#more iii tummy!!!

[excelsior9173]

(source)

[moonchild-in-blue]

Random thought I had last night. Genuinely think they're both equally outlandish - which is just ridiculous in itself if you think about it.

[authorhjk1]

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C6pTqflplBO/?igsh=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ==

Sana/Jennie museum threesome

The Roman Goddess (part III)

(Minatozaki Sana X Jennie X Male Reader)

"Stop playing hard to get, Mars."

Venus' mischievous smile makes you lose your mind.

You knew it was a bad idea, when you saw the invitation to this event lying on the bed in your hotel room. And her note next to it explained why she wanted you here.

"I don't think we should do this."

You take a step back, surprised by your own self control.

"Y-Your husband is right there."

You whisper and point to the next room of the museum.

"Oh, forget about him, baby. I'm just here for that dick of yours."

You watch her looking down on you, before she reaches out to cup your crotch.

You can't do anything. Nothing to resist. Venus has always been something you can't walk away from. Something that draws you in. And that purple dress she is wearing makes your head spin, everytime you look at her. It fits her body perfectly, hugging her curves tightly.

A satisfied smile plays around Venus' lips, when she sees you glancing at her cleavage.

"You see? We're meant for each other. My body is yours. And yours is mine."

She steps closer. You close your eyes, still feeling her hand on your clothed cock. She places her tongue on your cheekbone and gives your cheek a long lick upwards, until she reaches your ear. Her purpose is clear. Destroy your silent resistance. Let yourself go. Give in.

"Your cock. It belongs in my pussy. As deep as it can go."

You flinch when Venus bites your earlobe. She is way more aggressive than she used to be. But then again, she is used to getting what she wants.

"And I'm not leaving this museum, until you tear this dress off me and fuck me like you mean it."

Your eyes shoot open when you hear high heels click on the stone floor. Someone is walking towards the two of you. Venus takes two steps back and pretends to read the information plate of the glass case on your left. You quickly hide your erection with the brochure you've held onto until now.

When the woman finally rounds the corner, you almost roll your eyes. What in the world? What the fuck is going on?

Her blue dress is barely a dress. More like a tunic. A very revealing one. You can see most of her slender legs and her tummy. The former is decorated with some body jewelry, which catches your eye. You notice you're staring, when she speaks up.

"I didn't expect you to see here."

Venus turns around.

"Oh, hey you."

She gives the new woman a big smile, but you can tell it's not genuine. Venus hesitates for a moment, but decides to properly greet the other woman. The two of them meet in the middle of the room. You can sense the awkwardness in the air as they give each other a hug. It looks forced and delicate, almost as if both of them are afraid the other might shatter into pieces, if they squeeze too hard.

You take a deep breath, glad you aren't the center of Venus' attention at the moment. Turning around, you try to ignore the two women and regain your composure. The glass case behind you showcases a trident and a net. You read the small plate that is placed next to the case.

The Retiarius, one of the most iconic gladiators of ancient Rome, fought using a trident (tridens) and a net (rete). Unlike his heavily armored counterparts, the Retiarius relied on speed and agility.

"How is your husband doing? You always talk about how he is working all the time."

"He is doing just fine. If I remember correctly, you ended things with your boyfriend? Tell me all about that."

Equipped with minimal armor—typically a shoulder guard (galerus) for protection—he would attempt to ensnare his opponent with the net before striking with the trident. This lightweight approach contrasted sharply with the heavily armed Secutor, creating a dramatic spectacle of skill versus strength.

"You know how guys are. Lazy idiots, who only think about sex. Especially when they see a woman like me. Believe it or not, I had one of his best friends on my doorstep an hour after I ended things with him."

"I can only imagine. My husband is a loyal, loving man. He gives me the world. I hope you'll find someone like that someday as well."

The weapons displayed here are replicas of those used in the grand arenas of Capua, a renowned training center for gladiators.

You move onto the next exhibit, while you hear the two women talk in the background. It's obvious they don't like each other. They're just bragging about how everyone loves them and how beautiful they are. You do have to admit that they're both gorgeous, but their characters seem flawed, to say the least.

Now standing in front of a mosaic, you get a glimpse of what a fully filled arena must've looked like in its full glory.

This intricate mosaic from the arena in Capua illustrates the staged reenactment of the Battle of Zama, the decisive confrontation of the Second Punic War fought in 202 BCE. In this spectacle, captured Punic warriors were forced to relive their defeat, facing off against Roman-trained gladiators representing the legions of Scipio Africanus.

"By the way, I love that dress of yours. I don't think I'd dare to show off this much skin, but it really fits your style."

"Thanks. Oh, but I love yours as well. Did your husband buy it for you? His taste is really something."

The Punic fighters are depicted with their characteristic long spears (hasta), curved swords (falcata), and round shields (caetra), emulating the Carthaginian infantry. Some are shown as Numidian allies, wielding javelins (pilum) and riding light horses, mirroring the diverse forces of Hannibal’s army.

"You know, I'd love to catch up with you some more, but my husband already mentioned earlier that he would love me to accompany him to the arena. But I'm sure we will have a chance to resume this pleasant conversation."

"Of course, dear. You're a loving and loyal wife. You always put his needs over yours."

Their opponents, dressed in Roman-style armor, carry gladii (short swords) and rectangular scuta (shields), symbolizing the disciplined Roman formations that triumphed at Zama. Such events were designed not only as entertainment but as a display of Roman supremacy, reminding the spectators of Rome's victory over one of its greatest adversaries.

You let out a deep breath as you hear Venus exit the room. You already felt bad, because you slept with a married woman. And while your carnal desires have kept you under their control so far, you finally have the courage to stop. You don't want to do it here. Not with her husband in the next room. That's not just morally wrong, but also stupid and dangerous.

You decide to ignore the other woman. She's probably doing the same with you. You reach another, smaller glass case. A figure of Venus inside. You can't help but glance at your own personal Venus through the door in the other room. For a moment, your eyes are glued to her backside, which is tightly wrapped by her dress. But you quickly avert your eyes again, hoping no one caught you. You decide on studying the description of the small figure, waiting for the other woman to finally leave the room.

The goddess Venus, revered as the deity of love, beauty, and fertility, held a special connection with the gladiators of Capua. In Roman culture, Venus was also associated with victory and fortune, making her a significant figure for gladiators who sought her favor before entering the arena. It was believed that invoking Venus’ blessings could turn the tide of combat, granting strength, agility, and the favor of the audience.

"Interesting."

You mumble as you take out your pen. This could make for a great part of your book. The first one featured the Roman legions. The second one was centered around Roman naval warfare. And this third one was supposed to be more about politics, while highlighting the character of a cunning, but charming woman.

Thank to Venus, you've already made great progress. "The Roman goddess", your third book, is almost finished by now. And it seems like you just found the best way to start your fourth book. Very ambitious, since you haven't completed the third one yet. But you know that this could lead you to even more fame. And money. For a moment, you wonder if you could ever reach the same level as Venus' husband. Through writing? Not likely. But it's going well so far.

The idea alone already makes your fingers itchy. You want to go home and continue to write. And you know now, your fourth book will be about gladiators. As you take notes on the museum's brochure, you are already planning out the first ideas for a plot.

You loose yourself in your thoughts, whispering along as you keep on reading the description of the small figure.

In Capua, one of the most renowned gladiatorial training centers of the Roman world, shrines and offerings to Venus were common, especially among gladiators who wished to honor the goddess in the hope of survival and success. The connection between Freya and the gladiators-

"What the fuck happened here?"

You say out loud, starring at the small text.

"Are you okay?"

You jump. The woman who talked to Venus is standing right behind you.

"Yeah, sorry."

You turn back around.

"Is something wrong?"

"Kinda..."

You hesitate. She sounds kinda bored and you don't want to make it worse by letting your history addiction shine through. But what's the worst that can happen?

"Here."

You point at the description.

"For some reason someone switched the names of Venus and Freya."

"And who is that?"

"Well, Venus is this one."

You point at the statue and have to force yourself to not look into the next room.

"And Freya is basically her Nordic equivalent."

"Isn't this the goddess of love or something?"

"Yes, you're correct. She's also responsible for marriage and the spring."

"You seem to know what you're talking about."

The woman next to you crosses her arms in front of her chest as she looks down at the figure of Venus.

"A little. My specialty is Roman and Greek history, but I know a thing or two about other civilizations as well."

"Are you a history teacher or something?"

"An author."

It still feels odd to say that. But you're realizing that you aren't as nervous as you should be. This woman is gorgeous, stunning. And yet, you don't really think about that and just see her as a normal person. Maybe because you spent a lot of time with Venus?

"Are you famous?"

"I wouldn't say so. Not really."

"Too bad. It would've explained why she sleeps with you."

You almost have a heart attack.

"W-What?"

You cross your fingers that she isn't talking about Venus. Not possible. You've never seen her before, so how would she have seen you? And you are sure that Venus didn't say anything either. Right?

You feel your heart beating faster, while your body seems like it's frozen. You wait for her to keep talking.

"Did you never see her taking pictures of you or something?"

You slowly shake your head.

"No... Did she?"

"There's an mobile app for women like us."

She pauses for a moment.

"Rich, famous women. Who are either married or single."

"Ah...."

"The app is used to share our sexual adventures with each other. And recommend people, based on where you are. For example, you told her that you'd be in Italy for a while. How do I know that? I checked the app. She put a picture of you in there. What you're good at, that you're fine with keeping secrets and that you're currently in Italy. And your number as well."

"She gave everyone my number and a picture?"

"Yeah."

You feel a little used. Venus seemed to value privacy so much. So why did she just violate yours?

"I also know that the two of you are playing a little game. You call her Venus. And you're Mars, right?"

You slowly nod your head. It finally dawns on you in which direction this is gonna go.

"I want in."

"What?"

"I want to take what's hers. Make Venus jealous and show her that you like my pussy more than hers."

