#like so many of these are because i can almost hear it in their voices

[kesujo]

Baby, Mommy's Here

I HAD TO WRITE AN EMERGENCY TAEYEON FIC BECAUSE OF THESE PICTURES (those who follow me sorta have gotten some not-so-subtle hints of the release of this fic :p)

ALSO, ENJOY THIS ONE TOO

I didn't edit/revise this b/c I'm sort of in a hurry. Please let me know if you find any mistakes! :D

Word count: 12.8K

Never in your life did you think you’d be in such a relationship. The past you might’ve judged you for it—scratch that, the past you would’ve hard judged you for it, maybe even going so far as to looking down on you for letting yourself acclimate to such a relationship. However, now that it’s happening, it’s like you’ve been truly awakened. This is the best way life is to be lived; sure, there are many people who give you weird looks, sure, some of your friends make fun of you and in fact, you get the feeling that some of them have distanced themselves from you upon learning of the type of relationship you’re in, but you’re long past the point of caring about that. In fact, Taeyeon herself has helped you get over the judgmental attitudes the ones who were close to you have adopted towards you.

What have you ever done to deserve your current lifestyle? You figure you must’ve been Mother Theresa or Mahatma Gandhi in your previous life to get this type of treatment and attention from the peak specimen of a woman that is Kim Taeyeon.

Beautiful, sexy, confident, but also kind, caring, gentle, empathetic … what does she not have? Money, certainly, isn’t the answer to that question: and while, as you’ve experienced, her level of wealth very much grants Taeyeon the ability to live as lavishly as any other multi-millionaire CEO, and the combination of her attractive appearance and personality makes it so that she should be able to get together with any man in the world. But, for some reason, she settled for you.

Rather, it’s not ‘for some reason’.

“This is a secret from the public, and I prefer you keep it this way.” Of course, you nod frantically. It was one of the first times you’ve seen Taeyeon in person, and being this close to her is making your heart go haywire and turning your brain to goo. “I am … shall I say, nearly infertile.” It was one of your first meetings, so hearing her being so vulnerable to you makes you feel thankful that she feels like she can be this way with you but also unworthy of bearing this knowledge. Still, you say nothing and let her continue. “That is to say, there are only certain men that I am compatible with, and even amongst those men, it would still be troublesome for me to become pregnant. And, as a woman who wants to have children of her own, you can see where my issue lies.” You nod again. Frankly, you don’t trust your voice to crack or to not stammer out even single-word replies.

“And that’s where you come in. I believe you participated in a test group regarding your own fertility?” You rack your memory – did you? You’ve signed up to participate in all sorts of studies, because you figure, why not, really? It can’t hurt that much, you’re helping the advancement of science, and you’re so unremarkable that you figure no one would the type of information these test groups ask for. “The researchers did indeed, use your specimen for its intended purpose, but in return for funding them, I had them also test for compatibility with me.” That sounds … vaguely illegal? But honestly, you can’t care less. Of all the test groups you’ve participated in, this is by far the greatest outcome, the best reward you’ve ever gotten. “And, it turns out, we’re compatible. Also, it doesn’t hurt that you’re quite cute.”

As a man, you perhaps shouldn’t have felt so happy hearing that from a woman. However, given that Taeyeon is almost a decade older than you, you’re more than happy to be her cute little partner. “Th-Thank, Thank you.”

Your face turns beet red, but Taeyeon simply smiles at your stammering. “No need to be shy. You’re mine now, and likewise, I’m yours.”

So she says, but the dynamic of the relationship quickly becomes clear: because Taeyeon has a lot of business to attend to, it’s often times you helping take care of the house along with the staff of house caretakers Taeyeon has at her disposal. She’s the one with the money, and she’s also insisted that your only job to be help her out with her job whenever she so asks for it, which you feel is much less frequently than she could be.

Essentially, realistically, Taeyeon is your sugar momma. And this relationship, while you figured might’ve felt a little demeaning at first, is perfectly fulfilling.

When Taeyeon is home, she’s the typical caring, doting wife, albeit with the caveat that she sometimes requests massages from you after a long day of work or vents to you about a project that’s being bottlenecked by something or another. When you’re outside with Taeyeon, the paparazzi that seems to be perpetually following you probably would never guess this bit about your dynamic: you pay for the meals as much as Taeyeon does, you still hold the door open for her, and you still drive the car more than she does if you two ever feel like not utilizing her personal chauffer.

In private is where the dynamic is a little more obvious: whenever Taeyeon requests something of you, you instantly drop whatever it is that you’re doing and rush to her side—but then again, that could just be seen as a doting, caring partner. And, of course—

“Ooh, honey, yes…”

It’s an absolutely hypnotic sight, seeing Taeyeon grinding against your crotch with your dick buried inside her to the hilt, her head thrown back and her hands on your waist. You’ve, of course, seen pictures of her all over the place, but the novelty of seeing those sizable tits hanging out in the open, each decorated with a squeezable bud at the tip that’s begging to be squeezed, but you don’t dare act out of line. In the first few months of your budding relationship, you feel like you’re fighting to show her your worth.

“Gosh, it feels so good…”

The sex is amazing, and you can’t get over how great Taeyeon’s pussy feels, and that in combination with the soft, velvety texture of her skin against your hands drives you insane, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you can’t help but feel that this is still somewhat transactional.

“Fuck, Taeyeon…”

That thought only slightly detracts from the sex. The moment you entered this relationship with Taeyeon, she requested you to leave your previous job and to work for her—she doesn’t give you much work, though. It’s more like menial tasks, like, ‘please sort through my email inbox every morning and delete all the obvious spam and junk mail’, ‘please help me find a good place for a dinner with some stockholders’, that kind of stuff. You don’t particularly mind: you want to make yourself as useful to Taeyeon as possible.

“Does that feel good, honey?”

You can tell Taeyeon is putting in effort into this relationship, though: from day one, she all but ditched calling you your real name in favor of these pet names, such as ‘honey’, ‘baby’, ‘sweetheart’, et cetera. You’re thankful of her for that. In fact, it only makes you want to prove your worth to her even more.

“Yes, it feels so good, Taeyeon.”

You, on the other hand, don’t feel like you’ve earned the right to call her those pet names yet. It almost feels like you’re a puppy wagging its tail at its owner, seeking approval and validation and attention, something you might’ve ordinarily felt as demeaning now feels actually somewhat fulfilling. Every day, you strive towards this singular goal: be worthy of being the man Taeyeon chose as her partner.

“Are you close?”

“Almost…”

Taeyeon takes your hands and places them on her boobs. “You like these, don’t you?”

Would it be ruder to blatantly, but honestly say, ‘yes, I love them so much, I sometimes find myself unable to stop looking at them’, to not say anything at all, or to deny it?

“You don’t have to deny it, baby.”

Seeing the reassuring smile on Taeyeon’s face is what lets you respond with, “Yes, I love them.”

“You know, you’re my partner. You don’t have to sneak peaks at my boobs, you can just look at them.”

It’s a growing process, for sure. Gradually getting used to each other, getting over your initial feeling of intimidation of Taeyeon after learning about how much of a sweetheart Taeyeon is outside her sharp, crisp, always-fashionable and always-beautiful CEO look takes some work, and Taeyeon is helping along with that process tremendously.

“Thanks, Taeyeon.”

You try to resist squeezing those almond nipples for as long as possible, but in the end, you’re only human. And then, hearing Taeyeon moan when you finally give in feeds the fire, and suddenly, you’re all over her boobs, grinding and smacking into her pussy while your hands carefully knead and massage her tits and give her nipples the occasional squeeze that sends Taeyeon into another moaning frenzy.

“Yes, keep going!”

“Taeyeon, I’m close. Where…?”

“Go ahead, baby! Inside me!”

You almost don’t know why you asked. Every single time the two of you have had sex, without fail, Taeyeon has insisted that you cum inside her—and, despite the sheer number of times it’s happened, she still has yet to become pregnant. It’s gotten to the point where you’re starting to wonder if it’s an issue with you, but Taeyeon has reassured you that isn’t the case—the test group that you partook in also returned results of your own fertility, of which is in the normal range for the average male.

“Fuck, cumming—”

And, without fail, every time you burst inside her, the hot, sticky walls of Taeyeon’s pussy squeezes you dry, coaxing out every last drop as if milking you for all that you were worth.

After letting you ride out your orgasm, Taeyeon dismounts you and lays by your side. “That was great, honey.”

How kind and considerate Taeyeon is only makes you feel worse, knowing that you still have yet to make her cum a single time. At least, as far as you know. You don’t dare bring this up, though; it’s an awkward subject, despite how many times you’ve came inside her already, and you don’t want to remind Taeyeon of your inadequacy.

“Yeah, it was,” is all you can say, for now.

In any romantic relationship, mutual attraction is a must. At least, in your books, it is. Maybe it’s the nature of a CEO like Taeyeon to take a more calculative stance on romantic relationships—but then again, you don’t believe that, seeing how Taeyeon takes the time out of her busy day to spend time with you: watching movies, having meals, chatting about random things, going golfing or go-karting or renting out an entire amusement park for a few hours to have fun in. For you, attraction to Taeyeon is instant, and only solidifies over time: for Taeyeon, you can tell it’s taking some time.

You do everything in your power to expedite the process: you take on cooking, taking lessons from Taeyeon’s personal chef so that you can cook meals for your 100-day and 200-day anniversaries, and although you consider yourself more knowledgeable than the average guy in this area, you still take more time to learn about fashion and makeup so that you can be at least somewhat presentable next to Taeyeon in public, you carefully plan out surprise dates for her to get her to stop thinking about work for a bit, and as time passes, you can start noticing the difference. Taeyeon is gradually, actively, making more effort to spend time with you, even going so far as to push deadlines or forgo work once every month or so, and it’s immensely gratifying to see your hard work paying off.

There are other ways you can see your hard work paying off, too.

“Oh my gosh, baby, I’m—!” Taeyeon, relentless as ever, demanded a second round before going to sleep that night, and it’s before your second orgasm that you’re finally able to see Taeyeon succumb to hers, purely by your efforts. “—I’m cumming, oh my go—!”

Her svelte frame shudders and convulses beneath your own, her eyes now fully shut and her head pressed deep into the pillow. Her hips violently buck against your crotch, so you obey the unspoken request of her body: you don’t relent, you continue to fuck her fiercely, to let her ride out her orgasm by adding pressure your right index finger and thumb are applying to her clit, and drink in this marvelous sight. It’s a whole other type of novelty, to see Taeyeon’s climax before your very eyes. If you thought the sight of her nude body was a mind-shatteringly sexy sight, the sight of seeing that body rocking and vibrating as your cock continued to slam into the deepest parts of her womb is on a completely other level—and then, to know that it’s you who did this, who turned Taeyeon into this moaning, screaming, convulsing mess brings you to your own orgasm.

“Fuck, Taeyeon, I’m also cumming…”

“Let it all out, baby! Give me everything!”

When your orgasm subsided, you spent a few seconds recovering from the sheer intensity of that climax, taking a second before pulling out of her and letting your body fall onto the bed next to her.

“Wow … baby, that was amazing.”

“It was. You were amazing.”

“Mmm. Thank you so much, honey.” She gave you one last peck on the cheek before drifting off to sleep, a normally harmless and cute gesture of her gratitude that kept you up far too late. However, when you drifted off to sleep yourself, you found that, the next morning, you felt more refreshed than ever.

There were certain complications with their night activities, first and foremost being how often they needed to get their bedsheets cleaned. The fact that Taeyeon always went to sleep with your cum still leaking out of her pussy is definitely the reason behind it, and you’re somewhat shocked to find out that the normally pristine and proper Taeyeon didn’t think twice about soiling the bedsheets every time you bred her.

The second complication was, as the two of you grew closer, the sex started happening in places outside of the bedroom: at first, it was relatively private places like the shower or her wardrobe, but gradually evolved to such places as—

“Mmm, yes, right there, babe!” The sound of her ass slapping against your crotch echoes about the spacious kitchen. Taeyeon’s knuckles having turned white from the intensity of her grip on the kitchen’s island table as you relentlessly pound her into it. “Keep going!”

Taeyeon’s house is rather big—not mansion big, but still big enough to mandate a cleaning staff. In addition, Taeyeon’s personal chef comes every morning and leaves around noon: the schedule of the caretakers of her house is very precise, but there is still some kind of novelty in having sex somewhere other people frequent.

“Fuck, Taeyeon…”

It’s something you can never get tired of: the feeling of her soft waist in your hands, the sputtering of her juices onto your groin, the way your hips bounce off her bubbly butt, the beautiful melody of her moans, the sight of her, sweaty and hot and aroused, her back arched and her sizable tits jiggling with the force of your every thrust, watching your cock disappear between her flopping, glistening pink folds over and over again, all of it.

“Yes! Pound me into the table! Harder!”

Of course, you’re all too willing to comply. Given her rather small, frail-looking frame, you’ve learned that Taeyeon is able to take quite a bit of punishment, something you are more than willing to dish out whenever she asks for it. This isn’t the first time she’s asked you to be rough on her, so you’re more or less used to this type of dirty talk: however, what she says next is not something you’re used to.

“Grab my hair! Push my face into the table!”

You’re a little hesitant at first, but with how fervently she’s taking your cock, you realize she isn’t really giving you much space to argue. So, as always, you obey.

“Yes, mommy.”

As you reach out to grab a fistful of her hair, she turns a surprised eye to you. It’s only then that you realize what came out of your mouth.

“‘Mommy’?”

Why did you say that? You try to be careful with your words, but have lately been finding it easier and easier to let words slip out of your mouth without a second thought. And now that she was looking at you, a sudden pang of fear crept up inside you. Did you fuck up? “Um, I’m, I’m so sorr—”

“No…” There is clear conflict on Taeyeon’s face. On one hand, she’s surprised to hear you call her that, and part of her feels like she ought to be repulsed by it in some way, but part of her finds it hot. It’s not lost on Taeyeon that the nature of your relationship with you makes you her sugar baby, especially with the age gap that exists between you two. It’s … fitting. “…don’t be sorry. Keep going, baby.”

What happened? Is Taeyeon not mad? She seemed to be … somewhat accepting of it?

You don’t decide to push your luck though, and when she turns back around, you continue where you left off by grabbing her hair and, gently, pushing her face into the cold marble surface of the island table.

“Fuuck…”

You’re genetically compatible with her, and even your physical build is compatible with her: you’re at just the right height to comfortably drill into her from above like this, with her feet slightly raised and her ass in the air, smacking into your damp groin repeatedly. The wet sounds of the impact echo about the otherwise empty residence: outside, the gardener should be attending to the multitude of flowers and trees that surround the house, but there is no view inside the kitchen from anywhere the gardener might be.

“Yes, keep going, ruin me!”

“Fuck, Taeyeon—” you other hand leaves her waist and comes down, hard, onto her ass. She lets out a noise that lays somewhere between a squeal and a moan. “—you’re so much.”

“More, babe! Keep going!”

It’s second nature to you, by now, to obey her every command, but this is something you don’t need her to tell you to do. The second smack, then the third, the fourth, the fifth, and by the sixth, you can start to see a red imprint in the rough shape of your palm appearing on her otherwise pale, snowy-white romp.

“Fuck! Babe, please, it’s so good!”

Her words are slightly muffled by the fact that you’re pushing her face into the table; her face is turned to the side, but even still, her cheeks are so slim that even the slightest bit of pressure nearly causes her lips to be touching the marble.

“You’re so insatiable.” You’re using your knees to keep yourself aligned with her, one hand adjusting its grip on her silky, chocolate hair while the other alternates between caressing and smacking her juicy ass. “I love it.”

“I’m so close! Babe, please!”

The coolness of the marble surface is also pressing into her tits, and specifically, her erect nipples. On top of the ferocious pounding you’re giving her, the ass-smacking from one of your hands and the pressing on her head into the table from the other, the temperature play at yet another one of her erogenous zones is stimulating Taeyeon to the max. The longer it draws on, the more the intensity of your thrusts and the force of your hand onto her ass increases, and the higher she pushes herself onto the balls of her feet, doing everything she can to maximize the contact between you and her.

By now, you can more or less tell how close Taeyeon is to her climax; although you haven’t gotten it down to an exact science yet, you can tell that you’re going to reach your peak first. Ever since you’ve gained the ability to make Taeyeon climax, you selfishly want to make sure she’s reaching it every single time: of all the things you can never get tired of from Taeyeon, seeing her coming to an orgasm because of you is at the top of that list.

So, you use the cheat button. You stop slapping her ass, the red imprint on it just about glowing by now, and your hand dives between her legs. It takes a second to find her clit, but when you do, you don’t use it right away: you’ve learned that it’s more effective if you do what you’re doing now, which is to tease it by rubbing the perimeter of it first. Taeyeon, on the other hand, starts losing her mind; her moans become desperate yelps and whines, and when you finally reward her patience by squeezing on her pleasure button, she unfolds all at once.

“Fffuuuck!”

The goal was to at least align your climaxes at least somewhat, but you definitely weren’t expecting to make Taeyeon cum first. In fact, you’re so stunned by this that you momentarily stop moving, only reminded to keep going by Taeyeon’s urging.

“Yes, yes, yes! Fuck, I’m cumming so hard, oh my god, oh my—”

This is the first time that Taeyeon has reached her climax before you. Try as you might before, even doing foreplay such as cunnilingus or using your fingers, it was always you that buckled first. But now, seeing your misses unravel so completely, shaking and lathering your cock and your groin with her love nectar, turns you on so completely that your climax follows shortly after.

“Fuck, cumming—”

Taeyeon jolts again as the jet of warm, viscous liquid enters her womb. “Unng, fuck, yes, fill me up, babe!”

This time, Taeyeon didn’t have the benefit of the bedsheets to soak up the fluids flowing out of her hole; you help her clean up, and when she’s done, she pecks you on the lips. And that’s another thing you can never get tired of: the feeling of her soft, velvety lips on yours, and the fragrant aroma that wafts into your nose when her face presses into yours.

“I can’t believe how amazing that was, babe. You were … wow…”

You let out a laugh. “I’m glad you liked it. You were so sexy, as always.”

There wasn’t a room in the house that was spared from your and Taeyeon’s antics: the dining room, the living room, every room in the spacious abode became witness to your breeding attempts. Each had their own benefits, too: the dining room had the comfortable chairs that you could use, the living room had the open space and a TV to use to add into the fun, the game room was filled with various makeshift tools that enhanced the experience—such as using a pool stick as a yoke or restraint bar, forcing Taeyeon’s arms behind her back and leaving her completely helpless to you—and the music room, which she apparently had installed into her house because of some vocal lessons she eventually dropped due to lack of time, but something for which you can personally vouch for her insane natural talent of, whose excellent acoustics allow you to hear Taeyeon’s beautiful, musical moans in ways you’ve never heard them before. It wasn’t an everyday thing, though, nor even necessarily a once-a-week thing—in fact, there would even be stretches of two, three months with no sex. Someone as busy as Taeyeon simply didn’t always have the time, or would just come home and let you guide her to her bed and fall asleep to the full-body massage you’ve spent so much time learning to do.

It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, though—being the publicly-known boyfriend of perhaps the world’s first idol-CEO, who first garnered attention for her immaculate looks at the fashion shows she would attend, then further fame from appearing on the Forbes’ ’30 Under 30’ list. What would the fanbase of an idol-CEO look like? It turned out, pretty similar to the fanbase of a singer-idol: from the moment your relationship with Taeyeon went public, the two of you were met with waves upon waves of backlash. Taeyeon, being used being in the spotlight and frankly, not particularly caring for these kinds of matters as her job wasn’t as closely tied to public sentiment as a singer-idol’s was, was barely phased by it. You, however: someone who was a nobody before this, who was a five or six out of ten at best, and now with the amount of effort you put into fashion and your appearance now, is perhaps a seven or maybe an eight if you squinted real hard and captured the exact perfect angle, but who looks like a four next to the perfect ten out of ten that Taeyeon always was, was bound to be met with heaps of jealous, indignant, angry fans.

It was easy enough to stop using social media—‘easy’ enough, that is—but when you’re just walking about normally, shopping for furniture or new shampoo or fetching some new makeup products that Taeyeon has you pick up? When Taeyeon proposed to hire a bodyguard for you, you immediately shoot it down. You, need a bodyguard? Who are you to require such a thing?

The answer was simple: the news articles of random people on the street harassing you, throwing junk at you, something you tried to keep quiet about but met Taeyeon’s wrath regarding when she found out, not from you telling her, but from a news article.

“How could you not tell me?!”

“I’m … I’m so sorry…”

“No! It’s not—” Taeyeon sinks into her chair and buries her face in her hands. “—it’s not you who needs to be sorry.” Her voice softens considerably, and it doesn’t take long for you to realize: she’s crying.

“Taeyeon? Honey?”

“You need to tell me about these things!” When she lifts her head to speak to you, your suspicions are confirmed: eyes sparkling, cheeks glistening with tears, lips pulled into a pronounced frown. “I can protect you! Why would you—”

“Because I’m a man!” You don’t intend to yell, but it’s too late. “I don’t want to need my girlfriend to protect me! I have a pride as a man, too, even if you’re the—” you don’t dare finish that sentence. You’re already yelling at her, you don’t need to step over that line.

“I’m the what?” she snaps. “I’m the CEO? I’m the older one? I’m the one with the money?”

“It—none of that matters. It wasn’t that big of a deal, anyway. A bruise here and there, it’s fine.”

“But it’s not fine! What if something worse happens down the line? If you continue to let these people walk all over you, what if they start throwing bigger, heavier things at you? What if you get hospitalized? What would I do then?”

“Why would you care, as long as my penis works fine.”

…

Wait.

What the fuck did you just say?

The silence is deafening. You can hear your heart racing inside your chest. It’s painful. It’s a twisting, churning sensation inside you, but worse than that is the fact that Taeyeon isn’t saying anything. You want to take it back. So badly. But, you can’t. What would you say?

“I—I need to go.”

“Honey, wait—”

For the first time since you’ve started this relationship, you disobey her. You continue walking, straight out of her office, and don’t stop until you reach a bar.

Is doing this going to ruin your reputation, and more importantly, Taeyeon’s reputation even more? Almost definitely. But at that moment, you don’t care. You probably don’t need to care much about Taeyeon’s reputation for much longer. You don’t remember the rest of the night at all, and wake up the next morning with a terrible, pounding headache. It takes a while to acquire your surroundings, and when you do, you realize you’re in the VIP room of the hospital Taeyeon’s doctor works at: a place you’ve visited to make sure you are, indeed, fertile, and for a few vaccines that you didn’t think of getting until Taeyeon suggested it.

Taeyeon, Taeyeon, Taeyeon. Your whole life revolves around Taeyeon. And now, what did you do to her? Imply that she’s only using you as a breeding horse, as if you can’t feel how much she loves you in the voice messages she sends you when she can’t come home about how she misses you, or the meal she cooked for you on your 400th day anniversary, or the various other gifts she showers you with because of some passing comment you don’t remember making the next day. All of that, and then that terrible thing you said to her, and she’s still taking care of you?

When the nurse bursts through the door and calls your name, your head is buried inside your hands. “Do you still have a hangover? I’ll get—”

“No, it’s ok.”

“…ok. Ms. Taeyeon is on her way.”

“I—” who are you to make demands of others? Especially since you’re only in this room because of her. Does she still love you? Does she still believe in you?

The next person to burst through the doors and call your name is none other than Kim Taeyeon herself. “Oh my god, sweetheart, I was so worried when I couldn’t get a reach of you and couldn’t find you at home…”

You listlessly try to escape her embrace, but Taeyeon is having none of that. She squeezes your head against her chest, and from the way you can feel her shaking, you can tell that she’s crying. Again. Because of you.

“I don’t deserve you, Taeyeon.”

“What?”

“Let’s be honest. I’m a nobody. You’re … you’re probably the only CEO in the world who has such a dedicated fanbase. Or, one of. Yet, you’re tying yourself down to me?”

“Don’t say that! I chose you because I love you!”

“No, you didn’t.” Taeyeon releases her embrace of you. This time, you meet her gaze. You feel like you need to. “You chose me because I’m compatible with you, right?”

“Oh…” Why does Taeyeon look so crestfallen? Seeing her in such a state twists at your heartstrings, so you stay silent and let her gather her thoughts. “…that’s not what I meant. It’s true, that I initially chose you because of that, but … I meant, I chose to stay with you because I fell in love with you. I chose you. Not because of your compatibility with my condition, but because of you. Not because of your penis, or your genes, or anything.”

And, the thing is, you know this. Is it simply because it’s hard to believe? That an amazing, a perfect woman like Taeyeon would ever want to be with someone like you? Is it that pride you have, as a man, that makes you want to be stubborn?

“I’m sorry.” It doesn’t matter what it was. Taeyeon, just her being here with you, despite how busy she must be, despite the fires she must be trying to put out regarding news articles that have probably been released about the boyfriend of the famous idol-CEO Kim Taeyeon found passed out drunk at some random bar, is enough to forget all of that. “I didn’t mean to say those words. It was wrong of me.” Taeyeon’s lips are already being pulled into a frown, and her eyes are already starting to tear up again, but when you say, “I know this is asking a lot … but can you forgive me?” she bursts out into a sob.

“Of course! Of course, I forgive you, honey!”

The bodyguard was only necessary for the next two months; after Taeyeon released a public statement, threatening to sue for damages and the netizens for their defamatory comments, you found being in public much more bearable. That hurdle in your relationship seems to have flicked something in Taeyeon, who finally started giving you more work after you asked her so many times for it, in the hopes that you can help alleviate her immense workload. Was it your comment about still having pride as a man? Who knows, really. What was important was that, now that you could help Taeyeon with her duties, she could be home much more often. The times she couldn’t be home, for the various business trips her duties as a CEO dictated, however, she decided to start taking you along.

As any multi-millionaire CEO, Taeyeon has her own private jet and her own crew for the jet, including a pilot and co-pilot. However, what was different about this jet was one aspect—a rather large aspect, honestly. One room inside the jet, with stabilizers in three dimensions to reduce the impact of turbulence for the people inside the room. Why would that be necessary when seatbelts are the common solution to turbulence?

“Mmm, ooh, ooh yeah…”

Taeyeon’s face is inches above your own, her eyes gently closed as your cock, firmly wedged between her legs and inside her swelteringly hot pussy, pries apart her tight walls. With every thrust, more of her juices sputter out onto the comforter covering the bed you’re lying on, and with every thrust, Taeyeon’s moans split through the loud hum of the jet’s engines.

“Fuck … I’m going to miss this so much…”

“So this is why you had this bed installed in your jet, huh?” Your hands are firmly planted on either side of her hips; even though the room is being stabilized in all degrees of motion, you still need to keep her in place so you can plow into her with the force her tight pussy demands of you. “To get some last-minute cock before toiling away on this business trip?”

Taeyeon smiles at you. It’s a mischievous, playful type of smile, one that reminds you that Taeyeon is more than the strict, calculating CEO, or even than the warm-hearted, kind and caring girlfriend, that she makes herself out to be. “So what if I did?”

“I would’ve said, ‘I didn’t know my girlfriend was such a fiend for my cock’, but then, I would be lying, wouldn’t I?”

Ever since that incident, the two of you have grown closer than ever before. It’s maybe something about voicing your insecurities about the relationship, how you feel inadequate in your desire be the protector despite Taeyeon having more of the means to act in that capacity, but after smoothing all that out, the hesitance of teasing Taeyeon too much or of belittling her a little in jest has gone away once you realize, ‘Oh. Taeyeon just wants me to treat her like any other girlfriend would. Just because she’s my sugar momma, doesn’t mean she’s my superior. In a relationship, both partners are equal, and this one shouldn’t be any different.’

“I would be sad if my boyfriend didn’t already know how much I loved feeling his cock destroy my wet, tight little pussy.” There’s something about Taeyeon’s dirty talk, too. It just … gets to you. Taeyeon has such a regal appearance in public, and in private, such a cute, traditionally pretty appearance, that hearing such filth coming out of her lips almost feels wrong. It feels like it doesn’t belong somehow, and that contrast is exactly what does it for you. “And how I love it so much, I spent millions to get this built for us, just so I could squeeze in an extra few hours of feeling his thick, veiny cock splitting my walls apart and feeling his hot, creamy cum spill into me.”

You’re going to go crazy. That’s for sure. It’s how you feel every time Taeyeon dirty talks to you, which you have noticed has been increasing in frequency as of late.

“God, I can’t believe you, Taeyeon…”

“I’m right here, babe. Believe in me.”

“You’re … what did I ever do to deserve you?”

