need to see him,” Marinette said, taking Alya’s hands in hers. “Don’t you get it, Alya? He did all of this for me.”

Alya searched her expression with pursed lips then smiled and gave her hands a gentle squeeze.

“Good luck, girl.”

Cold rain splashed her face as she dashed up the street, and she clutched her present to her chest. It was all for her. Breaking up, exposing Lila. Adrien had done it all for her. He wanted her safe even if Paris hated him for it. Marinette wasn’t the only one willing to sacrifice her happiness for someone she loved.

“We’re back with Adrien Agreste and his incredible romantic journey. Tells us, what was it that prompted you to end things with Marinette that we saw in the now infamous video.” Nadja’s voice echoed over the rain between buildings, but Marinette didn’t slow down.

“Well, Nadja, a lot changed over the 3 months Marinette and I were together. She and I had always been friends, but we had an opportunity to grow closer, and Marinette is just really so amazing for putting up with everything that we went through,” Adrien replied. “But the breaking point for me was when she got attacked yesterday by some people that Lila riled up against her. I couldn’t stand seeing that happen to her because of me, and I know everyone keeps saying that it wasn’t my fault, but the fact of the matter is, if I’d just been honest from the beginning, none of that would have ever happened to her.”

“So, you broke things off because you didn’t want Marinette to get hurt anymore?” Nadja said.

“Well, how would you feel if something like that happened to someone you- to someone you care about. Marinette has been there for me a lot since I met her, and I took advantage of her kindness for way too long. I had to end things,” he said. “Marinette is important to me, and if she’s listening right now, I want her to know that I’m genuinely, deeply sorry for all of the trouble I’ve caused.”

“Thank you for coming out tonight, Adrien. This has been Side-by-Side. I’m Nadja Chamack, signing off.”

Time was running out. Her lungs hurt, and her clothes, now drenched, clung to her. But she couldn’t stop now. For too long she’d been running away from Adrien and hiding her true feelings. It was about time she started running toward him.

There was a crowd outside the front of the TV station, but Marinette remembered the way to the back entrance from numerous times dropping Manon off. If she had to guess, Adrien’s bodyguard would take him to the least crowded exit, or so she hoped.

The alley was empty when she rounded the corner. Rain dripped from the gutters into puddles that swallowed her shoes, but she kept walking until she saw the silver town car. The back door opened, and Gorilla stepped out with an umbrella, ushering a mop of blond hair to the car before he got wet.

For a moment she couldn’t breathe. Air refused to leave her lungs, but as Gorilla reached for the door handle, she mustered up every ounce of her strength.

“Adrien!”

She feared that he hadn’t heard her over the pattering rain, but as her voice registered, he froze with his hand on the hood. He turned to face her, studying her as if he expected her to be a mirage, but when she stepped toward him, he pushed away from Gorilla and out into the rain.

“Marinette!” His voice wavered, his steps slow and uncertain at first, but when the shock wore off, he sprinted into her arms.

Adrien crushed her to his chest, nuzzling into her neck and squeezing so tight, she swore her spine would snap. But she didn’t care. She clung to him just as desperately, trailing her fingers through his hair as his shoulders shook.

“I’m so sorry, Marinette. For everything. You have every right to hate me, and I’m so sorry,” he said, and Marinette knew he wasn’t shivering from the cold. She rested her chin on his shoulder, glancing up at the dismal sky.

“It rained the day we met. Do you remember?” She murmured, and he blinked when she pushed away, flicking his gaze down to the black umbrella in her arms as she pressed it against him.

“Marinette, you’re drenched,” he said, fumbling to open it and shield them from the storm, not that it mattered now. “We should get you out of the rain before you catch a cold.”

He took her hand and tugged, but her feet remained rooted where they were. She wasn’t going to let another opportunity slip by. The time for hiding and running away had passed.

“After school, it started to rain, and you gave me your umbrella,” she continued, and when Adrien glanced up, she knew what he would see: rain drops and intricate swirls sewn into the fabric bordering a simple phrase that she’d been carrying all this time. Three short words she’d never had the strength to say out loud until this moment.

“It was raining when we met, and that was the day that I fell in love with you,” she whispered, placing her hand over his on the handle. “I love you, Adrien.”

He blinked again, searching her face, but then his lips were on hers. His free hand found her hair, fingers lacing into short, dark strands and pulling her closer. Tears burned hot on her cold cheeks, but she didn’t feel the chill. A few hours ago she never thought Adrien would kiss her again, but there they stood with hearts and lips entwined, clinging so tightly to feelings left unspoken for far too long.

Adrien stayed close when they pulled away, pressing his forehead to hers. She squeezed his hand, their fingers pressing on the switch at the base of the umbrella, and as it collapsed inward, she looked into his eyes, glinting with the same amusement she’d fallen for all those months ago. Thunder clapped as the alley echoed with their laughter. Lila’s lies couldn’t hurt them anymore. They were free.

“All this time?” Adrien finally asked, brushing her cheek with his thumb, and she pursed her lips.

“I tried to tell you several times, but nothing ever worked out. I was afraid that…I couldn’t bear the thought of being rejected and having to give up these feelings,” she said, lowering her gaze, and Adrien pressed a soft kiss to her nose.

“I’m sorry I never realized, and…you did all of this even though you knew it wasn’t real.” He shook his head. “Marinette, I should have realized it sooner.”

“Adrien, don’t, okay?” She brushed his hair aside and cupped his cheek. “Don’t blame yourself because I was afraid.”

“Not that,” he said, and she fixed her gaze on the small heart-shaped box he pulled from his pocket.

Golden vines adorned the sides, intricately swirling together into a flowering rose in the center, and Adrien wound the key on the back, opening the clasp as a soft melody began to play. She recognized the notes, picturing the night Adrien had played them for her the first time. The song he’d composed especially for her that encompassed all of his feelings. Her melody.

Her hands shook as she took the box in her hands, her fingers trailing over the words etched into the inside of the lid, and she cupped her face as tears bubbled over once more.

“I should have realized sooner, and I should have told you every day from the moment I did,” he said, and her eyes traced over those three words.

I love you.

“You exposed Lila,” she said, glancing back up at him.

“It was time for her to stop hurting you. To stop hurting us. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing anymore, and I’m sorry I didn’t act sooner,” Adrien said, averting his gaze. “I shouldn’t have stopped you all those months ago.”

“Well, if you had let me then we’d never have gotten to spend so much time together. I’d still be plotting hopeless schemes to confess to you, and we wouldn’t be where we are now,” she said, turning his chin to face her.

“You’re right.” He smiled, leaning into her touch. “I know I don’t deserve it after everything, but with Lila gone, I think that things would be quieter for us if you wanted to…I mean, if you don’t that’s fine, I understand, but when I invited you to dinner it was because I was thinking that maybe we could-”

She cut him off with a kiss, and then he was the one blushing.

“Yes,” she breathed against his lips.

“For real this time?” He quirked a brow, and she nodded.

“For real this time.”

***

“So, let me get this straight,” Nino said, cocking his head to the side. “You two fake dated so that Adrien didn’t have to fake date Lila because she’s a liar, and she spent three months trying to get back at you two during which time Adrien fell in love and now that Lila is exposed, you two are dating for real?”

Adrien and Marinette exchanged smirks, his fingers moving over the keys of his piano. Sunlight trickled in from the large windows, chasing out any remaining shadows with its warm glow, and Marinette leaned against his shoulder.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Adrien said, and Nino shook his head, draping an arm over Alya’s shoulders.

“You sure know how to party, dude,” he chuckled. “Who would have thought Lila was really so nasty.”

“Uh, me,” Marinette said pointedly, and her friends conceded her point.

“I’ve never seen so many angry people in one room before. That girl is gonna have to transfer,” Alya said, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking a hip.

“Well, thanks to Adrien, no matter where she goes, no one is going to believe her stories.” Nino tipped his hat in respect.

“Sounds like she’s just gonna have to learn to tell the truth,” Marinette said with a shrug.

“How unfortunate for her,” Adrien said, and they all laughed.

Everything was right in the world again. Lila’s power was gone. Her friends finally knew the truth, and Marinette finally had her prince for real. No more lies. No more hiding. Just the two of them together with their friends. As it should be.

Alya rested her elbows on the piano, closing her eyes while Adrien continued to play.

“This is a really pretty song, Adrien. What’s it called?” She asked.

“Yeah, what did you name it?” Marinette rested her chin on his shoulder, and he flicked his gaze to her with a soft smile, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“In the Rain,” he said, and her cheeks warmed when he touched his nose to hers.

“Dude, you need to work on your names for stuff,” Nino said with a laugh, but Marinette simply shook her head and smiled.

“I think it’s perfect,” she said, and Nino gave her an incredulous look.

“For real?” He grunted, and Marinette glanced over at the umbrella hanging on the wall beside their picture thinking about the music box resting on the shelf above her bed.

“Yeah. For real.”

#miraculous ladybug #adrinette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #adrienette #my writing #fake dating au

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lallemanting · 4 years

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sara!!!!!! may i ask for a lil 'eliott coming home to lucas after the film shooting' fic🥺❤️ hope you've been well!

of course!! (though I’m gonna apologize now for the cheesiness) also happy birthday!!! 💛💛 hope you enjoy this little fluffy thing

never not thinking of you

His muse, he’d called Lucas once, when he showed him the completed script. Lucas had blushed, staining his cheeks a pretty pink and then rolled his eyes and called Eliott lame.

or, Eliott comes home to Lucas after shooting his film

Eliott is buzzing by the time he makes it home to his and Lucas’ apartment.

It’s late. Or early really, the sun just about to rise, but Eliott hardly even feels tired, too amped up after finally managing to shoot the film he’s been worried about all semester. It wasn’t exactly how he imagined it, for obvious reasons, but he’s proud of it all the same, thrilled at the idea that he finally created something and managed to bring it all the way to fruition. Something he’ll be able to hold in his hands that started in his head.

He expects Lucas to be in bed as he turns the key and opens their door, stepping into the darkened hallway. He had told Lucas he’d probably be late and to not stay up and wait for him, knowing how exhausted he’s been recently studying for the bac. He’d been texting Lucas updates on the filming all night but when Lucas finally stopped responding around 1 in the morning, Eliott had hoped he’d finally let himself get some sleep.

But when he walks into the living room, the light is still on, and Lucas is passed out with his face in his books on the couch.

Something in Eliott’s chest picks up then, and all that excitement and energy he’d taken with him from the film set funnels down into a surge of affection for the boy sleeping there so peacefully, his cheek pressed into the pages of his biology textbook. Lucas looks so small and soft, and worry-free, a far cry from the anxious boy that’s been running around from study session to study session for the past few weeks. It’s like that first morning all over again, after the first time they kissed, when Eliott woke up and traced the lines of Lucas’ face with his fingers, so calm and happy that Eliott was beside him. The kind of thing he’d never felt before.

Eliott thinks for a moment about leaving him there, not disturbing his sleep and letting him rest, but he worries that his sleep won’t be as good if he stays there. Especially when they have such a comfortable bed in the other room. The last thing he wants is for Lucas to have a stiff neck in the morning.

And there’s something else there, a selfish piece of Eliott that just wants to hold him close. The shoot, even though it had gone well with Lola, had just reminded him of all the ways Lucas had made him feel, the feelings and emotions he had had such a hard time articulating before that had just spilled out onto the pages when he sat down to write the script. His muse, he’d called Lucas once, when he showed him the completed script. Lucas had blushed, staining his cheeks a pretty pink and then rolled his eyes and called Eliott lame. But it’s true, how Lucas has inspired him, and later, when Eliott had pulled him close and kissed him deep and called Lucas his muse again, Lucas had let him.

Part of that energy that flows through him now: the excitement, the inspiration, rooted in his love for the sleeping boy in front of him. It’s the all-consuming, heart-wrenching kind of stuff that had taken Eliott a long time to believe he deserved. It rears up now and all Eliott wants to do is hold his boyfriend. Sue him.

He lays down his bag gently on the floor and takes off his jacket and his shoes. He’ll put them away in the morning. Then he gently moves over to where Lucas is sleeping and begins moving the books and papers onto the table, careful to keep them in the same stacks and to mark the pages Lucas had open.

And then he gently brushes the hair off of Lucas’ forehead and leans down pressing a soft kiss to his sleep-warm skin.

“Lucas, baby,” he whispers, as Lucas begins to stir. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Lucas blinks once, then twice, before he seems to register the fact that Eliott is there at all. But then his face breaks into a wide smile and Eliott can’t help but fall in love all over again.

“Eli, you’re home,” Lucas says, his voice rough from sleep. He tilts his head back, asking for a kiss.

And Eliott can’t say no to that, so he leans down and kisses Lucas gently, a press of lips as Lucas reaches out and wraps his arms around Eliott’s neck.