When she says Venus' name, it almost sounds like an insult.

"Do I have a choice?"

The woman in blue shakes her head, while giving you a mocking smile.

"You don't."

You look at her, then look back towards the room Venus went to, and then look back at her.

"Okay....What do you want to do? A hotel? Or-"

"Shut it."

You're surprised by her rudeness.

"We are going somewhere where she can see us. Got it?"

"S-Sure."

"Oh and we need a name for me too. I want one just as good as hers."

You instinctively glance at the description of the figure.

"Freya?"

You see a smile playing around her lips.

"Sounds good."

"I don't think we should be here. This isn't just against museum rules, but also inappropriate."

"Zip it. I do what I want."

You sigh as she leads you into the sunlight. It seems like someone really paid the museum a lot of money to host this event. Which makes sense, since everyone here seems to be rich. The museum staff has placed a purple sun blind over the imperial box. From here, you have great view of the whole arena.

Of course it isn't in its original state, but it looks fabulous nonetheless. Which makes sense, since it's the second largest amphitheater of the Roman Empire. In the middle, where the gladiators have fought thousands of years ago, the museum has set up tables and chairs, a large buffet and even a small dance floor.

You feel odd, overlooking this beautiful scenery. Not just because you have a gorgeous woman lean over the balustrade right in front of you, but also because it feels wrong. This was once a place of blood and death. People died down there and yet these rich people treat it as some fancy place for a party.

"There she is."

Freya nods towards Venus, who is standing near the buffet. You can spot her easily. She is the most beautiful woman down there. You can't keep your eyes off that beautiful body.

You know her husband has to be there somewhere, but you can't tell who it is. And you're not even sure if you want to know. After all-

"What are you waiting for?"

You look over the bent over woman in front of you. Venus has so much control over you, you almost forgot about Freya. But now, you can see how beautiful she is as well. How sexy, how gorgeous. Just as much a goddess as Venus is. Same but different.

"Kneel for me and make yourself useful."

You hesitate. Venus wasn't really this commanding. But in the end, you don't care. As long as it means you are able to have sex with a woman like her.

You feel the naked stone on your knees. Reaching forward, you slowly lift up Freya's dress. Her blue underwear matches the dress. You lean in and give the back of her thighs kisses. You taste her skin, making sure you take your time as you carefully make your way upwards. When you eventually meet her clothed core, you plant a kiss on the fabric.

Freya's legs open a little wider, but you change directions. You lick and kiss her cheeks, giving them an occasional bite or two.

"That feels good..."

You continue, until you feel like she is starting to get impatient. Pulling at her panties, you watch them slowly glide down her smooth legs.

Licking your lips, you stare at her exposed pussy. It's a little darker than Venus', but not less beautiful. You lean in. One slow lick from the bottom to the top. It makes her hum in appreciation. You reach for her cheeks to pull them apart a little further. Taking in Freya's scent, you begin to feast on her pussy, while the rich people feast on the buffet in the arena.

You quickly notice that Freya isn't as wet as Venus is. It takes you a while to finally have her dripping. But for some reason, that just makes it taste even better. You lick along her folds, part them with your tongue, dive in deep. And then you retreat, circle around her outer lips, dip down to let your tongue flick against her clit. And then you start from the beginning once more.

Throughout your delicious meal, Freya has stayed mostly quiet. An appreciative moan here and there, a slight gasp, whenever you try something new. You can really see how the two women differ from each other.

As you keep going, you notice how Freya likes it when you use your hands on her ass from time to time. Pull her cheeks apart a little, slightly dig your fingers into them, squeezing them. You feel how she slowly becomes hotter, how her body's temperature starts to rise. She starts to move back a little as more pleasure rushes through her system.

Making your final move, you take her clit into your mouth. You suck on it, making her squirm for a moment. And then, a deep moan leaves her body. She shakes in front of you, your hands on her ass and hers on the balustrade keep her standing. More of her juices leave her pussy, which you taste as you dive back in during her high.

When you finally move away from her, you take a look at her now glistening folds once more. But when you're about to stand up, you feel one of her hands pushing your head back down.

"What makes you think you're done?"

You're surprised she wants more. You would've loved to feel her lips, or her pussy on your cock. But you decide to follow her lead. Maybe you'll get even more out of this.

"That's a good boy."

You hear her sigh when you place your lips on hers once more. Closing your eyes, you enjoy her taste. The moment is short lived, when you hear your phone's ringtone.

"Answer it."

Freya's voice is laced with mischievous intent.

You quickly realize why. She must've seen how Venus took out her phone and is now calling you.

"Hello?"

"Are you hiding from me?"

"I'm-"

You get interrupted by Freya, who pulls your face toward her core.

"I'm not."

You resume your meal, while Venus talks on the other end of the line.

"Good. I'm really horny right now. And I need you."

"I'm not sure if we should do it here. Your husband-"

"Oh, don't worry. He won't catch us, I promise."

"I don't-"

"It's gonna be quick."

Freya lets out a sigh as your tongue swipes upwards a little too high, coming dangerously close to her other hole. You bite your lip for a second, hoping Venus didn't hear that.

"I'll reward you."

Seems like Venus took your silence as indecisiveness.

"I'm going to head to your hotel room after this event. My body will be yours tonight."

You almost let out a groan into Freya's pussy.

"Is there anything you would prefer me in?"

You feel the other woman's hand on the back of your head again, urging you on to keep eating her out.

"A specific dress? Lingerie? Nothing?"

You close your eyes, trying to stay strong. At the same time, you keep you face buried between Freya's legs.

"Yes, that feels good."

Her moan is way louder than all the other ones.

"Mars, what's going on?"

You realize that she did it on purpose.

Freya now reaches for your phone.

"Keep going."

She takes and places it on her ear.

"Hello, darling?"

You don't hear what Venus is saying. You let out a sigh, but resume your work. You kinda feel like you betrayed her. But the again, you aren't in a relationship. She is even married to someone else.

"Oh, I bet he's loving dessert right now."

You hear Freya's breath hitch as you let your tongue circle around her clit once more.

"Oh damn, you really weren't lying. He is gonna make me cum again."

You double your efforts at her words. The damage is done already. Might as well finish the job.

"Don't get all possessive, honey. I'm sure he won't mind sleeping with you tonight."

"Really? And what are you gonna do about it?"

You feel how Freya is getting closer again. This bantering with Venus is probably getting her off even more.

"What makes you think you're a better fuck than me?"

"Oh, I'm so up for that. I'm gonna show you how much better I am."

You suck on Freya's clit once more. And the climax of her conversation and you work suddenly make her cum again.

"Oh, fuck!"

Once she calms down, Freya speaks again.

"That was amazing. Where we are? Just look up."

You notice how a second later the call ends. Freya turns around and gives you your phone back.

"While we wait for Venus, why don't you show me what you got there?"

She reaches for your belt and starts to undress you. When your pants and boxers fall onto the stone floor, Freya wraps her fingers around your cock.

"It's always hard to tell someone's size without properly measuring it, but I feel like Venus underestimated you."

She stands in front of you, while she begins to stroke your length. You can't help but reach out to feel more of her body. You place your hand on her naked waist.

"You like me, don't you?"

It's probably for the best, if you don't answer. So you stay silent, your eyes slowly wandering from her waist to her clothed tits. And your hands soon follow.

"You probably thought she was a goddess when you first saw her, huh? That's why you play this little game. But trust me, she is no better than I am."

Her confident smirk makes you realize that she genuinely thinks she is better than Venus. She isn't just saying that to make you choose her.

"Maybe we should start without her."

You watch how Freya's hand leaves your cock. She sticks out her tongue and licks her own palm. Then, she places her wet hand around your length again.

"Come on. Make everyone watch."

She turns around again. And like before, Freya bends over the stone balustrade.

You hold your breath for a moment. You really must be lucky if you get to have sex with her. But, if Venus is about to join the two of you, this might turn into the best day of your life.

Stepping behind her, you align yourself with her pussy. Your tip grazes her lips. When you push inside, you hear her let out a sigh.

"No wonder she doesn't want to share you."

Your hands are on her waist. You feel that waist chain between your fingers. But that's by far not the best thing you're feeling right now. Her tight cunt is nicely wrapped around your cock, keeping you inside as you attempt to back up.

When you start to properly fuck her, you already hear the sounds of someone walking behind you. It's still a little further away, but it's growing closer. You decide that this the best moment to make use of Freya's pussy as much as possible. You don't know what might happen next.

"Fuck, right there."

She moans when you fuck her harder. Soon, you place one of your hands on her clothed tits, while the other stays on her waist. You take her from behind, enjoying her body to the fullest. As every thrust leads you deeper and deeper inside, you start to forget all about the world around you. Her tight grip on your cock is all that matters right now. Your thrusts become faster. And the sound of your hips meeting her ass becomes louder.

"The two of you started without me?"

You quickly turn your head. Venus is standing behind you, a pout on her lips. Your eyes immediately roam her body. Her beauty and Freya's pussy around your cock make your head spin.

"Why don't you join me? Venus?"

Freya says her name once more with an underlying emotion. But to your surprise, Venus walks closer. She captures your lips with hers, her hands on your chest. By now, you've stopped fucking Freya. Which she doesn't seem to like. The bent over woman moves her hips and you groan into Venus' mouth.

Venus breaks the kiss and whispers into your ear.

"Make sure your cum belongs to me."

She gives you a mischievous smile, before she backs away. Just like Freya, she bends over the balustrade. The two women are barely an arm's length apart from each other. But your view has suddenly improved immensely. Your eyes are glued to Venus' ass as you start to fuck Freya once more.

Your self control only lasts a second. You reach over to squeeze the cheek that is closest to you. Venus looks back at you, a satisfied grin on her face.

"Can't take your hands off me?"

You nod as you try to keep up the pace of your fucking. Freya has begun to moan again, this time a little louder. Her tight pussy is holding onto you as if she knew you're on the brink of jumping ship.