Taeyeon doesn’t answer, and instead places her hands on your cheek and leans in for a kiss. It’s an incredible feeling every time, feeling the warm, plump, soft texture pressing against your lips, and then feeling her tongue against yours, but especially when in combination with the feeling of her body pressed against yours, and feeling her wet, hot snatch trying to squeeze the life out of your cock—you feel even further above the clouds than you already are.

Your bodies move in unison, both of you moaning into the kiss that are subsequently drowned out by the ever-present roaring of the jet engines. For privacy reasons, Taeyeon had the room soundproofed and doors locked; even meals were served on a food tray through a tiny slit that could only be opened from inside the room. And here lay the millionth benefit of dating the finest specimen of a woman on planet Earth: Taeyeon was always so thorough, especially when it came to your combined private time, that you knew you could enjoy it thoroughly without fear of any interferences.

“God, I love you so much, babe.”

“I love you too, Taeyeon.”

“You always tell me that you feel lucky to have me, but haven’t you ever stopped to consider how lucky I feel to have you?” Your movements aren’t forceful and vigorous as they are usually; this time, they’re slower and more sensual. This time, it feels more like lovemaking than baby-making, and you don’t really know how to deal with that. “You adapted to such a different lifestyle so quickly, you’re always willing to help me even in ways I couldn’t imagine, you’re always so patient with me, and you’re even willing to learn all the weird and highly-specified parts of my job so that you can help me with it, all so you can spend more time with me. I’ve met with and talked to many men in my life, but I doubt a single one of them could do as amazing of a job as my partner in life than you.”

It’s pretty overwhelming. Scratch that, it’s insanely overwhelming. Taeyeon, as any doting girlfriend, gives you compliments all the time, but none feel as heartfelt and sincere as this one. It feels like a balloon growing inside your chest, that you can imagine is your ego or sense of self-worth or something, and Taeyeon is pumping air into it with all the strength her skinny little arms can manage. Which is a surprising about, mind you.

What can you do with all this … this elation? A sense of pure love and warmth and caring and everything—it feels too much to bear. So, you do the only thing you know to do in such a situation.

“And none of them could fuck you like I do.”

The loving gaze in Taeyeon’s eyes shatters, her eyes disappearing into upside-down crescents and her lips pulled apart to allow for her laughter to spill out. She smacks you on the shoulder. “I’m trying to be serious here!”

You laugh along with her. “I love this. I love you. Everything. I’m the luckiest person in the world right now, to have you with me.”

“To feel such a hot, tight pussy squeezing your cock?”

“Oh, now who’s being the unserious one here?”

Taeyeon grins at you. “I’m like this because of you. You know that, right?”

“What? Little old me, corrupted the pure, innocent idol-CEO Kim Taeyeon?” Taeyeon smacks you on the shoulder again.

“I told you I don’t like being called that.”

“What? Kim Taeyeon? But that’s your name.”

“No, the other thing.”

“Oh, you don’t like being called pure or inno—” this time, Taeyeon interrupts you by suddenly starting to ride you, hard, causing your words to be cut off by a groan. “—fuck, babe…”

“Looks like mommy has to punish you for being such a naughty boy.”

Even with the constant droning of the jet engine’s roar, it’s like your ears can selectively pick out Taeyeon’s musical moans as she reaches her climax, and as you watch her ride you even more fiercely, you can only watch in absolute awe at the spectacle of Taeyeon succumbing to her orgasm atop your body, and the following visual of the creampie filling her cunt slowly trickling out of her hole and onto your body, and then onto the comforter when she rolls off you.

“So you’re coming around to that word, huh?”

Taeyeon nods. “I can’t believe I’m saying this … but it’s really hot.”

“Hmm, but not as hot as my mommy.”

Taeyeon nudges you a little, albeit with a smile on her face. “Shut up.”

Her response brings a smile to your own face. “Seeing as we’re not going to sleep, since it’s still probably around 6pm in our time, are you sure you don’t want to clean up?”

Taeyeon shakes her head. “I like feeling it inside me. Your cum. It’s so warm, and it feels like part of you is still inside me.” She leans against you and rests her head on your shoulder, which just so happens to fit perfectly into the crook of your neck. “Which, of course, it technically is. Or, was. Now, it’s mine.”

You let out a chuckle. “I didn’t know you were so possessive of my sperm.”

“I am! Your first baby should be with me. And all your babies in the future.”

“That’s the plan.”

Because of the privacy of the room, neither of you have to put on your clothes again, which are neatly stored in the modest closets that are also attached to the room. A little while after, the two of you enjoy dinner in the seats sat on the opposite side of the bed, facing it, while watching a movie on the TV hanging above the bed’s headboards, and then resume the movie cuddled up on the bed, watching it on the other TV situated between the seats, facing the bed.

There have been many instances in this new life that Taeyeon has pulled you into that made you realize that the wealthy actually live entirely different lives than most other people, and this is one of them. Even closing in on three years together, you’re still discovering all these new kinds of luxury that you couldn’t even fathom before meeting Taeyeon.

As the second movie’s credits start rolling, Taeyeon turns to you. “Ready?”

“Hm?”

Taeyeon swings her legs to the other side of your legs, her hands reaching down to rub your now growing erection. “I want more.”

The next time Taeyeon took you on a business trip, you immediately notice something different.

“Honey, who’s that seat for?”

Situated underneath the TV facing the bed is another, slightly wider, seat, with its backrest folded down. There seem to be some other things attached to it, but you can’t quite make out what they are.

“What do you mean? That’s for us.”

Taeyeon doesn’t elaborate further, only giving you a mysterious smile as you buckle yourselves up into the seats for takeoff. Once the captain notifies you that you’re free to move about the cabin, Taeyeon unbuckles herself from the seat and beckons for you to come.

“I still don’t understand…” you watch as she pushes the TV into the wall, pulls the seat out a little, and pulls up the backrest. And, as you watch it unfurl, you can start to see what she was going for.

“What are you doing with your clothes still on?” You chuckle but obey, storing your clothes into the closet, with Taeyeon following shortly. “Go ahead, sit down.”

“You seem … awfully excited about this.”

“I am!”

Both you and Taeyeon are switches. Sometimes, Taeyeon takes the lead and you’re more than ok with it, and sometimes, she lets you take the lead; sometimes, Taeyeon comes home from a long day of high-stress situations and you make sure she doesn’t have to make any more decisions, and sometimes, Taeyeon’s extended leave of absence from home makes both of you miss each other, which would more often than not result in Taeyeon exerting her will on you and you more than happy to be with her again. So, when you saw the wrist clamps extending about neck-level on either side of the backrest of the seat, you wondered who they were for: both of you, is probably the correct answer, but today, it was evident that Taeyeon wanted to use them.

“Hmm…” As your cock slides into her hot pussy, Taeyeon lets out a low moan, leaning back a bit onto your chest as she feels her walls being pulled apart, once again, by your girth. “Mmmm~”

“Always so tight for me, babe.”

“Always so hard for me, baby.” You plant a kiss next to her ear, eliciting a giggle; when you’re fully inside her, she directs you, “Help me with this?”

You turn your eyes to her hands—or, more accurately, her wrists, both of which are already inside the open wrist clamps. “You really want this?” Taeyeon nods fervently, so you waste no time in locking her wrists in place. And, just like that, her arms are suspended in the air, giving you full, unadulterated access to her entire body, left entirely to your whims.

“I’m all yours, baby.”

Such a situation is a dream-come-true for any sane, straight man: one of the most attractive, sexiest woman on the planet—in your eyes, the most attractive and the sexiest woman on the planet—giving herself up to you, fully. The only limbs she can control are her limbs, but after you start pounding into her, even those start shaking about helplessly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, babe—”

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” You take advantage of her raised arms and wrap your arms around to grab a handful of those voluptuous boobs she was so carelessly showing off at the walkway to the airport—because, as an idol-CEO, fans still congregate to take pictures of her airport outfits, for some reason—and start palming them. Taeyeon lets out a sigh, arching her back and pushing her tits further into your hand. “You want a break from everything and just want to be coddled and pampered, right?”

Taeyeon nods, and although you can’t see it, you can feel how her head bobs up and down against your cheek.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take great care of you.”

“Ooh…”

Her voice hitches when you give her nipples a light pinch, but just as quickly as the stimulus surges through her body, so too does it dissipate. Your motions slow down to a sensual grind, and you can start to feel Taeyeon’s impatience building.

This is her doing. She chose to submit herself to you, and she should know how much you like building up the tension. As much as her display of ultimate submission makes you want to pound her into next Tuesday, you know this will yield a better result, for both you and Taeyeon.

“…baby…”

You plant kisses on her crown, then move to her cheek. She tilts that side of her head to you, giving you better access to her ears, which you take advantage of by nipping slightly. Every time your lips touch her face, Taeyeon seems to be holding in her breath a little bit more, and every time your fingers come dangerously close to her nipples, you can feel a sigh waiting to be released, desperately wanting to be released, but being held in at the last possible moment.

“Your boobs look so good in that outfit.”

“You told me this morning, honey.”

“So you can’t blame me for wanting to play with them a little bit more right now.”

“You can play with them while you’re fucking me harder, ri—” you interrupt her by planting a kiss right next to her lips, but not on them.

“You put me in charge, right?” Taeyeon nods. “Then, relax. Don’t think. Let me do everything for you, baby.”

Taeyeon follows your commands to a tee, sinking and sinking into your slow movements, practiced motions that you’ve taken years to perfect. Every square centimeter of Taeyeon’s body, you know, and you use that knowledge to tease out every last ounce of desire and wanting from her small, skinny, but somehow curvaceous frame.

“Ooh … my god…”

Your left hand leaves her boobs and travels south, and all it takes is one careful swipe of your finger along her entrance to reassure you how absolutely aroused Taeyeon has become.

“Hmm…”

“Open up.”

Taeyeon obeys, and you stick the finger slick with her juices inside her mouth. Instantly, her velvety lips close around the digit and her tongue goes to work, swirling around the finger and licking it clean. It’s not the first time you’ve done this to her, and it’s also not the first time you’ve wondered what letting loose a load between those pretty lips of hers would be like. To this day, all these years you’ve been together, all the various ways you two have fucked, and Taeyeon has still yet refused to let you cum anywhere but inside her. Not that you particularly mind, but every now and then, your mind starts to wander—what would she look like after a nice facial? How sexy would it be to see those slim cheeks puffing from an overabundance of your cum, with trickles of it escaping the corners of her mouth that she captures with her finger and feeds back into her mouth? What would these delectable tits, that have been the object of your fascination since Taeyeon put her airport outfit on this morning, look like with your cum smeared all over them? Or what about the juicy ass that she’s currently grinding against your crotch?

“You’re so unbelievably fucking beautiful, and so irresistibly sexy, Taeyeon.”

Taeyeon only responds with a sigh. You can hear the impatience in it—and, frankly, you’re nearly at your limit, too. You can start to feel her juices start to trickle down onto your legs and it’s this that becomes the last straw. The next sound Taeyeon makes is a loud yelp, in response to your fingers suddenly squeezing both nipples at the same time. “Ffuck!”

You start pounding into her, using the grip your hands have on her boobs as leverage to push her back and forth in your lap. Eventually, as you build up momentum, Taeyeon starts raising and falling, each time she lands back in your lap creating a nice, satisfying smack! sound that gets quickly drowned out by the airplane’s engines. Coincidentally, some faint rattling sound cuts through the air that you’ve come to realize is turbulence, something that the stabilizers attached to the room have prevented you from ever feeling. Unfortunately, you can’t make use of the bouncing of the airplane, but Taeyeon is light enough that you don’t need much help anyway.

“God, yes! Baby, please, more!”

You’re letting your hands follow the wild bouncing motion of her boobs as you bounce her on your lap, giving them the occasional squeeze as it does so. It always marvels you, how someone so small and so skinny can have such proportionally big boobs. She usually dresses a bit more conservatively in public, which is what made her choice of outfit this day so mouth-watering—Taeyeon rarely gives hints of her cleavage to the public, so when she reveals this much? You can only assume she was trying to seduce you, and it worked beautifully; before you even boarded the plane, you were having trouble trying to hide your boner. And now that it’s buried deep inside her, and now that her boobs are filling up your hands, especially since she’s given you full reign to do whatever you want to her, you intend to act on your horniness to its fullest extent.

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll give you more.”

Among the many beautiful things about Taeyeon is her natural speaking voice, and that doubled for the voice with which she moaned her pleasure with. It only ever invigorates you more, to hear her moaning so animatedly, and your intensifying actions cause those moans to come out more frequently and with more frequency. It’s a self-feeding loop, a loop that only ends one way.

“Oh my gosh, babe, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum so hard—”

Your climax follows shortly after hers, and as you slump back into the backrest of the seat and Taeyeon rests her head against your chest, the salacious mixture trickles out of Taeyeon’s battered hole and onto the cushiony seat you’re seated upon. Your dick is still wedged inside aforementioned hole, and while you can feel some fatigue settling in, your dick’s efforts to soften is met with the fierce resistance of Taeyeon’s tight snatch, ever the hard worker.

“Baby…”

“Sorry, honey, just give me a minute…”

“…there’s a setting. On the right, there should be a button. On the armrest.”

When you first saw the button, you assumed it was to lean the seat back like any normal airplane economy-class seat, but now that you think about it, you realize how dumb that assumption was. There’s barely any space for this seat to lean back, and this seat is clearly not ‘like any normal airplane economy-class seat’.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Press it.”

“Hm, ok—oh, what the—” the seat starts bouncing, causing your dick to push a little bit deeper inside her. Taeyeon lets out a soft moan.

“Mmm, I’m so glad that works.”

“Taeyeon, what—”

“Do you mind?”

You can’t help but think of the meme that you aren’t sure is exactly a meme, ‘soaking’, the Mormon work around for couples to have sex without going through the physical motions of it. If it is indeed a thing, you wonder how much this kind of a chair would be worth to them.

“Does it feel good for you?”

Taeyeon nods. “Yes. God, yes, I love that feeling, of your cock fucking our creampie back inside me.”

If you weren’t being hit with your refractory period, Taeyeon saying such a filthy sentence would’ve caused you to instantaneously jump her—now, all you could do is let out a groan and put your hands back on her boobs.

“Fuck…”

“Do you like it?”

“I … I’m still, I still can’t, but fuck, I love the feeling of your boobs in my hands.”

The bouncing of the chair is rather slow—Taeyeon makes a comment about how she needs to tell them to modify it to have varying speeds, and then you briefly think about the poor engineers who have worked on this plane and have installed all sorts of various, weird things in it, with a probably pretty good idea for its use case but having to go along with it anyway—but the two of you stay like this while you recover. The chair pushes you in and out of Taeyeon while your hands continue to knead and squeeze the addictively soft and plush texture of her tits, and as your refractory period fades, you start adding to the chair’s efforts. You eventually transition to a standing position, with Taeyeon now facing the seat, her wrists again trapped by the wrist clamps, and you standing behind her.

“Fuck, yes, please, more!”

No longer having to fight gravity, the sound of her ass smacking against your drenched groin nearly overpowers the roar of the airplane’s engines. “Fuck, Taeyeon, I’m so close…”

“Give it to me, give it to me! Fill me up to the brim, baby!”

You let out a final, warning grunt before exploding, your second load bursting inside her—a notably lesser load, but one that still sends Taeyeon into a moaning, squirming frenzy. By the time your orgasm subsides and you pull out of her, it’s like a dam burst; Taeyeon’s poor cunt barely had a few minutes in the last hour or so not being stretched open by your cock, and the rough shape of it can still be seen by how widely her labia is still parted. Out that hole, the combined cum of two orgasms, from both herself and from you, are gushing out, following the curve of her ass and down her leg. Somehow, Taeyeon doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest and throws herself onto the bed.

“What do you want to watch, baby?”

How Taeyeon can switch from sexy seductress to adorable girlfriend is beyond you. All you can do is smile and join her in bed. “I don’t know. Let’s take a look.”

Slowly, you started to notice a reduction in your workload, but it somehow didn’t come with less time with Taeyeon. In fact, Taeyeon’s workload seemed to decrease along with yours, and when you asked her about this, she confirmed your suspicions: she’s slowly offloading her duties and responsibilities to others so that she can focus on the baby that you finally managed to impregnate her with.

The dream didn’t last long though; a few false positives from the past has taught you two to be cautious about your excitement, but when the two-week mark passed and everything seemed to be going well, you could feel Taeyeon’s excitement building and building, and you couldn’t help but get infected with that same excitement. So, when news came a month later that the fetus suddenly, inexplicably died in the womb, Taeyeon was beyond devastated. It took Taeyeon a full three days to get back to work, which, for such a hard worker as her, was a long break. Between taking over some of her basic day-to-day duties in that down time and comforting her, your own hands were quite full those three days, but honestly, you’re thankful to finally be able to give back to Taeyeon.

Over the next few weeks, Taeyeon slowly got back on her feet, and after the third month passed, it was almost like nothing happened. You’re sure you helped, but the timing couldn’t be any more immaculate: or, perhaps, you could say that the news came at a terrible time. Taeyeon had been preparing to step down as CEO for a while, and move to a chairwoman position in her company, but there was one last thing she couldn’t offload any work with: a merger with a smaller company, but still one that ate through a lot of her time and effort. In the final stretches of the process, after a stretch of one week without being able to come home, you decide to make a surprise visit to her office, to which she welcomes you with open arms. Open arms, or rather, parted lips.

“Yes, fuck, I needed this so bad~”

Taeyeon’s hands are gripping the edges of her desk, holding on for dear life as you plow into her from behind. Your clothes are strewn haphazardly about the room, the door firmly locked and, without the threat of interruption, you feel free to use 100% of your efforts into alleviating all the pent-up stress the merger has caused Taeyeon.

The view from the front, of seeing her face twisting with pleasure as you slam into her; the view from the side, seeing her ample tits jiggling wildly with the force of your thrusts; the view from the back, the one you’re currently enjoying, watching her juicy romp rebounding with every pistoning motion—there isn’t a single view of Taeyeon that isn’t immaculate.

“I missed you too.”

Taeyeon can barely hold it together, her entire body shaking in response to your vigorous movements, her legs only able to stay upright thanks to the support your own legs are giving them. The whirring of the air conditioning mixes in with the wet clapping of her ass against your crotch, and the cool air only serving to further stimulate the CEO, devoid of all clothing, being plowed from behind at her own desk.

“I-I, I love you so much, so much, baby.”

Taeyeon gave you only a minute after you arrived before jumping you. Honestly, this wasn’t your plan in the slightest, but who are you to complain? When such a bombshell beauty is so horny for you that she physically cannot contain it, especially if that bombshell beauty happens to be your girlfriend of just about five years.

“I love you too, mommy.”

Although you’re fucking her from behind, it was clear from the moment she crashed her lips onto yours that she is the one in charge. And, of course, you don’t mind. You also don’t mind how readily she slipped into the roleplay, her first words to you after the kiss being, “Mommy needs her baby’s cock, now.”

When she’s submissive, you find yourself wanting to thoroughly fuck her and ruin her in every way imaginable; but when she’s assertive, you find yourself instantly kneeling in obedience, worshipping the ground she walks on. Which leads you to this moment, where her pleas of, “faster!” and “more!” and “harder!” are instantly met with obedience. It isn’t long before Taeyeon isn’t able to maintain her grip of the desk any longer, so you take her arms and use them as handlebars to fuck her harder.

“God, mommy’s cumming, mommy’s cumming!”

The office fills with the beautiful, ecstatic sounds of Taeyeon’s climatic screaming moans, and not shortly after, it’s joined by the sounds of your own moans as you imbed stream after stream of your seed straight into her womb.

“Oh … my god…”

“Do you feel better now?”

Taeyeon nods, but when she turns around, it’s clear that this isn’t over yet. “You know what would make mommy feel better?” You shake your head. “First, in the second drawer from the top, there’s a false bottom that you can bypass by pushing on the side.” You nod, and sure enough, the false bottom gives way. “You see that plug?” Again, you nod, and take it out. It isn’t the first time you’ve done this, nor even the first time you’ve done this in her office really, but what follows after she inserts it inside herself is a first. “You know what else I’ve been thinking about recently?”

“Hm? What?”

At this point, Taeyeon has directed you sit down in her chair. You obeyed, confused, and now that she’s pushing you away from the desk and kneeling between your legs, you can start to see why. “Mommy.”

“Sorry. What have you been thinking about, mommy?”

Satisfied, Taeyeon smiles. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, but it’s only this past week that I could get it out of my mind.” You’re still recovering, but Taeyeon is certainly making the recovery process easier. “That warm, thick, creamy cum that you always fill me with, that’s inside me right now … I want to taste it.”

At this point in your relationship, you figure nothing about Taeyeon can really surprise you. You’ve even talked about some of the deeper aspects of your relationship, such as why Taeyeon doesn’t want to get married yet: her parents only stayed together because they had her, and eventually, their relationship healed to the point where they, now, are perfectly happy in their retirement. It’s this experience that molded Taeyeon’s opinion of relationships: if she were to have a romantic partner, she wanted to only have one, and to ensure that, she wanted to have a child with that partner before getting marriage, as a sort of insurance.

It’s why Taeyeon seemed so eager to bear your child recently, and why she became so utterly devastated when her first pregnancy ended the way it did. Many aspects of Taeyeon, you figure you already know, and every aspect of her, you cherish and love.

But this?

This is not something you expected.

“Are … you sure?”

Taeyeon nods, eyes glimmering with excitement. “Yes! Do you mind?”

“Of—Of course not, mommy!”

You have become so accustomed to releasing every load inside her womb—or at least, going into sex with the idea of that being your target—that even the thought of unloading anywhere else seems foreign. But, of course, over the years, your mind has drifted and fantasized, and you’re for the most part able to quash these fantasies pretty easily. After all, the price of being in a relationship with Taeyeon, and having somewhat frequent sex with her, is just that you’re only allowed to cum inside one of her holes? It’s a trivially easy price to pay.

“Oh, thank you, baby!”

That thought, of being able to unleash your first load deep inside her throat, combined with the kisses Taeyeon peppers all about your length, shortens your refractory period down to just about ten minutes. That feeling, of her soft, succulent lips pressing against your member, the audible smacking sound of the kiss as she presses her lips against it, the careful way in which she almost caresses your cock with her lips and her tongue sends you straight to cloud nine, and when she swallows your glans, you’re rocketed straight into outer space.

“Ffuck, mommy…”

It isn’t often that Taeyeon gives you blowjobs, but she’s done it enough that she can take your entire length in one go. She wastes no time, deepthroating you with all the enthusiasm the excited gleam in her eyes showed you, and all you can do is grip the armrests of the chair and buck your hips to the rhythm of her lips.

“Fuck, oh my god, please, mommy, it feels so fucking amazing…”

The feeling of her lips gliding up and down your shaft, her tongue caressing and massaging every square inch of your dick, all the while suffocating it with the sheer tightness of her throat quickly overwhelms your senses. This blowjob—this deepthroating is unlike any Taeyeon has ever given you: she’s more intense, she spends less time coming up for air, spitting on your cock, and rubbing it along your length with her hands, and without needing to care about your orgasm, she completely loses herself in it.

More and more intense, faster, harder, you’re losing your goddamn mind, Taeyeon slobbering all over your dick, the excess drool dripping down her chin and all over your thighs, but she somehow looks ten times sexier like that. Her normally slim face and sleek jawline are now noticeably bulging from your girth, her plump lips stretched wide across its circumference, her head bobbing up and down and her hair flying all over the place, chasing after the wild motions of the head it’s attached to.

“Fuck, mommy, please, I’m so close…”

Hearing this, Taeyeon’s eyes, which were previously glued to your lap, dart upwards, and she adjusts her position so that she can look you in the eye, full-on. You’re unable to tear your eyes away, every bobbing motion of her head and every suction that hollows her cheeks pushing you further and higher until—

“Mommy, I’m cumming!”

Taeyeon doesn’t break eye contact the entire length of your climax; it’s your second load of the session, so it’s not so much that she can’t handle it, but her cheeks still noticeably bulge as her mouth fills with your semen.

Carefully, making sure she doesn’t spill a single drop, Taeyeon’s lips come back up your length. In that moment, you, for a second marvel at the fact that your seed is now occupying two of Taeyeon’s holes, but that fact remains short lived as, shortly after, Taeyeon’s throat flexes and your fluids disappear down her gullet.

“Mmm…”

“So, how was it?”

“I think I like it.”

The two of you didn’t have much time to talk afterwards as she had a meeting to prepare for. Being someone who essentially knew everything Taeyeon did about the company, you figured you would sit in on the meeting in case she needed help with anything, but ended up being distracted with the thought that Taeyeon had yet to take the plug out yet, and was talking to her stockholders, present and future, with your cum still sloshing about inside her.

After the merger successfully resolved, Taeyeon stepped down as CEO and transitioned into a chairwoman position, as promised; and, with the increased amount of time on their hands, and with the memory of that fiasco in her office fresh in her mind, Taeyeon began proposing you to cum elsewhere quite frequently: a few more times in her mouth, but also on her ass, on her tits, smearing that tight little tummy of hers, splattering across her legs, and after a fair bit of experimentation, inside her ass.

The most memorable moment, by far, was—

“How do I look?”

Taeyeon insisted your first load be across her chest; needless to say, Taeyeon’s boobs are as sexy as she is beautiful, so to see them smeared with your cum amplifies that tenfold.

“So unbelievably fucking sexy.”

“I feel sexy too, so I was hoping…” Taeyeon reaches into the nightstand next to the bed and procures a bottle of pills. “…that you would help me feel even sexier.”

The pills turned out to be a performance enhancer mixed in something that helps increase ejaculation density. That night, the two of you went through all sorts of sex positions, every load being sprayed across a different part of her body: her stomach area followed a mixture of missionary and cowboy, then her face after a blowjob, then her back following doggy and her legs following prone-bone. Even with the drugs, you had to take considerable breaks in between sessions, especially at the tail-end; the end product was Taeyeon caked in a fine layer of your cum, smeared across just about every square inch of her body. When the two of you fell asleep, it was well past 5am, and the following morning—rather, the following afternoon, being the time the two of you awoke—you enjoyed a nice shower together.

That wasn’t to say you stopped entirely in your baby making attempts. Far from it: now that Taeyeon’s workload decreased so severely, the two of you had much more time to fuck—there even was a stretch of two weeks where you had sex every day, only paused by your need to rest and recover from all of the intense activity. None of it seemed to affect anything though: weekly pregnancy tests, all resulting in negatives or false positives; you can feel Taeyeon start to get impatient, not with her failure to get pregnant, but holding off marriage for so long.

By now, over half a decade together, you can’t imagine life with another person. If, God forbid, the two of you ever broke up, you figure you would just stay single for the rest of your life; after all, how could you settle for any other woman after Taeyeon? It was clear that Taeyeon was hoping to get married around the time she stepped down as CEO, but now that a year passed since that day, Taeyeon began to talk to you, in more earnest, about getting married first.

So, about 7 years from the day you two solidified your relationship, you got married. It was a very small and private affair, consisting only of the immediate families of both parties, seven of Taeyeon’s closest friends, and the handful of friends that had never judged your relationship with Taeyeon after learning about it.

The sex following the wedding night was easily the most rambunctious the two of you have ever been, lasting well until the sun rose the next day, and during the honeymoon was … a different kind of intense.

“Mmm, that smells so good, honey.”

Taeyeon lets out a soft gasp upon feeling your erection pressing against her bare ass. “I had Andre teach me.”

It was a quaint, quiet, isolated destination, your and Taeyeon’s choice of honeymoon. The house was packed with enough food to feed a family of four for two weeks, probably, enough wine for a battalion for one night’s celebration—the backup generators had backup generators, and there were at least five failsafe methods of communication in the worst case scenarios. The fact that you two don’t require a single other person to live luxuriously in the sizable estate, and the fact that other people are forbidden to enter even the premises of the estate, serve the singular purpose of allowing both you and Taeyeon to follow one rather simple rule: no means of covering one’s body is allowed except for an apron while cooking, gloves or other protective gear when handling hot surfaces or otherwise dangerous objects, or clothes if you’re, for whatever reason, expecting company.

Which explains this scenario, in which you are teasing at her hole as Taeyeon tries to focus on making brunch for the two of you.

“Baby, please…”

“You should focus on the food, babe.”

“I can’t … I can’t focus, your dick is driving me crazy…”

“Then all the more reason why I shouldn’t put it in, right? Because then, you’ll be even more likely to burn the food.”

“Just … babe, please, I need it so bad, just—”

“Are you gonna burn the food if I listen to you?”