“Lets go to bed,” Eliott says quietly, Lucas’ body soft from sleep as he holds him close.

“Okay,” Lucas replies. And then, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Eliott whispers back.

They walk together to their bedroom, Lucas tripping over his own feet as he fights his fatigue and Eliott holds on and breathes deep, something entirely Lucas filling his nose and calming him down, Lucas’ hair soft against his cheek.

“Go lie down,” Eliott says when they finally reach the bed.

“You’re coming too?” Lucas asks, eyes blinking and barely staying open. He clings to the bottom of Eliott’s t-shirt.

“Yes, in a minute,” Eliott promises. “Now go.”

Lucas climbs gratefully into bed, pulling the covers up around him as Eliott strips down to his boxers, kicking his jeans off to the side. Then he goes to brush his teeth, fully expecting Lucas to be asleep again by the time he leaves the bathroom.

But he isn’t.

Eliott climbs into their bed and slides into the sheets, his head hitting the pillow before he shuffles closer, nearly brushing noses with Lucas where he lies near the center of the bed, facing Eliott’s side.

Lucas opens his eyes as Eliott lies down and smiles when Eliott leans over and kisses the side of his mouth, sweet and soft. The fine line between what counts as late night and early morning hanging around them.

“How did it go?” Lucas asks him, snuggling closer.

The question makes a thousand things flit around Eliott’s mind all at once with all that he wants to say about that night. He wants to talk about the lighting and the shots and the way Jo had proposed his next film be about a ninja princess. He wants to talk about the rain that had just appeared and the way Lola had transformed when Maya showed up, but he knows that can wait for when Lucas decides he wants to hear about it. For now he settles on something simple.

“Really well,” he replies, smiling at the sheer lightness of the relief. It had been weighing heavily on him, the stress of that project, and to finally have it done is exhilarating.

“I’m glad,” Lucas replies, but he closes his eyes and again and Eliott can sense there’s something else there.

He swallows, unsure of what to say. On one hand he would never want to make Lucas feel guilty for focusing on the bac, as he should, instead of helping him on his project. It all worked out in the end. But on the other hand, hearing Lola say the lines he had written imagining he’d be able to say them to Lucas had made his heart ache, wishing it could have been Lucas there instead. And he wants Lucas to know that, to know that he will always be Eliott’s first choice.

The film was meant to be Eliott’s love letter to Lucas after all, to finally tell him all the things he had been keeping inside for so long, afraid that voicing them would make it disappear. But Lucas had stayed – he always stayed.

“I still wish you could have done it instead,” Eliott says quietly.

Lucas opens his eyes again and smiles. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” Eliott replies. And it’s too much, Lucas all the way over there, three inches away across the mattress, so Eliott reaches out and pulls him to his chest. Lucas goes willingly, shuffling closer and tucking his nose into Eliott’s neck.

“You can tell me about it if you want to,” Lucas murmurs. “And I know you want to.”

And Eliott does, but not tonight. Tonight he just wants to hold Lucas in his arms and breath him in and thank whoever sent him his way and saved him in the process.

“I will, but tomorrow.”

They breathe together for a moment, Lucas moving with the rise and fall of Eliott’s chest and he’s hit, for the thousandth time that night, with just how much he loves him.

“I know you’ve read the script,” Eliott whispers, “but when we were shooting that last scene tonight, all I could think about was how much I wished I could be saying it to you.”

Lucas shifts a bit, propping himself up on Eliott’s chest as he looks at him. “Say it to me now,” Lucas says softly, leaning down to kiss Eliott gently, their lips brushing as Eliott inhales.

“Now?”

“Now. Like a bedtime story.”

Lucas settles back down onto Eliott’s chest, and Eliott can’t help but hold him tight. He loves that Lucas knows he has it memorized. Loves that Lucas wants to hear it.

“Okay,” he whispers in Lucas’ hair. “It goes like this:

I don’t want you to go. Because if you’re not here, it’s not worth it. Because I’ve been alone for years, and I thought it was better this way, but it’s not true. Because we barely know each other but I feel like I’ve been waiting for you my whole life. Because I love you, and I don’t want to be scared anymore and I don’t want to wait any longer. Because life is now.”

And as the sun breaks over the horizon, two boys, in a little flat in Paris, hold each other as they fall asleep.

#skam france #elu fic #elu #my writing #sorry for the fic spam!!

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tarlosbuddie · 4 years

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Summary: Buck and Eddie are hosting the 126 monthly dinner at their house. The whole team and their kids are here.

Or the one where Buddie and Tarlos are friends and have lots of kids.

This is also part of my collaboration with the amazing @harvestleaves

Word Count: 2477

Chapter : 2/2 (part one)

Tags: Established relationship, Kid fic, domestic fluff, crossover, future fic

Relationship: Buddie and Tarlos

Read on AO3

From his spot in the kitchen, Buck can already hear the voices of the first five guests, the Strand-Reyes. Bella runs to say hi to both men, and Matias is sitting on the couch next to Andrea before his dads can even take their coats off. Baby Luis is asleep in Carlos’ arms.

“He’s growing so fast”, Eddie says while opening his arms to take the one-year-old so TK and Carlos can finally make themselves comfortable. “Be careful, he’s going to be a teenager before either one of you can blink an eye,” he adds and tilts his head towards his oldest.

“I can’t believe we are the first ones to arrive,” TK says and takes a look at the living room. Half of the guests have yet to arrive and the room is already full of the best kind of noises; their kids laughter. “Do you want me to take him back?” he asked Eddie but it looks like uncle Eddie has no desire of giving him his son back.

“No, I got him” he replies and sniffs the top of the kid’s head, full of black and curly hair.

“What are you cooking us, Buck?” the youngest firefighter asks, the head already bending toward the pot.”

“Something great” Buck’s husband answers for him, and the three other men smile at Eddie.

“Eddie has secretly decided to turn tonight’s dinner into a cooking competition between our husbands, TK”. Buck explains and all smiles grew wider.

“I never said it was a secret”, Eddie jokes.

“Well, if someone wants me to compete I should probably get my hands in that kitchen, then?” Carlos adds. He kisses the top of his baby’s head, who is still sleeping soundly in Eddie’s arms, and moves next to Buck. “What can I do, Bucky?” he asks while winking at Christopher, the only person Buck allows to call him with that nickname.

“The main course is almost done, I also tried to make pão de queijo with the recipe you gave me, but it doesn’t smell as good as yours” Buck confesses.

“It smells great, man” the younger man reassures him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “What if I work on making the bottles?” Carlos offers. “You feed us and the small ones, I feed the smallest ones.”

“Deal” Buck accepts.

“Isn’t it cheating?” TK jokes. He’s enjoying the scene though, Carlos is rolling his sleeves, and opening his bag and the kitchen cupboard to get what he needs. The two of them spend so much time at the Diaz’s that none of them have to ask where things are. Even before they had kids, they all enjoyed spending time together.

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

Buck still had four hours left in his shift when Eddie heard the pounding on the door. Even if Buck had forgotten his keys, he wouldn’t be back so soon. Not without calling him to warn him first. Eddie brushed his bed hair back and out of his face and walked to the door. He was expecting a delivery guy - since his fiance was ordering new furniture for the baby’s future room every time he read an article saying that kids might need this kind of thing. What the firefighter was not expecting was to open his door to find TK, soaking wet, shaking. Before asking why he was there, the older man took him by the arm to bring him inside and rushed to the bathroom to get him a towel. His dark hair was half-covered by his hoodie, but TK was still pretty wet.

“You wanna tell me what you’re doing in my living room, looking like a wet golden retriever?” he asked kindly.

“When did you know?” TK asked. His voice was shaking and he was out of breath. Eddie waited for the rest of the question in order to respond. “When did you realize Buck was the one you wanted to spend the rest of your life with?”

“Not soon enough” Eddie half-joked. “But if you ran under the pouring rain to ask me that - it’s because you already know Carlos is the one for you” he continued, knowing that that’s where the conversation was going. “You want to propose to that boy, right?”

“I’m madly in love him, Eddie” TK replied. “I love him so so much.”

“So why are you in my place and not at yours with your gorgeous boyfriend?”

“I’m scared” TK admitted, drying his face with the towel and using this as an excuse not to look at his friend.

“You’re afraid he will say no?” the older man assumed “Carlos loves you, I have no doubt about it.”

“I’m afraid he will say yes” TK replied and his voice started cracking.

“I don’t get it” Eddie said while turning his back on him a few seconds to set the coffee pot.

“What if I’m not enough? Carlos deserves so much better.” TK’s words almost broke Eddie’s heart. One of the many things TK and Buck have in common is that they both are hard on themselves. Eddie always considered himself lucky to have a friend like TK, who’s kind, strong and will stop at nothing to help the people who need him. Carlos and him are a perfect match, everyone who spends more than five minutes with them can notice that. “My dad loved my mom, and they still got a divorce” the youngest added.

“You’re not your dad TK. You are an amazing man. You have so much to offer, and if you don’t already know it, Carlos sure does” pressing a warm cup of coffee in his friend’s hand. Eddie told him about something he knew for a while “The first time we had dinner together, at the Ryder’s, Grace asked Buck and I if we planned on getting married.”

“I remember that” TK spoke but his voice was still unsure.

“What you don’t know is that I knew by then I was gonna marry Buck someday. And you know what I already knew too?” He didn’t wait for TK’s response since the young man seemed confused. “I knew you two were going to be together forever too. I could see it in the way you two looked at each other.”

“You seem so sure” the Strand boy said, a little less shaking thanks to the hot cup in his hands.

“I’m marrying Buck in three weeks, this is how I’m sure about all of it. And I’m also sure that you didn’t need me to tell you this to know you belong with Carlos” he took his own cup and pointed his other hand to the couch to invite TK to sit with him.

Thanking him for his help, the young man left his untouched coffee on the table and run back to his car. The rain had stopped and the sky was clearer, just like TK’s mind. He knew what he wanted, but he knew it long before he knocked on the Diaz’s door. He just needed a push.

And if one year later Eddie didn’t mention it in his toast at their wedding, it was because he was not the reason behind the proposal. TK and Carlos did this on their own, they built their relationship step by step and learned to trust each, to rely on each other. Relationships take work, effort, especially after Alex broke TK so much he almost did not make it. Carlos was his light in the dark. His conversation only helped him see something he already knew deep in his bone.

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

Eddie and TK are sitting on this same couch, admiring both their husbands in the kitchen. As much as Eddie was proud that TK trusted him enough to knock on his door years ago, he takes no credit for them getting engaged, and then married, he knows that they didn’t need him. The kind of love Carlos and TK have for each other is too strong for them to ignore it.

When he left the 118 to go to Austin, Eddie was afraid he would never feel a bond as strong ever again, but the Strands have a special power, they make everyone feel at home. They are still in contact with Bobby, Hen, and Chim, especially since the latest married Maddie a few years ago. When Eddie met Chim, he liked the guy immediately, but he never imagined he would be the uncle of his and Maddie’s daughters.

Owen knocks at the door so loudly his son knows it’s him before anyone had the chance to open. He smiles at the house owners and they both gesture the door so he can welcome his dad himself. Not wanting Eddie to move with the sleeping Luis in his arms, TK happily opens the door and neither Owen nor Zoey are surprised to see him instead of the Diaz. TK hugged both his dad and his step-mom before letting them in.

“Is Grace breastfeeding Mary or should I get a bottle of formula ready for her?” Carlos asks Buck before seeing the new guest in the kitchen with them.

“I think she’s still breastfeeding” Buck tries to remember the last dinner but it was a month ago and he knows how fast things go with babies.

“So, three bottles it is.”

“I brought my own bottle, thanks” Owen jokes and put the wine bottle on the counter before hugging his son in law. Owen is on his third marriage, but he knows Carlos is the one and only for TK. His son loves his husband so much that Owen doesn’t even want to imagine the possibility that he could one day lose him. They deserve to grow old together and to have everything Owen didn’t find with his two previous marriages, unconditional love, and understanding. He’s glad Zoey fits well in their little family. She gets along with TK, Carlos, and the kids.

As if he senses his grandfather’s presence, the youngest Strand-Reyes is awake and screaming, soon comforted by Papa Strand.

The Ryders arrive a few minutes later, followed by Michelle, Mateo, Marjan, Paul, and his girlfriend. It’s the second time he brought Irene to a dinner with the rest of the crew and everyone knows it means things are getting serious for him to introduce her to his fire family. Now that everyone is here, they all can move from the couch to the tables. Of course, as they suspected, Bella keeps moving around and decides to finally stop running when her grandpa offers to let her sit on his lap if she stays still for the rest of the dinner.