"Come on, Mars. It's not polite to leave a woman waiting."

You close your eyes. Count to three. When you reach three, you don't know if you should pull out or not. You count to three again. And again. And finally you feel yourself pulling out all the way. Freya's walls drag along your length and a long sigh leaves her lips.

Only now do you notice that she is breathing heavily. You decide you're kind enough to give her a break.

A moment later, you stand behind Venus. Your wet cock rests on the fabric of her dress as you squeeze her cheeks. She purrs like a cat in the sun, already getting wet by just your hands on her body.

As much as you love seeing her ass like that, you eventually realize the urge to bury yourself inside of her grows larger. You hike up her dress. No panties. If only her husband knew what a slutty wife he has. The already familiar sight of Venus' pussy doesn't give you time to hesitate. You quickly push inside. That familiar warmth closes down around your length immediately. Reaching forward, you take a hold of both of her naked shoulders. The way she is leaning over the balustrade probably enables everyone in the arena to look deep into her cleavage.

But she doesn't seem to care. Venus' moans are just as loud as Freya's as you start to fuck her as well. You can tell how much wetter she is. Her juices practically coating your cock.

"That's right. I promised you. You own my body tonight."

You groan in response. The urge to lean down and give her exposed back a bite is unusually strong. But you focus on fucking her harder. Her pussy basically asking for it. Her tight walls squeezing you, her juices making sure your thrusts are smooth.

Eventually, you make the mistake of looking to your left. Freya is still standing there, elbows on the balustrade, as she bites a nail while she watches. You can tell that she wants more. It takes you a while to muster enough self control, but then you manage to pull out of Venus. She gasps in surprise.

But before she can even turn her head, you already bury yourself inside Freya's tight and waiting cunt.

That's how you fuck them both for quite a while. You actually last way longer than you thought you would. The constant switching from one woman to the other gives you always a couple of seconds to breathe. After a while, the two of them learn how to live with it and sharing you becomes visibly easier.

You're fucking Venus right now, while Freya has moved a little closer, so you can finger her at the same time. You can't even count anymore how often you switched between them. But when you deliver one unusual deep thrust into Venus, you're suddenly very aware that you probably won't be able to switch again.

Your strength is starting to leave you as well. Freya seems to have noticed.

"You're gonna give us your cum now, right? Dump your load into our pussies, after you used them like you wanted to."

Her words don't slow your approaching orgasm down at all.

"Oh, yes. Fill me up."

Venus sighs as she feels your cock throbbing inside of her. You reach out to Freya, moving her closer. The two of them are now side by side, their asses touching. You try to count your thrusts, but it's in vein.

When you cum, you bite your lip in pleasure. Venus' pussy almost traps you inside of her as you shoot two streaks of cum inside. But after a short struggle, you finally manage to pull out. One long streak hits both their asses, before you're able to push into Freya one last time.

"Fuck, yes."

She sighs loudly as she feels your cum rush into her body.

The three of you are all out of breath and you almost collapse on top of Freya.

"You still haven't answered my question."

You look over to Venus. Her ass is covered in cum and you see how a long trail of it is already running down her right leg.

"How would you like me tonight?"

You think hard about this. You might never be able to see her again after tonight. Who knows where she is gonna be tomorrow.

"I want you to wear nothing, but two things."

She raises an eyebrow in question, a cheeky smile on her lips.

"Heels and a choker."

Freya lets out a chuckle.

Venus gets off the balustrade. You notice how her arms are a little red. She kisses you again, while you're still inside the other woman.

"I'll be there at 10."

[woso-dreamzzz]

Broken III

Keira Walsh x Child!Reader

Summary: Keira watches you

It's not that Keira is trying to hold a grudge.

It just happens.

Seeing you everyday with the cast on your arm is just fuel to the flames and Keira just can't ignore it.

You've always been her baby. Her little sleepy baby that slept on her chest and fed from her bottle and curled into her every chance you could.

In another life, Keira supposes, she could have ended up with a child more like Lucy. With Lucy's hair and Lucy's eyes and that characteristic Bronze confidence with enough attitude and skills to back it up.

But in this life, here and now, she's got you.

The sensitive little girl with her Koda bear and her blankie and a broken arm from falling at the park.

Every time she sees it, Keira can't help but remember the panic that shot through her when she got the call from Lucy that she was on the way to the hospital with you. Lucy hadn't said much else on the phone, hadn't said anything substantial at all until Keira was at the hospital with you both and could see the damage.

It's hard not to blame Lucy for this whole thing completely.

She's the one that took you to the park.

She's the one that helped you onto the climbing frame.

She's the one that wasn't watching properly.

She's the one that didn't catch you as you fell.

"Mummy," You yawn," Too tight."

Keira loosens her grip on you instantly and you wiggle down, raking your casted hand over your face stubbornly as you try to push some hair out of your eyes.

Keira smiles at you, reaching out to do it herself.

"Sorry, bear," She says.

You huff. "It's okay but you were cuddling too tight."

"You like tight cuddles."

"Only from my Bug."

Keira rolls her eyes with a laugh. "Only from your Bug."

It's crazy how she and Leah ended up with very cuddly children even though they weren't the most outwardly affectionate of people.

You yawn again, wiping the sleep from your eyes as you look around the break room. "Where's Mum?"

"Lucy's talking to the physios," Keira says," She'll be back soon."

"Will she take me to the park today?"

Panic forces its way through Keira's chest and she tugs you back. You stumble a little, looking up at her with wide eyes and Keira remembers herself.

"I...I don't think Mum will be back early enough to take you to the park. Sorry, bear."

You purse your lips. "Well...can you take me to the park?"

"No."

You huff, looking up at Keira with the biggest, wettest eyes you can muster. The influence them is slightly diminished by the crust still in the corner from your earlier nap.

"But Mummy-"

"You're hurt, bear," Keira says," Let's stay indoors for today but we'll see what the weather is like tomorrow."

You look like you're going to argue but you haven't got an inch of the Bronze fighting spirit so you just accept her words and drag your Koda bear closer as Keira helps settle you on the sofa.

Brother Bear is put on the tv in a matter of seconds and any thoughts you had in regards to going to the park today are forgotten in favour of watching your favourite movie.

You get restless though, as all children do. Restless and hungry.

You glance up at Keira.

She's sleeping. Her head is propped up on her fist at an awkward angle, her mouth is open and it looks like she's drooling just a little bit.

Half of your blankie is thrown over her lap and while normally you would join Keira for a nap, the rumbles in your tummy outweigh your exhaustion so you put the rest of your blankie around Keira, tucking her in nicely like she and Lucy do for you.

Then, you make your way over to the little counter at the back of the break room that has all the adult stuff like the kettle for milky brews and the fridge for energy drinks.

But you're not interested in the drinks.

There's a tin of biscuits.

You know there is because you saw auntie G put them up there earlier in the day. She said you can help yourself so it's not stealing.

But you're still little and can't quite see them as you approach the counter.

You know they're there though so you reach your little hand out.

Your fingers bang against tin and your scramble to sweep it closer.

You can't do much with your cast so it's all being down with your other hand. The one that you can't write with.

You're a little bit clumsy in your movements and you get frustrated easily.

Keira bursts awake, jerking upwards at the sound of tin cracking against flesh. The tears begin the moment her eyes open and she whips her head around to the countertops.

You're sitting on the floor, sobbing your eyes out as Georgia's tin of biscuits lay next to you.

There's a big bump on your forehead and you kick your legs out as you scream and cry.

"Oh, bear. Bear, baby," Keira coos, a sinking feeling in her stomach," It's okay, Mummy's here."

You turn into Keira's safe body, gripping at her shirt as you wail and Keira has to force you to pull back so she can look at your head.

It's nothing more than a bump and the tears are likely more because of the shock than anything else.

But Keira feels awful.

She's been so cold with Lucy for not watching you, for not paying attention to you at the park but she's done the same thing. She wasn't watching over you as closely as she should have and now you've got a bump on your head.

"Oh, bear, baby, I'm sorry."

"Jus' wan'ed some biscuits," You say and Keira nearly breaks the whole tin open in her haste to open the lid.

"Here, bear, take as many as you want. Auntie G won't mind. In fact, take them all."

You sniffle. "Mummy have biscuits too?"

"I don't deserve biscuits, bear. You're hurt."

"I want you to have biscuits."

"Bear-"

"Mummy."

You give Keira a very Lucy Bronze style glare and she starts putting biscuits into her mouth.

Maybe she was wrong.

Maybe you do have some of that Bronze family fire.

[minicopia]

Random headcanons about Papa's

Primo

His bedroom is a second greenhouse;

No, really. He has a lot of plants in every room. Even in the office;

There's time for a nap every day in his schedule;

Knows herbal medicine better than anyone in the Ministry;

Loves tea and Italian pizza;

He also loves candy, but because of this his tummy often hurts🥺;

Pipo often gets cold, so he has a lot of sweaters and warm socks. I'll tell you a secret, he tied many of them himself;

Often reads books while eating;

He loves hugs so much! They don't have to have romantic overtones. A tight friendly hug is enough;

To the brothers and sisters of sin he is like a wise, kind and loving grandfather.

Secondo

Stone Face 24/7/365;

He has bad knees, so he walks with a staff;

Despite his menacing facade, he's so sweet;

He has a chinchilla named Chessie. He constantly pampers her with treats and carries her with him to work in his pocket;

Prefers sweet coffee with milk and tiramisu;

He loves his younger brothers so much, but he will never show it to them, because showing feelings is not courageous;

He has a huge sweater that Primo knitted and Secondo often sleeps in it;

You will be surprised, but he is not the type who likes one-night stands. He prefers to help himself than to take advantage of an unhappy girl in love;

After retirement began to spend more time in the library. He reads a lot of books just to escape reality;

Sometimes he watches melodramas and dreams that that same beloved will appear in his life...