“No! Please, I promise, please—”

You don’t need to hear much more, and when you shove yourself inside her, Taeyeon lets out a loud yelp. “Hmm, fuck, so hot and so tight, baby…”

“Fuck, oh my god, after all these years, it still feels like you’re stretching me out so much every time…”

Being near a hot stove, you can’t be as relentless as you have been the last few days, but seeing her trying her best to focus on the food she’s cooking while moaning and trying, but failing, to maintaining a steady hand, ending up sprinkling in a bit too much salt.

“Baby!”

“But you wanted this, didn’t you?”

“But you don’t have to—unng, fuck!”

You finish inside her, and shortly after, Taeyeon finishes her cooking—some of it did, in fact, get slightly burned, but otherwise was great.

Taeyeon instigates nearly as much as you, though—like, when you were napping on a lounge chair by the poolside, something only possible to do while naked in the winter because of the tropical climate of the destination, and awake to the feeling of Taeyeon climbing on top of you.

“Taeyeon?”

“I miss you.”

“How long have I been napping here? An hour?”

Taeyeon pouts, and your heart completely melts at the sight. “That’s an hour too long.”

“Aww, poor baby.” You lean forward and plant a kiss on her lips, which instantly turns the pout into a smile. “Is that better?”

“Mmhm. But, I could be even better…”

It turns out, having sex on a lounge chair isn’t exactly the most comfortable thing, especially if you’re being as vigorous as you and Taeyeon are. You end up breaking it, so you finish inside the pool and then go back inside to do some couple’s yoga in one of the estate’s living rooms.

In the two weeks that you two spend there, every room becomes witness to your hot, sweaty activities—in fact, you aren’t even sure if the bedroom is where you and Taeyeon end up fucking the most. For the span of those two weeks, Taeyeon insisted on having every drop of cum being deposited inside her pussy, although you end up cheating a little and cumming a few times in her other two holes, once on her face, and once on her boobs after a mind-blowing blowjob mixed with a titjob.

And, it turns out, getting married is all it takes—either that, or the two weeks of what essentially amounted to nonstop sex—for Taeyeon to get pregnant. After various double and triple checks, her personal doctor is able to confirm it: finally, again, after all these years, Taeyeon is pregnant. You can’t describe why exactly you feel this way, but there’s something about things—how much more solid your relationship with Taeyeon is, the fact that you’re married now, the significantly less stress Taeyeon deals with on a day-to-day basis—that makes you feel confident that it’ll work out this time.

“Have you thought of a name?”

“Hm…”

You laugh. “After all this time?”

“Well, I have though of a name if it’s a girl.”

“Hm? What is it, then?”

“How does ‘Minjeong’ sound?”

[revelboo]

I'd already had this in mind while reading the latest chapter of I can feel you, but I just had to after reading the little scenario just now 😂

(they're sitting on his shoulder)

🤣 Ratchet fixing a meal for the Titan’s tiny spouse so you’ll eat something healthy since you’re terrible at taking care of yourself and suddenly realizing he’s somehow gotten sucked into this relationship and he doesn’t have a clue when that even happened.

I Can Feel You Pt 22

Metroplex x Reader

• Servos pressing against his temple, Ratchet holds out the datapad. “These are anecdotal, unsubstantiated accounts of Cybertronians with organic mates. There’s no telling if they’re real or just legends. And if they are real, who knows if it would work the same with a Titan,” he says as the drone takes the tablet and he wonders suddenly if the ancient city can even read modern Cybertronian languages. “But it might be our best bet.” Because it’s killing him watching you grieving over your mate when he’s all around you, barely eating anything he provides you with. He’d had to haul you into his lap and hand feed you when you wouldn’t feed yourself. You’re under his care and he won’t allow you to neglect yourself.

• Servos lifting to press his free hand against the drone’s chassis, Metroplex hands the datapad back. A spark bond. “You will come to watch in case something goes wrong?” In case his spark can’t bond to you or he somehow hurts you again instead. Couldn’t stand to harm you worse, but wants you back home where you belong. Had been tracking you, watching over you from a distance, but your pain hurts him. Waiting until the medic grimaces then nods, he understands. Spark bonding is a very private matter, a sacred trust between mates, two sparks binding together. Turning he looks out into the Medbay, sensing you there in a corner, asleep now.

• Head lifting as arms slide under you, your protests fall away when you realize it’s Scamper. “Metroplex?” You whimper, throwing your arms around the drone. And he’s pulling you into his frame, arms curling around you. Finally. He came back for you, didn’t abandon you. “Can I go home?” Hear your voice break as the drone’s cheek brushes yours, servos tightening on you until it’s almost uncomfortable. Hearing someone tiredly venting, you look up at Ratchet and tense. Because this whole situation is his fault, you’d been happy and he’d ruined it.

• Not at all surprised when your eyes narrow at him, Ratchet turns away as Metroplex shifts the floor to make an entry into his labyrinthine interior. “The medic has a solution,” he hears the Metroplex murmur through the drone. A solution that you’ll blame him for if this doesn’t work. Watching the drone stand with you in his arms and start down into the darkness, Ratchet follows. And it’s as unsettling as always to be inside the Titan, to know these walls are alive. That he’s going to act as a witness to a spark bonding between the last Titan and an organic and he’s not at all sure it’ll work. Almost wants to call it off, afraid of things going horribly wrong.

• When you rest your cheek against his drone, all of his worry slips away, because you’re finally back where you belong. This has to work. While he can send his drones to you, create a home above for you, he wants you near his spark, protected. Wants you with him, so close he’s constantly aware of you, can feel every step you take, those little hands on him. Where he can link with you, hold you, love you. Biolights flaring so you and the medic can see, her carries you to his spark and your face tips up toward it as tendrils arc and reach. You’d told him it was lovely once, longing in your voice. How many times has he found you under his spark staring up as if mesmerized? Like you’re drawn to it. “I would claim all of you as mine,” he whispers through the drone. “If you’d accept me.” And you brush your mouth against Scamper’s battle mask. ‘I already chose you,’ you say as his spark thrums.

Previous

[d1etpeps]

i love your aesthetic!!! if i can request something? protective vi x reader? maybe someone is bothering reader in public and vi stands up for her. no violence or anything, just her telling them to back off and taking care of reader. some reassurance maybe? idk i trust your creative process

Headcannon. #3. Protect Me. Roommate!Vi x Fem!Reader, Vi protects you against unwanted attention.

authors note: thank you anon! sorry for the wait, but i wanted this to be perfect (considering you trust my creative process don't). I took it in a bit of a different direction, so hopefully it's worth it.

warnings: descriptions of anxiety/anxiety attacks, gross men and their unwanted opinions, not proof read!

The Last Drop was buzzing with loud voices and sweaty bodies, an unusual scene, although it was a Saturday night. It wasn’t what you’d expected. Every other night, the booths were full, bartenders wiping down one side of a bench just to dirty it again with missed pours of different spirits, but the voices carried conversations, with deliberate laughs.

But tonight? An unusual crowd had found its way through the streets of Zaun, finding one of the most beloved bars, popular for its decorated hero and owner, and began soaking in the spotlight of their makeshift dance floor. 

The music reverberated against the walls, at the demands of the people who found themselves up and around the bar, disrupting those hidden away in booths, just trying to enjoy their time nursing a beer. 

You, like many others, were tucked in a corner booth, lips wrapping around the black straw of your gin and tonic, taking small sips to soothe the bubbling pit of nausea settling in your stomach. You felt the gentle back and forth of Vi’s thumb on your wrist, friendly enough to not cross the line, yet still planting a small seed of doubt, readily awaiting its period to bloom. 

The thoughts in your head had only become a muddy mess of absolutely nothing a few minutes ago when the rushing bodies of Zaun’s most lower-class citizens had come bumping into you, splashing their drinks here and there, enough for Vi to have that twitch in her brow, telling you how frustrated she really was.

She just wanted this to be a nice night for the two of you, to celebrate you after completing a particularly difficult assignment, (she had heard the words molecular biophysics and biochemistry within the same sentence and automatically assumed that the assignment had in fact, been a bitch to hand in). 

What Violet had failed to notice was the way you were beginning to tune out to everything that was being said. She couldn’t blame you, it was almost impossible to hear her own voice over the chanting, dancing and brawls of the newfound crowd. 

You could see her lips moving, powder blue eyes taking hold of your own, attempting to trap you, in which case but this would have imprisoned your mind, willing to listen to her voice until the end of time. Instead, your mind was static. The world was becoming too loud for comfort, the stickiness of countless bodies rubbing against your own, despite being shielded by a booth, with blood feeling like it was draining from your head, there was a crushing heat taking its place.

When your skin started losing colour, replacing the pink of your lips with a sickening colour, Vi knew you were checking out. 

“Hey, Doll? Are you okay?” It was a dumb question to ask; she knew the answer, even if you were to stare her dead in the face and lie, swear on your heart and soul that you were fine, because honestly, you were not prepared for this. 

You tried shaking your head in a desperate attempt not to trigger the swaying of nausea in your stomach, but it was futile. the sweat was beginning to build along your hairline, the warmth of the bar's air only increasing in temperature. 

Vi wasted no time in interlacing your fingers with her own, assisting you on getting up on your feet. With broad shoulders and long strides across the floor, she was shielding your body with your own, always looking back behind her to make sure you were still with her, even though she could feel the radiating heat off your hands. 

When the back door of the bar was pushed open, you could immediately feel the night robbing you of your heat. The pressure of nausea, the thickness in your throat, and the tears welling up were all subdued, frozen in time along with the frost of Zaun’s winter. 

“Are you with me?” Violet asked, her hand brushing the stray pieces of hair framing your face to the side. 

Again, you nodded, less fearful of triggering the nauseated bubbles in your stomach. “I just need to sit down, that’s all.”

You softly hit the brick wall of the alleyway, sliding down slowly against the chilled concrete. Your roommate got down carefully beside you, watching gently at how the cool air kissed back the colour in your face, replacing the sickening feel with a slight brisk presence. 

She observed how you pulled your knees up to your chest, hugging the perimeter of your legs in an attempt to try to keep some warmth as the night's bitterness fed into your body temperature. Violet couldn’t help putting her hand forward to rest on your kneecap, picking up where she left off with the back and forth swaying of her thumb. She knew it was bordering on being more than friends, yet some part of her wanted to see if one day, your facade would slip and that maybe you would react. 

“The crowd-” you started, only getting so far before you chest felt like it was caving in, shallow breaths returning to the surface for just a split moment, before Vi gave a comforting squeeze, looking at you like you were her world, hopes an dreams, but that was something to decipher for another day. “They were all affected.”

Her lips dropped into a frown. She hadn’t wanted to say it or bring it to your attention, watching the glow of fluorescent purple illuminate the Last Drop. It wasn’t something you talked about, preferring to live in a bubble where things were peaceful and safe, almost hiding behind Vi as she protected you from every dark shadow that lingered around the corner.

Violet knew this. She knew that your biggest fear was an apocalypse, and as stupid as it sounds, she never made fun of you for it. Especially not when the distribution of shimmer began. In some ways, the epidemic of the drug infiltrating Zaun was equivalent to the dead roaming the land. Losing themself at the first taste, becoming something more than they ever should have. 

“We don’t have to stay,” It’s soft, something you just catch. But just for a second, you wanted to stay within the two walls of the alleyway, not minding the smell of rubble, as long as you had the girl that you loved appreciated next to you. 

Violet almost jumped when she felt your head rest against her shoulder, taking that as a can we just stay here, in this moment, together? Or maybe dreaming, that’s what was whirlling around in that pretty head of yours. 

Letting you stay perched up against her, she let her eyes flutter shut, just listening to the way your breathing was becoming spaced out at a more regular pace. It had always calmed her in some strange way, just knowing that you were there, even if you were as sweet as sugar; you scared all her monsters away. 

However, her utter concentration on the slow puffs of air you breathed out had distracted her from the fact that a lone man had stumbled into the confinements of the two walls you considered as yours. 

The low whistle snapped you both from the illusion of your own world. 

“Nice legs, gorgeous.” his voice dripped with paralysing venom. 

Vi immediately got up. She towered with her shoulders pulled back, slowly flexing her bandaged hands. You were waiting to get back home to help her wrap her knuckles with fresh bandages to rid the bloodiness of the old ones. 

“Do we have a problem?” Her voice is scarily stable, merely she commenting on his words. 

And, of course, when your head had raised to look at the man who stood only a few feet away, you were cursed by his eyes, watching how each movement of his head was followed with a blur of purple. 

You were scared. Not only of the man, but of what Vi would do. What she could handle and what she thought she could handle were two very different things. 

“I was just complimenting her.” He smirked. “Just take the compliment, sweetheart.”

Her fists clenched again, watching the muscles of her arms strain against her shirt, tauting up into power you were only used to seeing while she was in the pit. 

“Violet.” 

“You want to say that again?” Her voice wavers, cracking under the pressure of her irritation. Yet, it’s nothing short of intimidating.

“C’mon, why don’t you share that fine piece of ass around.”

Your desire to stay cowering down in some form of defeat was gnawing at your gut, however, your heart was telling you to not let this eventuate into something that could injure Vi. She of course, was insanely strong, but she had only ever fought against those who avoided the substance, or even if she had picked a fight with one of them, Vi had the technology that one of Piltover’s finest had gifted her. This was entirely out of her league.

"Violet."

Standing up on two shaky legs, you slip your hand into Vi’s. Intertwining your fingers with hers as best you could, as a silent depiction that whatever masculine energy he thought he was alluding, was not welcome.

The mans face scrunches up, watching as Vi’s eyebrows soften, firmly squeezing onto the hand in her own. 

Mercifully, whatever god above had protected you. You could see the glow of his eyes roll, highlighting the scowl on his face better than the shitty street lights that flickered as one of the undercities latest shimmer addicts disappeared into the loneliness of the night. 

Violet turned to you, a softness replacing the ferocity of her blue eyes. 

You couldn’t help but slip your hand against her cheek, cradling it as she hesitantly leaned into it, appreciating how the warmth of your palm contrasted with the ice of her skin. 

“I’m sorry.” She murmured.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Vi.”

Violet closes her eyes, allowing her arms to wrap around you, hoping that her embrace was enough to tell you everything that was rushing through her mind.

Her lips press to your head, offering a promise within a whisper. "You are nothing like what they say. You're my perfect, doll."

copyright© 2025 d1etpeps

[s8ke]

Variants mark Grayson x reader smut

(WIP)

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Warning:

It’s smut itself BUT no goggles mark is a Masocist

Note𓏲.ೃ࿔❀˙˖ ｡ Since this is the Wip version there’s not a lot to go off on the warnings but I am still making the fic I just wanna make it before the hype of invincible goes down other then that ENJOY 𓏲.ೃ࿔❀˙˖ ｡

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★⋆ ┊ . ˚

˚★

“Please stay indoors! And hide,variant invincibles are alll around the world destroying everything my gosh…may god help us all.”the news report says before before a variant crashes into view as the channel cuts out

“Oh shit oh shit. !” You panic a bit because where the fuck are you going to go? no where is safe not even Mississippi is safe and no one even goes there!

You look around your apartment seeing where could you hide. “Maybe my closest but that’s so cliche,the bed to is to obvious”. Your eyebrows furrow as all your time was thinking where to hide inside of actual hiding a place to hide. then glass shattered and a gush of wind making you freeze,you turn around and noticed an invincible but fully masked with his newer colors black and blue.

Out of instincts you run to your front door but he just flys in front of you “please I’m not trying to hurt you I just miss you” *he takes a deep breath and exhales as it comes out shaky instead of coming out tough and confident it came out but vulnerable and unsure.*

*after when he couldn’t find his mom he went straight to you,a girl who broke up with him because his work got in the way with your relationship with him he was about to make things right but you got caught in a cross fire trying to escape making a building fall on you.he flenches at the memory and slides down to the floor on his knees his heads on your stomach*

“I missed you you so much [name] I wish I could just be more aware of how much you meant to me.”

*this was awkward you didn’t know the guy but he knew You ,it felt wrong to push him away. You warp your arms/hands around his head making him him closer to you*

“I needed this.” *he smells you taking big sigh of

Satisfaction making you jump a bit and pull away but deep down you liked it and you hated that you liked it* just because I look like her dose not mean you can just smell me- *you where caught off by a another gush of wind and glass shattered…again, the mask man shields you away from the glass that may could hit you*

“You almost hit her you need to be more careful!.” *mask mark says annoyed*

“Oooh come ooon it’s not like some glass was going to hit her.”

*you can just hear how cocky and confident he is by his voice making you turn around seeing black and yellow,bee colors making him stand out*

“dose everyone know me at this point” *making sinister mark laugh* “that’s right ! Almost every mark knows you and we all want a share” *his tone filled with lust making you shiver a bit*

Share *you question and looking at fully masked mark and him looking away embarrassed to even mention it* “we will be gentle” *he says quietly*

“Mhhh yah real gentle-.” *he says sarcastic as he floats up to you* “I want her first I miss her the most.” *mask mark speak cutting off sinister mark off*

“I want her firs- “ * another window broke making sinister mark stop his sentence. a man in white and red you would have think it could be Omni man if it wasn’t how serious he looked.*

“Great the Mr serious is here.” *sinister mark says as he sucked in his teeth*

“It’s Omni mark” *he says sharp* “and I’m going first.” *he turns his head towards you *

“Yall- “ *you try to say something and again more gush of wind a man with no goggles with a bloody nose*

“Ooh where so back baby!! you won’t believe what just happened earlier,so many people screaming and crying like ooh Noo I’m gonna diiee *he mocks* HAA but then I got lonely thinking you should have seen it too and how you would beat me for it”

*he shivers as the thought a slight moan.

he sounds like a crazy man on crack as he looked at you,then another one a man with in white clothing similar to a viltrumite

and another one looking like the man in white clothing but only difference is that he has a mustache both of them silent but eyes saying they wanna go first there eyes narrow at you looking up and down your body.

one flys in and cracks his back his Mohawk standing out and behind him is a man who who looked like he went through hell,he also is wearing a viltrumite uniform like the other two but he stands out outta of all the marks as he was bald and well looked like he went through HELL it’s self.

He gives you a hungry look on his face like he’s ready to pounce on you at any moment to make you his “i definitely need a warm up” he says and last but not least a mark instead of a mask it was a hood over his face *

“Y’all-“ *you try to speak again but hood mark cuts you off*

“FUCK YES it’s been so long since I’ve see the pretty face” *hood mark says as Omni mark looks annoyed if he didn’t have a mask on he would totally roll his eyes*

“cussing doesn’t make you cool”

“yes the fuck it dose” *hood mark yells back mustache mark clears his throat*

“where waisting time” *his eyes move from you to hood mark and Omni mark*

Full mask mark agrees as he nods his head* “he’s right we don’t know when angstrom will call us to come back.”

“I don’t give care if he calls I’m not leaving until I get my share.” Mohawk mask says in his arrogant tone as he floats up to you you and smirks*

*your frown your eyebrows and move away from everyone * “YALL ! I will not be treated like some pussy pocket who has no say in this I don’t even know y’all and y’all are trying to take turns on me ??? I’m not some toy”

*they all go quiet looking at each other Mohawk mark rolls his eyes he’s about to snap back when sinister mark speaks up*

“please where not dumb we can all feel how bad you want it you haven’t even tried to run.”

*he speaks with his cocky tone and a sly smirk on his face but mask mark speaks up*

“she dose have a point since we all know them in our universe and came to find them to not actually mess things up this time shouldn’t we not make the same mistake and put down her feelings?”

*mohawk mark laughs* aww is poor little baby having second thoughts awwwww *he speaks sarcastically and laughs*

*no goggles marks fakes sleeping and snores and opens his eyes* huh what is it over because you literally speech board me to sleep *he laughs*

“I’m serious we all think it too were basically the same person!” *mask mark raises his voice*

*…..Silence….. *

“He’s right.” *viltrumite mark finally breaks the ice he flys up too you his muscular build sizing you up*

Do you want to do this *his tone stern and blunt*

*you think about it and hesitant but the way how these guys are making your stomach do flips and making your pussy clench on nothing says something*

“I’ll do it”

*sinister mark laughs* I told you guys she would say yes

I call deeps first ! *no goggles mark flys up to you about to catch you but prisoner catches him* I wanna go first I spent almost my whole life in that shit whole of a prison I deserve to go fist

I wanna go fucking first ! *hood mark yells*

*Omni mark glares at hood mark* I already said im going first !

Hey that’s not fair I was here first I should go first *his voice desperate but annoyed as he leaves your side and gose up to the other marks and argues back*

Ugh unbelievable *you say to yourself it was right in front of them but the where to selfish to even think of it* why can’t you all go at once and share *you speak up

*Mowahk laughs in amusement* wow she’s a bigger freak then the one I knew

Share? *mustache mark ignoring the obvious Bonner he has the thought of it making him hard.

They all look at each other and nodding in agreement without warning sinister mark fly up to you and flys to your bedroom and plops you done he quickly gets out of his suit as his big fat cock leaking of pre cum Mh yah I may share but the doesn’t mean I’ll be the last to make you cum on my cock *he’s voice a little shaky as more pre cum drips down on your stomach you would think he was cuming just how much there was you where flabbergasted as the heat in your pussy got unbearable then all the variant marks come into the room looking in jealousy as they all move up close to you removing your clothes and there own as the cold hits you boobs you cover them with your arms as out of no where prison mark moves your arm and sucks on them*

“this will keep those pretty tits warm.”

*he says under your nipple as he sucks as full mask mark sucks the other boob*

Fuck- *you gasp as your hand slides down to touch your clit as another hand pulls it away its no goggles mark right between your thighs

Nuh uh *his crazy eye smile as his eyes gleam over your pussy taking in every detail about it as he dips down and eats you out as he sucks on your clit making you gasp as you pull his hair to go deeper the pain of your pull makes him moan into your clit making him pre cum down onto the bed sheets

𓏲.ೃ࿔❀˙˖ ｡ This is the end of the Wip hope you

enjoyed so far ⠀ 𓏲.ೃ࿔❀˙˖ ｡

[atopvisenyashill]

“the fact that sansa is potentially making magical connections to other animals speaks to her possibly being more powerful than robb or rickon and maybe even jon snow”. i've always thought sansa had some magical coded imagery in her chapters related to animals, but hmm… would you mind in elaborate/expand on this a little bit more??👁️👁️

i’ve talked about it a bit here, but let me expand on the specific scenes. first of course there's this dream she has about lady shortly after lady's death:

Sansa sat up. “Lady,” she whispered. For a moment it was as if the direwolf was there in the room, looking at her with those golden eyes, sad and knowing. She had been dreaming, she realized. Lady was with her, and they were running together, and … and … trying to remember was like trying to catch the rain with her fingers. The dream faded, and Lady was dead again.

Given our information about skinchangers, where they can live on in their animals, there's been the theorizing that the reverse can be true. And this dream, so vivid, really parallels the other Wolf-Human Mind Meld Moments of her brothers- Bran waking from his coma saying Summer's name, and both Jon and Robb saying the names of their wolves with their dying breaths. And both Bran and Jon (...and I think Arya don't quote me there though) mention initially having trouble remembering their wolf dreams, with Jon having issues all the way up to the end of ASOS. Here, like Bran, and similar to the older boys, Sansa wakes with her wolf's name on her lips and a vivid dream of running with her wolf. Feels like a Wolf Dream to me!

Then there's this snippet from Summer which is interesting, and curious:

He had a pack as well, once. Five they had been, and a sixth who stood aside. Somewhere down inside him were the sounds the men had given them to tell one from the other, but it was not by their sounds he knew them. He remembered their scents, his brothers and his sisters. They all had smelled alike, had smelled of pack, but each was different too. His angry brother with the hot green eyes was near, the prince felt, though he had not seen him for many hunts. Yet with every sun that set he grew more distant, and he had been the last. The others were far scattered, like leaves blown by the wild wind. Sometimes he could sense them, though, as if they were still with him, only hidden from his sight by a boulder or a stand of trees. He could not smell them, nor hear their howls by night, yet he felt their presence at his back... all but the sister they had lost. His tail drooped when he remembered her. Four now, not five. Four and one more, the white who has no voice. These woods belonged to them, the snowy slopes and stony hills, the great green pines and the golden leaf oaks, the rushing streams and blue lakes fringed with fingers of white frost. But his sister had left the wilds, to walk in the halls of man-rock where other hunters ruled, and once within those halls it was hard to find the path back out. The wolf prince remembered.

So Summer can tell them apart, and notes that the back is five + Ghost. He mentions sensing Shaggydog nearby as well as "the sister they had lost" and how they are "four and one more." Seems straigthforward....but that last description is odd. Because the thing is that Nymeria hasn't left the wilds. She is in the Riverlands running amock. And for that matter, this is Bran's first chapter in ASOS which means Arya is also still in the wilds....which just leaves "his sister" in the "halls of man-rock where other hunters ruled." Almost like he's picking up on Lady-in-Sansa's-Skin, conflating the two as Lady is sort of nestled right in comfortably within Sansa's psyche.

Now you get into Sansa's relationships with other animals. Firstly you have the old blind dog:

It was eight long days until Lysa Arryn arrived. On five of them it rained, while Sansa sat bored and restless by the fire, beside the old blind dog. He was too sick and toothless to walk guard with Bryen anymore, and mostly all he did was sleep, but when she patted him he whined and licked her hand, and after that they were fast friends. 

She stayed outside for a long time. When at last she sought her own bed, wet and chilled, only the dim glow of a peat fire lit the darkened hall. There was no sound from above. The young singer sat in a corner, playing a slow song to himself. One of her aunt's maids was kissing a knight in Lord Petyr's chair, their hands busy beneath each other's clothing. Several men had drunk themselves to sleep, and one was in the privy, being noisily sick. Sansa found Bryen's old blind dog in her little alcove beneath the steps, and lay down next to him. He woke and licked her face. "You sad old hound," she said, ruffling his fur.

That night Sansa scarcely slept at all, but tossed and turned just as she had aboard the Merling King. She dreamt of Joffrey dying, but as he clawed at his throat and the blood ran down across his fingers she saw with horror that it was her brother Robb. And she dreamed of her wedding night too, of Tyrion's eyes devouring her as she undressed. Only then he was bigger than Tyrion had any right to be, and when he climbed into the bed his face was scarred only on one side. "I'll have a song from you," he rasped, and Sansa woke and found the old blind dog beside her once again. "I wish that you were Lady," she said.

I think what's really interesting here, besides the fact that the two connect to each other quickly, is that when Sansa is having a weird nightmare - and it's honestly hard to tell if it's a Bran style nightmare or a regular one, it's very similar to the nightmares Ned has about Lyanna where they aren't prophetic but it sure makes me suspicious - the old dog comes to sleep besides her, to comfort her. Maybe that's just regular dog-human bonding or maybe her magic was reaching out for him in her distress and he came to her.

Then you have Sansa and birds. Obviously there's so much there, what with her nickname as the "little bird" and "little dove" as well as just so many bird mentions wrt the Eyrie; Sweet Robin being her close cousin, an Eyrie being the name of a nest for a bird of prey, Littlefinger being called the Mockingbird, Harry the Heir known as the Little Falcon, Sansa is mentioned as having gone hawking, probably even more that I'm missing. And that's not even the only Sansa + flying thing - first of all, I do think it's notable that Sweetrobin's catchphrase here is "make them fly" secondly there's her love of the Prince of Dragonflies, and thirdly there is the bat thing-

The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. 

Note that Sansa has Whent ancestry through her mother, is noted to look very "Whent"-ish, the Whents have the black bat of Harrenhal on their sigil, and the current lord of Harrenhal is Littlefinger. She's very much associated with flying, almost as much as Bran is, which is an interesting choice to me. And then we get this little bit here, after they arrest Marillion for killing Lysa-

That night the dead man sang “The Day They Hanged Black Robin,” “The Mother’s Tears,” and “The Rains of Castamere.” Then he stopped for a while, but just as Sansa began to drift off he started to play again. He sang “Six Sorrows,” “Fallen Leaves,” and “Alysanne.” Such sad songs, she thought. When she closed her eyes she could see him in his sky cell, huddled in a corner away from the cold black sky, crouched beneath a fur with his woodharp cradled against his chest.

She 1) is noted to be drifting into sleep, 2) closes her eyes and 3) sees him from a birds eye view. Again...feels like a skinchanger's dream to me!

Like I said all of this is very subtle, and who knows what the ultimate pay off is for it but the high amount of bird imagery makes me think maybe we will get Sansa doing some skinchanging. And you have to wonder wrt how powerful she may be, if she does start skin changing, or Dreaming, considering she's doing this sort of stuff without any animal guide or magical teacher the way the other kids are getting.