TK tries his best not to tease Buck about his pão de queijo because he will never love it as much as he loves Carlos’ but it may have something to do with the fact that he has the memory of his husband showing their oldest son how to cook it.

Marjan and Mateo excuse themselves early. They love their family, but they are the only singles of the crew and they are planning on going out after dinner to grab a few drinks and blow off some steam by dancing at the bar. Paul and Irene left soon after them because she has an early shift in the morning but she will make up for it by helping Paul host the next dinner at his house.

When it’s time for the dessert to be served, Andrea takes her hostess role very seriously and helps Eddie serve the carrot cake she made with Buck. They bake the same cake every time they are in charge of the monthly dinner, but kids really love it and they always eat the leftovers for breakfast the next morning. After all this time, Buck still doesn’t know how much food to make for a group of people of this size, so he always cooks too much food. He usually gives away the leftovers but keeps the cake to feed his own army.

TK is trying to eat while rocking Luis back to sleep. Carlos offers to help by doing something he loves to do even though there’s a decent chance people might laugh at them. He places a gentle arm around his husband to bring him closer to him and feeds him cake like he’s feeding a small child. They did it at the wedding reception, feeding each other a part of the huge wedding cake and Carlos still enjoys doing it. He loves that it makes TK smiles while chomping on a piece of dessert. This guy has a sweet tooth and they’re both glad their kids haven’t inherited this trait or they would have trouble putting them to bed from the sugar rush. When he’s done eating, TK is as sleepy as his son is, and he lets his heavy head fall on Carlos’ shoulder.

Grace is feeding her seven-month-old daughter. And Owen has flashbacks of when TK was that small. Sometimes, it still feels like it was yesterday. Mary Ryder is not even the youngest member of the extended 126 family. The newest additions to the family are in their dads’ protective arms. Roberto is the sweetest kid, he barely cries, but his sister Annabeth cries enough for the two, especially when she’s not next to her twin brother. Getting these two to sleep on different cribs is impossible. Eddie is holding her in one arm, while Buck has both arms wrapped around his boy like he’s trying to shield him from any kind of danger that might come his way. They are 4 asleep babies at the table, but when a loud snore comes out, all heads turn towards TK. Carlos is blushing because he knows for sure everyone’s assumption is right.

Judd is one of the only people with both free hands, so he jumps off his chair and starts collecting plates to bring them to the kitchen sink. Christopher follows him and gets ready to do the dishes.

“I’d like to help, but” Eddie starts and points to his baby girl.

“Let me” Owen says and Eddie already knows the captain is not offering to clean, so he surrenders and gives him the baby. She slightly starts to move but Owen rocks her slowly and she’s fully back to sleep. Papa Strand magic works on every single baby.

With that, Eddie moves to his kitchen, to help Judd and Christopher. Judd might not be as familiar as the Strand-Reyes in this house, but just like at the firehouse, they all take turns doing the dishes after a family dinner. They never questioned it, not even the first time Carlos and Eddie hopped in the kitchen with Grace to clean everything and to exchange secrets while the others were playing poker. Poker turned into board games, but the feelings are the same. They’re family.

#tarlos #Buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #tk strand #carlos reyes #owen strand #judd ryder #grace ryder #this is stupid #but I wanted to write it #so here it is #EmilieLoves911 #my stuff

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blue-mood-blue · 5 years

Text

Minerva was retired.

“Not retired,” Duck would always say. “Just… starting a new career. Or, uh. Diversifying? Seems weird to call it retired when you’re still working.”

Maybe not retired, then. But certainly not working in the same capacity - less emergencies meant less lives at risk, and the kind of world-saving she did now didn’t usually carry the risk of bodily harm or a body count. A change of department, at least, if not a change of career entirely.

Just a change of department. And a good chance at that, because sometimes the old position still needed her.

The weather had taken an abrupt turn that evening - storms that had been predicted to miss them entirely for the past week were now looming in rolling, angry clouds overhead and creeping closer. Eventually, Juno made the call; they had a handful of campers in their section of the forest who might not know how severe the weather was going to be, so they were going to round them up and take them somewhere safer. "Service can be spotty," she explained. "Can't guarantee they've heard the change in the report, and better to get them out now than have to fish them out of danger later. I think we can handle it." And she divvied out the camping locations.

The storm held for most of the day, but by the time late afternoon arrived the wind was already whipping the trees around in a frenzy. Reaching the campsites became more complicated as debris was left over the paths and roads, and Minerva thought that Juno Divine made a wise call when she heard another large branch breaking in the distance. There would be plenty for them to do after the storm just to make the park accessible without the added worry of rescues.

A call came in over her radio. "Hey Minnie, there's only one campsite left on the list and no one else has gotten back from the last round yet, so I'm just gonna take it."

She looked up at the sky, eyeing it skeptically, before lifting the radio. Such old technology by her own planet's standards, but it worked well enough. "Are you sure, Duck Newton? The weather does not look promising, and it might be a good idea to have someone with you. I will not be much longer if you wish to wait for me."

"Nah, nah." If she concentrated, she could just make out the sound of footsteps and a snapping twig - already on his way, then. "Sooner I get there, sooner I get back, and then we can head home and watch movies until the power goes out."

Minerva grinned. "We are going to watch the one with the robots tonight, yes? You did promise me I could pick."

He laughed, and the sound was just as pleasant even with the fuzz of static. "Yeah, I promised. Hard to go wrong with Wall-E anyway. We'll pick up pizza on the way home, if you want."

"Sounds like a date." She glanced up at the sky one more time as she reached the main building, concern alleviated a little by their plans for a nice evening in. "Be careful, Duck, and I will see you soon."

"I’ll be back before you know it."

It was the last she heard from him for almost an hour.

The tension building in the air finally broke as the sky opened up and rain pummeled the roof of the main office. The wind only increased, whistling and shaking branches, and lightning showed the scene outside in bursts. Minerva stood by the window, radio in hand, and made unanswered calls as Juno began to pace.

"He should be back by now." Only static on the radio. "I saw the campsite he was headed to, it's not that far away." Juno glanced at the window Minerva stood by as though she might see Duck walking up the road, cool as a cucumber. It was all just sheets of rain and flashes of light illuminating the ways the trees seemed to writhe. No Duck, and nothing to reassure them that he would even be able to get back on his own.

"I should go and look for him. Something might have happened to his radio." Minerva didn't say what they were both thinking - something might have happened to him, and how would anyone know until the storm died down if they kept waiting - but the tension in her shoulders made her worry clear. It would have been obvious to Duck, and maybe it was noticeable to Juno, too, since Minerva was doing nothing to hide it - the amount of control it took for her to remain inside as long as she had.

"You should not go and look for him. What if we lose track of you, too?" The look Juno gave Minerva was uncertain, though, as if she wasn't sure of her own argument. Duck always said that Minerva could do whatever the fuck she wanted, and Duck... knew more about everything surrounding Minerva than anyone else. Maybe she could just walk out into a raging storm and bring her husband back. A thunderous rumble shook the building. Juno's voice sounded less sure, too, when she spoke again. "I'm sure he's fine. Duck's been doing this job a long time, he knows how to take care of himself. We'll hear something from him soon."

They waited and watched while the storm seemed to grow worse. Minerva stared at the window with single-minded determination, and Juno fumbled with her own radio as if willing it into activity. Just static, again, until it started to sound like the rain hitting the roof.

When they heard something, it didn’t come from the radio. A figure made of light stood in the room next to them suddenly, and just as suddenly it was on the floor, lying on its stomach and reaching out. "Mouse," said Duck's voice. "I... think I'm stuck."

"Where are you?" She walked closer while Juno stared, and Minerva had to ignore the alarms ringing in her head with his choice of her nickname, with the way the projection flickered between standing and crawling. She stopped just short of him, pulling back the hand that reached for him out of instinct - she couldn't touch him, not in this form. The worry was put into a box in the back of her mind for later; the sooner she was with him, the sooner she could help.

It seemed to take him a moment to gather himself enough so that the projection was on its feet again and he could point to a spot on the map hanging on the wall.

"Are you hurt?"

He laughed, a hoarse sound - a fearful sound. “I think so, honey. Fuck.” And with that the figure flickered out of existence.

There was a beat of silence as they both watched the spot where Duck’s astral projection used to be, waiting for something more. Anything. But it seemed that Duck had said all he had come to say.

“I am going to find him,” Minerva said, walking to the door.

“I’m going with you,” Juno replied, reaching for a set of keys.

In a moment of sorely-needed luck, Duck was not hard to find. He knew his part of the forest, knew it well enough to take Minerva wandering even before the end of the world had passed, when they needed somewhere quiet to be without expectations. Never once had he gotten them lost, not even when he took her hand and led them away from the path because there was a tree he wanted to show her, or a meadow he knew of. He was still aware enough to pinpoint his location on a map, and Minerva tried to take reassurance in that fact when she spotted him in the light from the headlights, lying in the road in front of a fallen tree.

Minerva could see immediately what he meant by “stuck” - in the harsh illumination, she could make out long drags in the mud left from Duck trying to pull himself free of the tree. He hadn’t made any progress; either the tree was too heavy or the ground was too soft, and he was lying there soaked by the downpour and smiling up at them though the pain clear on his face.

She jumped down before Juno had a chance to stop; the relief of seeing him and seeing that smile was a heady feeling, and she tried not to get lost in it. "The next time I offer to accompany you when the situation seems dangerous, I trust you'll take me up on my offer?" Her voice wasn't stern at all, teasing if anything, and she could see the effect that her words - and her presence - had on her husband. His smile looked a little easier, his fear a little farther away.

Duck chuckled. “You're right - you’re always right about stuff like this and I'm the idiot who keeps arguing with you, I know. I would've been back before the storm, though, just had the worst fucking luck - campsite was already abandoned, that wind started up, and I almost missed the tree.” He pulled himself forward a little, which was a mistake; the smile was gone and he barely managed to bite back a scream. His leg didn’t give at all.

“Do not do that again.” There was a time when she would've had more control over her emotions. She would have been able to lock her concern away in iron until she had time to deal with it, as her training demanded. But she wasn't exactly that person anymore, and this wasn't war - this was Duck, hurt, while she tried to decide what to do.

Minerva leaned closer to the spot where leg met wood. The trunk was heavy, not rotted at all, so there must have been some damage already that made the wind able to push it. That meant that the full weight of a healthy tree was on him, sunken into the mud. The luck that had gotten her and Juno to the spot so quickly seemed to have decided they'd been granted enough favors.

“Yeah, good call.” Duck's voice sounded strange, thin, and his face looked pale. “Don’t suppose… don’t suppose you could get that off of me? I’m not gonna lie to you, Minnie, it, it doesn’t feel great.”

She could, Minerva was sure of it. She didn't bother with false modesty when it came to her physical prowess, didn't see the point - it wouldn’t be easy, but she could remove the trunk with time and a good enough grip. But it wasn't lost on her that if she couldn't see Duck's leg, she also couldn't see the extent of the damage. She might make things worse by moving it, or by trying to and losing her grip.

Before she could answer, Juno was next to her. “Holy fucking shit, Duck. How the hell did you get wedged under there?”

“Just that talented. I’m sure you’re super jealous. Please get it off.” Being out in the storm was starting to take its toll on him; Duck looked tired and unfocused.

“I’m going back for… chainsaws, I guess. And backup. I’d say don’t go anywhere, but. Yeah.” She tossed a tarp at Minerva as she climbed back into the vehicle. “Ten minutes, tops.” And then she was gone, the headlights retreating back the way they came.

Minerva unfolded the tarp, spreading it over both of them as she sat down next to Duck. They were still wet, and they were still sitting in mud, but she felt better here than she had at the building; at least here, the uncertainty was gone.

"So I guess that's a 'no' to just lifting the thing and chucking it somewhere else."

"I would prefer to try the chainsaws first, yes," she said after a moment. "It is very likely I would hurt you, and if I could avoid that... that would be better."

"Oh." He nodded. “Yeah, I get that. Probably safer, anyway.”

They were quiet for a while. The sound of the rain on the tarp was different than the sound of it on the roof of the office, closer and more immediate. The cold was biting, sneaking in through the places the tarp didn't cover. There was no forgetting where they were.

"So much for date night."

The thought was unexpected enough to coax a laugh from Minerva. "I am sure I can find some way for you to make it up to me. When you are no longer trapped under a tree, perhaps."

Duck laughed, too. "Makes it a little hard to cuddle, yeah." He reached out for her hand. “Thanks for coming. This is probably the dumbest way I’ve ever gotten hurt, and you know there’s a list, but… means a lot.”

“I love you, Duck Newton, and I would rescue you from many trees.” He chuckled, and she smiled at him. “As I know you would for me.”

“Hell yeah I would.” And if his voice was a little quieter, a little more tired, it was no less sincere. “Would absolutely punch a tree for you. Let me at ‘em.”