Terzo

Everyone thinks he's a whore, but that's far from true;

Yes, in his youth he starred in several porn films and once participated in an orgy, but that is in the past... Most likely;

He just loves wine. And spicy food;

Someone told him about 30 years ago that he eats too much. Terzo still struggles with Eating Disorder;

He really loves flowers and often helps Primo in the garden;

Of course, he enjoys the attention of women, but not when they just want to sleep with him;

He is interested in sewing, especially toys. Every child in the Ministry has a special toy from Papa Emeritus III;

He also embroidered elements on costumes his ghouls;

He likes opera so much! And ballet. If he hadn't become the Satanic Papa and leader The Ghost Band, he would definitely have become an opera performer;

Sometimes he feeds stray cats that accidentally end up on the territory of the Ministry.

Copia

BEST RAT DAD EVER;

The only one who raised his ghouls himself;

Lover of good breakfast, lunch and dinner. And snacks. And afternoon snack. Oh, he often eats something. And drinks tea with condensed milk or juice;

That person who eats away his troubles with ice cream and watches sad films in the evenings;

His room is littered with comics, video games and various action figures (he especially loves Funko Pop);

In the evenings he goes to the infirmary to visit sick children and reads fairy tales to them. Sometimes he takes a couple of ghouls with him to entertain the children;

There are always sweets in the pockets of his cassock;

Yes, he is cute, shy and funny, but when he is angry... He is worse than the Sister Imperator. Don't make Copia angry;

He is simply an amazing cook. Everyone loves his peach pie with ice cream;

He has serious problems with sleep, so very often at night Copia can be found in the garden while he admires the starry sky.

[hoseoksluna]

THE BALL OF LIGHT, iii. | jjk

pairing: friend!jeongguk x fem!oc

genre: heavy angst, fluff

rating: 15+

word count: 7.8k

summary: the rules yoongi made in your life are doomed to collapse.

pin: ball of light / taglist: join / discord: join / masterlist: run

cp: tba

warnings: biker!jungkook, smoking and vaping, oc is learning what it's like to be platonically touched and loved, state of numbness, anxiety, betrayal, lying, spying.

note: i love this chapter so much. i finally feel connected to the characters, which is something that i was lacking in the first two chapters. i broke sweat writing this and i spent hours on this. don't be a silent reader and have mercy on me. let me know what you think. <3

The vaporous retrospection of Jeongguk’s hands offered you solace beneath the slanted downpour of the hot shower stream. Using the slender, satiny, beige scrunchie that is used more as a statement bracelet of yours than a ponytail holder, you seized your long bob into your trembling fists and put it up, imagining it were Jeongguk’s stable and strong fingers working around the sleek fabric, making sure your hair didn’t soak one drop of the water. 

The tears had halted, somehow, the moment your foot lifted over the shower floor. You let the stream dribble over your face, wash away your awkward moment of weakness—the mascara you rubbed off, the ebony teardrop-shaped trails of your agony that in another dimension wasn’t agony at all, but the velvet antithesis of it. Something very akin to the homely-like joy, warmth and a connection you could depend on. This is what you did, more often than not. Set your imagination into motion as a form of coping mechanism that would smooth out all the nerves in your system that had been wrung out into an unnatural, unrecognizable architecture. 

It wasn’t that Yoongi didn’t typify a wall you could lean against. Vitally and physically, he did. Daily, you had a roof over your head and food in your tummy. But metaphorically and emotionally, that wall he embodied was too sturdy. Impossible to break through. Impossible to speak through. And that could never be the connection your soul so earnestly sought. 

That could never be anything at all. 

Nothing awaited you on the other side of this dead end. 

Jeongguk helped you perceive that. With his hands, with his wise words that caused such tumultuous chaos in your body. Enough for you to find the nearest exit and isolate yourself. Weep in peace. Wash it all away. And it felt as though someone up above, beyond the clouds and the stars, wrote down this moment a long time ago. Made it so Jeongguk would offer you a chance to shower—in fact made it so the first snow of the wintertime would begin to fall and block your way home. 

What would’ve happened if your bus did come after all, if you stubbed Jeongguk’s cigarette and waved him goodbye? 

You would be still standing in front of this dead end, in front of this sky-high wall. Not half-pivoted to leave, not considering other options. Not carrying the closest experiences of physical touch in your hands. Not feeling warmth. Not swallowing the aftertaste of Jeongguk’s cinnamon tea. Not having the ghost and the reaction of his hands as an anchor you cling to. 

You would have nothing. Just like you did your entire life. 

And if the turmoil never happened, it wouldn’t have made this much difference. It wouldn’t have ripped open a hole in this nothingness; it wouldn’t have shattered the iron of your shackle. Because it was this turmoil of his, this pain of his, that coaxed that wisdom out of him, despite his fatal flaw. His friend became yours—and beneath the shower stream, you came to terms with it. 

With the principle that makes life a life: no pain, no gain. 

Rain brings flowers, and the more you dwelled in the memory of Jeongguk’s hands, the more the buds of blossoms opened with more sense of safety and comfort upon your tree. Because they made you feel this way. 

His arm lifting in your direction at the sound of your cry, then whisking back to his side in respect. His hands warmer than the cup they were holding, not twitching at the throe of the scalding liquid. Good, good hands, belonging to a good person. 

Nothing about him is unsafe, even when he exposes the painful truth over your life. How could anything about him be unsafe by any means, when the only shower gel he had was of that cinnamon fragrance. 

He’s no longer the essence of macadamia, musk and cedarwood. 

He’s cinnamon through and through. The spice of sweetness, the spice of winter. The epitome of warmth and carefulness, profound and unforgettable in taste. 

The tears you weep next are for him. For the deeply-buried unrequited affection he has for Ka-eun. For the unfair, horrendous treatment he deals with day by day. For all the love he stores within himself while having no one, absolutely no one, to give it to. 

And feverish pearls of thankfulness trickle out of your tear ducts for him, too. For the freedom he so freely and selflessly engraved into the flesh of your heart that you sense won’t overgrow anytime soon. 

Pearls of thankfulness that he’s a witness of, for he stands at the door. Puffy mouth agape, chocolate eyes wide beneath thick-rimmed glasses. Something is ringing—you can’t hear it, but you can feel the pulse of the noise. The alarm that beats in his aura as he’s frozen on the spot, unknowing what to do. He can’t see one inch of your body due to the tinted hue of the glass separating you from him, but he can see your tears. Can see their flow. And perhaps he can see their inner sadness, too. 

You don’t feel naked. You were bare and raw while fully clothed just a while ago in his kitchen, but right now with nothing to cover you, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. His irises don’t glide down. Don’t even dare to skim down to the darkly shadowed back of your shoulder that faces him. His mouth moves, the ball of his Adam’s apple leaps nearly to his chin as he swallows, but you just can’t hear a damn thing. 

And then the ringing grows in volume. A sound that pierces your eardrum, that rips your gaze away from him as soon as your hearing senses accept it. Your brows pull in, the shrillness of the sonancy reverberating through your sternum like icy gunfire—and you wish it was softer, you wish the everlasting coldness wouldn’t stalk you, and you wish you would stay warm. 

You inhale and exhale. Tightness swathes your chest and the following breath you take is shallow, not enough for your lungs. Panic settles in, your arms wrap around your body, and then… shadow. 

Shadow inches in. Spreads its wingspan. 

When you glance behind your shoulder, the glass door is open. Jeongguk stands at the entrance with his graceful hands holding up a towel for you. His head is turned to the side, unwilling to look at your nakedness out of that respect of his. 

You don’t have control over your body when you step out of the shower and into the cotton of the makeshift security of those wings. Using the carefulness he’s patched together with, he wraps the largeness of the towel around you. As if you were a small child, being dried off by its father. The only spots of your form he touches are your shoulders and the upper planes of your chest. Your eyelids are heavy with the weight of your tears and a certain tiredness from the day as your irises flick to his. And the spell of your numbness, little by little, breaks because he looks right down at you with utmost seriousness and concern. 

He sees you. 

You’re seen. 

“Hold it,” he murmurs, speaking of the two edges of the towel, the edges of the wings that he still holds together with his fist. Those corners of his mouth are downturned, just like they were when you entered his apartment. You mimic that pout, lamenting that you’re making him feel this way, that it’s your fault the turmoil has come back to him, even though the shared negative emotion smears your chest with warmth. It’s an oxymoron, your guilt laced with your desire to stay in this dimmed microcosm with him. 

It reminds you of the connection you seek. It resembles it too, too much. 

You fold your arm beneath the towel and pinch the edges together, gripping his fingers in the process. A shiver cascades down your spine due to that layered touch and Jeongguk blinks, lingering in your clasp for a moment before he lets go, leaning over to turn off the water. 

Grateful, you are. For him, for the way he’s allowing you to experience such an imperative part of humanity that you could never reach. You yearn to hug him, not speak a vowel, and just exist in this newness. 

You don’t know what any of this means. You’re conscious of the shift, the shift of the gravity between you and him, but none of it carries the weight of romance. He encapsulates something else, something way bigger, abstruse and abstract. 

Something that could kill you… or save you in a millisecond. 

“What was that?” Jeongguk asks, his voice still low and murmuring. There’s an impenetrable depth to his pensive eyes that somehow quickens the speed of your recuperation. His question casts a light on you that is blinding, but you can bear it. After what happened in his kitchen, you can, truly,  handle anything. “I knocked. Multiple times. I called out to you, but you didn’t answer back.” 

His eyes flick between yours, searching for an explanation, demanding it, and you’d give him anything… anything he’d ask after the way he turned your life around. 

“I—” you begin but trail off, not knowing how to explain the frailty of your mental health. You, too, comb through his eyelashes in pursuit of help for your words, but what you come across are not letters but the vast prettiness of his being. 