[yamysunmoon]

Insomnia

Pairing: jenna x fem!reader (princess's reward universe)

Summary: Jenna usually struggles with her sleep hygiene. Your raspy, teasing voice seems to soothe her.

Word count: 3371

Warnings: smut +18, sexphone, d/s dynamic(dom!reader, sub!jenna), strong language, begging, praise.

a/n: the middle photo on the cover was edited by @jybyls, this fic is inspired by it

MASTERLIST

Dating a celebrity isn't as easy as people might think.

There's definitely some glam, flashes and cameras, but there's also a lot of time lost, days being apart from the one you love and cherish the most.

There are days where it's bereable, but there are other days... Specially nights, where the lack of her body next to yours feels like the greatests of agonies.

Once again, Jenna is busy attending to premieres and events on the other side of the country, painting a polite smile on her face, offering clever answers to sharp questions, but her eyes shine with yearning and deep hankering for you.

You stalk the socials of her team members whenever she takes long to reply to your messages, which has been the typical thing to expect these past days.

You've always found endearing how she desperately needs you, yet remains being the worst texter ever.

Your phone buzzles interrupting your train thought. A warm smile spreads on your lips as soon as you read the name on the screen.

It's a snapchat of your favourite girl. Your smile widens when you stare at the picture; pupils capturing every detail of her beautiful face.

Her skin looks soft under the dim light; full parted lips tempting you, hooded eyes you've stared at too many times. Not enough.

The strands of hair that crown her temples and sides of her face make you wanna take a plane right now and fly wherever she is, doesn't matter how long it would take you; doesn't matter how far.

She has this effect on you— always.

You always. Want her.

You take a picture of yourself mirroring her angle, adding some emojis: "🫡🫡🫡🫡"

She sends you laughing emojis, "hurry up, dumbass." You smirk, knowing damn well you made her smile.

The call beeps two times before she picks up.

"Hey" she breaths out, her voice sounding husky and soft, given the hour.

"Hey. You sound tired" you press the phone against your ear as you scoot back on the bed, leaning back onto the headboard.

The rustling of your blankets distract her for a moment, it takes her some seconds to reply.

"Well, it's 3 in the morning" she gently jokes. "But I am" she admits in that low, breathy voice. "Today work was a lot, and now I can't sleep..." She sighs, truly frustrated by the situation.

You ask her about her day, why was it 'a lot', what did she find challenging on set. Eventhough she's exhausted, her voice gains a different hint, almost excitement, as she explains you everything she went through today.

As she keeps talking, you notice a definite change in her tone. She slowly begins to sound like herself again. The passionate, playful, beaming Jenna.

A soft smile appears on your lips as she keeps yapping. You ask occasionally, but it really doesn't take her long to be comfortable and cheerful enough to just talk and talk. It looks like it was a good day really, just very challenging and energy-consuming.

"So what about you? How was your day?" She sounds much cheerful now.

Your smile widen, and you go on and tell her about your day. After some minutes speaking, you pause and sigh deeply. "I thought about you all day, though. Just couldn't get you out of my head."

You can hear how her breath hitches. She inhales sharply through her nostrils, and dares to ask. "Why was that?"

You let out a breathy, relaxed chuckle. You can hear the shift in her breathing; how your ease, the relaxed way in which you're carrying the conversation, is trapping her.

"Because" you state simply. But you know what you have started. You know she now wants more.

"Because, what?" She inquires, her voice casually playful. But it's also trembling; hiding the true intoxication behind her words. She's eager.

You hum, as if thinking about it. Laying more comfortably in your bed, you speak again. "Well, there was a moment today at work where someone said a joke, and I remembered how you always find a way to be so sarcastically funny. And then I remembered how you joke when you tease me, and well... One thing led to another..."

She listens intently, and she's already asking again when you've barely pronounced your words. "One thing led to another? How so?"

You smirk, she can hear the little playful puff that escapes your lips. "Thinking about that... Led to thinking about you in a different way."

You pause, and this time she remains silent, waiting.

"Led to your lips on mine. Those soft lips, murmuring trembling pleas. Led to your legs around my waist, your thighs squeezing my sides. Led to the quiver in your hips when you struggle to hold back. Led to your shiny, beautiful hair fanned out across the pillow."

You stop again, taking a moment to let your words sink in. Your heart is slammering against your chest, and your breath is ragged now, shallow.

She's gripping her phone tightly, as in trying to absorb your words. She loves it when you talk like this, so poetic yet erotic.

"What else?" she breathes out in a thin voice.

You inhale, slowly, the air filling your lungs. She flutters her eyes close, hearing you breath. She pictures you on top of her, she can almost feel your warm breath fanning the side of her neck.

"The thoughts kept coming" you resolve dryly, but there's a smile tugging at the sides of your lips. You want her to insist.

"Oh, come on" she complains, falling for it. "You can't just practically serenade me and then just... Leave me like this" the last phrase comes out softly, almost a shy murmur.

You arch an eyebrow. "Like this?" You repeat, teasing.

She huffs, knowing what you're doing. "Yes, 'like this'..." She rolls her eyes a bit, although you can't see it, you can imagine it by her exasperated tone. "You know what I mean" she adds in that husky, low voice.

"I know what you mean?" You ask again, wanting to tease her even further. "..."

"Yes!" She interrupts you as you're about to speak again. "Yes" she repeats, softer. "You know how I get when you talk that way" she explains in that soft, vulnerable voice of hers. "I get all... Funny. You know what I mean." She repeats herself, which makes her huff in frustration. "Just... Just keep going, please. Please."

You grin, amused by how easily she has let down her barriers and expressed her needs. "Well, if you ask so nicely..." You murmur, letting her know she acted like you wanted her to.

"So, where was I... Oh yeah. Yeah. Your body under mine" you introduce, your voice playful and hoarse, soft yet raspy.

She shifts restless in her bed, you can hear her moving. "Are you laying down?"

She gulps, you've catched her. "Yes" she admits, hesitating. "Can... Can I?" She asks, so beautifully pliant.

A bigger grin paints your lips. "Yes, princess. You can definitely lie down" you concede, benevolent.

She shivers at the nickname, enjoying every second of it slipping through your lips. She bites her own lip, picturing how you'd nibble it if you were with her right now.

"Okay, so... Your body. I was all day thinking about your body, about you. I was thinking about you laying down for me, just like you're doing right now. And I was thinking about... My hand on your skin, just below your beautiful breasts."

You pause, and you don't even have to tell her. You know she has already placed her free hand right where you have indicated, her hand laying languidly below her boobs. "What else?"

Her voice has grown higher, in her most feminine range. You love it when she sounds like that.

"I pictured my hand roaming up and down over your abdomen. Fingertips grazing softly all over there, drawing lazy circles, iddle patterns."

Your voice is like a vice for her, like a spell that gets into her brain and tells her what to do. She explores herself in the way you're describing, her fingers splayed out on her abdomen, grazing skin, goosebumps appearing everywhere she touches, her eyes shut imagining it's your hand instead of hers.

"Then I picture you naked, and I picture your cunt, princess."

She gasps loudly, snapping her eyes open. The blunt term dripping down your lips so casually surprises her, blush creeping up her cheeks. She shifts, rubbing her thighs together, both outraged and excited.

"You... Do you... Really?" She stammers weakly.

You lick your lips, making sure she hears the slight click of your tongue before you speak.

"Oh yes. Definitely."

She has to catch her breath for a second. "And what... What is it about it, exactly?" She manages to ask, struggling to find the words.

But you know what she means. You know exactly what she means.

"Hmm... Everything about it, princess" you tease, testing that word in your mouth once again. "It's about its touch, its smell, its taste... Damn, even how it looks. Everything, sweetheart."

Her hand is still grazing absently, trailing inches lower with each word you whisper.

"I miss tracing your slit with my fingers. Your wetness coating my digits... How you'd whimper when I press a little—, how your lips would spread open, an offer in the form of a flower, all for me to survey."

She lets out one of those so said whimpers, this one is breathy and soft. Her voice cracks, and she tries to silence herself, failing misserably. Her hips pull up, seeking friction she's not allowing herself just yet.

You let out a quiet giggle, knowing damn well what you're doing. "You wanna remember how it feels, baby?"

She nods fervently, whining quietly. "Y-yes" she whispers, her voice already thick from holding back the impeding need.

You swallow, your own center throbbing with her needy whimpers and soft moans hitting your ear.

"Do it, then" you murmur, "touch yourself."

She nods again, feeling stupid because she knows you can't see her, but her vast vocabulary is reduced to stifled moans and quiet pleas when it comes to you.

She pulls her pajama shorts and underwear down, revealing her bare self waist down. "I've taken off my pants and underwear" she lets you know in a thick, trembling voice.

"Good" you praise, voice low; pleased. "That's very good, princess. I bet you look incredibly sexy right now."

"Oh, stop it" she retorts, blushing a little. "How can you... How can you describe how you love my pussy, and then call me beautiful?"

"Those can coexist perfectly" you quip, chuckling slightly.

She rolls her eyes playfully, getting comfortable. "Anyways..." She sighs, placing her hand on her abdomen again.

You let out a playful huff, but resume. "I was talking about my hand on your cunt. So now you should put yours there." You suggest in a tantalizing tone.

She complies,her hand trailing down. She grazes her mound, fingertips tracing the V shape, until she reaches lower. "What now?" She whispers, expectant.

"Now... I want you to picture how I'd touch you. How I'd trace your slit with two fingers, up and down, deliberately slow."

She chokes a whimper as she does what you say. Normally she's be much sloppy with herself. She'd please herself carelessly quickly and call it a day.

But you don't touch her like that.

And you're telling her to touch herself in a very specific way. A way she's gonna mirror obediently.

"I want your pretty fingers applying a bit of pressure, and I want you to spread your legs, princess. I want you to spread like you would if I was there."

She gulps, then tilts her head up and parts her lips, gasping quietly as she pushes her legs to the sides, spreading. She looks down with hooded eyes, staring at the spot before her where you'd be.

"I want your fingers lower, baby. Circle your entrance."

She slides her fingers, reaching down to her entrance. She massages there, feeling herself getting wetter under her pads.

"How does it feel?" You breath out, a bit eager than intended.

"It feels... Warm. And... Slick." She whispers. "Can I go a bit faster?" She asks, her voice going higher, her question sounding more like a plea.

You roll your eyes slightly in pure bliss. Her compliance, her way of asking for permission... Her sweet, charming submission. It's all too much for you sometimes. The way she wants your approval even for that.

"Babe?" She asks again, in a breathy moan.

You blink, reconnecting with the situation. "Yeah yeah. Yeah, princess, go faster." Then you pause, but decide to speak again, testing the waters. "I wanna hear."

She pauses her hand for a hot second, voice failing and dying in the back of her throat. "You want t-to hear?" She stammers, and then you hear her swallow.

"Yes" you affirm, nodding slowly, with a wry smile on your face. "Can you do that for me, princess? I'm sure you can" you use that scolding voice she secretly loves, that low, encouraging tone.

She'd do anything when you ask in that tone.

Like a snake dancing for her flutist, she resumes with the circling massage. This time, she uses more lenght of her fingers, and she draws bigger circles, making herself hiss and buck against her own hand.

And then you start to hear it.

Behind her soft panting and quiet whines, there's a wet noise, the squelching sound of friction. Your ear literally tickles, and you choke a groan in your throat.

"Holy shit... You're really wet, aren't you?"

She swallows hard and whines again, this time louder. "So much" she admits in an embarrassed, aroused high-pitched voice. "I... You're getting me... You... I'm soaking, baby..."

You throw your head back, panting heavily. You shift, laying on your stomach now, and you start to roll your hips against the mattess. Your breathing grows heavier as you find a pace, the friction providing some sort of relief.

She hears the movement on the other end of the line, and she frowns in curiousity and pleasure. "What are you doing?"

Her thin, sweet voice makes you buck harder. "I'm laying on my stomach" you pant out. "Rubbing against my bed."

You make her hiss with your confession, and you know she's speeding up because you can fucking hear it.

"Just how I would rub myself against your thigh if I were there" you add, licking your lips in anticipation to her reaction.

She moans, she moans loud now. She bites her lip, desperately trying to keep it cool. She rolls her hips more purposefully, and she whimpers, her clit throbbing with need.

"Touch higher" you order, rougher this time.

She whines in appreciation as she drifts higher, finding her needy bundle of nerves.

She's about to circle there too, but you stop her with a hum.

Stopping your own movements too, you make sure she hears every word you're naughtly murmuring.

"I want you to trace my initial there. Because, dearest... You're mine."

You can hear her gulp, her breath stuck in her throat. You can her the rustling of her head tilting back, lifting her chin, making her hair graze the sheets gracefully. You can almost her her forearm moving, her wrist twisting as she writes the initial of your name over her clit.

It's not necessarily pleasurable on a physical level, but it does something to her. Something profound that words can't explain.

"You're fucking killing me here" she whispers, almost daring to question your orders.

But she sounds cute when she complains after being so good. "Hmm, yeah? Does your clit hurt or something?" You tease once again.

She clicks her tongue, struggling not to snap. "No. Of course it doesn't fucking hurt..." She argues weakly. But the way in which her voice trembles at the end of the phrase makes you wonder. Because you were playing around, but there's a slight possibility...

"Don't lie to me." You scold dryly.

She squirms, pushing her legs together. "I'm not" she mutters. But then she shighs, helpless.

"It doesn't hurt like that, but..." Her fingers are hovering over her bud. "But it's getting fucking... Unbereable."

You smile smugly. She's very stubborn, and it's extremely rare that she admits how much she needs it when she needs it.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You ask almost tenderly. All facade, of course.

She knows you too well, and she scoffs at your words. "You know. You fucking know."

"I do" you admit shamelessly. "But you're not gonna wank properly till I say so. Are you?" Your voice is playful.

You're making fun of her situation. In such an obvious, explicit way, that makes her both irritated and horny as intensely and equally.

"No" she admits, the word barely above a whisper. You love it when you get to push her buttons and she. still. obeys.

"And so if you want to touch yourself till you cum all over your fingers," you begin, relishing the stifled whimper she lets out as you speak "you'll have to fucking admit what you—"

"I fucking need it, okay?" She moans breathily, tracing your initial over her clit over and over again.

"I fucking need it a lot, please, come on. I've been so good, you know I've been good. And I'll be in the future. I swear. I swear, please, just let me..."

She keeps on pleading, begging so beautifully. Her needy whimpers and begs slip from her mouth, caressing your ears, tickling your brain, making you roll your eyes slightly, pull down your hips and curl your toes.

She pauses after a minute of desperate petition, any sign of dignity now fading away from her. Her face is heated and bright red, and her eyes are squeezed shut, feeling exposed and vulnerable, two things that would make her throw up in any other scenario, but make her want more when she acts like this with you.

She waits in an ironically impatient silence.

"Touch" you say, when she has almost lost hope. "Hard. Fast. Show off."

Those five words are exactly what she needed to hear. The teasing is over, and now it's her moment.

She bucks her hips wildly, uncontrollably, as she finally touches herself how she would normally, giving in to her deepest desires and hidden needs.

You rub against the mattress as you listen to her unbridled moans, high-pitched whines leaving her lips as she strokes herself fast, furiously almost.

She clenches her jaw, frustrated because she has to do this instead of you doing it for her, but also immensely stirred up by the circumstances that lead her to this.

She fucks herself with her fingers until she can't take it anymore. It's all written on her face, contorted in harsh pleasure and guilty pain, eyes shut so hard that a stray tear falls down her cheek.

"Can I...? Let me..." She pants out, feeling the pressure building rapidly and mercissely below her stomach.

You decide you've played her enough today. She's been your little toy to play with, the little puppet that does everything you want her to, as you want her to.

"Come now, princess, I've got you. It's okay" you murmur, your voice a bit muffled against your duvet. "Let me hear you."

She breaks. Her hips sttuter, she goes stiff for a moment before letting go a shuddering, sharp breath that becomes a satisfied whine as she relaxes, her body going limp under her own touch, which slows down to a stop.

You keep rolling your hips against the bed, eyes shut in bliss as you listen to her soft panting and ragged breath.

"That was so beautful, love. It's always a pleasure to hear you when you're like this."

Your voice is gentle, not teasing anymore. You're being serious now, tender.

She whines quietly. "Thank you" she murmurs in that high-pitched voice that drives you mad.

And you smirk. Because you know that comment got her feeling praised.

At the end of the day, all you want is to please her.

[crazylittlejester]

Holy crap I haven't looked at your account in a while (idk why but your posts just haven't been popping up on my home page) and I saw your new pfp! IT'S ABSOLUTELY STUNNING!!! Your art is so good!!

Also I wanted to hear about your personal head cannons for Warriors because I would love to hear them!!

a lot of people have been telling me that actually, that they’re not seeing my posts on their dash anymore, i wonder if something is going on with that :( (and also IVE noticed that my engagement has been down, tho i’d thought that’s just because this is a busy time of year)

HEHE THANK YOU!! :3 i love my blorbo and the voices wanted me to draw him again

god there are. so. so many that i have- but to list off a few:

- middle child (he’s number four of seven), and im so set on this one. he has six sisters (one of which is his twin (Linkle)) because i know in my heart this man was raised by women. also i hc his mom is still alive because he deserves a living mother after everything (and he loves her and shes awesome and she misses him very very much)

- he has the worst vision ever, he cant see more than like 20 feet away from him without things just getting blurry, but he genuinely doesn’t realize that his vision is shit he thinks hes normal

- due to his burn scars its hard for him to regulate his temperature so he overheats easily in hot weather if hes not careful

- i hc after the war he took in two cats that he found abandoned in a destroyed village. he tried to find who they belonged to but couldn’t, and initially he wasn’t going to keep them but then he got attached and now those are his babies and his girls (Rosie and Delilah). He knits them sweaters because they have no fur and knitting is a good productive mindless activity for him to do when he’s stressed

- on a similar note: i hc he has experience as a tailor and is very good at sewing and mending things because while his family does own a small farm and sell some crops (he’s a country boy turned city boy and this is another hill i will die on), they’re tailors and thats the main way they make money

- absolutely terrified of cuccos because Linkle would chase him around with them when they were kids and eventually the cuccos took this to mean any time they saw Warriors they were to chase him, without Linkle even being there

- i hc his eyes are hazel and that his hair is naturally dark brown and very curly, but he started bleaching and straightening it when he ended up in the army and got to Castletown

- hes scared to go home to his family now that the war is over because he’s worried hes changed too much as a person after everything he went through and he can’t mentally handle the idea of being rejected from a place he gets so much comfort from just thinking about, so he keeps his distance and is full of some pretty lame ass excuses as to why he wont go home (it’s been well over a decade. i hc he left at 15-16 and is currently 27 almost 28). Linkle is the only blood relative he’s seen since he left for the war and she tries to convince him to come home whenever she sees him

- i hc he looks just like his mom, which is a blessing and a curse for him because he can never hate his face because he is literally IDENTICAL to his mom and he loves and misses her so much, but it’s painful to look at himself in the mirror sometimes. Linkle, being his TWIN, is can also be hard to look at

- HUGE history nerd, and getting to travel through the eras and learn about them has been the most exciting thing to ever happen to him. he didn’t have access to a formal education as a kid, he would’ve been home schooled basically, and once the war was over and he had access to a library full of knowledge from all over the place on topics he’d never even realized existed he just started reading and didn’t stop. he LOVES to learn and he loves to explore, and half his journal is just all his observations on the eras a little notes and could literally be a history book on its own. he draws diagrams and maps and all sorts of stuff in there, and when he goes home he LOVES getting to tell people the history books are fucking wrong

- the other half of his journal contains more personal things, and also notes on his companions and strategies for battles (he is INCREDIBLY observant and keeps very detailed notes. his journal is basically an extension of his brain because the ADHD can make it hard to keep track of all his thoughts sometimes). none of it is written in ‘hyrulian common’ (english), the entire thing is in his native language (portuguese) written in an alphabet none of the chain are able to read (and no one in War’s Castletown and read it either. should someone take his journals it would take them a good long while to translate them)

- his left hand is a little messed up, sometimes it shakes and sometimes his grip is really weak, so on days his wrist isn’t strong enough to wield his sword in a way that makes him feel safe, he brings out the fire rod. two handed weapon, offers him more stability, and yeah he also does just like watching shit go up in flames

- he’s actually an introvert. the loud obnoxious personality is something that was created from rumors and expectations of him from the kingdom and the whole ‘Captain’ persona is really just like some character he plays. he’s definitely a bit dramatic at his core, but hes a much more quiet and reserved person than he comes off as. he greatly values his privacy and alone time

[qardenofeden]

ushijima wakatoshi is not a man of many words, and when he does talk, he comes across as pretty blunt. but it’s not with ill intent; he means well, he’s just so brutally honest sometimes, which is why you immediately shut down when you hear the words “i don’t like you,” escape his lips.

your classes had just ended, and it’s a friday afternoon when you finally work up the courage to confess to the man who stands before you. the cherry blossoms around you dance in the air, painting a romantic, picture perfect scene between the two of you. your arms are outstretched as you present to him your favorite brand of chocolates.

“i…” you look down in disappointment, avoiding his gaze as much as you could, as if it’d miraculously hide you from him.

“i don’t understand you one bit,” he says, his monotone voice unwavering.

you’re thankful you didn’t bring any of your friends along. this was humiliation at its finest. on the bright side though, it’s a friday and you don’t have any classes after. so you’re free to cry your eyes out and curl up in bed as much as you want.

but these thoughts of yours do little to distract you from the moment, and your eyes can’t help but water a little as you look down and take a shivery breath.

“i asked tendou about you.”

that catches your attention, and suddenly you’re taking a deep breath as you look up in shock. he asked tendou?! now that’s going to spread throughout the entire school!

the tears resting on your eyes reflect the golden sun above. your brows furrow in confusion, and if it stuns wakatoshi, he sure as hell doesn’t show it. “why are you tearing up? you did not even let me finish before crying.”

“what else is there to say, ushijima?” the use of his last name sends a small shock through his veins, and yet ushijima still remains unmoved. “you don’t like m—”

you’re quickly interrupted when he speaks, saying “there it is again.”

and you scoff, because he’s not listening. but maybe you should, so you look behind to see just what he was referring to, but nothing’s there.

“what are you—”

“i feel strange whenever i’m around you.” he interrupts again, before clearing his throat and quickly apologizing. “i’m sorry, i did not mean… you can continue.”

“wait, no, what?” you scoff again in disbelief, brows furrowing as your eyes fidget around, searching for something that can help you understand just what the hell ushijima was talking about.

“when you looked up at me with teary eyes, i felt a pang in my chest,” he says, before continuing like he was explaining his symptoms to the doctor, “and when you referred to me as my last name.”

and finally, ushijima’s unwavering confidence almost looks like it falters as he looks away, breathing an exhale. he speaks again, tone finally somehow… softening. “i feel a different pang though when you visit my practice matches and cheer me on…”

no way. you made the ushijima wakatoshi shy? japan’s number one best ace?

he must be rambling, he thinks, but regardless, if wakatoshi hurt you, he wants to apologize and make up for it. starting by explaining. so, he dismisses his thoughts and continue.

“but, more specifically, i asked tendou why i felt irritated when i saw you tutoring that boy in your class,” he finally looks at you now, confidence returning as he tilts his head slightly to the left, “i have a crush on you too, it seems.”

you’re at a loss for words. because, didn’t he just say, moments prior, that he doesn’t like you?!

“i do not, however, like sweets.”

and you let out a chuckle as you bring your hands up to your chest. maybe it hasn’t fully sinked in, because you still can’t talk.

“i do not understand you because you make me feel all these emotions. and i don’t like what i don’t understand, but…”

ushijima brings his hands to yours, taking the chocolate as he opens it. he takes a bite, and there’s a faint hint of pink in his cheeks.

“there are a few exceptions in life.”

and then you see it. the man before you isn’t ushijima wakatoshi, japan’s first best ace. it’s wakatoshi, your wakatoshi, whose biggest enemy is the concept of emotions.

wasn’t supposed to post today bc i was supa tired but hey time check 01:19. i spoil you guys.

[mask-of-prime]

VG: Mystery of the Outlands - PART 2

Previous | Next (Next Month)

That afternoon, Vitani and Jasiri stood in the mouth of the lion-shaped den as they looked at the paintings that were scattered all around the unusual rock formation. Paintings that Jasiri could’ve sworn weren’t there the last time she had patrolled the area. At least, no pictures this clean. They spent hours making out what the paintings could possibly symbolize. The next group of pictures Jasiri set her eyes on had sparked curiosity.

“What is that?” the hyena tilted her head.

Vitani looked too. What the two saw was many paintings of groups of animals facing off against each other within what resembled the inside of the den. Next to that was paintings of faces of various animals, columns that each had two different types of animals, with one animal in every row with their face crossed off. 

There was a pattern; some of the rows were the same animals that were pitted against each other in the other paintings of them facing off inside of the den, as if there were winners and losers of battles taking place within. At the top of the battle pictures were dark lions with red eyes, each sporting unique scratches across their faces, as if they’d spectated these battles.

“Jasiri, I have a feeling this place might have been some kind of arena.” 

Vitani looked out to the open, circular space within the den.

“And those lions, they look a lot like the ancient ones who sported the Mark of Evil.” she continued, making a gesture over her eye with a claw.

“You mean… this Mark of Evil?” Jasiri asked, pointing to a black and yellow symbol.

“Exactly.” Vitani said, astonished, “That’s the symbol I saw in the Lion Guard Lair.”

“Who’s that?” Jasiri pointed to a nearby painting, “It almost looks like Kion with a full mane.”

The image showed a red-maned lion roaring atop a jagged, steep crevasse, one that was definitely nowhere near the Pridelands or its neighboring territories. Light blue animals, representing their spirits in the clouds, floated above the roaring lion.

“That would have to be Askari. First ever Leader of the Lion Guard.” the lioness sat beside the hyena, “Must be when he discovered the Roar at the Tree of Life. Like how Kion learned all those fancy moves before coming back home.”

Jasiri remembered the day Kion’s Roar changed. He learned to balance it, using what was needed to carefully move what other animals couldn’t move, and to make it across canyons and crevasses no way any other animal could. She’d left for the Tree of Life in the first place to warn Kion of the rising threat of Zira’s pride, and today, she sat next to the daughter of her enemy, naturally bonding with her.

Vitani continued to look at the painting of Askari with the lions in the clouds, her gaze becoming more and more longing, and regretful.

“But… I’m not like Kion, or Askari, or any of the other leaders. I’ve never been able to hear the Great Lions of the Past.”

“Really?”

“It’s weird. I figure it’s because I’m not related to them, or something. Sometimes, it makes me feel like I don’t even deserve the Roar, or to lead the Guard.”

“Of course you deserve the role.” Jasiri reassured, “You broke the mold, becoming the first non-royal leader.”

“I suppose…” Vitani’s voice trailed off slightly, remembering something, “Even though I can’t hear the Lions of the Past, and I don’t really use the Roar, much, I learned a couple of things on my own, too. Things I’ve never seen even Kion do.” 

“Really? Like what?”

“Can you keep a secret? Kinda don’t want this getting out to any animals who want in on this ability.”

“Of course.”

“Well… one day, at the Elephant Graveyard, I roared so hard that I’d managed to summon the spirit of my brother in fire. Just… not sure how…” Vitani turned, “You remember Nuka, right?”

“Hard to forget the time he kept trying to kick me out of the Watering Hole.”

“Heh, yeah. He would always try so hard for everyone. It’s what got him in the end…”

Jasiri could see Vitani’s gaze deepen. She would offer supportive words, but she could see that Vitani wasn’t one to want to hear it.

Though Nuka’s spirit was awakened, it didn’t take back that fateful day, and the unfair twisting of what actually happened on top of the pain of losing him.

“Anyway…” the lioness cleared her throat, “Over time, we learned to bind our spirits together, and I was soon able to control fire with my Roar.”

“Does that… hurt?”

“Oh, yeah. Feels awful after a while. Can’t use it too much.”

“Guess that’s the Great Lions telling you to keep your power in moderation.” the hyena chuckled with a toothy grin.

Vitani softly chuckled, “Yeah. Uh, maybe, I guess.”

“Even if you can’t hear them, Vitani, they still look out for you. They do that for us all. Whether they’re your ancestors or not.”

Unexpectedly, Vitani’s heart swelled a bit. She could see why Jasiri and Kiara bonded so well. Both had a knack for seeing beyond one’s surface. Cut from the same cloth, the two of them.