Minerva tried not to let the silence last too long - she kept him talking, about his day, about that part of the forest, about the last time he’d seen a storm this bad - anything at all, as long as it meant he was present and alert. Ten minutes slid into fifteen before she heard anything on her radio - a string of expletives, because there was “another fucking tree down on the fucking road, get yourselves to some shelter while I call for help.”

Minerva brushed the hair from Duck’s forehead. The last time she’d seen him at this angle, they’d been lying together in bed and she wished them back there, in some safe moment. His eyes were tired, verging into glazed, but he smiled just a little at her touch. “This is going to hurt, Wayne Newton. This is going to hurt so much.”

He sighed, but he didn’t sound surprised or worried. “Figured. Do what you gotta do, Mouse. I trust you.”

She kissed his forehead. Back in the storm, she stood over the trunk, found her grip, and pulled.

Minerva had never heard Duck scream that way. She never wanted to hear it again. Mercifully, it didn’t last long - soon he was silent, passed out from the pain, and she let the heavy tree in her arms fall down at an angle that would leave him free to move.

It was bad. The damage was… bad, and that was as far as she allowed herself to think. Minerva thanked the little bit of luck that meant Duck wouldn’t have to feel the next part, as she wrapped his leg in the tarp and lifted him. She knew exactly where to take him; she knew this place almost as well as him, now.

The little outpost was a good choice - it was well stocked, with a bed and first aid supplies, and had reliably weathered storms in the past. Small, but Minerva would take anything more effective than the flimsy tarp. When they were dry she did what she could for his leg, drawing off of the experience of half-remembered war wounds and first aid training, and forced herself to be satisfied with what she’d managed.

“I am going to tell Leo Tarkesian that you lost a fight with a tree,” she told Duck. “He is going to laugh at you, and I will join him.”

Duck didn’t answer. Minerva didn’t expect him to.

A couple of hours later, while she was watching a window that usually showed a beautiful view of the forest and now only showed the growing darkness of night and the storm, she noticed Duck start to shiver. His skin was too warm - a fever was setting in, and she piled blankets on him and sat back down to do nothing but hope the night passed quickly.

It didn’t, of course; the hours dragged on while she watched. His sleep was restless, and she had to keep him from moving his leg. She tried the radio but there wasn’t even static, and her cell phone was similarly useless; her consolation was that the outpost was a holding of the park service, and should show up on the maps. All she could do was wait. The storm howled outside.

“I worried about things like this,” she confessed around midnight to her sleeping husband. “When I asked you fulfill your destiny, I worried about the day I would see you weakened, or bloody. Or the day you wouldn’t answer at all, because you couldn’t, and because my choosing you had cost you everything. And I, fool that I am, thought that the days I might see you hurt were over.” Minerva sighed. “Not even the abominations managed to do this much. There is a joke there somewhere, too; you will have to tell me what it is, when you wake up.”

Sometime before dawn - but only just - her husband answered, from behind her. The glowing figure was looking blindly for something, shaking and reaching out, and she realized he was dreaming.

“You can’t just be gone. That’s not fair, Minerva, you can’t just be gone.”

A fever dream. Fear from a long time ago, dredged back to the surface by confusion and pain. Minerva stared at the figure for a long moment; even without an expression it looked sad, lost and afraid. She remembered the feeling, the long silence and emptiness that she was left with when she was cut off from earth. And while it was tempting to cross the room to the figure, the one looking for her was right next to her.

The first time it happened that she knew of, she’d been in Duck’s living room. He was sitting next to the couch, holding her hand and humming some blues tune when she woke up. That was before either of them knew what it meant, that they were still together - that they just kept staying together - but in hindsight… maybe she did know, in that moment.

“You were having a bad dream,” he told her. “Bad enough that you astral projected into my room. Couldn’t just let you be alone out here after that.”

“I am ruining your sleep, Wayne Newton.” The protest was weakened a little by the smile on her face.

“Nah, I’d rather be here anyway.” And maybe he knew, too.

It wasn’t the last time. It was likely that there would always be nights like that, when the dreams felt too real and the only way they could reach out was along that reliable tether that used to be their only connection.

She turned around and rested her forehead against his, holding his hand. “Shhh, Wayne Newton. I am here. I have not left you. Try to rest.”