Your knees give out on you, weakened by him, and a snuggly blanket of completion comes to rest over you because Jeongguk’s arm jerks towards your direction again and this time, he doesn’t let it drift back. He places his palm on your arm, holding you steady so you don’t plummet to the ground, lingering there once again. 

Life-giving, that gesture is. You feel your blood pumping throughout the pathways of your veins with more vigor, enlivening your entire body, helping you come out of the fog of your stupor. The sap in your tree thickens and you can see more clearly, hear with a better precision and breathe without any pinpricks or heftiness in your lungs. 

Freedom spreads down your limbs, rooting from the warmth pooling in the dent of your arm, the part of you that Jeongguk is gripping. A cult leader, he’s become. A savior, a dangerous man. And you shall never be his companion again—you’ll be his follower until the day you cease to exist on this earth. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, abruptly breathless, and the axis of his grip opens out, descending down to the rounded edge of your elbow. His thumb traces circles on that fleshiness and the comfort you receive from it brings forth your liquid emotions. They spill down onto your cheeks, but you’re not ashamed of them. You’re not ashamed of anything anymore. 

“I’m okay,” you say and you mean it—because you’ve stepped inside an environment that feels so terribly secure, so terribly grounding, a place that will never leave the internal realm of your soul. 

Jeongguk scans your face, brows knitted. “Tell me what’s going on.” 

You inhale, tipping your face down to rub away your tears with your towel-clothed knuckles. “Sometimes when I get overwhelmed I go numb… that’s all.” 

His circles halt. A nebulous shadow eclipses over his tense features. “Did I cause this?” 

Your lips part. “You told me something I really needed to hear, something that was hard for me to accept. You helped me, Jeongguk.” 

His brows twitch and it is like sunlight filtering through the clouds, the way a small ball of light delicately breaks through the shadow on his face. Your heart writes it down on the bark of your tree in flowery prose—it is a moment that gives you the inkling that you should remember it, and you’re not really sure why. 

Jeongguk pats down your arm. A singular, ephemeral and a significant caress that is charged with a range of words that he doesn’t get to say, for a phone rings somewhere behind the place you’re standing. He nods his chin towards it, sliding his hands into the pockets of his black sweatpants, and it is now that you perceive that he’s changed out of his scrubs into a monochrome leisure outfit. A black oversized top, matching sweats, socked-feet inside white slippers. Even his glasses fit his choice of color—a prettification that makes your knees wobble again, but not in such a drastic way as before.  

“This is the fourth time he’s calling you,” he says, speaking of the phone ringing, but you have very little care for it. Your body, automatically, out of horrible habit, tells you to care, but you feel a strong tendril of strength that helps you resist it, stand up to it—and stand up to your brother. “That’s why I’m here. He won’t stop.” 

You glimpse behind your shoulder at the screen of your phone filled with only the letters of Yoongi’s name. No picture, no emoji. You think that quite perfectly illustrates your relationship with him and you scoff, returning your gaze back to Jeongguk, who nibbles his lower lip absentmindedly, eyes following each movement you make. 

Yoongi can’t get to you when you’re inside this environment. He doesn’t have the key to it. 

The ringing falls to nothingness and a half-minute passes before he calls again. Anger curls in your gut and you turn around, snatching your phone off the ivory bathroom sink, because if you don’t bite the bullet and answer his call, he won’t leave you alone. You press the green button and before you can place the device to your ear and say something, Yoongi beats you to it. 

He spills out his radical worry, intertwining your name into the sentence that threatens to impair your environment. 

“Why didn’t you pick up the phone? I was worried sick that something happened to you. You should’ve been home an hour ago—”

Your towel shifts as your trembling returns to you, nearly exposing your vulnerable parts, and you set your phone down on the sink, putting him on speaker phone. You wrap the soft fabric tighter around you and connect your gaze to Jeongguk’s in the mirror. Your brother spills on, no longer interrupted. 

Sorrowfulness, in vivid hues of blue, draws out across Jeongguk’s countenance. 

“—It’s snowing like crazy. Where are you?” 

Your throat dries, but you will your strength to last a little longer. You clench your fists and do not tear your eyes away from Jeongguk’s, which seem to have the same determination. He’s a monumental pillar, ready to catch you if you feel faint, and you feel this in a great depth that has the epoch-making ability to replenish you. Even far away in a memory, you deem. 

“I’m with a friend,” you croak out and you repeat the short sentence with a bit more heroism because you don’t wish to be suggestive of weakness. Not again, not ever. A subdued light floods Jeongguk’s eyes in slow motion at your words, giving you a sense of pride and validation. A specialty of his; it must be the bottom of his kindness, the foundation of his heart—this very unique act of emotional service. And you close your palm over it, clinging to it with all your might. “I was taking a shower. I’ll get dressed and come home.” 

The truth in the rawest form; the exposure of your life beyond the restraints of his standards. You fear his reaction, you fear his reaction so much that within the silence of him comprehending your words you almost go to seek Jeongguk’s comfort in any way he’s willing to give you, but Yoongi stops you.

Yoongi surprises you. 

“Okay. Give me your friend’s address. I’ll pick you up.” 

Your heart, with full force, kicks against your ribcage just once.

You didn’t expect his resignation—and you would’ve never guessed it would come plaited with such a gentle form of care, for his care has never been gentle. It has always been stifling, frantic and utterly manic. 

And the way you lick your lips, swallow and take a new breath in this even newer reality, it feels as though you won. You won the invisible war with your brother who has wounded you too much for you to get up. 

But you did.

You got up, and Jeongguk refreshed you, prepared you to fight back and win this round. 

It must be his words in your mouth, ones he silently transmitted to you through your potent eye contact with him in the mirror. It must be, you believe it to be so, because at this moment you’re too stunned to do anything. 

“No need. My friend will give me a ride home.” 

Jeongguk visibly relaxes, nodding solemnly, approving. A spasm of excitement buzzes in your tummy at the sight, and you can’t help the small growth of your smile. And it, too, is complete when he half reciprocates it, a dimple appearing by the corner of his mouth that is lifted in your honor, in the honor of what you both managed to do in the span of one hour. 

“Alright, tell her to drive slow.” 

Yoongi ends the phone call. Jeongguk pulls his hands out of his pockets and begins to crack his knuckles, rolling his shoulders back as if he were in a stressful situation that strained all of his muscles. You bite your lip to relieve yourself of all the buzzing sensations that crawl upon your every nerve ending, but your abrupt laughter releases your teeth from the pillow. 

Her. 

You laugh so hard that it forces you to hide your face in the towel, the sound muffled but real, alive and exhilarating. And when you peek at Jeongguk in the mirror for the last time, you catch his smile widening and breaking, at last, into a grin that mirrors your enthusiasm. 

“This is your life,” he rasps, adding your name, which propels butterflies to tickle, fleetly, your tummy. “Your life by your own rules. Enjoy every moment of it. You deserve it.”

And with that he leaves, clicking the door shut behind him. 

Your tea has gone cold, but the cinnamon scent is still prominent. 

Jeongguk is manspreading on the couch, one fist propped on his thigh while he is hunched over his loud phone that he clutches in his other hand. He doesn’t notice you as you paddle softly to the kitchen counter to take a sip of your tea—and it isn’t until you slurp the nippy liquid that he rips his attention away from the videos he was watching. He locks his phone immediately, pocketing it, and bathes his crepuscular apartment in an ample silence. 

You're glad for the lack of light. 

Witnessing the state of you without his presence was a scare. The traces of your mascara tears were scattered with flecks and specks on your cheeks that the stream didn’t rinse off, and your eyelids have become swollen with the excessive amount of crying you’ve done within the fateful hour. Your excitement hasn’t been shunned by your sparsity of confidence, however. In fact, it keeps on increasing, having transfigured into a velvet ribbon that you wrapped around the bark of your tree whilst getting dressed. You fondled it then and you fondle it now, dwelling on the matter that went down, and how good it felt. How right, how freeing. But owing to what happened, to what Jeongguk has done for you, you’d much rather be pretty in his eyes right now.

And you’re anything but pretty. 

You’re a ruination. About to be rebuilt into something pretty. Or someone. 

Setting the cup down, you smile at the taste of cinnamon and cloves, liking the way it is so redolent of who Jeongguk is. You hope it fills your dreams later tonight, bursting there into smithereens that you can carry inside yourself. 

As little talismans. 

To keep you company. To keep the perception of the safety Jeongguk had provided you tucked within the crevices of your body—so you can go back to it, remind yourself of it as soon as you start to forget. 

“Ready to go?” 

His voice penetrates the silence, announcing that you are to leave the fortress-like environment you are already missing. You direct your eyes, for the last time, at the little gleeful Gingerbread man, graze the tip of your thumb over his smile in an effort to engrave it there as a keepsake. And then you nod, though you’re not ready. 

You’ll never be ready. What if your freedom disappears as soon as you cross the threshold of your home? 

You blink the thought away. Grow weary of your deathless fear that just continues rising in your psyche. You wish you could kill it—or rather have Jeongguk asphyxiate it, just so it stops whispering those what ifs, those questions and those hostile words. 

“Yeah, let’s go.” 

Jeongguk walks past you and returns to his place where he stood a little while ago. He places two black helmets on the counter. One bigger and one particularly smaller. You wonder if it belonged to Ka-eun once, if the inside of the helmet is still perfumed with the scent of her hair. 

Another ifs. 

You look away. Your forefinger finds his pink vape, fondling it, saying goodbye. You’ll terribly miss this life you lived in this apartment—and once you get home, you plan to pray for another snow, so you can escape, so you can live properly. Here within this warmth; here where all things are possible, aromatic and whimsical.