The lioness considered bringing up another ability she discovered. She knew the Roar she made towards that cloud caused a monsoon that had apparently affected the Outlands as much as the Pridelands, but it was something else that she could’ve sworn happened as a result. She’d remembered her encounter with what she could’ve sworn was her mother’s spirit, but she’d never seen it, since. It felt too crazy to bring up.

Vitani idly glanced up at other faded paintings, “Wish I could tell Kion about it. What it all might mean. What he doesn’t yet know the Roar can do…”

_________

Kiara stopped at the edge of the Pridelands, just before the river that bordered the neighboring Outlands.

Zira’s spirit within the future Queen remembered this river, looking beyond it as she continued her plan: She wanted to see just how far her living, earth-dwelling disguise could get her without any suspicion. She would feign a visit to the land of her and Kion’s little hyena friend… What was her name? 

“Kiara!” called a male voice. 

Zira knew that voice all too well. Barely hiding her annoyed scowl, she made Kiara’s head turn to the noise. 

It was Kovu, her living son. The one that turned on her.

“Kiara, where are you going?”

“The Outlands.”

“But, your parent –”

“I’m a grown lioness. Can’t a Future Queen visit her friend?”

Kiara’s tone was uncharacteristic, and oddly familiar to Kovu. The exact inflection sounded like something that followed his brother Nuka saying something stupid.

“Look, I’d be happy to escort you, if it’s possible.” he said awkwardly, feeling himself getting figuratively smaller.

“I’ll be fine, Kovu. If they ask, tell them I’m not far.”

She stepped forward to continue her trek, but not before stealing one last bitter scowl. 

“Weeeiird…” Kovu drawled to himself, out of earshot of his fiancee.

Kovu didn’t know what he did, but the look she gave him felt personal. He didn’t understand Kiara’s new attitude. He had to wonder if it was a lioness thing…

_________

Later, at Udaka Caverns…

“...And here we have ancient lions performing some kind of ritual with these snakes. These lions gave themselves marks over their eyes, a lot like the one your leader gave me.” Kiume smirked, “Guess her little overreaction had some kinda spiritual meaning in the end, heh…”

Shabaha and Tazama seemed intrigued enough, but Kasi and Imara seemed less than impressed, just about having it with Kiume’s know-nothing-know-it-all narration regarding these paintings scattered across the walls.

“Had no idea any of this was here…” Tazama muttered, “Never seen this in any of my reconnaissance missions.”

Kiume scoffed, “You seriously haven’t been to this part of the Outlands? You guys grew up in the Outlands, right?”

“Not us, personally. No.” Tazama answered, “Zira never really let anyone go beyond the Termite Mounds. Vitani might have, though…”

“Yeah,” Shabaha added, “she was with Zira when the pride tried to take over some watering hole the hyenas were taking up. The four of us didn’t show up until a little after.”

“Ever since that plan failed, she didn’t want us to blow the pride’s cover. Had to lie low until Kovu was ready.” said Kasi, allowing herself to add onto the conversation.

“Ready for what?” asked the maneless lion, almost in a scoffing manner.

“To take his place as King of the Pridelands.” Imara bluntly added. She’d hesitated to chime in for much of the time, uncomfortable with sharing so much with a lion who’d just been broken out of prison. 

“Not in the way you think, though…” Shabaha clarified, “We all tried to overthrow Simba and his family. Kiiiinda like you tried to. Funny how things just come full circle, huh?”

The rest of the Guard frowned, not ready for Shabaha to skip so far ahead and say something borderline controversial. However, they still faulted their own selves for even starting to tell Kiume anything.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” the male nodded, “Guess we have a bit in common, the lot of us.”

The Guard collectively sucked in air through their teeth, feeling unfavorably compared with their most recent sworn enemy.

“What I mean is that… I wanna get better. Like you guys.”

“Yeah, right.” Shabaha rolled her eyes.

“No, really. After getting to know you guys, I haven’t really felt the need to put up so many walls.” the male nodded to himself, “I wanna do what I can to make up with the Royal Family.

“That had better be the reason you’re doing all this,” Imara grunted, “and you’re sure you’re taking us to the right place?”

“Absolutely.” his voice echoed a bit. “I know this part of the Outlands very well. Guiding you all through the Outlands is my way of showing gratitude, which is the first step to making up for my actions towards the rest of the pride.”

The Guard exchanged looks, unable to make out what exactly they found baffling about what Kiume had just said. It’s like he’d made up his own rules of how to be good right on the spot. Their already low confidence in him guiding them through Udaka Caverns was declining. The looks they’d given each other were a silent agreement to stay wary of the male lion.

Pretty soon, all the lions found themselves making an abrupt halt, with the maneless lion gesturing left to a dark, twisted cave. They followed him through the confusing maze. Pretty soon, the light at the end was illuminated by natural blue light, and the orange glow of lava.

“Our next stop.” Kiume smiled. “We’re close to Vitani, I bet.”

The Guard looked deep into the cave that Kiume pointed to with his head. They all promptly exchanged looks of awe at what was inside.

What stood before them was bizarre, to say the least. A large formation had stuck out among the thousands of stalactites and stalagmites that spiked the entrance. Three large lumps of an unknown substance were the centerpiece of the cave.

The maneless lion puffed out his chest, “Passers-by call this section of Udaka Caverns, ‘The Cave of Eternal Roars’.” 

“Yeah, that sounds like a good place to be.” Shabaha quipped.

Kasi scoffed, “What animal is passing by here?”

“Maybe bats?” the Keenest of Sight guessed, “Usiku’s colony lives in these Caverns. But… I don’t think I’ve heard him mention it.”

Imara hunched slightly to whisper in Tazama’s ear, “I think Kiume just came up with it to be cool. I wouldn’t be too sure about everything he’s saying.”

Kiume cocked an eyebrow, overhearing the Strongest. His expression became blank and disinterested. He watched as the Lion Guard inched closer to the three large lumps.

Kasi tilted her head, “Y’know, these look a lot like the Termite Mounds we had at our old home.”

“Mm-hmm.” Kiume hummed, less than enthused.

“Can’t be,” Tazama inspected, “couldn’t survive being housed with constant lavaflow.”

“Would have to be igneous rock, then.” Imara said, gently taking a claw to the cave walls she figured were the same substance, “Would explain the perforated surface.”

“If it sticks to my tongue, then it’s definitely igneous rock.” Shabaha piped.

“You just want to lick just about every new thing you see, huh?” Kasi muttered.

Kiume chuckled, mostly under his breath. The ladies were funny, and he was admittedly remorseful to not see that before. 

He ducked as he turned for another cave, scouting for the next turn. Unnoticed by the Guard, he disappeared into the pitch blackness.

Once Shabaha was closer, she began to notice more and more details. This thing definitely had a mouth, and eyes, and what looked like a large mane.

“Hey, these look a lot like lions!”

The rest of the Guard got closer, too.

Imara squinted, “These formations can’t be natural. It’s too uncanny.”

“Yeah…” Kasi rubbed her shoulder nervously, “uncanny…”

“Could they be sculptures?” Imara wondered.

“Like, sculpted by a Royal Mjuzi? Guess one of the Mjuzis from the past got sick of the whole painting tradition.” Kasi quipped.

Mjuzi… Tazama remembered that Kiume had been showing them paintings all throughout the caverns. Her eyes focused on the walls for any paintings that could explain what they were seeing.

“Hiyo Kali!” she exclaimed, “I think this is our answer!”

Kasi and Imara turned their attention to the Keenest of Sight. She stood at a rather faded painting on an adjacent wall to the cave entrance. It showed a red-maned lion roaring towards a volcano with animals running away from it. Next to that were three dark brown lions with red eyes falling into a crevasse.

“Is that Askari?” Kasi’s brows furrowed.

“Who are those guys?” Imara asked.

“I wish I knew. If I’m not mistaken, that yellow splotch up there would be the Mark of Evil, but I’m not sure…” said the Keenest of Sight.

Hearing the Bravest chuckle behind her, Imara glanced back at Shabaha. 

“Hey, don’t lick that.”

“I wasn’t!” Shabaha put her tongue away, “I was just gonna give him a boop. Boop!”

Shabaha promptly poked the largest lion figure on the nose. Just then, the delicate surface began to crack. Pretty soon, a good chunk of it had crumbled away, revealing the very recognizable skull of a lion. As the natural casting of the lion’s fossils broke away, the well-preserved bones began to fall to the ground.

“OOOOKAY –” Shabaha yelped before leaping back, horrified.

The rest of the Lion Guard had also begun to freak out. 

“Hell, no!” Imara bellowed.

“What the –?” Kasi looked back at the wall and saw a third painting.

The three lions were pictured surrounded by a radiant shape, one that looked much like the mouth of the cave they were at. Above the three lions was what looked like an illustration of orange liquid flowing over them.

“Lava…” Tazama figured.

“Kiume, are these the Evil Lions of the Past?” Kasi turned to where she last saw him, “Kiume…?”

Just then, a large boulder dropped into the lavabank in front of them. They leapt back before droplets could hit them. They all looked up at the source.

“They are, indeed.” said a male voice.

Above them stood Kiume, who sat just outside the natural skylight that illuminated the cave. His paw rested on another boulder.

“Though, ‘evil’ is a little extreme of a word for those lions. They were just doing their jobs as lions, but… you and all the Lion Guards that came during and after Askari’s time didn’t like the order of things. So, Askari murdered them in the most gruesome way possible. Like what’s happening to you. Funny how things just come full circle, huh?”

Shabaha scowled as her own words were thrown back at her, but no one scowled with as much sheer fury as Imara had.

“I knew it!” the Strongest roared. 

“Kiume! What have you done?!” Kasi yelled upwards.

“I’ve done the Pridelands justice!” he roared, “I’m taking it over, with or without my boys! And I’m not worried about your little Leader, even if she did find you, she’ll be too devastated and powerless without you to go after me.”

“Look out!” shouted Tazama.

The other boulder made its way down. This time, closing off the cave entrance. The lionesses all noticed the pool’s levels beginning to rise. Their eyes traced the flow back to fresh magma that poured from holes in the walls, in which said walls were now perforated from the violent vibrations of the boulder’s impact. They backed away from the lavabank to the coolest part of the stone surface they stood on.

Looking up, they saw the maneless lion push the largest boulder above ground to close off the skylight.

They were completely trapped.

Kiume rose above the surface in hopes of seeing Pride Rock, only to instead find the forepaws of a lioness standing at the edge he used as leverage. Glancing up, he realized he had a rather unexpected guest.

“Kiara,” he smirked, “What a surprise to see you out here. With no escorts, for once, I might add. Quite the achievement. Out here, all alone, defenseless. It’s perfect. Simba will have to trade his leadership to me if I got you as a bargaining chip.”

“We’re truly alone?” Kiara glanced around to make sure, “Perfect, indeed.”

Just as Kiume went to grab Kiara’s shoulder, something felt odd. He felt a pulling sensation in his paw. He looked up at Kiara to see what was going on, only to see her eyes glowing a ghastly cyan.

He heard the Princess make a cackle unlike any laugh she’d ever made just before grabbing his muzzle.

Pretty soon, the rest of his body felt weaker, and like it had been emptying. Rapidly.

The maneless lion tried to scream, but his mouth was covered with a clamped paw.

Pretty soon, his attempts to scream were replaced with a dry groan.

A loud thud echoed across the empty valley.

Vitani and Jasiri finally walked out of the arena. Muttering amongst themselves the revelations they had about their newly-made discoveries of the Outlands’ history.

Despite the two each spending their earliest years growing up in the land, neither knew that it was once a functioning society with its own system. A rather corrupt one, but Jasiri had learned that she had not been the only animal to have become the Outlands’ official leader.

“Jasiri! Jasiri!!” a voice yelled.

“Janja!” the Prime Minister responded, “What’s going on?!”

“Some kinda jailbreak is what’s goin’ on.” he said, “Kiume’s been freed!”

“What?!” Jasiri threw her head back.

“Yeah, and we was attacked by her Lion Guard!” he glared at Vitani. The rest of the clan growled at the lioness.

“What?” Vitani was appalled, “They would never do that…”

“Vitani…” Jasiri turned to her new friend, “I thought you were starting to trust us…”

“I…” the Fiercest tried to speak.

“I think they’re the ones who broke Kiume out of his cell, too!” Janja snorted.

“Could they have followed him?” Jasiri wondered.

“Followed him?” Vitani balked, “Are they out of their minds?!”

Suddenly, the Fiercest could hear voices from inside the caverns she and the hyenas stood just outside of. The voices were shouting, struggling, and arguing, all in a way only Vitani would recognize.

She booked it. Whether the hyenas were to follow along or not, it didn’t matter to her. She didn’t care what they thought of her, anymore. She just needed to find her friends.

Pretty soon, by Jasiri’s lead, the hyenas did follow suit. All except one.

The Prime Minister noticed Janja wasn’t running with her. She slowed down and looked back.

"You were right, Jasiri. We are all the same. The same, no-good, evil hyenas. That's all everyone thinks we are..."

“Janja…” Jasiri sighed, “It was a misunderstanding. It… It has to be.”

“They’d rather follow a bad lion than let a hyena even breathe in their direction! If anyone’s ‘misunderstanding’, it’s me with whatever’s goin’ on, here.”

“I’ve been with Vitani long enough to get a good read on what kind of lion she is, and what I see is someone who wants to change, along with her friends. Like a certain hyena I know.” 

“Whuh? Who?”

She rolled her eyes, still loving Janja’s clueless side.

“I’ll be with you the whole time.”

“Hnnggh, alright...” he groaned, cracking the slightest smile.

_________

In the cave, the Guard continued tirelessly to look for an escape to no avail. Imara tried to push the large boulder on the ground away, Kasi tried to climb out with her nimble skills, and all even tried to assemble steps with the hope of escaping through the ceiling, but the effort to remove the boulder above them would prove to be dangerous, if not null due to its impossible heaviness. Nothing would make the lava stop rising.

They all stopped in their tracks to look at each other for the longest time, finding themselves sobbing. They approached each other, nuzzling and embracing tightly, not knowing what else to do.

They all started to recall their days as cubs. Meeting each other on the way to the paradise animals called the ‘Pridelands’, bantering and playing as they aged following the recommended path from the Namib Desert to the Serengeti. Just before they could reach the land, however, Zira intercepted them in the Outlands as they’d passed by, and told them her twisted narrative she’d dedicated years to crafting. 

Growing up, the four believed Zira was the rightful Queen consort, Kovu was Scar’s heir as King, and Vitani, Kovu’s protector and enforcer – whom the Guard took a particular interest in as their friend and leader for most of their lives – were wrongfully ousted from their kingdom, and needed as much help as possible from the army of Outsiders that grew over time, including them and their unique strengths.

Then they found their place in the Pridelands, once lost and without purpose until Vitani showed them the way. That day, they formed their own Lion Guard, a Lion Guard who was now about to perish looking for their leader and best friend…

“...Guys?” said a familiar voice behind a wall.

Their hearts dropped as they turned to the wall they heard the voice from. Could it be…?

“Vitani!” Shabaha shouted.

“Guys!” Vitani shouted back, “Shabaha! Is that you?!”

“Yeah!” the Bravest cackled in shock and disbelief.

“Vitani?” the rest of the Guard each said, astonished.

“I can move this wall with my Roar.”

“No,” Kasi said from the wall, “you can’t. Lava will pour out!”

“The only way out is up.” Imara added, “There’s a boulder on top of the cave. You gotta wedge it out.”

“Got it. Hold on!” Vitani turned to the hyenas, “Everyone, follow me. You don’t want to be caught up in a lava wave.”

The hyenas followed Vitani out of Udaka Caverns, racing to the top.

“...’Everyone?’” Kasi asked the rest of the Guard.

Just then, a rumble could be heard from the cave. Vitani used the Roar to carefully lift the large boulder that acted as a lid. Janja and his hyenas instinctually ducked and held unto the ground for dear life, remembering their fair share of being Roared at. The Fiercest peeked down below, horrified at the peril her friends were in.

The Guard stared back up at Vitani, noticing she was surrounded by hyenas.

“Oh, I see.” the Fastest muttered.

“I don’t think I know how to lift animals like Kion can, yet.” the Fiercest said to Jasiri with growing panic.

As Vitani and Jasiri tried to devise a plan, Janja stared into the cave below as it rapidly filled with lava. Scowling at the Guard for their unfair treatment of hyenas. Every swipe and kick he received from them came back to him as he looked them all in the eyes.

He’d remembered the day he trapped Jasiri and two very young cubs from her clan in a large geyser. He’d been completely under Scar’s control around that time, believing he needed to eliminate any force that had a hold on him that wasn’t Scar. He would either confess his feelings to Jasiri and join her side, or she would never be an obstacle in his life again.

But… he was a good hyena, now, and knew that he would have deeply regretted seeing what would have come with winning his fight with Jasiri that day, if it wouldn’t have rendered him into a cold and heartless killer. 

He resented the actions of Vitani’s Lion Guard that occurred earlier today, but he was not about to let another animal suffer the terror of impending death by molten lava. He reached down and held out a paw for any of the four lionesses to grab.

“Come on boys! Let’s help ‘em up!” he grunted.

The ragtag team of male hyenas followed his order. Groups of two or three hyenas each made an effort to pull the lionesses to safety.

Vitani stared wide-eyed at the hyenas, impressed. “That’ll work.”

She and Jasiri promptly helped the rest carry the Guard out.

Once above ground, all of the lionesses pressed against each other in relief. Happy to see each other again. The affectionate gesture was very uncharacteristic and rare, but very much needed.

“I don’t see Kiume with you.” Vitani looked around.

“No,” Kasi said, “he’s the one who trapped us down there.”

“The bastard!” Vitani hissed, “Could be anywhere, by now.”

Suddenly, they all heard a rumble below. The section of the cavern began to close in on itself. They all leapt out of the way before the ground gave way.

Udaka Caverns permanently changed that day. Half of its ceiling was gone, with its debris dropping into the lava below, cutting off its flow.

Lucky for them, for what was also underground was very unexpected. In another section that could be seen overhead were Rafiki and Makini, who sat by a painting on the wall. The conversations that the two mandrills nonchalantly had while not noticing the commotion around them had finally been disrupted.

Both parties stared awkwardly for a long time, still reeling from the near-death experience. Soon, the two mandrills released themselves from the embrace they made to shield each other from debris.

“Lion Guard! No way!” Makini beamed, “Come look at these paintings! We wanted to tell you about them all day!”

“Umm… One second.” Vitani quickly turned to her Lion Guard and the hyenas, “Kiume… He’s on the loose.”

“Don’t sweat it, Vitani.” Janja said, “We’ll take it from here!”

“Please, Janja, at least let my Guard and I repay your clan by helping you.”

“Nah, you go on.” he insisted, “Sounds pretty important if Rafiki’s callin’ you. Come on, boys!”

The hyenas bolted out of the cavern, ready to pursue the runaway convict.

Unbeknownst to them, they’d dashed past Kiara, who had been hiding under the shade of a rocky protrusion. As they left her sight for Insika Canyon, she slid out from her hiding place, heading towards somewhere to listen in on the Lion Guard.

“Did… you two make all the paintings we’ve been looking at all day?” Vitani asked.

“Us?” Makini chuckled, “Oh, no. We’re restoring them!”

“Yes.” said Rafiki, “We are restoring them to how they looked before they were weathered by generations of the Outlands’ elements. The paintings you see in the Outlands were all originally made by past Mjuzis. Most were made by the Mjuzi of Askari’s day, except for the ones on this wall.”

The Lion Guard and Jasiri all turned to the series of images. There were many small paintings of a particular lion in different stages of his life, showing significant events: One was of a much younger him in a hunched and saddened position, the other with him receiving bite from a cobra, and one with him turned away from Pride Rock. What stood out the most, however, was a large effigy of him sitting under the Mark of Evil symbol, holding a bluish-black cobra, and looming over an emphasized depiction of a cub with a familiar head stripe.

“When Makini showed me a painting Vitani had made of her visions last night, I recognized the lion with a red mane and a Mark of Evil over his right eye. 

“Recently, I felt a spiritual connection draw me towards the Outlands, and I had found these paintings as a result. I found myself dearly missing my mentor – the one who created the paintings of this lion, here. She called him: Nyoka… 

“Nyoka was a despicable lion who had been banished before Mufasa and Scar were ever born, as he gave into the venom that controlled his mind, much like the evil lions from Askari’s time. He resided right here, in this very part of the Outlands, where my mentor would see sightings of him while she studied older paintings in her free time.

“He is the lion responsible for giving Scar his very own Mark of Evil.”

“What…?” a few members of the Guard muttered.

Watching them from above, Zira’s spirit, still taking over Kiara, was also shocked.

‘What?’ she thought, ‘But, Scar told me his father gave it to him! That mandrill couldn’t possibly be telling the truth!’

“Hold on,” Shabaha interjected, “who’s that cub under him? It looks like Zira.”

“Correct.” Rafiki confirmed, “Nyoka is Zira’s father.”

Vitani’s jaw dropped. Her grandfather… She saw her grandfather in her vision of the past…

Mother never spoke of him, and yet Vitani got to see him for herself. The old mandrill then continued.

“After receiving his Mark of Evil, Zira’s father tried to finish what his ancestors started. His first step was to contact them, but my mentor would not let him have her Staff. He instead entrusted his daughter to help him form a new plan…”

Vitani began to feel numb, Rafiki’s voice becoming incoherent muffling. She stepped closer to the wall, and began to mindlessly run a paw down it, realizing the family resemblance, which became clearer and clearer.

Her mother’s prejudice towards hyenas, her supremacist teachings, and her love for Scar and desire to rule the Pridelands all made sense, now. 

“I’m… a descendant of the Evil Lions of the Past…”

The Lion Guard, Jasiri, and Makini all gasped, having not thought of it that way before, now that Vitani had put it that way.

The Fiercest growled, “That’s why I can’t hear the Great Lions of the Past, because I descend from the other side of the conflict with Askari – the wrong side! I can never escape my destiny.”

“Vitani,” Jasiri placed a paw on Vitani’s shoulder, “you are so much more than your ancestors. You gave hyenas a chance on your own. And before you say anything about it – Yes, you have the Roar for a reason. You saved your friends with it. You’ve saved many animals with it. You’re a hero of the Pridelands and the Outlands.”

Vitani eased her tense body, “I guess so. Thank you, Jasiri. You’ve been nothing but supportive today, and… I appreciate it.”

‘So… my own daughter thinks I’m evil…’ Zira thought, ‘And here we have that little hyena softening her up and reinforcing why I’m the bad guy. Vitani wants to see ‘evil’? I’ll show her ‘evil’... I’ll show them ALL!’

She quickly disguised her fury with a cold, calculative attitude, carefully slinking away from the open ceiling of the caverns, slipping into the shadows, unseen by any creature of the Outlands as she made her return to Pride Rock.

_________

Later That Evening…

After hours of sharing stories and showing each other the paintings that were scattered across the Arena to Udaka Caverns, the Lion Guard, Jasiri, and two mandrills ascended to the ground. They were heading home, prepared to share their newfound knowledge of the Outlands’ history. History that changed the way they viewed the land, forever. A place filled with centuries-old mysteries of the desolation of the land, and the morbid deaths that had taken place, giving the place a reputation as a curse-riddled wasteland.

They were now in Insika Canyons, which had a thick fog uncharacteristic of the region. They looked around, all mutually unsettled by their surroundings.

“Do you think the hyenas found Kiume, yet?” Kasi wondered.

“Yeah,” Imara agreed, “you’d think we might’ve heard something –”

Just then, the entire group heard a garbled noise nearby. The fog cleared a bit, revealing something that lay on the ground. Vitani, who’d approached first, was horrified at what she saw.

It was her old enemy, for sure. But he’d been almost half the size he was, horribly gaunt with a severely cracked nose and lips. He looked like he had the life sucked out of him with how dehydrated he looked.

“Kiume…?” the Firecest said, stopped in her tracks, “What happened to you? Who did this?”

The maneless lion slowly turned his head, spending nearly all of his energy making the slightest move.

“The P-Princess… Sh-She…” he groaned dryly.

“She what?” Vitani was urgent, “Is she okay?”

He tried to speak once more, but could only manage a few squeaks before his head abruptly dropped back to the ground, his face fixed in a permanent expression.

Vitani stepped back a bit, looking back at everyone standing behind her.

Kiume was dead.

“The Princess?” Kasi balked, “What did Kiara have to do with this?”

“Even in death he’s blaming lionesses for his problems…” Shabaha shook her head.

Vitani wanted to silence Shabaha’s remark, but felt herself starting to see the lack of logic. No way the King and Queen would have let Kiara get this far out here.

“Still, we have to go.” the Fiercest turned back to the lion’s corpse, “What are we gonna do about – ?”

“Don’t worry, Vitani.” Jasiri sighed with a heavy heart and head, “The Outlanders will take care of it. You should just worry about heading home.”

“Thank you, Jasiri.” Vitani gave a nod, “For everything…”

The Guard, Rafiki, and Makini watched as vultures circled above where Kiume stood. The rest of the hyenas gathered by Jasiri, discussing the issue. The group hurried the direction of Pride Rock.

_________

By nightfall, the King and Queen were told everything; the Outlands’ literal unearthed history, and of Kiume’s sudden, unexplained death, and what was to be done about the latter.

Kiara had already been checked on by the Guard. She had appeared to be peacefully sleeping, making the Guard deem it unlikely that she had interacted at all with Kiume, today.

Vitani listened to Rafiki, Simba, and Nala discuss amongst themselves from outside Pride Rock. She sat at the edge, disturbed by the day’s events.

Vitani felt an ache in her chest. Aside from Kiume’s disturbing death, her mind kept repeating the revelations she’d had about her family today.

The Mark of Evil was the cause of a chain of events: From her deranged ancestors to her grandfather, who, outside of Scar, made her mother the way she was, and all of that being why she involved her children in a needless war between prides and species. It seemed that every generation of her family was cursed by the actions of her ancestors, and that she and her brothers had been shaped up to carry on that legacy.

And poor Nuka… she now knew why his spirit was made of fire. The Great Lions spoke to him, but, he never joined them. She wondered if Nuka would ever belong anywhere.

The old mandrill, having finished his conversation with Simba and Nala, hobbled out of Pride Rock, noticing the Leader of the Lion Guard in deep thought. He sat beside her.

“Rafiki…” the lioness turned to him, “is there a way I could put an end to this family curse? Being unable to talk to the Great Lions, your brother being a fire spirit like Scar and other Evil Lions. I wanted to have a purpose as a Pridelander, and I thought I found it, but I really don’t know what I’m doing.”

The mention of Nuka’s spirit had reminded the mandrill of something.

He held out his hands, “Sometimes, sacrifices must be made in order to do good…”

One year ago, at the Elephant Graveyard…

The old mandrill sat on a high ledge as he watched the Leader of the Lion Guard pant heavily – her claws gripping the ground tightly with rage and heartache. In order to keep up with her, the mandrill had swiftly and diligently bounded after her, but with an alternate path to keep from being noticed.

He could hear Vitani’s cries for her older brother, among her grievances regarding everything else that had gone wrong and out of her control. His brows furrowed just before he closed his eyes.

It was time…

Rafiki gripped his Bakora Staff tightly one last time, gently pressing his forehead to it affectionately, silently thanking it for its many years of a very special and one-of-a-kind connection to the Lions of the Past. Even the memories of its more mundane uses, and the instantly recognizable rattling of its gourds had tugged at his heart.

With a careful and quiet hand, he dropped the sacred tool into a large geyser. The Staff caught fire as it sank into the molten liquid inside.

The now former Mjuzi leapt off the ledge and out of Vitani’s sight, just before she unleashed the powerful Roar that sent every geyser around her gushing with glowing steam, which would end up being the final step to summoning her brother, who to this day had manifested in flames upon being summoned.

Although he could no longer connect to the Lions of the Past any longer, Rafiki still remained spiritual.

“When I saw you in need of spiritual guidance, I had to help you summon the one relative I knew that you knew.” he said.

“Well, it just figures that Nuka is made of fire.” Vitani scoffed, “He’s also a descendant of Askari’s enemies.”

“Nuka is in limbo.” Rafiki corrected her, “He is pulled between two forces. He takes on the form of what he’s been summoned in, and he hears the voices of not only the Great Lions, but, if he’s not careful, he could hear the Evil Lions, too. But, he has you keeping him on the right path.”

“He needs to be freed from that tug...” Vitani muttered. She stiffened, suddenly getting an idea.