Minerva didn’t look to see if the projection was still there, but she didn’t hear anything else.

~~~

Daylight brought help - Duck was rushed to the hospital and Minerva was left in the waiting room until someone had news to give her. She was torn between the conviction that Duck needed her with him and the understanding that the doctors needed room to work, but all she had to do was summon the memory of her makeshift aid to convince herself it was better she stay away for now. So instead, she sat with a cup of terrible coffee in one hand, and her phone in the other.

There were an alarming number of messages waiting for her, she noted as she took a sip of the coffee. Something must have happened, and Minerva had a moment to hope no one else had been hurt in the storm before her phone started to buzz and the name “Leo Tarkesian” appeared on the screen.

“Thank fuck,” he said as soon as she answered. “I’ve been calling half the night! I was about to start over to you and Duck’s place, I’d be there already if not for that damn storm -”

“Leo Tarkesian, I do not know what you are talking about.” She had to speak loudly to be heard over him, which drew some glances from other people in the room.

“Uh, I’m talking about Duck? Talking all kinds of nonsense about looking for you last night? He sounded real spooked, I thought for sure some shit had gone down.”

So the projection had been lost. If he thought she was still planets away, there was little wonder that Duck overshot his target. “Something, yes. There was an accident in the park, but I doubt that that whatever he said had anything to do with it.”

A pause. “So, when he said he was looking for you…?”

“He was asleep by then, with a fever. He was projecting from his dreams.”

A longer, more significant pause. “...We can do that?”

Minerva didn’t answer. “Did he appear to anyone else?”

“Not that I know of, but I called Sarah. And Sheriff Owens, to see if anyone had called anything in.” Duck wouldn’t be happy to hear that the news had gotten that far, but in fairness, it would have spread anyway. “That fucking… I’m not gonna lie to you, Minerva, I haven’t forgotten that fucking vision, you know the one. Where Duck dies.”

“Yes, I remember.” Even with every possible attempt to forget.

“Really thought… really thought something big was going on. But you said there was an accident, is everything okay?”

Minerva braced herself for the fallout, and told Leo everything.

“Fuck it all, I fucking knew it! I’m calling Sarah back, we’ll be over soon - yeah I know, no news yet but we’re gonna be there, dammit - okay I gotta hang up so I can call her but I’ll call you back, yeah? We’ll be there soon!”

And then connection was quiet, and Minerva was left in a mostly-empty waiting room with a phone full of messages and the dawning realization of why there were so many.

Mama called next, before Minerva could find her number in her contacts. “No, I didn’t see him,” she explained. “That was Barclay, barged into my room and stood over me like some kind of serial killer. Scared me half to death. The storm had calmed a little by then so he went out looking to see if he could find, I don’t know, Duck’s wrecked car, maybe. Didn’t really sound like he had a plan beyond ‘do something.’”

“You can tell him that Duck Newton is in capable hands, and I will share any news as soon as I have it.”

“I can’t tell him anything because the fool hasn’t gotten back yet. I swear to god he and Stern are searching the whole town like bats outta hell. Not like Jake didn’t overhear him and get the Hornets in on it too - you’d think they’d have given up by now.”

She gave Mama the hospital information, interrupted once by a frantic Barclay getting back, and then again while Mama answered an incoming message from Thacker.

Sylvain, Duck? Minerva thought while chaos erupted from her phone. You must have missed me.

“Aubrey, too,” Mama relayed. “Real late last night, he says, and she got the whole court worked up with her fretting. You can tell Duck he should be expecting some visitors real soon; gonna be hard to keep that room from filling to the brim.”

Of course it would; he would pretend to hate it, and no one would be fooled, and the nurse would have to throw the rambunctious crowd out when visiting hours were done. It was always the same with their family. A wonderful kind of chaos.

Then the doctor was there, and Minerva’s thoughts focused on one person only.

As she expected, the injury was severe. The recovery would be long and frustrating - walking was a conversation for another day. And under everything the doctor said was the hesitant warning of this will be hard, do you understand that?

Minerva did understand. And she knew besides how worth the work good things were. It was a lesson she thought she knew, until Duck repeated it while showing her how to care for a sapling and she felt the words fully for the first time.

It was the heroism her current line of work called for. The quiet kind.

Duck smiled at her when she walked in the room, big and bright and still a little loopy from pain medication. “There you are. Been looking for you.”

“I hear you’ve looked for me in many places, Wayne Newton.” She sat down by the bed, and the tension finally fully eased from her shoulders as she held his hand. “Why did it take you so long to look next to you?”

“Guess I thought… guess I thought that’d be too good, you know, keeping a star all to myself.”

Minerva laughed, and the sound boomed out of her. “Oh, you are going to regret saying that tomorrow, I assure you.”

“Nah. Nah, never, ‘cause it’s true. You’re my hero, like one of those… one of those people. In the sky.”

“You are mixing your metaphors. Am I one star or a constellation?”

“All of ‘em.” He looked like he believed it, too. “Decided you were all of ‘em way back when I didn’t know where exactly you were up there. I used to look up and wonder which one had you.”

“This one,” Minerva said, and kissed him.

#taz #the adventure zone #taz am #taz spoilers #minduck #listen #i did a hit but in my defense #it was going to happen eventually #i got to thinking about using those astral projections and how that might work #i'm sure there'll be more softs eventually #because i am soft for these two

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bobasheebaby · 4 years

Text

125 Golden Girls Prompts

This time I have some hilarious prompts from some hilarious women. These help keep me sane, send in prompts or request a specific show. Long as hell, breaking at 15.

1 “Go to sleep, sweetheart. Pray for brains.” – Dorothy

2 “Crying is for plain women. Pretty women go shopping.” -Blanche

3 “They were all buying T-shirts, you know, the ones that say, ‘Today is the first day of the end of your life.’” — Dorothy

4 “People waste their time pondering whether a glass is half empty or half full. Me, I just drink whatever’s in the glass.” – Sophia

5 “Nobody ever believes me when I’m telling the truth. I guess it’s the curse of being a devastatingly beautiful woman.” – Blanche

6 “No! No, I will not have a nice day!” -Dorothy

7 “Excuse me NAME, have I given any indication at all that I care?” – Sophia

8 “No one in my family has ever seen a psychiatrist ... except of course, when they were institutionalized!” – Blanche

9 “Isn’t it amazing how I can feel so bad, and still look so good?” -Blanche

10 “Condoms, NAME! Condoms, condoms, condoms!” – Dorothy

11 “It’s like life is a giant weenie roast, and I’m the biggest weenie!” – Rose

12 “He’s/She’s really a very sweet man/woman. He/She just doesn’t like to show it.” — Dorothy

13 “I eat raw cookie dough. And occasionally, I run through the sprinklers and don’t wear a bathing cap. And at Christmas, I’ve been known to put away more than one eggnog.” – Rose

14 “I could get herpes listening to this story!” – Dorothy

15 “I’ve been having a good time, and there wasn’t even a man/woman in the room.” -Blanche

16 “Why don’t I just wear a sign, ‘too ugly to live’?” – Dorothy

17 “I though I was gonna die. I swear I have never felt such agony. I saw my entire life flash before my eyes and I thought, ‘What a shame if I die now, I’m too young…and I’m wearing the wrong underwear.’” — Blanche

18 “You’ll have to excuse NAME. HE/She suffered a slight stroke a few years ago which rendered him/her totally annoying.” – Dorothy

19 “Eat dirt and die, trash.” – Blanche

20 “[to NAME] You’re a furry little gnome and we feed you too much.” – Dorothy

21 When I was a child, I used to get overexcited and pet the cat too much.” – Rose

22 “I feel that you have backed me into a corner, and when I am backed into a corner, I come out fightin’ like a wildcat. Unless I’ve had too much to drink, in which case I slide down the wall and make mad passionate love on the carpet.” – Blanche

23 “NAME, you’re one chromosome away from being a potato.” – Dorothy

24 “If this sauce was a person, I’d get naked and make love to it.” – Sophia

25 “I hate to admit it but he/she melts my Haagen-Dazs.” – Rose

26 “Want a glass of water to wash down your foot?” – Sophia

27 “Like I’m the only person who ever mixed a margarita in a sailor’s mouth?” – Blanche

28 “I feel like crawling under the covers and eating a box of Velveeta.” – Rose

29 “When I say jump, you say ‘on who?'” – Blanche

30 “I’m jumpier than a virgin at a prison rodeo.” – Blanche

31 “How come whenever my ship comes in it’s leaking?” – Dorothy

32 “Tell me the truth: do these glasses make me look stupid?” – Rose

33 “If I had that money I could have moved into a swinging condo instead of living with—I better not say anything until I’ve had my coffee [sips coffee]—a slut and a moron!” – Dorothy

34 “Go hug a landmine!” – Dorothy

35 “Fasten your seatbelt, slut puppy. This ain’t gonna be no cakewalk!” – Sophia

36 “NAME? Hubba hubba zing zing, baby, he’s /she’s got everything.” – Rose

37 “I could vomit just looking at you!” – Dorothy

38 “There is a fine line between having a good time and being a wanton slut. I know. My toe has been on that line.” – Blanche

39 “It’s like you people don’t pay any attention to me whatsoever.” – Rose

40 “Why do blessings wear disguises? If I were a blessing, I’d run around naked.” – Sophia

41 “I hate Jell-O. If God wanted peaches suspended in midair, he would have filled them with helium.” – Sophia

42 “Oh, don’t give up, NAME. If the ancient Egyptians could move 20-ton stone blocks to build the pyramids, we can move a toilet.” – Rose

43 “NAME, honey… have you been washing the fruit off before you eat it?” – Dorothy

44 “Tell me, is it possible to love two men/women/people at the same time.” “Set the scene, have we been drinking?” — Rose & Blanche

45 “NAME, what are you listening to?” “A relaxation tape. The rain is supposed to relax me.” “Is it working?” “Not really. I keep worrying that I left my car windows down.” — Dorothy & Rose

46 “NAME, I have a feeling you’re lying.” “NAME, be positive.” “Okay, I’m positive you’re lying.” — Dorothy & Rose

47 “You are undoubtedly the meanest, sickest person I’ve ever met! Not to mention the most unattractive.” — Blanche

48 “Where are you going?” “To either get ice cream or commit a felony. I’ll decide in the car.” — Rose & Dorothy

49 “Let me tell you a story. Picture it, PLACE …” —Sophia

50 “NAME, wake up. My husband/wife/partner will be home any minute.” — Dorothy

51 “I’m NAME and I know it isn’t pertinent at the moment, but I’m double jointed.” — Blanche

52 “He’s/She's really a very sweet man/woman. He/She just doesn't like to show it.” — Dorothy

53 “You know, sometimes when people are under pressure, they sleep to escape.” — Rose

54 “Have you noticed that NAME has been acting peculiar?” “Yes, NAME, from the first day that I met him/her!” — Blanche & Dorothy

55 “Oh, NAME, how do you feel about performing in front of a video camera?” “I think it's okay as long as you've already had at least three dates.” — Rose & Blanche

56 “I never grew a beard!” “You never grew brains, either!” — Rose & Sophia

57 “It wasn't a rat! It was a cute little mouse.” “NAME, it doesn't wear white gloves and work at Disneyland! We're talking about a rodent!” — Rose & Dorothy

58 “My whole life is an open book.” “Your whole life is an open shirt/blouse!” — Blanche & Sophia

59 “Oh, you don't have to worry about me, honey. I never get sick. I take very good care of myself. I treat my body like a temple.” “Yeah, open to everyone, day or night.” — Blanche & Sophia

60 “Oh, NAME. Can I make a little suggestion when you go for your makeover?” “Sure. What is it?” “Don't expect a miracle.” — Sophia & Dorothy

61 “Why am I even discussing this with you?” “Beats the hell out of me!” — Dorothy & Sophia

62 “Well, what do you know? NAME has a past!” “That's right! But unlike yours, I didn't need penicillin to get through it.” — Blanche & Sophia

63 “I'm going to have to meet men/women lying down.” “I thought you did.” — Blanche & Sophia

64 “Here we are in the middle of a crisis and there’s no cheesecake.” — Blanche

65 “Can I ask a dumb question?” “Better than anyone I know.” — Rose & Dorothy

66 “NAME, ‘disdam’ is not a word. You made it up.” “It’s a word.” “Fine. Use it in a sentence.” “You’re no good at disdam game.” — Dorothy & Sophia

67 “He’s/She’s undressing me with his/her eyes.” “Do you wanna move tables?” “Not yet, he’s/she’s only half done.” — Blanche & Rose

68 “You know, there is nothing worse than being wide awake and scared and by yourself!” “Oh yea there is: being wide awake and scared and by yourself without a double-fudge chocolate cheesecake in the freezer.” — Dorothy & Rose

69 “You know what would go so good on this cheesecake is those chocolate sprinkles.” “We finished those an hour ago.” “We could crush some Oreos on top.” “We ran out of those two hours ago.” “How about some whipped cream?” “Mmm!” — Dorothy & Rose

70 “You bought a chocolate cheesecake?” “Just for an emergency.” — Dorothy & Rose

71 “I just need some cucumbers to put on my eyes. It’s very good. It reduces puffiness.” “Does it work on thighs?” — Blanche & Rose

72 “I have a date.” “With a man/woman?” “No, NAME. With a Venus fly trap.” — Dorothy & Blanche

73 “Do you know what your trouble is?” “Of course not.” — Dorothy & Blanche

74 “I think there’s a connection between your brain and wallpaper paste.” — Sophia

75 ““Forgive me, NAME, but I haven’t had sex in AMOUNT OF TIME and it’s starting to get on my nerves.” – Sophia

76 “Do you know what I hate doing most after a big party?” “Trying to find your underwear in the big pile?” — Blanche & Rose

77 “I've never been so humiliated in my life.” “What about the time you lost the key to your handcuffs and had to go with that guy/girl on his/her mail route?” — Blanche & Dorothy

78 “You are not gonna believe this. NAME, just called me.” “I didn't think the two of you were speaking.” “Well, we're not.” “Then how'd you know it was him/her on the other end of the line?” “NAME, you're bringing down the curve for the whole country.” — Blanche, Dorothy & Rose

79 “Oh, my goodness. Look what I found. Double-fudge cookies. I thought we agreed not to keep cookies in the house.” “Right, after this last box.” “You're not going to eat them, are you?” “No, NAME. We're going to go to some dumb country and try to use them as money.” — Rose, Blanche & Dorothy

80 “I can't believe you said that! Oh, if I weren't a lady I'd deck you.” “You try and I'll have you on your back so fast you'll think you're out on a date.” — Blanche & Dorothy

81 [NAME running after a dog] “Ha! Would you look at that: man's best friend, chasing man's best friend!” — Dorothy

82 “I won't stand for this!“[gets up and starts to walk out] “Take it, NAME!” “But I bet you'll lie down for it.” — Blanche, Sophia & Dorothy

83 “NAME, you should make us eat dirt, make us grovel, give us the silent treatment...” “NAME, if you give us the silent treatment, I will eat dirt.” — Rose & Dorothy

84 “Cooking, NAME?” “No, NAME, I'm developing pictures for the Magellan Space Program.” — Rose & Dorothy

85 “Do we have any orange juice left?” [person two pours the rest in their glass] “No, we’re all out.” — Rose & Dorothy

86 “Go hug a landmine.” — Dorothy

87 “Now, what’s wrong?” “I lost it, NAME!” “You never had it, NAME.” — Dorothy & Stanley

88 “You knew I wanted to spend tonight alone.” — Rose

89 “Darn it. I gotta kiss somebody at midnight.” — Blanche

90 “Pizza, dammit! Get pizza!” — Dorothy

91 “What the hell goes on at night in this house?!” — Dorothy

92 “Just drives you nuts, doesn’t it, NAME?” — Rose

93 “Can you believe that backstabbing slut?” — Rose

94 “I’m here if you wanna pick my brain.” “NAME, I think we should leave it alone and let it heal.” — Rose & Dorothy

95 “And the world heaves a collective sigh of relief.” — Sophia

96 "Must you always be so cheerful, you empty headed Mary Poppins knockoff?'—Blanche

97 "What? Are you out of what is left of your mind?!"—Blanche

98 “All I do is listen to your sexual problems. How about my sexual problems?” — Sophia

99 “Blow it out your ditty bag.” — Sophia

100 “Your heart's in the right place, but I don't know where the hell your brain is." — Sophia

101 “Think about it. You live alone. No one likes you." — Sophia