Jeongguk studies you, and as soon as you instinctively glance at him, he extends his hand and closes his fingers around your tousled bun. It brings back a memory, a painful memory of the past, when your father would run his fingers through your wet hair. Back when you were a child, when everything was normal and your father loved you. No matter the weather, you would slip away to the petite creek behind the house. Your hair was so long that it would drift upon those soft ripples. Even the wind would gather it and soak it in the water—to cleanse it off all the bad words your mother would utter over it. Too long. It’s shameful. It gets in your food. It’s wet again? It’s dripping all over my floors. Mop it up. God, you’re useless. Do it properly. Water was invariably your means of escapism. Oh, how could it not be when you’re a water sign yourself. And your father was the only one who would dry your hair with a hand towel he would keep in his study for you before your mother saw, before she could curse you for another lifetime. 

And the way Jeongguk does it now, you metamorphose into that small child that never did anything right. Suddenly, your hair is long again—and you didn’t cut it when you turned fifteen and your father somehow stopped loving you, stopped paying attention to you, stopped drying your hair. And as small as you are right now, your heart regrets the loss of your dearest papa. 

Your hair hasn’t been touched since the death of him. 

Since he couldn’t touch it anymore from the afterlife. 

The tears burn now behind your eyes, but you stifle them back. You don’t want to cry anymore, you don’t want to experience this pain any longer. You can’t even look at Jeongguk in fear those liquid feelings would betray your will; you can only focus your gaze on that vape of his. And before you know what you’re doing, you're grasping it and placing it between your lips. 

My nerves are asking for more, he had said and you relate to him on such a profound level that it feels gratifying once you puff on it and the strawberry scent imbues your lungs—to such an extent that when you respire, you can feel it mingling with the oxygen. It’s still there. Such sweetness. You understand why he likes it so much, why he can’t stay away from it and smokes it, despite the fact he shouldn’t mix it with his cigarettes. 

Jeongguk smiles through the ivory fume, drifting his hand up to the crown of your head before he inspects the face-framing wisps. They’re damp, but not wet, not like the ball of your bun. 

He lets his hand fall to his side. You lament it. 

“Your hair is wet,” he says gently, pursing his lips. “I don’t know if your bun will fit inside the helmet. You should put it inside your sweater, so you don’t get sick.” 

It is something akin to a religious experience, not being told off for having wet hair. You mull over it, the fact he cares enough to tell you what to do, so you don’t get stricken with illness. The tears rush forth with more verve, and you try your hardest to not cry again. It’s like your father, a healthy and younger and pre-you version of him, is standing in front of you. Out of this world, heavenly, this moment is. 

You take another puff. You must. 

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Jeongguk asks, a lopsided smile hanging upon his lips. His eyes flick down to your parted mouth exhaling out the smoke that blends in with the cinnamon spice. “Keep it.” 

You blink in surprise. “Are you sure?” 

He nods, busying himself with something on the other side of the kitchen, beside his refrigerator. In a minute he’s back, carrying a bulbous sack of foreign items that he plants into your free hand. 

“Take these fruits home. I put the cinnamon tea inside, too.” 

You part your mouth, touched to the core. Open the sack and uncover that he’s put inside three figs and two teabags. You pout, whisk your eyes back to him to see him nibbling on his lip, features back to being solemn and glossy. He’s breaking a sweat—perhaps fearful that you’ll turn him down, laugh at it and brush it off. You’re heard of Ka-eun doing this on many occasions and if there’s anything you could do for him, to caress that scar of his, you shall not be like her. 

You fold the paper sack and clutch it to your chest. 

“I’ll eat it and drink it all,” you say, but you don’t mean the latter. You’ll put the teabags on your nightstand—to have him close. “Thank you. You’re so kind.” 

His following exhale is a sigh of relief and he nods, irises preoccupied with something on the upper part of your sternum. When you follow his sight, he’s already taking a step forward and discarding you of the unknown thing that he was focusing on. You realize it’s a fluff from the towel when he flicks it off from his fingertip—and then, as if he didn’t do such a groundbreaking thing for you, he takes both of the helmets. 

“I’d give you more but that's all I have.” 

The ground breaks, and so does your heart. 

He turns on his heel and heads for the hall. The atmosphere is hushful, but tranquil as you both put on your shoes and jackets. Jeongguk holds the door open for you, waiting for you to step out first before he does. He clicks it shut, waits again for the sing-song tone to tell him it’s locked, and then you’re in the elevator. 

The elevator that is microscopic, even for two people. 

You glance behind yourself at the mirror, find yourself pallid and colorless. Insecurity gnaws at you, and so you pinch your cheeks, one by one. Jeongguk watches you and shakes his head at you once you notice his stare. There’s no room, no time for any exchange for words because the elevator opens and he signals to you to go first with a tilt of his head. 

And that is what brings color to your cheeks, not your pinching. 

His bike outside of the apartment complex stands forlornly. The black cover over it is densely snow-laden, and the snowflakes flutter and spin in the air more tenderly than they did earlier. You, yourself, stand back with your sack and watch him do the work. He hands you, wordlessly, your helmet and once his hand is free, he slides his own down his head, popping open the visor. Nimbly, he takes both ends of the cover and lets the snow glissade down on the patch of grass behind his bike, which is draped with the same substance. Then, he expertly folds it and stuffs it inside the trunk, lifting his arm in your direction and asking for the sack, which he neatly places inside as well. 

You’re breathless once he’s finished—and you’re empty of all air when he begins to concentrate on you. 

His eyes are saturated with something sensitively dark as he takes your helmet from your arm. The close proximity tugs at your heart and you feel smaller than you did in his apartment. Smaller in a way that suggests you’re being taken care of. His icy hands undo your bun, but he doesn’t give you back your scrunchie. Mindlessly, he drags it down his wrist. Your cheeks heat up within this wuthering vicinity, and Jeongguk protects your wet hair from the wind by pulling the hem of your scarf over your head, tucking your strands inside. Your lungs forget to breathe when he glides the helmet down your head with extra tenderness and necessitates for your eyes, flipping up the visor. 

His hands remain on the helmet as if upon your cheeks, inspecting.

Always inspecting. 

“All good?” 

Your heart does a somersault. You nod. 

“Are you scared?” 

It’s not hitting you yet—the fact you’ll drift through the snowy streets with nothing to protect the sides of your body. No seatbelt, nothing. Only trust in the driver. 

“I’ll drive slow,” Jeongguk adds, his words an allusion to Yoongi’s, and you huff out a soft laugh, the lightheartedness from the occurrence consuming you all over again. 

He taps the side of your helmet and walks towards his bike. Doesn’t laugh, doesn’t smile—as if he didn’t share your enthusiasm in that aspect. He swings a leg over the body of the vehicle and presses the start button, the engine roaring into the evening. It seemingly opens its eyes: lights that line the body of the bike and its tires glare in dark neon red. He’s a black figure against the violet, twinkling scenery, sprinkled with the daintiest, most intricate snowflakes, and your relation is clear to you as you observe him like this. 

You’re becoming attached to him. And maybe that should be the thing to be scared of.

Jeongguk curls his fingers in the air, gesticulating that you are to hop on, and you do. Because you’re not scared, because the idea of being scared of Jeongguk doesn’t simply make sense to you. 

The bike is cold as you follow his motions and sit down behind him. You hiss at the sensation and he glances back at you, though he’s not able to see much due to the thickness of his helmet. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“It’s cold.” 

He coos to himself, ever so quietly that it gives you the impression that you weren’t supposed to hear it. And before you can comprehend his softness and react, he speaks. 

“You have to hang on. I’ll get you home soon.” He tweaks the handlebars. “Hold onto me.” 

As soon as you place your palms on his shoulders, the vehicle begins moving backwards in a more rapid way than you anticipated. You startle, gasping, tensing behind him and gripping his muscles. Jeongguk is quick with his response—before he drives out of the sidewalk and onto the road, he moves your hand from his shoulder to his waist. Would move your other hand, too, but he has to handle the bike, turning in a swift way that takes your breath. 

“Hold me like this, don’t let go,” he calls out, and you comply, intertwining your fingers before his chest, and then he’s drifting.

Your intertwinement loosens. You grapple the front of his puffer jacket for more support as the wind, interlaced with the unmerciful snowflakes, sails through the sides of your body, entering you through your throat, knotting your stomach. The vacant tide of the airy atmosphere appears to be sturdy and ruthless, but when you risk letting go of his jacket to flip down your visor because your eyes have started to burn, the sharpness of the breezing air is silky, elegant and lovely. Not severe, not harsh, not against you, but for you. It’s like the air parts for your touch, enveloping you, and because you long to feel more of it, you extend your hand to the side, allowing yourself to simply feel. Feel life be compliant and lenient. You lean your head against the center of Jeongguk’s back and watch your hand be kissed by the wind and the snowflakes, not having one care in the world. 

Everything wrong ceases to exist on this road with him. 

You mimic the waves of the sea with your hand because you sense that you’re being carried to a better part of life. You’re sailing, swimming, you’re happy and at peace, and those feelings are accompanied by the sudden sound of Jeongguk’s sweet chuckle. But you don’t shy away. No, you don’t have any reason to, for Jeongguk extends his hand, too. His ripples are way lengthier, protruding through the air in more depth due to the size of his hand. Together you swim like this just for a brief, blissful moment—he, in the front, you behind him like the follower you are, like the child you are in your adulthood. 

And the time frame of this felicity doesn’t pause at the red light. 

You’ve situated your hands back to his chest, and Jeongguk rubs them in fast motions, warming them up, glancing back at you. 

“Did you flip down your visor?” he questions, his voice deepened by the adrenaline of the ride. 

You nod, internally geeking at the fact he’s touching your hands. “I did. My eyes were burning.” 

“Good.” 

Your heart is delectated by that praise. Content drowsiness seizes you while your joy beats, meekly, in your belly. And it is now that you perceive that you’re hugging him. It may be through a myriad of warm layers, but you’re hugging him—and he’s holding your hands, caring enough about them being cold while his own are frosty, but still filmy, still soft, still gentle. And this time, when he lets go, you don’t lament their absence because he’s buried in you, somehow, the trust, the security that he will touch you again. 