She realized what she must do: She must stop the cycle with a sacrifice of her very own. She was ready to relinquish her Fire Roar, and to free Nuka’s spirit with forgiveness from herself and Kovu, like Kion with Scar’s spirit. 

She could see that she was holding onto Nuka for far too long, and that keeping his spirit tied down where there was nonstop rain was making him suffer. 

She would head to bed with countless thoughts of enlightenment racing in her head, preparing for tomorrow morning when she would catch Kovu and finally show him what she had been hiding from the Royal family all this time.

To Be Continued…

_________

Author's Notes:

The petrified Evil Lions of the Past and the Cave of Eternal Roars is based on the plaster castings of the citizens of Pompeii, as well as the terracotta army found in Emperor Qin's underground tomb, respectively paralleling the result of a volcanic disaster as well as serving the purpose of freezing the feared army of a powerful emperor in time. I've always been fascinated by both historical sites due to their perfect preservation, and the rollercoaster of implications and historical context that can clearly be told by looking at them.

Udaka Caverns is what I call the location that the Lions Over All musical number took place in TLG. "Udaka" is Zulu for "lava"/"mud"/"muck").

Insika Canyon is what I call the region of Janja's clan's old home. I noticed their home was comprised of pillar-like earth structures, which are called hoodoos. "Insika" is Zulu for "pillar".

Zira's confusion over Scar's origin story is a jab at multiple sources, be it Disney, licensed by Disney, or long-established fanon, which all tell incredibly different storie on how he got his scar.

In older drafts of Mystery of the Outlands, the original plot was to be that Vitani and the Guard would be called to the Outlands by Janja and Jasiri, who need help finding Wema and Tunu, who at some point trap the Lion Guard in the cave as they still feel residual distrust for lions. Once I started thinking about bringing Kiume back into VG, I started running out of room and interest for the Wema and Tunu plot. I also thought it was just a little extreme for Wema and Tunu to be like that. I instead relegated their appearances in the form of a cameo.

Artist Notes:

Kiume's ear tufts in the first thumbnail are deliberately curved inwards to resemble devil horns, showing his true nature.

The composition of the cave painting of Nyoka (AKA Strange Lion), Zira, and the Evil Lions of the Past is kind of my twisted take on icon wall paintings found in churches. Figured the parodied art form would be fitting for someone with a divine complex like Nyoka.

The last image in Rafiki's flashback sequence is mostly comprised of reused assets from the file I used for Episode 5: The Summoning, not only to make drawing a lot easier, but to illustrate just when the flashback takes place. I had backgrounds and props that I'd already painted almost three years ago. I had to reinstall GIMP on my new laptop just to get access to my XCF files and move the images to Photoshop (what I use now).

The amount of illustrations/chapter thumbnails made within a short time are a new record: Only 8 days to create all of them, completed on March 24th. The main cause for delay was the writing and trying to make sense of the story with as much detail as possible with the hope of preventing any possible plotholes.

[thenextlordthorpe]

“Your mother would,” he says so simply as if the question she asked were daft and not in need of an answer. “If she believes it then she’ll convince my father.” Even though he had only been back for one day and night, his Lady stepmother made it clear how she wanted to be a positive force for him, and he could tell the tension between mother and daughter right away. “Have you not listened to me this entire time? I want word to travel fast. I hope Lady Whistledown is in this party, that she hears our argument and writes with as much vitriol for my, our, family if it means I can leave. If people forget my name here, I will celebrate it,” he says narrowing his eyes without anger but more confusion at how anyone could think he wanted anything that came from being a Lord. Maybe if things had been different, if he wasn’t stolen away back, he would have a different view but that was not the world he returned to. “I’ve been without a penny to my name, it is of no concern to me. I’ve made do before and I will again. There are people who wont be able to handle that kind of change and you wouldn’t even last a week without money or security of your status.” None of her insults landed, they seemed to taunt to try and take something away, but he didn’t want it or he’d lived the consequences already and loved it.

Seeing her hold onto her stomach made him snicker and shake his head. “See?” he says gesturing to her hands. “I can already say how you are protective of this fictional child you’re growing. You make it too easy for me.” There’s not a sigh but some exasperation to it.

“Did you see them when I walked into your event? They’re fawning over me. Society is so drab and distracted by pretty nothings like your decorations and pleasantries that they won’t notice you.” There’s pity in his voice. No anger anymore but he thinks that could cut just as deep. Even as she attacked him, he held her back and looked at her with a disappointment. “Careful, you will overexert yourself and could harm your Welsh-English child.” Now he snickers. “I’ve feared many things in this life, but a hysterical brat does not come close to the tamest of fears. You look a state. How dishevelled you look now and feral.” By comparison he looked composed and could easily smooth out anything she made a mark on, if there were anything. With ease, he grabs her arms and moves her to a vacant seat in the room before stepping back. 

You will never be loved; how little she knew. That very thing was the reason he was forced back but he didn’t correct her. Instead, he laughed it off.

“If you insist then I will.” So calmly spoken it was almost eerie. “But first I’ll return to your lovely guests. If I linger in the room any longer with you, I wouldn’t want people thinking I’m responsible for your spoiling or future bastards.” The very thought repulsed him.

Opening the door, he ushered in her staff and quickly changed to a look of brotherly concern. “Please, my dear sister is overcome with emotion at such a night. I think she has overestimated how much work this would take out of her. Maybe some warm milk to ease her into her chamber to rest. I’ll inform her mother so she can check on her but please be careful, Juliet is not in any condition for any more exertion.” And because he was the heir, the servants obeyed him and began fussing over her as he requested. “Jane?” he says seeking out her most loyal maid. “This event means a lot to Juliet, and I would hate for her guests to see her in such a state, please ensure she is discreetly taken upstairs.” From the door he watched with a smug smirk on his face. “Rest well, dear sister,” he says before returning to the soiree and is immediately flocked on by all members of society eager to see the returned heir.  Throughout the night he was every bit as charming as he could be with everyone complimenting and expressing their happiness he had returned. A few popular mamas even commented how fortunate the family were to have his return on his sister’s event.

Taints. Ruins. Spoiled goods. The mere insults that rolled off of her stepbrother's tongue were constant and horrifying - each blow felt like a wound in her side, carefully, calculating, and her stepbrother knew exactly how to press her most beloved buttons. Each insult took the wind out of Juliet's chest, and truly - the ease and formation of each insult, each remark made Juliet feel more and more exposed, enraged and truly broken. Here she was, at her own event and it had erupted into such with the arrival of her stepbrother. It broke her heart, and then set it on fire the more he went on about her beloved Oliver, both of their characters - and each word out of his mouth felt like poison ready to aim and ruin her entirely.

"And who will believe that nonsense? From your tongue? Everyone knows what a disgrace you are to the name of Thorpe - your own father knows it. Do you not think word travels fast? Women may be more at a loss, but you certainly have more to lose. You think if your father does away with your title that you will go on peacefully? No. You will be without a single penny to your name, and sent away, someone where no one will hear your bloody name ever again. Who ever was Tobias Thorpe?" Juliet taunted, her tongue full of spikes - ready to aim just as he was. There was privacy now - she could spew out whatever she truly wanted, fingernails to scratch at the very fabric of his being. Surely Juliet Thorpe had met her match in her stepbrother - and there was no going back.

Unless you want to take her place but even then, I doubt he’d touch spoiled goods. His words made her take a step back - a horrific accusation, a horrifying thing to say and Juliet held onto her stomach, the lurching of it, the sickening of it entirely making her feel ill. She looked away for a moment, catching her breath from the horrors of it all, before turning back with teary, anger filled eyes.

You're welcome. The arrogance, the profound smugness in him - it was enough to make Juliet surely snap. Her rage took on a new life as she moved to him, quickly, and with every force of her own will, she scratched, hit and attacked him - wholeheartedly. "And what words of these, of a gentleman? Surely, the entirety of this event will know who you truly are, because I will tell them! A pompous, arrogant, deceitful monster who will only end in ruin! I will make sure of it, do you understand me?! You monster - you bloody monster!" She screamed, hoping to land one horrific blow to him, to make him feel what she had felt. Red was all she could see, her vision blurred.

"I will beat you myself if I must - how could anyone stomach you? How could anyone grow to marry or be with you? Your charm is all you dearly have, but if you pull it back - ha! You will never be loved - you will rot from the inside out and who will love you then? Surely not even a father, nor a mother could! Beast that you are!" She could not stop herself, even if she dearly wanted to - and surely if her mother had seen her now, Juliet would be thrown into her chambers and punished, but she could breathe under the rage she felt.

"A coward is all you are!" She tried to land another blow. "Taking out your power on a good, kind and generous man like Mister Heywood and you try and pretend to be anything worthy? He has more worthiness in his small finger than you do in your entire being! You bloody animal! How does that feel? The butler of your home - who you perceive so lowly is in love, truly in love - and you have no one at all! You will be alone- for the rest of your days! No one could ever time more than a lowly night of sin with you! Go on now, brother - try and shut me up now - try!"

[angermango]

reasons not to get hit right in the face

[mbat]

"this house is so full of ghost activity!!"

the house:

[solaceseven]

breath of fresh air

you storm out in the middle of an argument. featuring: gojo satoru, geto suguru, kento nanami, ryomen sukuna, toji fushiguro.

GOJO - the second you stormed out, gojo was right behind you.

you heard his footsteps almost immediately, quick and determined. of course, he wasn’t going to just let you go—not without a fight.

“leave me alone, gojo,” you snapped over your shoulder, picking up your pace.

“nope.”

you groaned. “i need space.”

“i need you to not walk around alone at night,” he countered, effortlessly keeping up.

you whirled around, frustration bubbling over. “i can protect myself.”

gojo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i know you can. you’re strong, way too strong for me, honestly—i think about it all the time, actually, how you could probably throw me into the sun if you really tried—”

“gojo.”

“right, right, focus.” he exhaled. “i know you can handle yourself. that’s not the point. i just—please, come back home.”

you clenched your jaw, crossing your arms. gojo loved your stubbornness—adored it, actually. but right now, he just wished you’d listen to him.

when you didn’t say anything, he groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up. “come on—don’t make me get on my knees.”

“you wouldn’t.”

“oh, i would. right here. in the middle of the street.”

you rolled your eyes, turning to keep walking. when you finally took in your surroundings. without even realizing it, you’d walked all the way to a 7-eleven.

gojo followed your gaze, then brightened immediately. “oh? a sign from the heavens?” he turned to you with a grin. “ramen?”

you sighed, and gojo, ever the opportunist, pressed on. “my treat.”

“you always pay,” you deadpanned.

“exactly! so, technically, i didn’t even have to say that—but i did, because i’m a generous and loving boyfriend.”

you exhaled, shaking your head. “…yeah, okay.”

gojo beamed like you had just accepted a marriage proposal. “knew you couldn’t resist me.”

you shot him a glare, but he just threw an arm around your shoulder, steering you inside like you hadn’t just been arguing minutes ago.

as he grabbed entirely too many snacks, sneaking extras into your basket with a shit-eating grin, you felt the weight in your chest ease just a little.

you weren’t done being mad at him—not completely. but as he stood beside you at the register, arms full of junk food, nudging you with his elbow like a lovesick fool, you realized—

yeah. you’d be okay.

GETO - suguru doesn’t stop you.

not because he doesn’t care—no, quite the opposite. he watches as you grab your coat, as you storm out, and he lets you go. he knows you need space, and he respects that.

but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to find you.

you don’t know how long you’ve been walking, the frustration from your argument still lingering, but eventually, you find yourself stopping by a quiet street corner. you sigh, rubbing a hand over your face, trying to steady your thoughts—

and then you hear it. a smooth, familiar voice from behind you.

“you’re really making me work for it tonight, huh?”

you whip around, only to see geto standing there, hands tucked casually into his sleeves, watching you with that unreadable expression of his.

you glare. “how did you even find me?”

he tilts his head, amused. “you’re predictable.”

you huff, crossing your arms. “if you’re here to drag me home, don’t bother.”

geto steps closer, slow and easy. “i’m not dragging you anywhere.”

you raise an eyebrow. “then what do you want?”

he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “you’re upset. i get it. but you know i hate leaving things like this.” he steps beside you, hands still tucked into his sleeves. “so, i figured i’d come find you.”

you don’t answer right away, staring at the ground. then, without warning, your eyes begin to sting. you blink rapidly, willing the tears away, but it’s too late—geto sees it instantly.

his expression shifts, the tension in his shoulders vanishing in an instant. before you can turn away, he’s already in front of you, his hands cupping your cheeks with the kind of gentleness that makes your chest ache.

“hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, tilting your face up to him. “don’t cry.” his thumbs brush lightly under your eyes, catching the first traces of tears. “look at me.”

you do, even though it only makes your throat feel tighter.

his brows furrow, guilt flashing across his face. “i’m sorry, okay?” his voice is soft, sincere. “i didn’t mean to upset you.”

you swallow hard, blinking up at him. “…you were being an ass.”

a small, breathy chuckle leaves him. “yeah,” he admits. “i was.”

you sniff, and he immediately wipes away another tear before it can fall, his touch warm and steady. “but i didn’t mean to be,” he continues. “you know that, right?”

you nod.

geto exhales, relief evident in his expression. his hands don’t leave your face, his thumbs still tracing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

“come home?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

you glance away, mumbling, “still mad.”

“i know.” his lips quirk into a small smile. “you can be mad at me at home, too.”

a pause. then, finally—

“okay.”

he doesn’t say anything, just lets his forehead rest lightly against yours for a moment before taking your hand in his, squeezing it once before leading you back home.

NANAMI - the argument had left a bitter weight in your chest, one that you couldn’t shake no matter how much you wanted to. the walls of your shared home felt too tight, too suffocating, so you did the only thing that made sense—you grabbed your coat and walked out.

you didn’t have a destination in mind, just the simple need to move, to put some distance between you and the words that had been thrown too carelessly.

at first, you thought you were alone. but then, a few blocks in, you heard it—steady, familiar footsteps trailing behind you.

you sighed. “kento.”

a pause. “hm?”

you turned slightly, just enough to glance over your shoulder. sure enough, he was there. hands in his pockets, expression unreadable, but present nonetheless. he didn’t try to walk beside you, didn’t call your name or tell you to come home—he was just there.

“you don’t have to follow me,” you muttered.

nanami exhaled slowly, adjusting his tie as he kept his pace behind you. “i know.”

and yet, he didn’t stop.

you didn’t push him away, either.

the night air was crisp, the streets quiet save for the occasional car passing by. you walked, and he followed. neither of you spoke. the argument still lingered between you, raw and unhealed, but for some reason, his quiet presence made it easier to breathe.

eventually, your feet carried you to the park. it was empty this late, just dimly lit by a few scattered streetlights. you found yourself heading toward the swing set, your steps slowing as you lowered yourself onto one of the swings. the chains creaked slightly under your weight.

nanami hesitated for only a second before taking the swing next to you. he didn’t say anything, just sat there, hands resting on his thighs, eyes fixed ahead.

the silence stretched, not uncomfortable, just… there.

after a long moment, you broke it.

“we’re going to be okay, right?” your voice was quieter than you intended, but you didn’t correct it.

nanami didn’t answer immediately. he let out a slow breath.

“yeah,” he said, firm, certain. “we’re going to be okay.”

and for the first time since the argument, you let yourself believe it.

SUKUNA - the door had barely swung shut before you heard heavy footsteps behind you.

you had barely made it down the front steps when a clawed hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you to a stop.

sukuna’s grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm—unrelenting. “where do you think you’re going?” his voice was low, edged with something unreadable.

you didn’t turn to face him. “i need to cool off.”

his fingers twitched against your skin. “tch. you can cool off inside.”

you exhaled sharply, attempting to pull away, but he didn’t let you. his grip remained steady, grounding. “i don’t want to be inside right now, sukuna.”

“and i don’t want you wandering off alone.”

you finally turned, eyes burning with frustration. “i can take care of myself.”

his expression didn’t change, but something flickered behind his crimson gaze. “i know you can.” his tone softened, just barely. “that’s not the point.”

silence settled between you, tense and heavy. the night air was cool against your skin, the world around you quiet. your breathing was uneven, your heart still pounding from the argument. you wanted to be stubborn, to keep walking just to prove a point.

but sukuna didn’t let go.

for a long moment, he just looked at you. not with anger, not with amusement—just quiet, unreadable intensity. and then, after a sigh that sounded almost reluctant, his grip loosened. his hand slid down to take yours, fingers wrapping around yours in a way that felt less like restraint and more like holding on.

“come back inside,” he muttered. his voice wasn’t commanding, not like before. it was something else. something almost pleading.

you hesitated, still upset, still wanting to fight. but his hand was warm, solid, there. the fight had drained out of you, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

after a long pause, you sighed, giving his fingers a small squeeze before turning back toward the house.

sukuna didn’t say anything, just followed beside you, his hand never leaving yours. when you stepped inside, he made sure the door was locked behind you, his movements slow, deliberate. neither of you spoke as he guided you toward the bedroom, the silence no longer suffocating but something quieter, softer.

the argument wasn’t over. you weren’t ready to let it go. but as sukuna’s grip lingered, steady and sure, you knew—

you two were going to be okay.

TOJI - toji doesn’t follow you. at least, not right away.

he watches as you storm out, jaw clenched, arms crossed, your anger still crackling in the air like static. he lets you leave, doesn’t call after you, doesn’t chase you down. he just sits there, rubbing a hand over his face with a deep sigh.

but after a few minutes, he clicks his tongue, grabs his jacket, and heads out after you.

he knows you—knows you’re stubborn, knows you need space, but he also knows it’s late, and he’ll be damned if he lets you wander around alone.

it doesn’t take long to find you. you’re sitting on a bench at some quiet little bus stop, arms hugged around yourself, your knee bouncing impatiently. toji exhales, shoving his hands in his pockets as he makes his way over.

you glance up when he steps in front of you, glaring. “go away.”

“not happening,” he says flatly.

you scoff, turning your head. “i don’t wanna talk to you.”

“good,” he deadpans. “cause i ain’t here to talk.”

you blink, caught off guard, looking at him. he just shrugs. “you needed space, so i gave it to ya. now i’m just gonna sit here and shut up.”

and with that, toji plops down onto the bench next to you, spreading his legs wide, leaning back like this is the most natural thing in the world.

you stare at him. “you’re kidding.”

“nah.” he closes his eyes, tilting his head back. “go on. be mad.”

you are mad. but suddenly, it feels a little ridiculous.

the two of you sit there in silence, the sounds of the city buzzing faintly in the distance. the weight of the argument still lingers, but toji’s presence, solid and unshaken, makes it feel smaller. like it’s not going to swallow you whole.

after a while, he cracks an eye open, side-eyeing you. “you done sulking yet?”

you huff. “i’m not sulking.”

“yeah, yeah.” he stretches, rolling his shoulders. “c’mon. let’s go.”

you hesitate. “i dunno…”

he stands up, glancing down at you. “i’ll buy you food.”

you squint. “bribery?”

toji smirks. “call it what ya want. just get up.”

you sigh, but when he holds a hand out to you, you take it. his grip is warm, steady, and when he tugs you to your feet, he doesn’t let go.

“where are we going?” you mumble.

“dunno.” he shrugs. “we’ll figure it out.”

and somehow, that’s enough.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like he means it

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Summary: You can’t take another night of hearing Bucky fuck a girl who isn’t you.

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Bucky is a fuckboy (but he’s still a sweetheart); lots of talk about unrequited love (but is it?); mentions of sex; crying; lots of desperation; longing; heavy confessions; feels; happy ending

Author’s Note: This is written for the lovely cinema themed writing challenge of @elixirfromthestars ♡ I had this kind of idea for a while but when I read those lyrics it somehow immediately came back to my mind and I needed to make something out of it. This is kind of inspired by your Boulevard Confessions because I loved it so much! And damn, I've already written so much about roommate!Bucky but I can’t help myself lol, I love him. Also, this got a little long, I'm sorry. Still, I hope you enjoy! ♡

Hold My Hand "Pull me close, wrap me in your aching arms. I see that you're hurtin', why'd you take so long to tell me you need me? I see that you're bleeding, you don't need to show me again. But if you decide to, I'll ride in this life with you. I won't let go 'til the end." — Lady Gaga

Masterlist

You hear the giggling before anything else.

It’s always the giggling.

And, as always, it grates on your nerves.

It carves through the air, seeps into the walls, into the floorboards, into you. It tears its way inside and scrapes its manicured nails along the rawest and most sensitive parts of you, only to bury itself deep, where you can’t simply dig it out.

Then comes the keys.

The light, metallic jingle, so careless in its melody, but so troubling in its meaning.

Then the lock turning, the click soft and yet so irrefutable.

Then the door opening.

More giggles.

His breathy chuckles.

Then the door closing.

Shoes being kicked off, one hitting the wall.

You press the pillow harder against your ears, as if you could suffocate the sound before it reaches you, as if you could bury yourself deep enough under the covers to escape what you already know is coming. But you can’t. You never can.

Your brain usually does you the favors of drowning out the parts in the hallway, knowing it will probably make your heart stop in an instant. Today, it doesn’t do you any favors and you close your eyes, accepting the sting behind them.

And then, his bedroom door.

And if all that wasn’t torture enough, it was only the easy part.

Because now is when it really starts. It’s when your throat closes up, the breath in your lungs turns heavy, thick, impossible. Because no matter how many times this has happened, no matter how many times you laid here in your bed, still, so still, waiting for the agony to stop, pretending it doesn’t happen - it never stops hurting. It never stops breaking your heart - or whatever’s left of it.

At first, there is silence. The small period where you almost dare to believe, to hope.

But then comes the moaning.

High-pitched and breathy, hinting at a pleasure that strikes you with a hammer.

Someone else. Always someone else. Someone who is not you, someone who never had to try, someone who will never know what it means to ache for him like you do.

Then, quieter, but just as devastating, Bucky’s voice. The low sound of him unraveling. The sound of something slipping from him that you will never be able to take.

And that’s what breaks you most. That’s what turns the ache into utter misery. Madness even. It’s the inescapable proof that he has something to give - something deep, something intimate - and he is giving it away. Over and over again, but never to you.

You close your eyes, as always. It doesn’t help, as always. The sounds don’t stop anyway. The images come anyway - the touches you have imagined, the way his hands would feel against your skin, the way his mouth would shape your name if you were the one beneath him. The way he might look at you, if only he could see.

But right now, you are just the ghost in the next room, curled in on yourself, ears filled with the sound of someone else living the life you always wanted.

And in the morning, or right after, when the door will open again, when the giggling will turn to goodbyes, you will still be here, where you always are. Where you always will be. Waiting. Wanting. Breaking. Wishing you could turn it off, this feeling. This unendurable and never-ending heartbreak.

And that finally makes the tears flow.

They well up before they spill over, down the slope of your cheek, gathering in the hollow beneath your nose before falling onto the pillow and wetting it like a pool.

You squeeze your eyes shut, so tightly it should hurt, so tightly it should make them stop. But they come anyway. They come despite the barricade of your willpower, despite the way your body coils tighter in on itself. They come despite the desperate war you wage against them.

They come because you have lost. Because it’s too much.

The moaning doesn’t stop, and it’s too much. It’s the middle of the night, and it’s too much. It’s the third night in a row, and it’s too much.

Bucky’s hushed voice shatters something inside of you, you didn’t know was left intact a few seconds ago.

Your breath turns sticky, only half of it making its way up your throat. The other half stays attached to the walls of your throat like honey gone rancid. It refuses to leave completely, snagging and trapping you in the awful space between breathing and choking.

Maybe if it stopped altogether, it would be easier. Maybe suffocating would be gentler than this slow and unsparing death of heartbreak.

Your hands are shaking. You bury your face into the pillow, willing it to just take you as a whole and never let you leave again. The fabric muffles the shuddering sobs, but it cannot do anything for the way your body trembles. But you know that the sounds of pleasure in the other room will tune out the sounds of your cries. The pillow is being clutched so tightly, you might tear the fabric. But it’s your heart that’s being torn into so many pieces. So what is a pillow compared to the ruin of your heart? It’s nothing.

You are alone in your grief.

The moans stop for a second - abrupt, cut off mid-breath.

Bucky’s voice comes. He says something but you don’t catch his words.

However, you do catch the displeased groan of his girl for the night. Drawn-out and petulant. Annoyed.

Bucky speaks again. Firmer, this time. Again, it’s too quiet to catch it.

And then you hear your name. It’s muffled still, but you would hear your name coming from his lips always and forever. You know the exact cadence of it shaping his mouth.

Everything in you halts. Your breaths are suspended somewhere in your throat, caught between shock and devastation.

The girl scoffs. It’s a snappy sound. Almost whiny. You would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t so troubled.

The moaning resumes. But it is quieter this time. Controlled almost. A courtesy. A mercy. But not for you. Not in the way you wish.

And it makes you know.

He asked her to keep it down. For you. He must have told her he has a roommate - you - and that they need to be mindful, that you might be trying to sleep.

Somehow, in all the infinite ways he could have cared for you, this is the one he chose. Not to love you, not to want you, but to make sure his flings don’t disrupt your sleep. As if that’s the worst of it. As if the noise is what truly keeps you up at night, and not the agonizing truth of it all.

Harshly, your teeth sink into your lip, fighting to stifle the sob that trembles on the edge of you. But again, you are losing.

Because hearing your name in the middle of something so intimate, spoken in the same breath of his pleasure, is pure anguish.

Because your name should not exist there. Not like this. Not casually sneaking into a mind occupied with pleasuring someone else.

If he were to say your name in a moment like this, it should be a soft whisper against your skin, entangled in sheets, buried in kisses that steal the air from your lungs. It should be something private, something sacred.

Not an idle afterthought. A consideration. A passing thought before he loses himself in someone else’s body. You have never heard him say any girl’s name before when sleeping with them, but hell you also don’t try to listen too closely.

You won’t talk about this. You never talk about this. When the morning comes and you meet Bucky in the kitchen for breakfast, you will not mention it. Just like you never mention the other nights. Just like you never dwell on the soft apologies he offers when they got too loud. And just like always, you will brush it off, force a brittle smile, and tell him that it’s fine.

It’s not. It never has been. And you don’t think you ever manage to make it sound like you mean it. But you are gone before Bucky can push or apologize again. Or see how deep the knife has gone.

Because he might be careful to be quiet. But he will never be careful enough to stop breaking your heart.

So what is the point?

You don’t want to do another morning like this.

You can’t do another morning like this.

Not three times in a row.

Not when the night has already taken your soul and what was precious of it, barely sewn together by the time the sun fights its way through the window.

Not when you know how it will play out. Like it has the day before. And the day before that.

The door to his room will creak open, the girl already gone. You will hear the shuffle of his bare feet against the floor, the sigh as he stretches, and the yawn that usually makes it past his lips. He never tries to stifle it.

And then, him standing there and watching you.

Disheveled. Bed hair sticking up in a mess. You never let your mind wander to how her fingers might have something to do with that. His shirt would loosely hang over his frame, probably thrown on in a hurry, collar askew, revealing a sliver of skin you shouldn’t be looking at.

That lazy and slightly flustered smile. Sleep still in the corners of his eyes, his lips, his voice, when he greets you with a scratchy morning.

Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t shatter you into a thousand unfixable pieces last night. And the night before that. And now this night.

You will do your best to greet him back without sounding pained. Focusing on making coffee. The way the steam normally curls into the air, the warmth of the mug in your hands. You will have to focus on it as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

And despite knowing you shouldn’t - despite hating yourself for it - you will slide a cup toward him. As you always do.

His smile would shift. Settling into something fond, something warm, something that digs its claws into your ribs and refuses to let go.

Because that’s usually the worst part. He’s always so sweet with you. Thoughtful, affectionate in ways that don’t count. In the ways that make you feel like maybe if you just hold on a little longer, if you wait just a little more, he might start feeling what you do.

But you are certain, he won’t.

Because for him, everything seems fine. For him, this will be just another morning. Another easy, comfortable start to the day. With his eyes on you and sipping his coffee, exhaling like he is finally at peace, and leaning against the counter with a lightness that always has your stomach all up in shambles.

He always makes it seem so normal. Starting conversation with you, talking to you as if nothing has changed. Like you didn’t spend the night curled in on yourself, swallowing down sobs so thick they feel like razor blades. Like you didn’t spend the night choking on the sound of him with her.

He never mentions them. Never says any of the girl’s names, not that you even know what they are. He never makes plans to see them again. Just another faceless but very loud girl. One to be forgotten.

But tomorrow night, there will be another.

Tomorrow night will be the same.

And in the morning nothing will have happened.