102 “You're moving. Too bad. This would be touching if I liked you more." — Sophia

103 “Go ahead. Stand up and say it. My name is NAME, and I am an idiot." — Sophia

104 “You're here because the rhythm method was very popular in the [insert decade of birth]." — Sophia

105 “Get to the part where they steal the brain out of the dead body and sew it into your head." — Sophia

106 "Exactly how close to the television are you sitting when you're watching TV SHOW.” — Sophia

107 “Boom! You've got a social life." — Sophia

108 “You drink out of a brown paper bag and suddenly everybody’s your friend.” — Sophia

109 “Remember NAME, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” “I think I crossed that line when I got a date!” — Dorothy & Sophia

110 “If you can’t count on family, who the hell can you count on?” — Sophia

111 “In this life, that’s all we have, is hope.” — Sophia

112 “Here’s a newsflash, witches can fly.” — Sophia

113 “It’s great bringing two idiots closer together.” — Sophia

114 “NAME, a man/woman called for you while you were out.” “Finally, now we can break out that bottle of champagne we’ve been saving.” — Rose & Sophia

115 “Gee, with only three hours sleep, I can be just as bitchy as you.” — Rose

116 “Gee, Sophia! You’re awfully cranky today.” — Rose

117 “The doctor says it’s the first time he’s ever been called because a baby was sleeping in the day. And then I think he called me an idiot.” — Rose

118 [astonished] “You paying for something?” “What are you saying, I'm cheap?” “Well, of course he’s/she's saying you're cheap. You're the only man I know who owns a time-share dog!” — Rose, Stanley & Dorothy

119 “Hey, what is this? You're talking about me like I'm an animal. [sniffing NAME] You've been with a man, haven't you?” — Sophia

120 “I do love the rain so. It reminds me of my first kiss.” “Ah, your first kiss was in the rain?” “No, it was in the shower.” — Blanche & Dorothy

121 “You know, I've been thinking ...” “Oh, that would explain the beads of sweat.” — Rose & Blanche

122 “God, I hate morning people.” — Blanche

123 “He’s/She’s a lewd, horny, oversexed beast with five hands.” “You don’t have to build him/her up to me, honey. I like him/her just fine already.” — Rose & Blanche

124 “You ... you ... you rude person!” “Go easy on him/her, NAME.” — Rose & Dorothy

125 “This would be touching if I liked you more.” — Sophia

#golden girls prompts #golden girls quotes #dialogue prompts #writing prompts #drabble prompts #sophia petrillo #dorothy zbornak #rose nylund #blanche devereaux #long post #read more #quaratine sucks and making these keeps my mind busy

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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game of survival, chapter 1/? (branjie) - holtzmanns

AN: Not quite sure how this one has happened, but here we are! Hopefully it’ll be a fun ride.

“Two hundred fifty thousand, starting. Negotiable based on how fast and cleanly the job is done. It should not, under any cost, be traceable back to me.”

“That’s the primary goal of a hit job, is it not?”

The man’s eyes narrow at the drawl from the woman in front of him, seemingly unbothered by the looming bodyguards flanking his sides. She stares back, blue eyes unflinching and facial expression one of almost boredom.

“I need her gone, sooner rather than later. She’s not going down any other way.” The man takes a step forward. “Do we have a deal?”

The woman doesn’t move. “Five hundred thousand, with a hundred and fifty thousand of that deposited upfront in my account by 8 pm tonight.”

Her lip turns up at the man’s resulting growl. “You’re asking me to kill a congressional candidate, one adored by the public and for whom support is only growing across the country with every passing day. You didn’t think it was going to cost you?”

There’s a pause, as the man mulls over her offer. She waits for the answer that she inevitably knows will come.

“You have a deal.”

It’s not her typical job.

Brooke stopped taking the contracts that messed with her conscience years ago. It’s debatable, though, if she still even has one.

But she has her own system, to keep herself intact. She only takes jobs where she knows that the person has done harm. Where the world will be better off without them in it. Corrupt political figures, drug kingpins, even abusers if the person that hires her can meet her monetary demands.

Brooke has a reputation. She’s whispered about, her name brought up whenever a clean job is necessary.

She only takes the worst ones. The jobs that don’t stay on her conscience, the ones where she can calmly pack up her rifle after a clean shot and walk away without a look back.

This job is different - Brooke doesn’t take it because she wants to. She takes it because she has a chance to make more on this one hit than she has on her last ten, and because she owes very, very bad people money who have very, very bad consequences for those who don’t pay up.

She’d be crazy to do it even if she didn’t have a conscience. The target is Vanessa Mateo, a fucking political powerhouse and overwhelming public favourite whose brash style and fiery comebacks have spawned many a viral video already.

Brooke doesn’t need to be overly involved in politics to know that the woman is unstoppable and has made herself many enemies in the process. After all, one of them has hired Brooke.

She feels a phantom tug on her questionable morals. Vanessa Mateo is a politician, part of a population who by definition are not considered exemplary, but she probably has not done anything worthy of ending her life by Brooke’s standards. Brooke ignores it for now.

Brooke is not a bad person – that’s what she tells herself, at least. She’s Robin Hood, were he to go after lives instead of riches. Putting down the powerful in the name of the less fortunate. It’s a description she’ll go back to after this job on Vanessa Mateo, after she gets the money and saves her own ass.

The key to a successful hit job is the combination of a multitude of factors.

First is the background research on the target. Getting into the target’s head, into their lives, into their past.

Brooke spreads out the information that she collects onto a well-used bulletin board in her apartment, mapping out Vanessa Mateo. She pins up her social circle - her immediate confidantes, her friends, her coworkers, her rivals in the race, each photo connected by string and forming a complex web that weaves and stretches across the board. She dives into Vanessa’s past, her schooling, her connections, trying to figure how exactly she rose up in the political ranks faster than anyone’s ever seen. Who the blame of her future death can be pinned on.

Next is learning about the target’s habits, their day-to-day routine, where they spend each and every hour of their day.

It requires watching from afar. Patience. Scoping out where they grab coffee, what time they leave work, when they get home. Where ‘home’ actually is.

The first day that Brooke spies on Vanessa, she hears her voice before she actually sees her. It’s loud and gruff, carrying as she talks to an aide that is hurrying to keep up at her side outside the Capitol Building. Her team follows close behind, a flurry of loose papers and cellphones pressed up to ears, oblivious to the pedestrians that they’re barging past.

It’s not difficult to see that Vanessa is in charge. Brooke watches from her bench as her team trails behind her like puppies, scrambling to follow the orders that she barks at each one of them. She’s the shortest of the group, her heels clacking as she climbs the steps to the Capitol Building with ease.

Brooke maps out the rest of Vanessa’s schedule as the week goes on, eyes on her every action from afar. Despite the nearly six foot build and blonde hair, Brooke is inconspicuous. She moves quietly and blends into crowds, her eyes on Vanessa while giving no one else any reason to look twice at her.

Which leads to the next component of a successful murder for hire: location, location, location.

The gears in Brooke’s mind begin to turn based on where she has seen Vanessa go throughout the week. Is the best place for the deed Vanessa’s campaign office? Vanessa’s apartment building, with no security or concierge to keep out non-residents? The gravel path along the park two blocks away from her home where Vanessa faithfully jogs every morning?

Brooke scouts out each of them, planting bugs to overhear the conversations that occur inside. She worms her way into nearby buildings and looks for vantage points in their windows from where her rifle would be able to provide an accurate shot. She maps out possible getaway routes, ways of abandoning the scene of the future crime without a trace.

After all, to catch a prey, a predator must be prepared.

She ultimately decides on Vanessa’s campaign office as the scene of the crime. Vanessa appears to arrive at the building each morning precisely 45 minutes earlier than the rest of her team, coffee already in hand. A perfect amount of time to get the job done and leave a bloodied mess for her employees to find. Brooke finds the perfect lookout point from which to shoot in the form of a multi-story car park across the street that is still under construction.

A killing shot is only successful if it happens at the right place, at the right time. So Brooke waits, scopes out the layout of Vanessa’s office, bides her time with her eye glued to the viewfinder of her rifle every morning as she waits for the perfect moment, for a perfect shot to the head to line up.

Brooke is almost going to miss Vanessa, which comes as a surprise. She’s been infinitely more interesting to listen in on and watch than any other of Brooke’s past targets. Her interactions with staff, while maintaining her clear leadership position, are interlaced with comical swear words. Her clashes are a lightshow, Vanessa raining down on rivals who dare to cross her with absolute decimation.

Brooke’s sure that people will mourn. Not only the general public, who have started seeing Vanessa as a ray of hope in a current wasteland of politics, but also the individuals around her. The intern that brings her lunch, that she makes sure to thank every time. The secretary with whom Vanessa spends five minutes of her day with talking about The Bachelorette after a new episode airs. She treats them all with a surprising amount of respect while still maintaining her iron grip. Brooke has to give her that.

But it’s almost time for Vanessa’s end. Brooke needs the money, and someone has to pay. Brooke doesn’t want it to be herself.

She’s in the carpark on yet another morning, yawning into her viewfinder as she watches Vanessa a few blocks away. She’s striding up the street and towards her office with coffee in one hand and her phone in the other while furiously typing out a message. Brooke hopes that she can get a fucking clear shot today, she’s tired of the early mornings. She’s used to working at night, making bodies drop under the glow of streetlights. Not with birds chirping above her head.

As Vanessa gets closer to the office building, Brooke takes the chance to check over her equipment again. Viewfinder in place, silencer positioned for minimal noise of the shot, rifle loaded. She’s methodical in her examination; following a routine she’s had her entire career. She’s about to get back into position when-

Wait.

There’s talking.

Not Vanessa, but from inside her office. Vanessa is still outside.

The voices travel to the earpiece in Brooke’s ear, the bug that Brooke planted in Vanessa’s office continuing to work.

“Quick, over there-no not there, you dipshit, leave it under the desk.”

“You don’t think someone will fucking notice it if it’s under the desk?”

“They’re gonna go kaboom before they even realize what they’re looking at. Set the timer.”

Brooke comes to two realizations at once.

First, she’s never had others try to kill her target at the same time as her. It’s new. An interesting twist.

Second, fuck, fuck , she can’t let them kill her first, she needs that money goddamnit-

She’s running before she even realizes what she’s doing, bursting out of the car park and down the street and running head fucking first into none other than Vanessa Mateo herself.

“Shit! So sorry about that ma’am, let me help you get that-”

Vanessa tries to dab at the new coffee stain on Brooke’s shirt with a tissue, oblivious to the way Brooke is staring at her because she’s right there, closer than she’s ever been, all strong perfume and brown curls falling around her shoulders and her nearby office building is about to explode.

“This morning really started off on a rough note, huh? Hope it gets better for the both of us.” Brooke recognizes Vanessa’s political voice, the one she puts on for potential voters and funding backers.

Vanessa doesn’t notice as Brooke starts to tug them in the opposite direction from Vanessa’s office, continuing to inspect the stain damage on Brooke’s shirt near her collarbone instead as she walks.

“-Anyway, take my card, send me the dry cleaning bill for your shirt. I can cover it.” Vanessa grins at Brooke before turning back in the direction of her office. “Great meeting you, truly.”

No, no, no-

“Wait!” Brooke’s voice comes out more louder, more forceful, than expected, and Vanessa turns back in surprise.

Brooke doesn’t know what to say after that, not thinking she’d get this far. It is a blessing in disguise when she only has to dither over her words for a few seconds before the inevitable-

Boom.

Her arms around Vanessa are immediate, pulling her close and shielding her body away from the direction of the office. The flames are already licking up the sides of the building when Brooke lets Vanessa go, coffee stains and bumps into strangers long forgotten.

Brooke slips away while Vanessa is staring at the falling debris from the building in disbelief. She packs up her things at the car park, watches how Vanessa cranes her neck back and forth, to presumably look for her.

Brooke is good at disappearing. She has a talent of being able to slip away, leaving a mess behind for others to come in and clean up.

She’s angry as she watches the building burn, the bugs that she planted inside no longer working after being fried to a crisp. But she’s more so confused. She knows Vanessa has a lot of political enemies. But who else wanted to straight up kill her?

It’s messy. The explosion has made things messy. Vanessa has seen her (something that has never happened with a target, should never happen with a target), she now knows what Brooke looks like. Was searching for her in the aftermath.

It’s going to make Brooke’s job of killing her a lot harder, not being an anonymous face to her target. Especially if she needs to apparently compete against others to do it.

tumblr: plastiquetiaras

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #lesbian au #assassin au #game of survival #holtzmanns #tw upcoming violence #submission

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bughead · 6 years

Note

I’m a Bughead shipper but I just know Barchie is gonna happen. That’s how it supposed to be and how Roberto has planned it from the very first start. Bughead was not supposed to be that popular, he probably regrets it now because he can’t actually do what he wanted without pissing off his most popular fandom. I’ve learned to chill. Whatever happens will happen. It’s unfortunate.

literally nothing you just said makes me believe you’re a bughead shipper. in fact, i think i’ve seen almost the exact same wording on twitter from b*rchie accounts. i’ll leave you with an answer i gave all the way back in february

the episodes that he specifically writes show nothing but bughead and varchie endgame. i really don’t think he’s here for b*rchie or any sort of love triangle between our core four.

he wrote 1x01, which painted betty and archie’s relationship as completely platonic on archie’s side. and her confession of feelings at the school dance 100% backed up the theory that betty was “in love” with archie because she thought they’d be perfect together. it was grounded in fantasy much more than it was in reality. archie was immediately enthralled with veronica, and straight up told her he’d never had romantic feelings for betty

he wrote 1x02, which ended with betty at pop’s beginning to accept that archie didn’t want to be with her, and that she wasn’t going to hold onto her hurt and let it stop her from becoming friends with veronica, AND it was the moment betty and jughead first interacted. he saved their first interaction until after the BAV “triangle” was over. you can’t meet the right one until you’ve let go of the wrong one. it’s pretty much been established that betty’s crush on archie blinded her to all else, so in the scene where that smoke is finally starting to clear……oh, there’s jughead

he wrote 1x11 (fun fact: this aired on my birthday), which was a good episode for varchie because it was really the start of their relationship–but it was a HUGE episode for bughead. we had jughead, who has been shown to be desperate to get his family back together, choose betty over making that happen. we had betty furious at everybody accusing fp and hurting jughead, and she told her mom that jughead was just as much her family as she was. she LOVES him. that was not just the first bughead declaration of love, it was the first time we heard it from betty period. she asked archie if he loved her in episode one, but she never said that she loved him. she tells veronica “the boy i like.” that’s pretty significant, in my opinion