There’s nothing to be afraid of. 

He’ll come back around. 

Everything is okay. 

You must have fallen asleep with your one eye open because you don’t even recognize how much time has passed. Jeongguk taps your hands again, calling you by your name, and you hum, feeling him burying that trust deeper by the gesture, feeling yourself getting used to being touched by him. 

“I’m driving through your bus’s line now, I need you to tell me where you live.” 

You straighten and squint in the dark, deliberating your surroundings. You’re four stops away from the one you get off on. 

“Go straight and then take the first turn,” you navigate him, your tone marked by your sleepiness. “If you see the trees in the distance, that’s where my house is.” 

You return to your former position, resting peacefully on his back, and you’re about to close your eyes again, but Jeongguk’s following question fling them right open. 

“Should I stop a few houses down?” 

You’ve never had Yoongi expecting your arrival, so you’re not sure if he’ll be standing by the window, waiting for your friend’s car to park in the driveway. You hesitate, but are inclined to go with his suggestion, though Jeongguk continues to speak in your silence. 

“I don’t want you to deal with his bullshit once he sees that I’m not a girl.” 

His intonation is snappy, laced with his own personal vexation from your relationship with your brother. Your lips curl in a satisfied smile, quivering under your helmet—and here and now, the guilt doesn’t creep in, the inert need to stand up for him doesn’t resurface. You take pleasure in the way he’s bothered by it and the emotion stays. You’re so glad for it that you softly pat his chest a few times and agree with his suggestion. 

It dawns on you that his vexation with your brother is the reason why he didn’t share your enthusiasm when you stood outside of his apartment complex. Your inner child dances around the tree within you, the tails of the velvet ribbon brushing through her long, long hair. 

Jeongguk sighs once he nears your house and you deem he does so because he sees how it’s positioned. The ivory castle of doom dominates the street, overlooking all the other smaller houses, which face each other, while perched on a hill. There’s nowhere for him to hide, not now when he’s driven up the hill. 

He kills the engine, parking the bike by the side of the road. Your hands are numb as you untangle them. You shake them in the air in an effort to get your blood pumping in them. Jeongguk remains sitting and you take it as a sign to hop off first, which you do. Your bum is bitingly ice-cold and, hissing, you rub it. Jeongguk laughs at you, popping open his visor. His eyes are crinkly and starry while he amusedly looks at you, and there’s some kind of intent to his stare that makes your stomach feel all fuzzy. 

You burn under the helmet. 

Blood flows to your digits, and therefore you use them to rid yourself of the protective headpiece. You struggle, however. Stuck in it, you can’t move it—no matter how hard you try, how many muscles you flex in order to discard yourself of it. You hear a muffled chuckle, and then you feel cold hands against yours, pulling up the helmet with a certain kind of precision and strength you don’t possess. And there is the close proximity again, jumbling your guts. The depth to the eye contact and unvoiced words that are passed through the wind, which blows through your sweat-clad hair and forehead, unraveling your scarf, baring you for his eyes to see. A wispy strand of hair gets entangled in your eyelashes, flying through the planes of your face, and Jeongguk doesn’t put it away. He surveys it as he contemplates something—and at this moment all you can think about is how he’s never not lost in his thoughts. 

The boy is always reflecting on something within the complex space of his mind, and you deem that’s why there’s an entire canvas of stars in his eyes. The universe must have given it to him, hand-picked by God, because his head is permanently in the clouds. 

How beautiful that is, how momentous. 

“You fell asleep on me,” he rasps, as if he himself couldn’t believe it. “It wasn’t that bad then, was it?” 

You loop that strand of hair behind your ear and shake your head, flicking your eyes for a split second to the unlit balcony of your parents’ bedroom. How great and bad would it be, if they stood there. You don’t know why your heart is seeking them at this moment, why your eyes looked there, but you leave it be. Some purpose it has, but your mind doesn’t have to understand it right now. You find peace in that. 

“You’re a safe female driver,” you joke, your words split by your soft laughter, but Jeongguk isn’t amused, not anymore. You bite your lip, your pleasure from it heightening. “I was scared at first, but then it felt liberating.” 

Jeongguk nods, attuned to your experience. He hangs your helmet on one of the handle bars. “So you’re willing to ride with me again?” 

He peeks at you, magnetically pulling your answer out of you by the laws of the stars in his eyes, and as you blush, you melt. You irrevocably and nonsensically melt. 

“Yeah, but remind me to bring my gloves next time,” you say, grinning so wide the muscles in your cheeks ache. You pull down the sleeves of your jacket to keep the cold from penetrating them. Jeongguk notices, but if he smiles—you can’t tell. He’s still wearing his helmet. 

You think about his offer in the short interlude, looking forward to it. You’d get on and drive back with him to his apartment if you could. When will the next time be, though? He doesn’t drive to school on his bike—he uses public transportation and you wonder why. 

“Why don’t you take the bike to school?” 

Jeongguk inhales a big gust of air, tilting his head back. The snowflakes fall into the wide hole of his helmet, sitting on his nose. As he mulls over his response, his eyes land on you with a tendril of ferocity that puzzles you. 

“I’d rather not give them any more reason to talk about me.” 

He begins slapping his hands back and forth, an act that portrays how nervous he is to talk about this. The stars in his eyes lower to dullness, his irises unwilling to pierce yours. You recollect his nerves and how unwilling he was to flesh them out and unriddle them, too. You know, from his past bus stop heart-spilling, that he doesn’t have many friends within his field, but he never mentioned that they genuinely dislike him. You never heard the details, the gravity of this day-to-day problem. And you feel so bad for him that as he looks out into the distance across the hill, you take the necessary step towards him and take his hand into yours. 

It is the most courageous thing you’ve ever done, but Jeongguk is perturbed. 

And you don’t know it is due to the light unexpectedly turning on in the bedroom of your parents until he pushes you back onto the sidewalk and towers over you, creating a shadow over you that hides you from your brother, who has entered your parents’ bedroom to spy on whether you’ve come home or not. 

“He’s there,” he clarifies in a hushed tone, completing the puzzle piece, and when you lean your head out of the shadow, he gently presses you back into safety by cradling your ear. 

But you can’t dwell on the touch, not when your heart thrashes against your ribcage with such dreadful, stabbing trepidation because Yoongi never goes to your parents’ bedroom. As far as you know, he hasn’t been there since their death. He kept their door bolted tight for the longest time and it remained so until you begged him to give you the key, so you could keep the room tiny in their honor whenever you missed them. He believed ghosts swarmed its walls there the most out of all the rooms in the house, and if the double doors remained locked, they would stay away—and they would stay away from you, even more so with the bracelet he braided you. You persisted, reminding him of the black plait, and he surrendered. For cleaning and nothing else; we don’t come here for any other purposes, he had decided.

This should be the thing to be scared of. Yoongi prancing around the room as if your parents never died, as if he never swore he’d never walk there again, as if his belief in the paranormal never haunted his mentality. 

This is flat-out terrifying—and bears the image of betrayal. 

Your throat dries out, and your lips form that pout of yours. 

“Is he… still there?” you ask, your voice breaking in consequence of your full-body trembling, and the stars in Jeongguk’s eyes plummet to an unmitigated darkness. 

He doesn’t vacillate as he pushes your head to his chest and holds you to him, keeping you safe in his shadow while he discreetly checks if his presence is still by the balcony windows. His fingers dig into the thickness of your hair, and you wish he would pull on it, so you wouldn’t feel this sagging pain in your sternum, which forces your knees down, which forces your tears like strings of a puppet. 

You don’t want to cry, and you don’t want to believe this is real. His room is next to your parents’, for God’s sake. He could’ve spied from his own window and seen you perfectly fine. Without any obstacles, without causing any of these nagging difficulties. 

“He’s gone. The lights are off.” 

There’s no relief from his words. There’s nothing that could alleviate you from what you saw. And you don’t hold back. You tell Jeongguk of the horrible picture as he continues to hold you to him, his fingers sinking deeper into your scalp. 

“He never goes to my parents’ bedroom. He keeps the door locked and he allows me inside just to clean because I begged him to. What is this? He decided that we would never go there.”

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything for a while. He merely breathes with you, his chest lifting and falling while he contemplates the information. His heart is dead silent—just like the room. 

Or so you thought. 

“I don’t think you should trust anything he says,” he utters, at last, withdrawing you from his chest to glimpse into your eyes. Dark, dark those pools are. No stars in sight. “Fuck his stupid rules.” 

You gasp for air, frustrated that this is your life, that it’s interwoven with those rules of his that you no longer respect. 

“I’ll have a cigarette just so he doesn’t think you were with me, but that’s the last time I’m abiding his fucked up rules and views. I want you to know that. This stops today.”

He’s right, and as he smokes his cigarette and you grip his vape in your fist, puffing from it simultaneously with him, the new decision begins to plunge down your body. This stops today, and the decision roots in your belly like a pebble in a creek once he stubs out his cigarette and gets on his bike, pulling out the sack of figs and cinnamon tea and handing it to you. 

This stops today, and the next time he takes you for a ride on his bike, he will park by your house for Yoongi to see.

Although, you don’t realize, not in your poisonously blossoming spite, that you won’t see Jeongguk anytime soon, and that he won’t hop on his bike for months. 

You don’t realize in the moment, as you’re waving Jeongguk goodbye while he drives off, that your efforts are everlastingly useless. 

And that is the curse your mother spoke over you when you were still a child with long, dripping wet hair. That is the demon that lives in the walls of your parents’ bedroom. 

Let out, freed, having been given permission by the breaking of spoken rules to ruin your life. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @jjk7k , @tkslovechild , @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl , @ririkookiemonster , @perfectiondazesworld , @https-mei , @bangtansonyeondanue , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk , @parkinglot-nights, @sadgirlroo

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[shurisneakers]

unsolved (iii)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, obnoxious reader, cryptids, graveyards

A/N: good evening. i am fighting demons (tummy ache). comments and feedback are always appreciated thank u for the love on the series so far i adore u guys sm <;33

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A few days after the first video goes up, Bucky returns from his run to a SHIELD file taped to his door.  