Only him standing there with his sleep-mussed hair and that sweet, easy smile, drinking the coffee you should have stopped making for him a long, long time ago.

You rise out of bed, not even aware of it. The cold air nips at your tear-streaked cheeks, your sheets thrown back in a mass of tangled fabric still warm from the ball your body was curled in, breaking in silence. The pillow is still wet.

Your hands move on their own, tugging on slacks, yanking a hoodie over your head as though the fabric could hide you, save you from the devastation caving a hole into your chest.

You fumble for your phone before throwing open your bedroom door.

The moans are louder again. Yanking at your resolve and laughing at the way your tears keep coming.

Your feet move faster. You don’t actually run, but it feels like running. Like fleeing. Escaping a burning building before it collapses. The living room comes into view and it’s like a cruel trick, like the universe is taunting you, because all you see are phantoms.

The coffee machine on the counter. How many times have you two stood there, still tousled with sleep, you making coffee for the both of you because Bucky burns everything. How many times did he lean on the counter, watching you with that stupid little half-smirk, pretending to judge your process but always humming in satisfaction when he took the first sip.

The bookshelf in the corner - the one you swore you could build on your own. And you tried, you really did, but the second the screwdriver slipped and you gasped out loud, Bucky was there immediately. Hands on yours, worry furrowing his brows, grumbling about your stubbornness and continuing to grumble when he passive-aggressively built it himself.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, watching him, pretending to be annoyed but secretly savoring the way he kept glancing at you, again and again, to make sure you were okay and giving you instructions as to how it’s done but throwing you a glare when you insisted on trying again.

The carpet. The same one you both collapsed onto after a night out with your friends, too tipsy to move, giggling like teenagers as you pointed at the ceiling, pretending to find constellations in the uneven paint. He named one after you. You named one after him. You fell asleep there, side by side, and when you woke up he was so close. So close.

The couch. The one he practically melted into last week when he had a fever, whining dramatically until you caved and brought him soup. He kept pulling you back when you tried to leave, pouting like a child, demanding your attention because I’m sick, doll. Can’t ignore me when I’m sick. Until you sighed and sat down, letting his head rest in your lap. He fell asleep like that. Snoring. And you didn’t have the heart to move.

And now he is in his room, tangled in her, moaning into her skin, kissing her - like it doesn’t mean anything. Like none of it ever meant anything.

Your breath is uneven, your hands shaking as you grab your shoes. The laces blur, your vision fogs, but you can’t stop.

You throw open the door to your shared apartment, barely thinking, barely breathing, only moving. It swings back into the frame with a sharp sound echoing through the hallway, louder than you had intended. But it doesn’t matter now. Because you are sure that Bucky doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t notice. He is otherwise occupied and you are utterly drained of thinking about with what.

The air outside the apartment feels different. Lighter and cooler, but it doesn’t bring relief. It’s thin and hard to pull into your lungs properly.

Natasha’s place isn’t far. Fifteen minutes on foot. You tell yourself that over and over, like a mantra, like something to grasp on.

No more moans. Lost to silence, left in a place that feels little like home right now. Still, they resonate in your skull, haunting reminders of that pain you can’t dismiss, that hurt that hangs off you like a heavy burden.

You slow your steps on the staircase and inhale deeply. It trembles on its way out.

You hate how fragile you feel. How breakable. Hate how much this affects you. How much he affects you.

But you keep walking.

Just yesterday, you talked to Natasha and she offered you to stay with her for the night, looking at you all sharp and knowing, but in her own way sympathetic. You declined. Because you thought you’d be fine. Well, you were wrong.

It’s past midnight now, completely dark, but you don’t care.

You know, Natasha will let you in. And that will have to be enough for tonight.

The city is alive even at this hour. Neon lights glow in the distance, their reflection shimmering in rain-slicked puddles that dot the cracked pavement. Somewhere across the street, there is a group of people laughing, and disappearing around a corner. A car flies past, with headlights unlocking long shadows lengthening down the sidewalk.

You focus on those things. On the shoes thumping against the pavement. The way the crisp air is somehow refreshing as it weaves through the fabric of your hoodie and stings slightly at the tear-streaked skin of your cheeks, keeping you awake and propelling you forward. Not that you need any more motivation to leave.

You wind your arms around yourself like a shield, like a last-ditch effort to keep yourself from falling apart completely.

You don’t look back.

Somewhere above you, there is a creak of a window opening.

It makes you freeze for a small second, before tightening your arms around yourself and picking up your pace.

Your stomach spins violently because fuck, you know that sound. You know the groan of that window when it moves, just a little off its hinges, just enough to make a noise you’ve heard a hundred times before. Because it’s the window of your apartment. And it makes a noise that has never felt so much like a punch to the gut.

“Y/n?”

You close your eyes.

“Y/n!”

Your name spills from his lips, laced with confusion, infused with something that makes your fingers clench around your arms.

You could ignore him. You should ignore him. Just keep walking, keep moving, pretend you didn’t hear.

But you can’t. You never can.

With a slow, dragging breath, you turn around.

Bucky is leaning over the frame, his torso reaching out the window, bare from the shoulders down. He is bathed in the hazy yellow glow of the streetlights.

His hair is messed up, brown tendrils all sticking in different directions. His brows are knitted in confusion. His lips in a frown so full of worry. And it’s just too much.

Too warm. Too intimate. Too familiar.

Your chest stutters, lurches, and swirls itself into a dozen moving shapes that hurt more than they should. Because he stands there shirtless. Shirtless. And you know why.

You swallow back your hurt, but it stays stuck in your throat and crawls right up again to make you taste it on your tongue.

You force your gaze away from staring at the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his throat, the soft lines of his skin, the hard lines of his muscles that she had her hands on just minutes ago.

“Where are you going?”

The tone highlights his concern, thick with the kind of worry that would have meant everything if it weren’t coming from him like this, not now. His voice is rough, remnants of the time already spent with that girl, but all you can hear is that damn worry in it.

As if you owe him an answer. As if he isn’t the reason your chest feels like it’s been hollowed out and left to rot.

You draw in half a breath and look away - down the street, down at your shoes, the bricks of your building. Anywhere that isn’t him.

“To Nat’s.”

It’s clipped and short. You don’t want to explain, don’t want to talk, don’t want to stand here in the night air beneath the window of the apartment you share with him like some pathetic wreck while he worries about you.

“Nat’s?” You can hear the bewilderment in his voice, the way he is trying to piece it together, the way his brain is already working overtime, scrambling to make sense of this - and you can practically feel the moment he decides he won’t let it go.

“Somethin’ happen?” His voice just won’t stop to be so perplexed, so concerned. It is softer now, but you only glance up at him briefly before averting your eyes again.

Because damn Bucky, yes, something happened. Everything happened. Every night that he brings someone home, every touch that belongs to someone else, every soft moan that isn’t meant for you.

All these moments, all these memories, every feeling left unsaid that swivels and stings and grows into what it is now - a storm inside your rib cage, a hurricane of almosts and never wills and why does it have to be like this?

But of course, you can’t say that. You won’t say that.

So you just shake your head, tighten your arms around yourself, and take a step back.

“Go back to bed, Bucky.”

Because you can’t do this right now. You won’t do this right now.

Not when you are already about to break.

“I- What?”

His voice is a little raspy, puzzled, and under any other circumstance, it might have been endearing. On a normal day, if this were some cozy Sunday morning and not the breaking stretch of midnight, you might have smiled at the sight of him like this - hair in a wild mess, eyes a little heavy from the day, bare shoulders shifting in the glow of the streets.

But this is not a Sunday morning. And nothing about this feels good or cozy or right.

You are so damn exhausted. So damn drained.

“You-” he starts again, brow furrowing deeper, but before he can get another word out, hands appear - slim fingers wrapping around the thick of his bicep, tugging, pulling, trying to drag him back inside.

Bile is pooling at the base of your throat.

She’s alone with him up there, in the space that you have spent so much time making into something warm, something filled with comfort. A space where you feel home. With him. And yet, it’s that random girl in there, laying in his bed, under his covers, in his scent, in him.

“Bucky, come on.” Her voice is thin and peevish, thick with impatience. And exhaustion you believe she has no right to feel when you are the one who has spent the time suffocating under her presence.

But Bucky doesn’t move.

His hand only grips onto the windowsill tighter, muscles in his arm locking.

And his eyes stay fixed on you.

Still searching. Still confused. Still trying to understand.

And it makes your hands clammy.

The way he looks at you like he is reaching for something just beyond his grasp, something that eludes him no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it.

He huffs out a breath that just borders on frustration when her fingers won’t stop pulling at him.

“Hold on, doll-” he calls out to you and unwinds her hands from his arm, barely sparing her a glance as he leans out the window again. There is a little something in his tone when he speaks to you again. Something like exasperation. But it’s not meant for you. “What’re you doin’ at Nat’s? Tell her it’s the middle of the goddamn night. Why would she let you walk over to her? She knows it’s not safe.”

You shake your head, already half turning away again. You just cannot do this right now.

“It’s fine. Just go back to bed, Bucky.”

“Y/n - hey. What’s wrong? What’s this about?” There it is. That softness in his voice. That concern. And it hurts. Because he doesn’t get it.

“Go. Back. To bed,” you repeat, sharper now, gritting it out between clenched teeth.

But Bucky has always been stubborn. And so infuriating. It’s like he doesn’t hear you at all.

“C’mon doll, did something happen? Talk to me,” he urges, voice gentle but he doesn’t seem to like the way you look as if you would bolt around the corner any second. His tone is coaxing in a way that makes you ache because this is what he does. This is what he has always done - pulling you in, making you feel safe, making you feel cared for, making you feel like you matter. Like he means it.

And it’s cruel. So cruel.

Because you are in love with him.

And he is standing in that window, bare-chested and rumpled from a night with another woman, while you are in slacks and a simple hoodie beneath him with your heart cracked wide open, bleeding into the pavement.

“I don’t wanna do this right now, Bucky,” you snip, voice losing patience. But you are so tired.

Bucky sighs and runs a hand through his hair, frustration growing, seeping into his voice. “You’re killin’ me here, sweetheart. Just tell me what’s goin’ on. It’s cold out, doll. You’re not even wearin’ a jacket.”

You swallow down a choked breath.

Because this is making things so much worse.

That he cares. That he is looking at you like this, like you matter, like you are his.

Like you are something he wants to figure out. And he wants to take his time with. Like he wants to fix you.

But you are not broken. You are just in love.

“Bucky,” that girl calls out again, dragging his name out, voice honey-thick and pettish. “Come on babe, let it go. Just-” She tugs at his arm again, nails skimming along his forearm. “Come back to bed.”

But he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even glance at her.

His mouth twitches, jaw ticking as he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking her off with a firm roll of his shoulder. “Would you quit it for a sec?” His voice is edged now, tinged with a kind of terse impatience he seldom ever lets out. “Jesus, m’tryin to talk here.”

The girl huffs, clearly displeased, but Bucky doesn’t spare her another second.

But the one second he threw his head around at her was your chance. Your feet move before you can think, before you can talk yourself into staying, because if you do, if you let him pull you in, let yourself hope-

“Woah, doll, hey. Wait, I-”

His voice is frantic, stammering over its own syllables and filled with too many things your mind is too jumbled to focus on.

But it makes you stop your body in the midst of a step. And you grind down on your teeth against the frustration burning inside you.

You should keep walking. Shouldn’t have stopped.

But Bucky is leaning even further out now, his knuckles bracing against the sill, the night air tousling his hair, eyes wide and concerned, searching. One of his arms is reaching out, down to you as if he could touch you like this.

“Hold up, yeah? I’m comin’ down.”

You whip halfway back to him, brows snapping together, heart slamming against your ribs.

“No, you-”

He’s already pulling himself back inside, shaking his head as if it should be obvious. “I’m coming down,” he repeats, more insistent, more sure. Leaving no room for argument.

Your fists squeeze the fabric of your hoodie. Your stomach churns. “Bucky-” you try again. But he has already made up his mind.

“Wait there, alright?” His voice dips lower, steadier but still urgent. Resolute, as if he would run after you if you bolted down the street. “Doll. Promise me you’ll wait.”

Something in his tone, the look he is giving you, like he’s begging, almost a sweet-talking declaration. It’s catching your breath somewhere in your throat.

You could run.

You should.

You should turn right back around, disappear into the night, and leave him standing there, shirtless and confused and worried.

But you hold his gaze for just one long and heavy beat, then exhale shakily, shoulders dropping slightly.

“Okay,” you say weakly.

Bucky nods determined and taps his fingers against the windowsill, before rushing away, leaving the window wide open.

And you stand there hating yourself for waiting.

Hating yourself for hoping.

Technically, you could just leave.

Take a different route to Nat’s apartment, slip into the dark veins of the city where his voice wouldn’t reach, and let him walk out onto an empty sidewalk with his hair still tousled from another woman’s fingers and the taste of someone else’s lips still lingering on his own.

You could make him feel just a fraction of what you feel, with something hollow pressing up against his ribs when he finds nothing but cold pavement where you used to stand.

But you don’t.

You know you won’t.

Because it wouldn’t just frustrate him. It would hurt him.

And that’s the one thing you could never bring yourself to do.

Not Bucky.

Never Bucky.

You know him. The way he chews at the inside of his cheek when he’s trying not to say something reckless. The way his brows pull just a little too tight when he’s agitated but trying to play it off like he is fine. The way he folds his arms over his chest, not because he’s closed off, but because he needs something to hold onto.

You know exactly how he would react if he stepped out here and you weren’t there.

How the slight crease between his brows would deepen. How his fingers would twitch, opening and closing, like he’d missed his chance to catch you. How his lips would open and he would stare helplessly around and call your name.

And god, as much as this pain is devouring you from the inside out, pushing its way into the light but leaving you sitting in the dark, as much as your heart feels like being torn apart with unsaid words and unmet confessions - you cannot stand the thought of hurting him.

So you stay.

With feet planted on the concrete, fists clenched so hard, that your fingers start to cramp. You lift your trembling hands to your aching cheeks to hastily scrub away the fresh wave of tears surging forth downwards, willing your body to erase any evidence of your devastation.

But the more you wipe, the more it hurts.

You believe your cheeks are red from the effort of wiping so much, eyes swollen and puffy, your body trying to rebel against all of your commands.

Inhaling shakily, you force the breath down, down, down where you can pretend it doesn’t hurt so much. You angle your face slightly away from the building, hoping the dim spill of moonlight won’t betray your inner struggles.

Because the moment Bucky steps out that door, it will be the same as always.

He’ll look at you like you are his best friend. Like you are his safe place. Like you are the person he can always count on.

And you will look at him like you aren’t falling apart.

Like your heart isn’t unraveling at the seams.

Like you aren’t drowning in a love that will never be returned.

The door swings open with a force that startles you, the sound of it hitting the frame a little too sharp against the night.

Bucky storms out onto the sidewalk like he’s got something urgent to say, like the world might stop spinning if he doesn’t get to you fast enough. He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t pause. Just moves straight to you, his steps quick, closing the space before you can change your mind about standing here. He has a crumpled shirt thrown on and it hangs a little off. But it makes you want to run so hard.

His fingers wrap around your arms, not hard, not forceful but firm.

Those warm hands on you make you want to crumble.

His breath is coming fast, chest rising and falling, like he ran down the staircase to get here as fast as possible.

His eyes are so deep, deep and blue, roaming your face with so much intensity, searching and scanning and pausing.

Shadows cast over his sharp cheekbones at the way his brows are furrowed, his lips slightly parted.

“What’s going on, doll? You been cryin’?” His voice comes out rough and he talks fast. Urgent, breaths spilling over themselves as he rushed through the words, almost tripping on them in his desperation to get them out. “Why’ve you been crying? What happened?”

His thumb twitches against the fabric of your hoodie.

You open your mouth, close it again. Your throat is dry from the sobs you tried to silence earlier. You shake your head, a knee-jerk reaction.

“I was just going to Nat’s, Bucky. Nothing happened.”

It’s a weak excuse, said in a weak voice.

And you hate how it makes Bucky’s expression shift. That tiny wounded something that crosses his features, something that shouldn’t be there, because you did wait for him, you didn’t leave, but it’s still not enough. You lied to him. And he knows it. And he’s hurt. And you hate yourself.

He shakes his head, his jaw going tight.

“No,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving you, voice so low. “That ain’t nothin’, doll. C’mon. You’re runnin’ off in the middle of the night, how could this be nothing?”

You look away. Because if you keep looking at him, him with his concern and confusion and hurt all interflowing in the pool of those blue eyes, you won’t be able to hold yourself together much longer.

You swallow hard and force yourself to breathe slowly.

The sting behind your eyes is never really leaving you.

Bucky leans in, just a little. His grip on your arms tightens, but it’s not harsh. Only insistent. Desperate for you to give him something here.

“Somethin’ up with Natasha?” His voice is gentle, like he knows this has nothing to do with her, but he has to ask anyway to go through all the possible options of what might be going on.

“No,” you croak, barely managing the word.

He softens at the sound of it, but that frown doesn’t ease.

“What’re you doing then, huh? Why’re you running off like that? S’ not safe, you know that.” His voice is soft. Almost like he’s trying to soothe a skittish animal. But the concern is wrapping around every word. “What’s got you so upset, sweetheart? Talk to me, yeah? Please?”

His voice takes on a desperate intensity. Like he’s begging you to just let him in. To make him understand.

You bite down hard on your bottom lip, willing it not to tremble, willing your face not to crumble right in front of him, but the air is too thick for your airway, making it harder and harder to breathe.

And Bucky is looking at you, like you are breaking his goddamn heart. Like you took a shot straight for it.

He is so full of worry, it looks painful, the crease of his brow always there when he’s thinking too hard, when he’s feeling too hard. His lips are still parted, like he wants to beg for an explanation, for some string of words that will make this all click into place and turn this into something fixable.

Because Bucky Barnes fixes things.

But this might be the only thing he can’t fix.

His hands on you are a contrast to the way you feel as if you’re falling apart. You hate how much you just want to collapse into it, to let yourself lean into him, let him hold you up. Because he would. You know he would. He would pull you in without hesitation, wrap his arms around you like he has done so many times before.

But you don’t want him to hold you. Don’t want him to hold you like a friend.

You want him to hold you like he means it. Like you mean something more than the sum of all the nights you spent choking on your own silence, swallowing words you could never say.

So all you can do is stay frozen, bones locked, eyes burning, heart splitting itself open in the middle of the street where he doesn’t even know he’s killing you.

“I-”

You try. You really try.

But then the door swings open again. And the sound of it alone is enough to send a bolt of ice down your spine.

Because this time it’s her walking out.

She steps out onto the sidewalk like she has every right to be a part of this moment.

Like she hasn’t spent the first part of the night in Bucky’s bed. Like she hasn’t been touched by him, kissed by him, fucked by him, wanted by him in a way that you have only ever ached for.

Like she hasn’t taken something that was never hers to have.

But it’s not yours either.

She looks so composed, too. More put together than you would have imagined. Her hair smoothed, clothes adjusted, skin glowing in a way that tells you she wasn’t just sleeping up there - she was living in something you’ve been dying for. She probably took a moment in your bathroom to check herself, to fix her lipstick, maybe even to admire herself in the mirror while you were downstairs, breaking apart.

She had the time for that.

Meanwhile, you can barely stand.

Your body is alive with magnitudes of unspoken things, suffocating. You feel like you’ve been sanded down, like a piece of wood, leaving nothing but the ache and longing and all the words you can’t say. This destruction is slow and ruthless, it doesn’t come with an explosion, but rather a slow erasure.

Like you’re being unmade. Piece by piece.

Like you were never meant to be here in the first place.

And Bucky is still looking at you.

Not at her.

You.

And maybe that should be enough. Maybe it should mean something.

But it just puts more pressure on the knife that is already turning around in your flesh.

The girl doesn’t leave and Bucky stiffens.

“Bucky,” she drawls, almost lazy, like she’s bored with this already. “Are you coming back up, or…?”

Your stomach lurches.

You feel exposed, scraped raw, like you’ve been trampled over, flattened by something massive, left behind for everyone else to step around.

Bucky lets out a slow breath through his nose. His jaw works under pressure. And then, he huffs. Annoyed. Like she’s interrupting something important.

“Go home,” he flatly tells her, his attention still on you. Not even addressing her with a name. Perhaps he doesn’t even know it.

“Seriously?” she scoffs, crossing her arms. Her eyes flick between the two of you.

Bucky exhales another breath and drops one of his arms from you to scrub it over his face, pushing through his hair. He turns toward her just a little, stance rigid.

“Yeah, seriously,” he mutters, already turning back to you. “I’ll call you a cab if you need-”

“God, you’re such a dick,” she snaps, cutting him off, rolling her eyes with an exasperated huff. “Unbelievable.”

And then she’s gone.

But so are you.

You don’t even think about it. You just move.

Your arm slips from Bucky’s loosened grip, your body already shifting, already turning, already pulling you down the sidewalk, away from him, away from this.

It’s pathetic. You know this. But you have to get away.

Your vision is a blur, the streetlights smearing into a soft, hazy glow against the wetness welling in your eyes, and no matter how much you try to breathe through it, it’s too much. Simply too much.

You’re hurting. And you need to go. Now.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Woah, whoah, hey!” His voice is quick, rushed, and then he is moving, closing the space between you. And this time, he cuts you off completely, stepping right into your path, right in front of you, blocking the way like a wall. He’s so broad in front of you, and so fucking present, making it impossible to escape.

You stop so fast it almost sends you stumbling back.

His eyes flick over you so quickly, so intensely, scanning for something he doesn’t understand but is so desperate to find.

“Alright,” he exhales, low and careful, holding his arms out as if ready to stop you again if you make a run for it.

“You want me to put you in chains to keep you still?”It’s a weak and failed attempt at humor.

And it’s not funny. Not even close.

His voice is too thin, too strained, and there is something in his eyes, something tight and aching, that makes it clear he is not even trying all that hard to make his joke work.

You don’t smile. Don’t look at him. Arms still around yourself.

Bucky’s throat bobs as he swallows, as he shifts his weight, as he lets out another slow and deliberate breath. He moves so slow. As if any tiny movement of him would make you walk away from him.

“What’s going on with you, mhm?” His voice is so soft. So concerned. Brooklyn warmth and worry combined with something gentler than you can handle right now.

“What’s this - this fight-or-flight thing you got goin’ on?” he continues, tilting his head just slightly, watching you too closely, reading too much. “You’re rushing off like the damn place is on fire. The hell is that about, doll?” Still so soft. So cautious.

His eyes are on you like you are the only thing in the world that matters, like he’s trying to solve you, like if he just looks long enough, he’ll figure it out.

But if he really understood, if he really found out, everything between you would change.

And you can’t handle that. You can’t handle anything at the moment.

“Just drop it, Bucky, alright?” It comes out sharper than you mean for it to. Harsher. A little spit of venom that you hate yourself for the second it hits the air. He doesn’t deserve your attitude. But you can’t hold it back.

You see the way it lands. The way his brows pull in tighter, the way his lips press together, the way his chest rises and falls so measured. But it’s all not out of irritation. He just tries to figure out where that came from. What is happening. What has you react the way you do.

His voice is even and calm. But oh so careful. “I don’t think I will, doll.”

You look anywhere than at him and his troubled face.

Your throat tightens so fast, you have to swallow hard against it, teeth digging into the inside of your cheek as you blink up at the sky like maybe that keeps the tears from spilling over.

And Bucky watches all of that.

His expression stays soft, but his eyes are burning with something deep, something real, something that makes you feel like you might actually drown if you keep looking at them for too long.

“Y/n,” he almost whispers, and it sounds so pained. “Why are you crying, sweetheart.” He’s so gentle, so tender, so fucking careful like he’s afraid that if he pushes too hard, you’ll just break.

You shake your head, arms around yourself tightening. “I’m fine.”

Bucky makes a quiet noise in his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff, something deep and disbelieving.

“See, that’s bullshit.”

You’re about to turn again, but he anticipates and gets hold of your arms.

“Look,” he sighs, heedfully taking off a hand of you to rub it down his face. “You don’t wanna talk? Fine. You wanna bite my head off cause I’m askin’? Fine. But don’t stand here and tell me you’re okay. Because I’ve got eyes, doll, and I can see that you’re not.”

You want him to stop.

You want him to turn around.

You want him to leave you here to fall apart in peace.

But he won’t.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

And you break.

No matter how hard you bite your lip, it doesn’t matter.

The tears slip and streak down your face before there is anything you can do. A sob follows. You can’t choke it down. Your shoulders shake, your breath stutters, and your face tilts towards the ground as you bring trembling hands up to wipe at your cheeks, in a futile and desperate attempt to regain composure. It’s useless.

You feel so pathetic.

Embarrassed. Ashamed that you ran off like this. That you’re standing here, crying in the middle of the night, on a sidewalk with no explanation, making a fool of yourself in front of him.

And the second your face crumbles, his does, too.

The second your breath hitches, he is moving.

Strong arms envelope you, winding tight, pulling you straight into his chest like he doesn’t even need to think about it. Not for a single second.

You let him.

Because it’s either this, or you’ll collapse down onto the asphalt.

His grip is firm, grounding, warm in a way that makes you ache even more. His hand cradles the back of your head, tucking you against him, and you feel the press of his lips there, gentle, but somehow rough.

Like your pain is his own.

“It’s okay. Shh… it’s okay,” he breathes, pained and low, the words pressed into your hair, into your skin. Making space between your ribs. “Oh, doll.” He presses you tighter to him. His hand brushes over your hair. “It’s okay.”

There is something so deep and aching in the way he talks to you, like the sound of his own voice hurts him. Like you hurt him.

His other hand moves over your back, soothingly, trying to give you some strength.

“I gotcha,” he breathes. “M’here, doll. Okay? Just breathe. Gotta breathe for me, baby. Please.”

It’s a slip. Baby. A mistake.

And it makes you cry harder.

Because it’s so soft. Gentle. Because it falls from his lips like something that’s always been there, something that’s always belonged to you.

Except it hasn’t.

It doesn’t.

Not in the way you want.

You don’t know what he calls those girls he takes home. If they get to hear him say it. Girls who have felt his hands in places you never will. Girls who have heard his voice rasp against their skin in the dark.

But you are not one of those girls.

You never will be.

And you know you will never be able to untangle that damaging wrench in your stomach.

So hearing him call you that. Baby. Like it means something. Like it’s yours. Like it hasn’t been whispered in the dim glow of your apartment, murmured against someone else’s lips, someone else’s skin, just someone else just hours ago.

It’s too hard. too cruel.

You wish it didn’t matter. You wish it didn’t rip through you the way it does, splitting you down the center, carving you open.

But it does.

Because even if it doesn’t belong to you, you still want it.

So you cry harder.

Sobs wrack through you, your chest hitching with the force of them, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, clumping it in your fists.

Bucky feels it and he hears it and he grips you tighter, pulls you closer.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he coos, voice just above a whisper, more desperate now. Like he’s drowning in your hurt right along with you.

“Sweetheart,” he tries again, voice strained, thick. His lips are in your hair. “Please talk to me. Make me understand, baby, please! Tell me what’s wrong.”

But you can’t.

Because what the hell would you even say?

That you’re in love with him?

That you’ve been in love with him?

That seeing him with her - hearing the sounds that bleed through the walls, the ones you’ll never be able to unhear - feels like being skinned alive?

That you want him in a way you shouldn’t?

That you want him in a way he will never want you back?

You won’t.

So instead, you just press yourself harder into his chest and squeeze your eyes shut, letting him hold you like you are something precious. Like you are his. Even if you are not.

“Help me understand here, baby. Please,” he repeats with a voice so soft, that makes him seem afraid you might break apart completely if he speaks any louder.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe you’re already in pieces at his feet, shattered beyond repair, and he just hasn’t realized it yet.

He lets you cry when you don’t answer, hand stroking up and down your back, the other soothing over your head. He whispers into your hair, words you can’t even process, just the deep cadence of him, the low rasp of his voice against your temple.

His lips move to your forehead, brushing over it. His breath is warm against your skin. You don’t have it in you to pull away, but you wish you would.

Because none of this makes it any easier.

Because his hands feel too good, too steady, too right - and it’s a lie.

Because it’s him.

And that means it hurts.

You wish he would just go and let you have your pathetic heartbreak alone.

But Bucky Barnes has never been the kind of a guy to leave things unsolved.

He pulls back just slightly after a while, just enough to get a better look at you, and when you try to duck your head, to keep him from seeing too much, he doesn’t let you.

Strong, warm fingers cradle your face, thumbs brushing over the damp skin of your cheeks, tilting your head up and forcing your gaze to his.