he wrote 1x13, which was obviously a big episode for bughead and varchie. veronica and archie finally became a couple with betty’s blessing. betty referred to veronica and jughead as the people they were meant to be with. betty and jughead were called soul mates. veronica brought up her insecurities about b*rchie to archie, and he told her (for a second time) that he’s only ever felt friendship for betty. we had the first scene of bughead and varchie together cuddled up as couples at pop’s. veronica and archie had sex. betty and jughead exchanged i love yous. it was a giant hit against b*rchie and the BAV love triangle, ESPECIALLY when you find out the tiny hints of those things that were in the episode, roberto was told to add in. something that’s also super telling: the alternate ending for this episode (in case they didn’t get renewed for s2) was jughead moving in with the coopers

he wrote 2x01, which was an important one for varchie. a lot of people like to complain that their relationship is very physical. that was addressed in that episode. veronica told betty that sort of thing was easy for her, the emotional stuff was harder, but she wanted to try because she cares about archie so much. and she does a great job of pushing herself out of her comfort zone. archie tries to push her away and she refuses to let him. at the hospital, the doctor told archie to talk to his dad (who was in a coma) about good things–he talked about veronica. the hallucinations fred had, the things he didn’t want to miss in archie’s life, were his graduation, his engagement to veronica, and his wedding to veronica. that scene was so extravagant. RAS went all out with the varchie wedding, and it wasn’t even real. bughead was super well written too. we had adorable flirting, but also betty was open about her worries with him. it was beautiful communication and ended with her telling him she would support him no matter what, and they had a beautiful kiss in the rain

he wrote 2x12, which had two more clear married!varchie references. the first being archie mesmerized by veronica in her white dress, and the second being her blurring out everybody except him as she said “i do” for her confirmation. veronica spent the whole episode wanting to shield archie from the evils of her family, and then when she was finally going to tell him her dad was involved with the mafia, archie told her he already knew and basically professed his undying love for her. we had bughead return to their s1 dynamic, AND had them acknowledge that they’d lost that trying to protect each other instead of facing the ugliness together. they’re not just boyfriend and girlfriend, they’re partners. they get shit done when they’re together. they give each other great ideas and refuse to let the other give up. they rebounded (somewhat) on those big secrets and communication problems they were having. jughead came clean about everything, and while betty didn’t, i think RAS did a good job of painting her struggle. i didn’t get the vibe that she didn’t tell jughead about the kiss with archie because it meant something to her. i got the vibe that, after jughead basically told her that her breaking up with him through archie is what drove him into toni’s arms, she was scared to tell him that she’d also kissed him. you see her pause their make-out, wanting to tell him, but then deciding not to because she probably thinks he’ll stop. the fact that she kissed archie and lied about it could cause her to lose him, again–so she says “i want all of you. tonight.” he might not want another night when he finds out, so she’s going to take what she can get while she can. i think the idea that he’d break up with her over a kiss is ridiculous, but it’s a real fear for her. –back on topic, roberto made sure that he was the one to write their first time. RAS writing both varchie and bughead’s first time is not a coincidence

he wrote 2x22, which was a lighter varchie episode, but a MASSIVE one for bughead. we opened with jughead in a coma dreaming about betty standing over his grave, holding his prized beanie, crying, and telling him to come back to her. roberto wrote betty telling our narrator that he needs to come back because their story isn’t over. their story. he low-key implied riverdale is bughead’s love story. anyway, this dream is what brings jughead back from the brink of death. and then later when fp tells him they’re leaving town, he angrily tells him that he’s not leaving betty. jughead holds betty over his blood family, something we saw in 1x11 as well (written by roberto). on betty’s side, we have this guilt, and pain, and anger eating her up (and not just in 2x22, she’s struggled with her “darkness” since season 1). one conversation with jughead and she’s able to face her father and confidently tell him that she’s not like him. she’s not a bad person, she’s not evil. that’s some true love stuff. and them babysitting polly’s twins? well, i’m just gonna leave this here

then we have the HOTEL scene. this part got trimmed, but roberto originally wrote that scene opening with betty telling jughead she wanted to stay there forever. betty and jughead laughed and smiled in that scene more than they did pretty much the entire season. he asked betty to be his queen, and she asked if he was asking her to join the serpents, and he said sort of. the scene was intentionally written to sound like a proposal. roberto is so hyped for married bughead that he had to get them pre-engaged in the second season

roberto is varchie & bughead endgame, everything he writes points to it

roberto has stated a few times that they were taking a risk pairing betty and jughead together, but he felt like (and was hopeful) that the audience would take to them–which they did. he was the first person to ever make that leap, and end the BAV love triangle and have betty and jughead fall in love, and it paid off HUGE. why would he look at that and feel regret?? i imagine the dude feels pretty fucking prideful. i could go on and on about how unfounded your claim that “roberto has planned [b*rchie] from the very first start” is, but i think i’ve already made my point

#ask #Anonymous #meta

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yodawgiherd · 6 years

Text

The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

Rating: T

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Me? Actually delivering a chapter I promised in due date? Impossible. More importantly Merry Christmas everyone! Hope you are having a great one ;)

Enjoy!

For all his initial doubt about her proposition, Eren had to give Ymir credit where it was due. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves at the club, well, almost everyone, but overall it was a resounding success, much to his surprise. Getting the idea past Erwin was one of the most awkward moments in Eren’s professional career, since he was the one who had to drop the “Hey, can we have our Christmas party in the strip club this year?” bomb on their boss, but after a few seconds of stunned silence, Erwin said that as long as the majority agrees, he sees no problem with it. And just like that, Ymir’s choice was accepted. The turnout was also much bigger than Eren even dared to hope. A lot of doctors, especially older people, respectfully declined the invitation, but still, the bar was almost full of men and women from his workplace, apparently having a good time.

The music was blasting, the dancer on stage was doing a very pleasing choreography, much to the enjoyment of the crowd that gathered around her, cheering her, rather loudly, on. As Erwin was picking up the tab for today, drinks were flowing, and the first signs of the free alcohol could already be noted in the way some medics behaved. Eren was sitting down at the bar, circling his second whiskey of the night in its glass, watching the party. He didn’t really feel like joining the dancer’s crowd, who were at the moment making it rain, and as the rest of the people broke into groups of those acquainted with each other, he decided to rest his legs for a moment. From his perch, he saw Onya, entertaining a rather large crowd with his stories before disappearing in the back to get a private dance. A grin appeared on Eren’s face. The man seemed completely in his element. Well, good for him.

“Yeager!”, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, “Why are you sitting here all alone? Live a little!”

Ymir. Who else.

“I am living.”, he pointed out, taking a sip of the whiskey. It was pretty good.

“Ah, you know what I mean.”, she sat down next to him, swinging a bit dangerously on the tall bar stool before regaining her balance, laughing. The glass that she held in her hand was half-full, and Eren had the feeling that it was one of many she had tonight.

“D’you miss your girl so much?”, Ymir leaned closer, the alcohol breath hitting Eren right in the face. “Y’know, you could have brought her.”

Of course, he asked Mikasa if she wanted to come, but she was busy tonight, modeling stuff. Unfortunate.

“I don’t see your tiny bag of happiness anywhere either.”, he looked around, “Or do you have her stuffed in your pocket? I mean, she would probably fit there.”

Ymir giggled, punching him in the shoulder.

“She’s not THAT small. Well, at least I think she ain’t.”, finishing her drink with a large gulp, she set the empty glass on the table, “And she couldn’t come tonight. Finishing reports or some shit, I didn’t understand a word she was saying.”

“Good communication is a key to happy relationship.”, Eren agreed.

She punched his shoulder again.

There weren’t many people that knew where Levi lived. Even less would have the balls to come and start beating at his door, shouting his name. Following this equation, it wasn’t hard to decipher just who it was on the other side of the wall. With a sigh, he opened, letting in the wild brown-haired creature.

“Levi, Levi, you must help.”, Hange blurted out, adjusting her glasses.

“Help with what?”, he did his best not to sound too irritated. He still kinda did.

“Mikasa needs you, at the agency. They lack a model for the photoshoot they are having.”

He groaned. Not this shit again.

“C’mon,”, Hange was pressing on, “please? Your sister needs your help, you wouldn’t say no to her, would you?”

“Why didn’t she call me then? Why go through you?”

“Well, she thought you’ll tell her to fuck off, so she asked me to relay the good news to you. It speaks volumes about the relationship you two are having.”

Levi didn’t miss the silent sting in her words. Maybe he should go, even though he really didn’t want to, Mikasa surely earned his help, hundred times over. Ah well, there goes the plan to scrub the kitchen spotless. Again.

“Fine, fine, I get it. I’ll go.”, with a last grunt, he picked up the coat, heading for the door. He can clean the kitchen once he gets back anyway, there was no rush.

The drive through the city was about as nightmarish as he imagined it to be. With Christmas not even a week away, the people were entering their last phase of shopping madness, tearing the shops apart. Those last-minute idiots angered him. Like, you have the whole year to prepare, and you what, have no time? Seriously? He hated people who couldn’t put their affairs in order. Well, hate might not be the right word. More like disliked. Strongly. Normally, he would have no chance to park, if the studio didn’t have a private lot, and after he said that he was expected, and the guard made a quick call to check, Levi was allowed in.

There was another reason why he wasn’t exactly thrilled to be here. Petra, of course. He had no idea if she worked today, or if she perhaps wasn’t a contractor, already long gone, but his throat still tightened anytime someone walked past him on his way to the studio where Mikasa was. Luck seemed to be on his side today however, because he hasn’t seen Petra anywhere, and soon reached his destination, standing awkwardly in front of the door. Swallowing, he entered. And was hit right in the face with the spirit of Christmas. There was fake snow on the scene, sleigh in one corner, while the next was occupied by a tree. Other props were also present, ready to be moved as soon as the ones currently being photographed were covered. It was overwhelming, and Levi stood there for a moment, unable to really process everything he was seeing.

“Levi!”, Mikasa appeared, out of nowhere, dressed in a very stylish set, one that probably cost more than he made in a month. “You came.”, she said, as if she still couldn’t believe it, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder.

“Of course I came, brat. Hange said that you needed me, right?”

“Oh, yeah, totally.”, Levi could swear that he could hear a shade on amusement in her voice, “We need a guy exactly like you.”. She turned, beckoning for him to follow, and dived back into the crowd, somehow managing to find a way. For all the insecurity and fear Levi remembered, she really seemed to be enjoying herself now. Secretly, he felt proud of her.

“How about you call me next time, and not Hange, huh? No need to drag her into our affairs.”

“Yea well. I had the feeling that you wouldn’t come if I told you what the job was about.”

What was that supposed to mean? Now that he thought about it, he really had no idea what she wanted him to do. But before he could ask, they came to a stop in front of the moustached old guy Levi remembered from earlier.

“Dot, he came.”, the familiarity with which Mikasa spoke to the man suggested that they were working together for some time now. The man, who was apparently in charge of this mess, looked Levi up and down, a large grin spreading underneath the facial hair.

“He really is perfect, you told the truth, dear girl. Just the right figure.”

“How about you stop keeping me in the dark and tell me what this is about, huh?”, Levi snapped, frowning. “What am I perfect for?”

Dot and Mikasa exchanged a glance, and the older man scratched the back of his head.

“We need an elf for the next shoot. We are one person short.”

Elf. A fucking elf. From the expression on his face, Dot wasn’t kidding. On the other hand, Mikasa’s lips were twitching, indicating that she was enjoying this moment very much, as she was most likely expecting him to flip Dot off and storm out of the door. Levi narrowed his eyes. You know what? Fuck it. He came all this way, he can very well dress like a damn elf. What’s the harm?

“Where’s my fucking costume.”

Erwin was surely having fun. Tie on the top of his head, shirt half undone, he was laughing so hard that his drink was spilling. Even with the hour growing late, the club was till about half-full, as the party went on, lively as ever. Onya emerged from the back room just for a few minutes before disappearing again, apparently not having his fill of lap dances yet. Eren himself socialized quite a bit too, and now that he was a tiny bit drunk he only started missing Mikasa more. She wasn’t only his fiancé, she was his best friend too, and he liked spending time with her. Before he could realize his plan for a silent and unseen exit, Ymir appeared next to him, cheeks flushed.

“I forgot to ask you, Yeager boy, what are your plans for Christmas? Any huge party coming up?”, she hiccupped, “Am I invited?”

“Nope, not on Christmas, gonna spend that at home. Connie said that because we are all getting wasted on New year’s anyway, he had no plans of letting us demolish the bar twice in such a short time. So, nothing now. In a week there’s something.”, he smiled, “And both you and Krista are invited. Cordially.”

“Oh my gosh, really? I can’t wait!”, she tried finishing her drink, again, but missed, spilling it all over herself. Luckily there wasn’t much left in the glass and Ymir didn’t even seem to notice. “Krista is going to be so happy, she loves Mikasa. And you, of course.”

“Maybe you should watch her then. That she doesn’t take your little girlfriend away.”

“Oh please, I can’t blame her. If Mikasa offered, I’d go for a roll in hay with her any time of the day.”, Ymir clicked her tongue, “That body…”

“You aren’t having naughty thoughts about my girl, are you Ymir.”, Eren really couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I’m just saying.”, she gestured with her empty glass, “If she ever wants to experience the other side of the trench, send her my way.”

“I think I heard enough.”, Eren stood up, clapping Ymir on the shoulder. “Merry Christmas you demon.”

A grin was his answer.

On the bright side, Levi wasn’t the only one dressed like an idiot. There were plenty of elves, both male and female, deer, and even Santa, who Levi had creeping suspicion was an alcoholic, sneaking in sips from his flask when no one was watching. They were only background though, as the focus of the photoshoot were the models wearing the highest quality clothes. And Mikasa seemed to fit right in with them, much to Levi’s disbelief. Sure, she wasn’t the most chatty or energetic one, but she was working just fine, following Dot’s instructions to the letter. The old man was shouting something, Levi realized, and the elbow from the elf next to him suggested that he’s supposed to do something.