He looks wrecked.

His brows are drawn, lips parted, chest rising and falling unevenly. His hands tremble just a little against your skin, but his grip stays firm. Solid.

“Don’t look away, doll. Eyes on me, yeah?”

You swallow hard, jaw tight. “You just ruined your good night,” you say, the words falling out bitter, self-deprecating, stiff with something that tastes like resentment but feels like heartbreak.

Bucky’s frown deepens, his lips pressing together, eyes scanning over your face like he’s searching for something, anything that’ll make this make sense.

“The hell I did,” he scoffs, shaking his head. Confused you even brought this up. “I don’t give a shit about her. Don’t even know her name, if I’m bein’ honest.” He lets out a huffed laugh.

But you don’t.

Because somehow this makes it worse.

And you hate it.

You hate that some part of you wanted her to mean something.

Because if she meant something, if she was special, then at least this ache in your chest would have a name. A reason. A shape you could hold in trembling hands and squeeze so hard that it stops hurting at one point.

Then, at least, you could maybe finally accept that there is no hope. No reason to hold on to those feelings.

But Bucky just shrugs.

It meant nothing. It never meant anything. Not with them.

Not with the girls that come and go, the ones who pass through his nights in the same easy way the hours do - fleeting, ephemeral, touched, and forgotten.

Not with anyone. Not even with you.

You have spent so long feeling this, holding onto it, trying to keep it hidden beneath layers of friendship and longing and careful restraint. You have spent so long pretending that it is fine, that it doesn’t matter, that you can live like this - on the sidelines, just the girl in the other room, in the shadows, in the spaces between what you want and what you’re allowed to have.

And he stands here and looks you in the eyes, telling you that it is nothing. That she is nothing. That they - all of them before her, and all of them after her - are nothing.

You can barely breathe past it.

You don’t say anything.

And Bucky freezes.

His hands, where they cup your face, stop their soft, absentminded strokes. His thumbs, which had been tracing reassuring circles along your cheekbones halt. His breath catches and his eyes shift.

There is something uncertain in there.

And then, his lips part. His brows go up ever so slightly. His pupils flare.

Something settles over his expression that you don’t recognize.

Like a switch has been flipped.

Like a puzzle piece has clicked into place.

Like suddenly he is seeing something in your eyes, something like an answer, something that has been there all along.

His fingers tighten, anchoring himself. Making it seem that if he lets go, if he moves even a fraction, something will break. In him, or you, you’re not sure.

He pulls back. Not far. Just an inch. But he needs to see you better. Just enough to search your face for something he needs to know. His gaze locks onto yours and holds you there, testing something, making sure.

His voice is hushed when he talks. Breathless.

“Is that what this is about?”

It’s quiet, the way he says it. Like he’s afraid of it. Like he’s careful with it. There is disbelief on his face. Astonishment.

You shake your head too fast, too sharp, like if you deny it hard enough, it’ll erase the way he’s looking at you right now. That it’ll undo the meaning of his words and the way they sit between you. Something fragile on the verge of breaking.

“No,” you say, but it barely comes out, barely sounds convincing. Your voice is hoarse, scraped raw form holding back everything you don’t want to say. Your lungs refuse to work in sync with the rest of you. You swallow, eyes darting away, grasping for something to latch onto.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Doll…” It comes like a sigh. Weightless and soft. His hands don’t drop from your face, don’t loosen, don’t give you the space you’re so desperately trying to carve out between you. If anything, his grip grows more robust. Just enough to keep you there.

“Hey. Look at me.” His tone is low, carrying the kind of warmth you’d usually like to lean into, but now all you want is to get away from it. You don’t want to meet those stormy blues.

Bucky’s thumbs are sweeping, so feather-light, over the curve of your jaw, smoothing along the damp trail of your tears, and his voice dips even lower. Softer. He is so close.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Give me somethin’ here.”

It’s not fair that he gets to call you all those sweet names like he means them. Like you mean something. Like it’s not the same word he probably called her and all those others who got to have him, even if only for a night.

“I don’t-” you try, but your voice is trembling and thick with tears, and Bucky’s gaze shadows.

“Don’t what?” he coaxes, leaning in just a little, close enough that his breath skims your skin, warm and stable in a way you aren’t. His fingers slightly move against your cheeks, as if resisting the urge to pull you closer.

You shake your head again, your hands wrapping around his wrists - not to push him away exactly, but to have something to hold onto. You have no idea what to say.

“It’s- It’s not-” Your words trip over themselves, stuck somewhere between your throat and your ribs, tangled up in everything you’ve never let yourself say.

But Bucky just watches you, unreadable things swirling in those impossibly blue eyes. Wary things. Still so damn careful.

He exhales and his hands slide down, skimming the column of your throat, settling against the curve of your neck like he’s grounding you. Holding you both together.

“Doll,” he sighs, and it’s too much.

It’s not teasing. It’s not playful. It’s not easy. Not the charming lilt he likes to throw in his tone.

It’s vulnerable. Tender. Substantial.

“You’re breakin’ my heart here.”

And that’s what has another tear slip over your lashes.

Because you’re breaking his heart?

What does that even mean?

You were the one trying to escape the heartache he caused and now he tells you it’s his heart that hurts?

“Please,” he whispers, and his voice is wrecked, gravel thick in his throat. “Just tell me, doll. Tell me what I did. Tell me so I can fix it.”

His lips stay parted, trying to find air, trying to find some kind of solid ground. There is a sheen over his eyes.

“I can’t-” Your voice cracks, but you don’t look away this time. His hands won’t let you. He won’t let you.

His eyes are pleading.

“Can’t what, sweetheart?” he urges, dipping closer, voice just a rasp of sound between you. His thumbs wipe away the new tears and he winces while doing it as if it actually causes him pain that they fell.

The streetlight flickers above. It casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the tight pull of his mouth. His fingers flex against your face.

“Is it-” he starts, then stops, then starts again, throat bobbing and voice rough and hesitant. “Is it those girls?”

A shallow gasp slips from your lips. Fractured and tripping over something unseen. Your shoulders grow stiff.

You can’t answer. You only shake your head, not in denial, not in confirmation, but in something else, something tired and so fucking done with feeling like this.

You try to pull back, try to slip free from the heat of his palms, try to turn away. Another tear drops onto the back of his hand.

Your reaction must be answer enough.

Bucky’s head, Bucky’s hands, Bucky’s eyes, Bucky’s whole body - everything is moving so much, keeping you from slipping away, reaching for you, not letting you go.

A breath. A pause. Like his brain needs an extra moment to process what this all could mean. His breath catches in his throat and you can feel the exact moment he gets it.

The exact moment he realizes.

“Shit,” he breathes, so quiet you almost miss it. His grip tightens. It grows distressed. Despairing. Keeping you from leaving his hold, although you don’t stop trying.

You sob and his hands press into your cheeks, thumbs smoothing away tears like he can erase this, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, he can go back five minutes, five months, five years, to a time before he made you feel like this.

“Shit, doll, I-” His voice breaks, gravel and regret and anguish - and something so painful - landing with every syllable.

You don’t stop trying to pull back, trying to push him away. You can’t talk. You can’t stop crying. You can’t look at him.

But Bucky is devastated. And he is desperate. And he won’t let you go.

“No, no, don’t - please, Y/n, don’t.” He runs through his words, frantically getting them out, frantically trying to make you look at him.

He reaches your face again and holds on like it’s important. Your tears won’t stop falling. A whimper falls from your lips when you realize he won’t let you leave.

Bucky panics.

His swallow seems to hurt him. Everything he does seems to hurt him.

“Oh, sweetheart - fuck, fuck, I didn’t-” He lets out a rough breath, one of his hands letting go of you to scrub over his face, pushing through his hair in frustration.

Not at you.

At himself.

“Doll, I didn’t - Jesus Christ, I didn’t know.”

It comes out hoarse, scraped down to nothing but feeling. Each word drags from his throat like sandpaper against silence. Coarse and raspy.

And then he’s shaking his head, hands sliding to your shoulders, his hold firm, his eyes darting over your face like he is trying to memorize it, searching for the right words in the curve of your lips, the glisten of your tears, the way your breathing is a single shuddering mess.

“I didn’t - fuck, I didn’t mean-”

He seems to hold back a scream.

Sucking in another sharp breath, he squeezes his eyes shut like he’s in pain, angry at himself, wanting to go back and rewrite everything, tear out every page where he made you feel like you were anything but his.

You wish you could believe it.

“Bucky-” you croak out.

“No, don’t-” His head doesn’t stop shaking. His jaw is clenched tight. Hands shaking against you. “Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?” Your voice is whisper-thin.

His breath shudders out, and when his eyes meet yours again, they are so earnest. Glossy with a sheen of tears.

“Like it’s over.”

Your throat closes around your next breath, never making it reach your lungs.

Because what is he saying? Nothing ever had the chance to be anything.

“I didn’t know, doll,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I swear to God, I didn’t know. You gotta believe me, I - fuck, I never wanted to hurt you. Never wanted you to feel like- I didn’t think you’d-”

He cuts himself off, voice choking.

His hands drop suddenly, like he doesn’t even deserve to hold you anymore. Like the guilt is weighing them down.

And then, unsure and hesitantly, he lifts one of them again and pauses before cupping your face, waiting for something - permission, maybe, or just a sign that you won’t pull away this time.

When you don’t, when you just keep standing there, frozen and broken and bewildered, he lets his palm settle warm against your cheek, his thumb brushing so lightly it sends a shiver down your back.

“Tell me how to fix it. Tell me I can,” he pleads, like he means it. Like he would do anything. “Tell me what to do, baby. Anything. I’d do anything. Just gotta tell me. Please,” he chokes out.

Cars roll past you. There are voices in the distance. A neon sign flickers. But none of it touches this.

This thing between you.

Bucky’s hand shakes against your cheek. His breath stirs against your skin so ragged and he leans in. His forehead presses to yours, his body curling toward you like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, just needing to be close.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps out. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Never have you seen Bucky like this. He keeps things easy, keeps things light, and shrugs off pain like it never quite reaches him. But it does now.

It consumes him.

His fingers curl at the back of your neck, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself against you. And when you continue standing there, breath shaky, tears still trembling in your lashes, his whole body sags.

His chest heaves with a breath so deep it sounds like it’s costing him something.

“I never meant for this to happen. Please, believe me.”

His forehead presses harder to yours, seemingly trying to press his words straight into you, that maybe if he gets close enough you’ll feel how much he means them.

And you do. You just don’t know what the hell is going on.

He lets out a sound that resembles a sob. And then you feel the damp heat of a tear where his face brushes against yours.

Bucky is crying.

It breaks you. You don’t know what to do with all this pain. His and yours. Don’t know how to ever let it go.

You pull back. Just slightly. Just enough to breathe, to think, to process.

But Bucky’s whole body tenses, and his eyes squeeze shut as if he knew it was coming but it still pains him. Bracing himself for something he already knows is going to hurt. His hands drop to his sides.

And maybe that should give you some kind of satisfaction, a tiny sense of justice for the nights you spent lying awake, wondering if you meant anything to him while he had his hands on someone else.

But it doesn’t.

Because the way he is looking at you, when he cracks his eyes open again, when he meets your gaze with so much open ache, makes your chest hurt. It makes something inside of you quake.

“Bucky,” you start, but your own voice is so small, so lost. You shake your head, scanning his face, trying to piece it together, to make sense of something that refuses to fit. How the tables have turned. You just can’t seem to find the irony in it. “What are you even - I don’t - I don’t I understand.”

His throat bobs, thick and tight, and he pulls in a breath like it’s the last one he’s going to get.

“I love you.”

Your mind blanks. You flatline. Your knees go weak.

He says it like it’s the simplest thing to say. As if it is the most obvious thing in the world. But it isn’t.

Because if it was then why has he spent all those nights with those seemingly meaningless girls. Why has he let you ache for him while he touched someone else.

“I love you,” he says again, softer, trying to make sure you believe it.

But you don’t know how to.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You feel the words, heavy and warm and terrifying, but your body doesn’t know what to do with them. Your mind is screaming at you to run, to protect yourself, to build the walls back up before it’s too late, but your heart doesn’t listen.

Bucky’s hand trembles when it reaches for you, fingertips ghosting over your jaw, waiting, waiting, waiting for you to pull away.

You don’t and he steps closer again.

His whole body thrums as if he is scared to touch you but more scared not to. He looks at you with those red-rimmed and puffy eyes, so tremendously bare, holding onto your own eyes like he is drowning and you are the only thing keeping him afloat.

“Say something, doll,” he pleads, his voice so unsteady, that it guts you.

But what could you say?

Because love is not supposed to feel like this, to hurt like this. It isn’t supposed to feel like your heart has been split open and stitched back together all in the same breath.

But looking at him and at the way his eyes are just as pleading as his words, at the way he is breaking right in front of you - it makes you wonder if maybe it was hurting him all along, too.

“You-” you begin, voice barely more than a whisper. You have to stop, have to pull in a breath that doesn’t seem to want to settle, have to force your hands to stay at your sides instead of reaching for something - for him - that you don’t know if you can take. “But that-” Another inhale, sharp and broken. Your chest hurts. Your whole body hurts. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Bucky exhales, long and slow and then he drops his head. Shoulders slumping, spine curling, like something inside of him, has just given out.

Guilt.

It sits heavy in his frame, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands jerk like he wants to touch you but knows he shouldn’t.

“Yeah,” he mutters, a humorless little laugh escaping, barely more than a breath. He drags a hand down his face, through his hair, before letting it fall uselessly at his side. His voice is lower when he speaks again, raspier, weighed down by something that feels an awful lot like regret. “I know.”

You watch him, waiting. Because he owes you this. Because he cracked open something you weren’t ready for, something you tried to bury, and now you need to understand.

And Bucky must feel that. Because after a beat, after a deep, shuddering breath, he looks at you again.

“I didn’t think I could have you,” he admits, voice quiet. Cautious. The words fragile in his mouth. “Didn’t think I was allowed to even want you. To this extent, anyway.”

Air enters you unevenly, shaking on the way in like a shiver made of sound. “Bucky-”

“You’re my best friend,” he pushes on, stepping in just a fraction, like he can’t help himself. His voice is getting rougher, rawer, like something in him is unwinding too fast for him to stop it. “I didn’t wanna mess that up, y’know? Didn’t wanna lose you over somethin’ I couldn’t control.”

Something tightens in your chest. Something shifts.

“So you-” you swallow, shaking your head, trying to put it together, trying to make sense of it. “So you just went around to go get yourself other girls you can fuck?”

Bucky flinches. Actually flinches.

Gaze dropping in shame, his features form a grimace. “I tried,” he croaks out, gesturing at his chest with one hand. “Tried to stop feeling like this. Tried to move on, tried to-” He exhales sharply, tilting his head side to side, something torn playing out with the movement. “It didn’t work. Nothin’ worked. Didn’t even make it easier. But I was afraid to face it. Really face it. So I just kept going.”

It hurts.

It hurts in a way you don’t know how to hold. Don’t know how to carry.

You thought, for so long, that the way you love him, ache for him, is a one-sided agony.

But he is confessing to you, eyes red and weary, voice splintering, telling you that he’s been afraid to speak it aloud too.

That he loves you, that he tried to kill it, that he thought losing himself in someone else would somehow erase you from his mind.

Bucky’s words are a fist curling around your ribs, squeezing the air from your lungs.

It should matter. It should mean something that he’s standing in front of you, breaking apart, pleading for you to understand. Shouldn’t it be enough that he’s telling you it was always you? That no one else ever came close?

But he still touched them.

Still chose them, even if only for a meaningless night.

While you sat in your room, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were going insane. While you clenched your fists so tight beneath your sheets at night, biting your tongue, swallowing it down, because Bucky is your friend and friends don’t ache like this.

And yet, he is telling you, showing you, he aches too.

But instead of sitting with it, instead of letting it consume him the way it consumed you, he tried to make it disappear.

He tried to fuck it away.

And now he looks at you like you are the only thing that has ever mattered, like the ground beneath his feet, is unsteady, like he is afraid you are going to bolt at any second.

You feel like the ground beneath your feet shits a fraction of an inch, not enough to send you falling, but enough to make you question if you were ever standing solid in the first place.

“But, doll, it-” he rushes forward, watching your pain, stepping into your space until there is barely anything between you. “It never meant anything. Swear to god, none of ‘em ever meant something to me.” His hands wrap around yours, squeezing, grounding, begging. “They weren’t you. Couldn’t be you. Didn’t matter how hard I tried, how many times I told myself to stop thinking about you because you’re supposed to be my best friend, but I wanted so much more than that - it didn’t matter. Nothin’ worked.”

He is struggling to force the words out, but he does. And they leave him with a catch in his voice. Faltering.

“I thought about you, sweetheart. Every fuckin’ time.” His voice turns frantic and he leans in to make it convince you. He watches your lips tremble and shakes his head quickly. “Thought about how you’d feel. How you’d sound.”

Your breath stalls.

Bucky swallows, taking a quick pause but continuing, voice growing softer. Lower. Reverent. “Tried to picture you instead. How you’d look under me, wrapped around me. So goddamn beautiful.” His voice cracks. “But it wasn’t you. And I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it.”

He stumbles over his words, afraid of saying too much, of pushing too far, or admitting too much - but it doesn’t stop hurting.

Even if you know it might not be fair.

But the thought of him with them, the thought of his hands gripping someone else’s skin, his lips murmuring something soft against someone else’s throat - it makes you sick.

And he sees it.

You try to blink back another wave of tears.

His hands are on your face again, thumbs swiping furiously at your damp cheeks like he can rub the hurt away.

“Please tell me I didn’t ruin this.” His voice cracks through the words, the panic breaking through. Your silence seems to suffocate him, squeezing his ribs until there is no space left for air.

“I’m so sorry, baby! I wish I could take it all back. I would.” His bottom lip trembles and he bites down on it before continuing. “Tell me I can fix this. There’s gotta be somethin’ I can do. Anything.”

You blink rapidly, vision swimming, breath hiccuping in your throat. You don’t know if there is anything to fix, if there was ever anything there, to begin with, but he is looking at you like there was. Like there is. Like it is still hanging in the air between you, waiting to be caught, waiting to be named.

And you want to catch it. To press it to your heart and cherish it.

But the wounds are fresh. Still bleeding. Still open.

The images you conjured up in your mind, him with all those girls. The sounds of him bringing one after the other home - the routine.

The giggling. The keys. The apartment door. More giggling. His chuckles. The hallway. His bedroom door. The goodbyes. The mornings.

But worst of all is that you can’t even blame him.

Because what was he supposed to do? Wait for something that was never promised? Hold out hope for something that was never offered?

You had no claim on him.

But still, you hate how he tried to fuck you out of his system. Hate that he couldn’t, that he’s standing here now, telling you it was all for nothing, that you were always in his head, in his bones, and that that somehow is supposed to make it better.

You don’t know if it does now. But you hope - you hope so dearly - that it will get better. If he’ll stick with you.

“No more girls.” The words choke out of you, weak and broken, barely a breath. But he jolts like you have screamed them.

“Never,” he breathes immediately, shaking his head as if to get rid of his own images, gripping you tighter, his thumbs pressing into your cheeks, his eyes burning through yours. “No more, baby. No one else. Not ever.”

Your breath catches, body sways.

There is a burn behind your ribs, not quite pain, but not far from it. It is something that pulses in time with your heartbeat. Too quick. Too uneven.

“Only you,” he adds, his forehead dropping to yours, noses brushing, his breath warm against your lips, his hands trembling where they hold you. “It’s only ever been you.”

Heat rises up your throat, something between nausea and electricity, a burst of too much all at once.

“I got a lot to make up for.” His tone is unraveling at the seams. But it sounds firmer now. Convicted. “I know that. I know I- fuck, I screwed this up before I even knew I had a chance. And that’s on me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, because it’s too much - his voice, his touch, the way he is looking at you like you hung the damn moon when you’ve spent years feeling invisible to him in the way that mattered.

“I don’t wanna rush this, alright?”

You blink up at him. Your chest feels stretched too tight, as if the ribs themselves are holding onto something they shouldn’t, something too large, something too consuming.

“I don’t wanna mess this up more than I already have. I don’t wanna push or expect anythin’ from you - I just wanna do this right. For you.” His voice wavers on the last word, still scared of saying the wrong thing, scared of losing something he only just realized he had. “You understand me?”

You nod wordlessly. Almost feeling hypnotized by him. His eyes are so intense. So full.

“I’ve been waitin’ for this, hopin’ for this - Christ, I don’t even know how long.”

Your stomach flips, something curling in your stomach at the heaviness of his confession, at the realization that you weren’t alone in this. Maybe never have been.

“And now that it’s happenin’ - now that I have you, even if I don’t deserve it - I wanna take my time. I wanna make this good for you. Have to. I have to make this right,” he says, voice filled with something gravelly, rough like something barely holding together.

His fingers slide over your jaw, tracing along the column of your throat, memorizing the feel of you beneath his hands.

“And I hate-” his voice falters, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he forces himself to look at you again. “I hate that it’s happening like this. That I hurt you first. That I didn’t see this sooner.”

“Bucky-”

He cuts you off with his eyes and a shake of his head.

“Please I- I gotta do this. Gotta say this, baby.”

You nod.

He closes his eyes again for a moment like he wants to go back and shake his past self by the shoulders, tell him to wake the hell up and stop hurting the one girl he ever cared about.

He continues, voice hoarse. “I would do anything to make this different. Better. The way you deserve.”

Your breath is shallow, not quite catching, but hovering just short of where it should be, as if your body can’t decide whether to brace itself for collapse.

You’ve spent so long breaking for him, wanting him in ways he never seemed to want you back. But now he is pouring his heart out and asking for something he already has but isn’t sure he is worthy of.

“You don’t gotta say anythin’ right now, doll,” Bucky whispers. Afraid of scaring you off. “I know I shoulda told you sooner.” He grimaces, disgusted with himself. “I shoulda known sooner. I was so fuckin’ stupid. So fuckin’ blind.”

You don’t even notice you started leaning further into him.

Bucky stares at you for a moment. You look back.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly. Whispers really. He exhales shakily and you feel the breath fan along your cheeks. “But I swear to God, I will.”

You don’t weigh the hurt against the want, don’t let the war in your head talk you out of your next move.

Your hands reach up, curling into the fabric of his shirt and before he can say anything else - before he can tear himself apart further - you kiss him.

And for a split second, Bucky freezes.

Not believing this is happening, not expecting it even after everything he just told you.

But then, he exhales this soft and quivering breath against your lips, relief knocking the air out of his lungs.

One hand flies to your waist, pulling you in, the other threading into your hair. He kisses you back like he is starving, like he has been dying for this, like he can’t believe you are real and this moment is something he’s imagined a thousand times but never thought he’d get to have.

And he is so warm. So solid. His lips move against yours, soft and slow at first - savoring you, afraid to go too fast, to push too much. But when you let out a little sigh and your fingers tighten, Bucky melts, pressing in closer, enveloping you in his arms in a way that has you feeling he tries to make sure you never go anywhere else again.

He breathes you in like you are something holy, tilting your head and deepening the kiss. He is not forceful. He takes what he can get and he cherishes it. Like he said, he wants to take his time with you. It makes you fall in love with him even more.

It’s like he can’t believe you are even letting him have this. But he kisses you with a hope and a determination that this will not be the only time he gets to have this.

And when you pull back again, he rests his forehead against yours once more. You feel the way his chest rises and falls against your own, the way his breath shakes, the way his grip does not loosen at all.

“Jesus, doll,” he rasps, panting. “You tryna kill me?”

And the way he says it, the way he looks at you, so full of longing and desire and relief makes you realize that maybe he’s been suffering just as much as you have.

“I want you. It’s as simple as that. I’ve spent a great deal too much of my life already trying to convince myself that I can make do with less but I can’t. You hear me? I’m done. I’m not giving up. A life without you is not enough.”

- Beau Taplin

[actuallyjustabiscuit]

Oh, poor, Ragatha

You must be having one of those nightmares you get when you’re awake

Ragatha checks in on Kinger

[khioneee]

zayne hates the way you look in a hospital bed.

the sheets are too white, the room too sterile, and the iv in your arm makes his stomach twist in ways he won’t admit. you look smaller like this.

too still, too quiet. it doesn’t suit you.

‘you should get some rest,’ he says, his voice even, professional. detached, like a doctor should be. but you know better. you always have.

‘you’re here again,’ you murmur, tilting your head just enough to meet his eyes.

he doesn’t answer. instead, he adjusts the blanket over your shoulders, making sure it covers you properly. it’s a useless gesture because the room is warm, and you’re not shivering.

but he does it anyway.

a ghost of a smile tugs at your lips. ‘you should be more careful, doctor,’ you tease, voice quiet but laced with something familiar, something warm. ‘the others might think i’m your favorite patient.’

he should roll his eyes. scoff. say something sarcastic like he always does. but this time, he doesn’t. instead, he just shakes his head, something unreadable passing through his gaze before he looks away.

for a second, you swear he almost says something. but then he pulls back, his hand leaving your blanket, his presence retreating ever so slightly.

you let it go.

it’s late when he comes back. the overhead lights are dimmed, the quiet hum of machines the only thing filling the room. you’re half-asleep when you hear the soft click of the door, but even in the haze of exhaustion, you know it’s him. you always do.

‘you should go home, zayne,’ you mumble, voice thick with sleep. ‘get some rest.’

‘i was.’ his voice is quiet, careful. ‘didn’t feel right.’

‘you care for me too much.’

‘nonsense,’ he said instead. ‘there’s only way too much or none at all.’

you force your eyes open, blinking up at him. he’s standing at the foot of your bed, hands in his pockets, his coat slightly wrinkled like he’s been running on autopilot all day.

‘zayne—’

‘you said something earlier,’ he interrupts, and there’s something in his tone—hesitation, maybe. or something heavier. ‘about being my favorite patient.’

you let out a tired huff of laughter. ‘what, did it offend you? i can take it back.’

he exhales sharply through his nose, not quite a laugh, but not quite nothing. then, after a beat, he moves closer, just enough for his voice to drop into something barely above a whisper.

‘you’re my most important patient.’

the words settle between you, sinking into the space where exhaustion lingers, where unspoken things have always gone unsaid.

you study him, taking in the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers flex at his sides like he’s resisting the urge to reach for you.

‘yeah?’ you murmur, softer this time.

his gaze flickers to yours, steady and certain. ‘yeah.’

you don’t say anything after that. but you don’t need to.

instead, your eyes drift to the chair beside your bed. ‘you’re staying, aren’t you?’

he doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. with a quiet sigh, he lowers himself into the chair, shifting slightly to get comfortable. not that he ever will. the chair is stiff, unforgiving, and he’s been running on too little sleep for too many days.

but he doesn’t complain. he never does.

you watch him for a moment longer, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyes linger on you even as he leans back.

‘go to sleep,’ he murmurs, closing his eyes. ‘doctor’s orders.’

you want to argue, to tell him he should be the one sleeping somewhere comfortable, but the weight of exhaustion is already pulling you under. the last thing you see before you drift off is zayne, slouched in that uncomfortable chair, his breathing steady, his presence unwavering.

and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel alone.

because you never knew it. never realized it.

but zayne became a doctor for you.

when you were little and scraped your knee, he was the one who pressed plasters to your skin, his hands careful, his touch gentle. when you sniffled from the sting, he’d ruffle your hair and say, ‘there. all better.’

when you climbed trees too high and got stuck, it was zayne who came running, scolding you under his breath as he helped you back down. and when you fell, because you always fell, he was the one who knelt beside you, wiping the dirt from your palms before you even had the chance to cry.

when you got sick, he was the one who snuck into your house with soup he swore wasn’t that bad, sitting by your bed even when you told him to go home. he would press the back of his hand against your forehead like he had seen adults do, frowning like he could will the fever away just by staying close.

when you started training to be a hunter, he was the one who patched you up after every battle, every wound, every brush with death.

he never once told you to quit, but every time he stitched a cut or wrapped a bandage around your wrist, his hands would linger, as if memorizing every scar.

and now, when the world threatens to break you, he’s still here.

still taking care of you. still choosing to stay.

you wake up hours later, the room still cloaked in soft, early-morning silence. the first thing you notice is the warmth around your wrist.

zayne.

he’s asleep in the chair, his head tilted slightly, dark circles visible beneath his eyes. his hand is wrapped around your wrist, fingers loose but still holding on, like he fell asleep taking your pulse.

like he needed proof that you were still here.

still breathing.

you shift slightly, just enough to tighten your fingers around his. he stirs for only a second but doesn’t let go.

and neither do you.