“What?”, he called back, gesturing that he didn’t hear.

“Elf on the shelf!”, Dot pointed at the wooden structure behind them. If you squinted hard enough, you could say that it was a giant shelf. “Climb on the top!”, the photographer ordered, “We need a person there.”

Well, when you are deep in shit, all you can do is keep swimming. Turning, Levi pulled himself up, not bothering to wait for an assistant to bring him the stairs. He was followed by a female elf, and after they were maneuvered into position, Dot gave them thumbs up and the cameras began clicking away. With my luck, I’ll probably go blind from the flashes, Levi thought, doing his best to keep up the festive expression on his face. The sacrifices you do for your family, those are truly great ones.

“All right, that’s it!”, Dot called, right before Levi went completely and utterly insane, “Amazing work everyone!”

Climbing down from the shelf, he turned to help the girl down, all gentleman like, before walking straight to the changing room to get out of that stupid elf costume as soon as possible.

“Levi!”, a hand grabbed his elbow, making him stop. He turned to face Mikasa, the “Fucking what?” dying on his lips. He saw her before, at the photoshoot, yet not from up close, and she just took his breath away. Her skin was even paler than usual, lips red, lashes dark, overall she seemed like the perfect ice queen, as that was probably the look the make-up artists were going for. Fuck, she was beautiful. That dumbass Eren was the luckiest man in the whole fucking world.

“You can keep the suit!”, she said, grinning, but Levi’s brain was only now coming back to earth and he didn’t understand a word she was saying.

“What suit?”

“This.”, she tapped his chest, “The elf suit! I talked to Dot and we agreed that you look just perfect in it, so he said that you can keep yours. Amazing isn’t it?”

“Totally.”

If Hange ever sees him in this, she’s going to die from laughter, that was for sure.

“So, when do you get back to the shop?”

“You know me, man, if it were up to me I’d be there right now! So many orders to fulfill, so little time.”, the man sighed, “My wife would have a heart attack if I even suggested something like that, I better keep my mouth shut.”

“That’s fine, it’s good to spend some time with your family.”, Eren grinned behind his phone, knowing exactly how much of a workaholic Darius Zackly was. He was the big man, the one who owned the shop he and Mikasa got most of their toys from, but he didn’t like being called just a shop owner. No, he was an artist, in his own words. If there was one thing Darius loved, it was creating custom orders, stuff where he had to do something with his own hands, and admittedly he was fairly amazing with them. His love for work clashed with his love for family from time to time, disregarding that, he was a great friend and an amazing supplier.

“Listen,”, there was a pause on the other end of the line, as Zackly most likely looked around himself to see if the coast was clear, and his voice dropped in a whisper, “you want something custom right?”

“Yep, you know me.”, it was easy to hear the excitement from Darius’s question, and Eren was more than happy to leave his needs in the man’s capable hands. “Most likely even some housework, I got a lot of ideas I’d love to discuss.”

“That’s amazing! Look, I’ll do my best to squeeze you in between Christmas and new year, how does that sound?”

“Wait, you’re going to work? Isn’t it holidays?”

Darius groaned.

“You really think I can spend a week out of my shop? Are you crazy? I’ll give you a call as soon as I’ll get a set date and we can meet and talk about….”, there was another voice on the other end of the line, clearly female, and clearly irritated.

“What?”, Eren could hear Zackly ask, “Work? Of course not, honey. Why would I discuss work when I’m at home, right? It’s… a wrong number, a mistake, that’s all.”, he forced out a laugh. “I was just telling them that this isn’t the house they were searching for, that’s all!“

“I’ll call you!”, he hissed into the phone, hanging up immediately after.

Smiling, Eren put down his own, going back to the task at hand.

Cooking was an amazing activity. The pleasurable buzz of the alcohol combined with the music and the movements of his hands, creating an oasis of absolute calmness around him. Coming from the club, Eren realized that he wasn’t really tired, and the lack of Mikasa in the house forced him to find an activity he could entertain himself with. So, he started cooking. Cut the meat, salt it, turn the heat on. Eren was humming as he worked, slicing the potatoes into neat stripes, the knife not faltering for a moment. He did this a thousand times, after all. As he put the meat in the oven, the door clicked, indicating that Mikasa was home, so he moved to greet her, excited.

“Hey there.”, she smiled, unbuttoning her coat while he moved to sweep her in a hug. He missed her. When they pulled back, Eren fingered the fabric of her scarf, frowning.

“You still wear this old thing?”, he asked, a bit surprised. It was still the same red scarf he gave her, all those years ago. He really had no idea how to do stuff like flirt and stuff, so when they were out, and she shivered he asked her if she was cold and wrapped his own scarf around her, because it felt like the right thing to do. She treasured it, apparently even more than he thought, because she was still wearing it. “Now that you are all chummy with the fashion people, can’t you get something, I dunno, more stylish?”

“I like this one.”, she answered, unwrapping the thing from her neck and putting it carefully on its resting place. Mikasa wouldn’t exchange the scarf Eren gave her for any other, it was invaluable to her.

“What’s smelling so good?”, she asked, squeezing past Eren and walking inside the kitchen, sniffing audibly.

Well, if she wanted to wear the old scarf, he surely wouldn’t stop her. Not that he would admit it, but the gesture was rather romantic, if you thought about it. Following her, he couldn’t hold the smile from his face. Christmas was still a week away, and he was already blessed.

The alarm rang, waking Eren up. He rolled to his side, hand searching and not finding the person he expected. Eyes snapping open, he sat up, scratching the back of his head. What was the day today? Oh right. Christmas. Mikasa was gone, so she was probably downstairs, most likely tearing into the gifts they prepared for each other already. Well, she had a few more things coming her way, but she had to wait for that. No reason to stay in bed, he followed her, just a little bit excited what she got for him.

“Miki?”, he called when he entered the living room, not seeing her anywhere. Rubbing his eyes, he checked the kitchen, only to discover that she wasn’t there either. Did she go out? A bit lost, he went down to sit on the sofa, and as when he reached it his eyes went wide. There she was, lying on the couch, a light smile on her face. But it wasn’t her smile that made him lose his bearing. It was the stuff she was wearing, or rather, the lack of it. There was a ribbon around her neck, ending with a cute little bow, indicating that she most likely intended to be a present for him. A bigger stripe of shiny fabric was wrapped around her torso, hiding her nipples from view, not doing much to cover the rest of her chest. Eyes venturing lower, he could see her panties, a red thong, and the stockings, white and red striped, Christmas themed. The last part of her clothing was a Santa cap, sitting snugly at the top of her head. Swallowing, Eren moved closer, leaning on the furniture. Both because he wanted to take a closer look, but also because his knees really did feel like water. Mikasa watched him approach, the amused expression not leaving her face, and stretched, like a cat, which only made him want her that much more.

“This.”, he reached out, gently brushing the bow at her neck with his fingers, “For me?”

Talking was hard. Thinking was hard. Hell, most of his body was hard right now.

“Yes.”, she ran her hands up and down her sides, slowly, making his mouth water. “Now are you just going to stand there, or will you unwrap your present?”

With a shaking hand, he pulled the ribbon covering her breast open, sliding it away from her body. This, this was the best Christmas morning of his whole life.

Ymir felt terrible, watching Krista open the gift from her, squirming in her seat. Because, as usual, she fucked everything up. So much time, she had so much time to get something for her, anything, but she forgot. She fucking forgot. She only remembered to get something a day before Christmas, and her last-minute crazy trip proved fruitless, not matter how hard she searched, she couldn’t find anything Krista would like. In a moment of total desperation, Ymir took the ugly sweater Eren gave her at work, as a joke, and packaged it, silently dreading of the storm to come. It had reindeer at the front, or it could very well be a mutant turtle, because the quality of the picture was subpar. And she even had no right to complain, because her gift to Eren was a paperclip. One. Groaning, she hid her face behind her hands, and expected the inevitable.

“Oh my god, Ymir!”, here it comes. “It’s amazing!”

Wait what?

Looking up, she saw Krista energetically putting the sweater on, grinning. It was several sizes bigger, so it hung on her, the neckline reaching almost all the way to her shoulders.

“You… Like it?”, Ymir asked, not believing what she was seeing.

“Of course! It’s so cute.”, Krista jumped to her feet, hugging her girlfriend tight before pressing a kiss to her still surprised face. “Thank you so much!”

“You…Ehm… You’re welcome. Really!”

The shorter girl was already pulling her upright.

“Come on, open my gift!”

All in all, Ymir decided that she really didn’t deserve such a nice person as Krista. But hell, she’ll take it. Any day of the week.

Hange wasn’t laughing. She was looking him up and down, eyes wide, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“Merry Christmas.”, tried Levi, taking a step to the side, “Wanna come in?”

She did, walking past him with the same expression of deep concentration on her face. He really had no idea what she was thinking about. Opening the door in the elf costume he got from the damn photoshoot was a good joke, wasn’t it? But then why wasn’t Hange laughing? As he was about to give up and ask her what’s wrong, she snapped her fingers.

“Gnome!”

Levi furrowed his brows.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re a gnome, right?”

So this is what she was thinking about. God damn it, she was smart, but she could be dense as hell about anything not scientific.

“I’m actually…”

“It makes sense. The green suit, the hat, the pointy ears. See I first thought that you are an elf, but that didn’t really sit well with me. Then I thought that you might be a goblin, but those have sharp teeth, right? So, you must be a gnome!”

He couldn’t do it. Seeing how happy Hange was that she cracked his cryptic message, which in reality wasn’t meant to be cryptic at all, he couldn’t tell her the truth. After all, why did it even matter?”

“Yep, you got me. Not an elf, not a goblin, I’m a gnome.”

He really had to stop acting so nice to everyone, otherwise they would start thinking that he actually cared.

“And you’ve been gnomed.”

Christmas alone wasn’t always a bad thing. Jean woke up late, grabbed a breakfast in relatively empty lobby, and now sat at his room, browsing the internet on his laptop. Nope, not a bad thing at all. It’s important to understand that you always need a time for yourself, to reflect on your present situation, to remember your past and make plans for the future. You should always treat your body, but also your spirit, because you only get one, and are stuck with it for the rest of your days. And this peace he was experiencing now, it was a welcome change from visiting his mother, who would always ask him those stupid questions, like Jean, do you have a girl yet? Jean, how is work? He loved his mom, he did, and would come to visit her soon, that was for sure, but now, all he felt was the silence and calmness around him. Then, his phone rung.

Hitch: Christmas coffee? ;)

Jean managed to be out of the door in about five seconds.

It was good to finally rest from the never-ending bar work, Armin had to admit. His body was aching, as he was pushing himself much harder than he used to, the physical activity soothing. Maybe he should start going to the gym with Mikasa, he thought as he watched himself in the mirror, flexing. Well, long way to go in this department. Grinning, he put his shirt back on and headed to the kitchen, scavenging the room for breakfast supplies. Yet while the peace and quiet was all well and good, he was already looking forward to the parties that would follow. It gave him a pause. He, Armin, was looking forward to parties. Shaking his head, he put the water to boil, opening the fridge with a tug. How the times change. The reminiscence brought back other memories, some pleasing, some not that much. With a sigh, Armin looked out of the window, watching the thin sheet of snow that will most likely disappear before noon.

“Merry Christmas Annie, wherever you are.”

“You really have to go now?”, Sasha sighed, watching Connie dress, “It’s Christmas, you know.”

“I’m sorry, I really am.”, he pulled on his jacket, “But the supplier wants me to meet him today.”

Sasha crossed her arms on her chest, pouting. What kind of maniac set a meeting on a freaking Christmas day? Who’s even working? Sensing her dark mood, Connie leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“I’ll try to get back as soon as possible, I promise.”

And with that, she was alone. On Christmas day. Amazing, simply amazing. Groaning, she was wheeling herself away when someone knocked at the door. She turned around, hoping that Connie came back, but when she threw the door open that surely wasn’t her boyfriend on the other side. A girl was standing there, young, and a boy, both looking rugged and in clothes with too many holes in them.

“Sasha?”, the girl asked, looking at the boy and back at the woman. “I.. came to say sorry and..”, her eyes kept sliding back to the wheelchair, no matter how many times she pulled it back. “I’m so sorry for shooting you.”, finally managing to push out her message, she sniffled, wiping her nose with a sleeve, “And merry Christmas.”, she added, more like a whisper than a statement.

Sasha didn’t say a word. Instead, she wheeled herself forward, and enveloped the surprised young girl in a hug.

“Merry Christmas to you too. Gabi.”

The boy’s name was Falco, and apparently they were best friends, since ever. They lived together on the street, joining with a few groups from time to time, but mostly it was the two of them against the world. Gabi didn’t want to talk about her parents, or how she ended up homeless, dodging the questions with sidelong glances and one- or two-word answers. Falco didn’t talk. Apparently, he was very shy, as Gabi claimed, but Sasha didn’t miss the way his eyes scanned the room when she invited them in.

“You know, I can get you help.”, said Sasha, when Gabi and Falco ate the plate of cookies she brought them, hungrily eyeing the table for more.

“We are fine.”, Gabi reached out and intertwined her fingers with Falco’s. “We always find a way.”

Sasha wasn’t about to give up so easily, but apparently she needed more cookies to convince the kids, so she wheeled herself back to the kitchen, pulling another batch from the oven and putting the finishing touches on them. As she came back into the living room, she found it empty.

Honestly, she should have seen it coming. She was stupid, blinded by the appearance of the girl she talked with for so long, the one that for some reason made her heart ache. She should have seen that the sneaky looks Falco kept throwing around weren’t just to map the room, but to find the valuables in it too. They were living on a street a long time, it was the only way they knew. Calm, Sasha put the plate on the table, checking through the stuff that they took. Her wallet was empty, because she stupidly left it in her coat, at least her I.D and credit card remained. It wasn’t much, as most of her savings were in the bank, but gripping the empty leather in her hand, Sasha had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. How did Gabi even find her in the first place? How did she know where Sasha lived? Did she seek her out only to rob her? The regret she displayed when she first appeared, was it all an act? Anger, helplessness, sadness. It was too much. Going back to the kitchen, Sasha pulled out the bottle of vodka they kept there and took a large gulp.

Merry fucking Christmas, she thought.

To me.

#merrychristmas #snk #eremika #fic #delivering #:o

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