He opens to a black and white photo of him from back in the day, and a page full of his details. Full name, blood group, previous addresses, aliases, best colours to match his undertone, favourite Gilmore Girl boyfriend. 

He flips the page to the section on his known connections, only for a sheet of paper to fall out. Sharpie sprawled haphazardly across it, in big red letters. 

NO AUNT. 

BITCH.

He bites back a grin.

The video does reasonably well. Not record breaking numbers or anything, but for once there aren’t TikToks of people counting how many times he blinks to make sure he’s an actual human. 

Always a man of his word, though he has regretted it every single time, he agrees to a second video. It follows after a disgraceful bout of bitching and even pleading, but a few hours later, he resigns himself to his fate silently. 

That is until the schedule for the next video shoot is posted to the server, and he sees it’s at night. 

The night he uses to sleep. The night.

Before he can even type out his rejection, his door receives four sharp knocks. He doesn’t even need to open it to know who it was.  

It’s like you could read his thoughts. Probably could. He doesn’t know the extent of your telekinesis. 

In your hands is a large cardboard box and on your face is a stupidly big grin. 

“Good evening,” you greet. 

“Tell me the show’s getting cancelled,” he says. 

“Nope. We–” you announce, reaching into the box and shoving something onto his chest, “--are going on a trip. Demon hunting.”

“Demon hunting?” 

“To Westley Cemetery,” you add, letting the box tumble onto the floor as you grip its contents. “To catch the Westley Cemetery Cryptid.”

“What the hell is the Westley Cemetery Cryptid?” Bucky demands.

“Creature that lives in the cemetery, watches people from the trees and runs after you if you’re there too long. No known kills, but a couple of scratches and spooks,” you list off. 

His face twists. “That’s not a real thing.”

“Uh, yes it is.” You rest a hand on your hip. “My sources told me so.”

“Who are your sources?”

“Twitter.”

Bucky stares at you without a word.

“It’s totally real. It’s got a Wikia page and everything,” you argue against his complete silence. “I believe in it.”

“That means nothing.”

“Rude.” You glare pointedly. “Anyway, point is, we’re going out tonight to the cemetery and we’re gonna catch this thing on tape.”

Bucky tracks your gaze to finally look down at what you’ve shoved into his hands. It’s a headband, with two cameras attached to it, one facing your face and the other outward. Night vision, he guesses. 

He sighs. “How long? An hour?” 

“Was Hamlet written in an hour? Was Sharknado filmed in an hour?” you exclaim. “Great art takes time. We’re staying out there as long as we need to. So help me, we will emerge victorious.”

Bucky stares at you. “Two hours.”

“Seven.”

“Thirty minutes.”

“Your will is weak and your spirit is cowardly.” You return his fixed look with equal intensity, if not more, which he didn't think was possible. “Three hours.”

“Deal.”

“Great.” You stick your hand out, and he grabs on firmly. “See you at 1am.”

“1am?!”

It is 1am, it is cold and Bucky is miserable. 

But he’s there. In the cemetery. With the stupid camera rig on his head. 

You offer him whiskey to warm him up, and he agrees. 

You then tell him you don’t actually have any because you didn’t think he’d accept.

He hates it here.

The wind whistles around the both of you. The eerie silence is only compounded by the fact that he can’t see anything beyond a certain point. The night is especially dark and there is no moonlight.

He trudges through the patchy grass, dry leaves crunching under his boots.

The camera being so close to his face along with the fact that you wouldn’t stop singing the same three fucking lines of the song over and over again, makes him want to tear his hair out.

“That thing’s not gonna get near us if you don’t shut up,” he grumbles.

“Nonsense,” you hum. “I’m a goddamn delight. He’s gonna be trippin’ over himself to get to me.”

“He doesn’t exist.”

“He definitely does, and you know what? I bet your shit vibes are gonna attract him. Moth to flame and all that. Karmic justice.” 

Bucky stares straight ahead, swerving to avoid running into cracked tombstones. 

You go back to singing, but worse this time. 

“What if we don’t get anything?” he interrupts, to protect his sanity. “No one wants to watch a bunch of people just walk around the dark for 20 minutes.”

There’s no response. 

It takes a second for Bucky to realise the singing’s stopped too.

He stops in his tracks, head swivelling to look for you.

“The fuck…” he mutters. 

In the cemetery, he is truly alone for a moment. Silent, other than wrought iron gates creaking in the far distance. 

The leaves of the tree above him rustle.

Bucky looks up, squinting against the darkness. 

Against the stillness of the night, he sees it. A figure stands tall on the branches of the tree, silhouette obscured by the leaves. 

It leers down at him, unmoving.

Bucky doesn’t even flinch.

“Very funny,” he says. “Hilarious.”

“We’ll fake it,” the figure calls from above. “If we don’t get any footage, I’ll just get on up there and fuck around and you record.”

“Get down,” he demands. “We’re not faking footage.”

If this show had to die this way, so be it.

“Bore,” you boo, lowering yourself to the ground with ease. “If I didn't know any better, I’d say you don’t want to be a part of this series.”

“I don’t.”

“Anyway,” you say obnoxiously, “we won’t have to. There is definitely a cryptid here. I can feel it in my bones.”

“We’re halfway through the graveyard and there’s nothing here,” he shoots back. “We should call it quits.”

“You’re right,” you say, to his surprise. “We need to cover more ground. Let’s split up.”

That is most definitely not what he was saying.

But you start singing again and so Bucky agrees faster than you finish the same stupid third line for the hundredth time that hour.

Bucky is a man of dignity.

Less than five minutes later, he gives up.

He takes a seat against the trunk of a tall tree, in a relatively open clearing. 

He figures if he just takes a nap then the two hours would pass by quicker. 

Bucky has no idea where you’ve gone. The lack of light doesn’t help, even with his advanced vision. 

He crosses his arms behind his head and settles back, eyes closing. 

Not even a second later, he wants to rip his hair out when the stupid song you were singing reintroduces itself in his head.

“For fuck’s sake,” he groans. 

The tree he’s leaning against shifts ever so slightly.

His eyes fly open, but he doesn’t move an inch.

Instinctually, his breathing slows and his ears tune in to pick up even the faintest sounds.

The draft whispers, and he knows for a fact that something is above him.

A branch cracks. 

“Go away,” Bucky says loudly. 

A second passes. 

And then another. 

“You’re supposed to be looking for the thing,” you shout.

“It’ll find me if it wants to.” He shifts to make himself more comfortable. “I’m givin’ him a real shot here.” 

“You didn’t even look up.”

“Didn’t have to.”

“He could have been above you.”

“But he wasn’t.” Bucky’s eyes close again. 

“You’re terrible.” It comes back muffled, and branches shift. “I’m headin’ that way. One of us has to put some effort into this.”

“Joy. Knock yourself out.”

The trunk moves under his muscles again and Bucky lets out a small exhale, settling back into the position he was in.

Until he hears you singing in the distance. Same three lines, same off-key tune.

Bucky drags his palm across his face. 

An hour passes. 

Unlike his original plan, he does not sleep.

He instead recounts every element he remembers from the periodic table. 

Replays every Dodgers game from his childhood, and then gets mad at their shift. 

Then he tries to recollect every fact he knows about you so far. Mutant, captured and experimented on, broke free several years before him. Met Nat along the way and befriended her. Telekinesis, slowed aging. Escape artist. Wedding videographer. Allegedly.

He just doesn’t get how you’re so goddamn chirpy all the time, given that he’d been through something similar and come out the way he had. 

It had taken him a month to say anything to anyone other than Steve. You went out for brunch with Sam the same weekend you showed up at the compound.

He doesn’t get you.

Speaking of which, he hasn’t actually seen you in a while. 

He checks the time on his watch. Nearly 3am.

He had a fucking workout in the morning and no lizard-man was going to be the cause for Steve outrunning him.

He pushes himself off the ground with a groan, and stretches out his sore limbs. Definitely too old for lying around a cemetery beyond midnight.

He calls out your name loudly, and then again, before waiting. 

He hears bells ringing in the distance. 

Bucky looks up.

In the shadows of the trees, he comes face to face with the same sight as before. A figure, standing on the branches.  

“There’s nothing here,” he calls out, sighing. “Can we just leave?”

The twigs creek, and for a second he thinks you’re going to fall. 

“Already told you I’m not faking footage, get down from there,” he repeats. “I’m leaving. I’ll see you at the gate.”

The leaves shuffle around before he hears branches break. 

Something you say gets obscured by your movement, but you disappear again. He thinks that maybe you were cursing him out, and deservedly so. He just couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

He rolls his eyes, but starts making his way to the entrance of the graveyard.

The walk back is faster, and he holds back a yawn as the gates start creeping up on the horizon. 

There’s no sign of you. He half thinks you ditched him here and went back to the compound. Or fell off the tree and were just laying there. 

But he decides to wait, leaning against the exposed concrete wall. 

Eyes closed, he rubs his temples and decides that if you’re not here in the next thirty seconds, he’ll just–

“Hey,” you greeet from right in front of him.

“Where the hell did you go?” he demands. 

You blink at him, before holding up a wrapper. 

“Got a sandwich. I was hungry. The diner was real nice too, I spent like half an hour talkin’ to the owner.”

He stares at you. “You just left to get a sandwich?”

“Yeah, and I got you one, too,” you reply, tossing him a paper bag. “You’re welcome. God bless that man, but those things aren’t cheap.”

“You’ve not been here for the last half hour?”  

“I mean, I spent like ten minutes looking.” You shrug, taking another bite. “All I got was a bunch of grass.”

Ten minutes. Bucky had sat under the stupid tree for an hour. 

“So you just left,” he says dryly.

“Yes,” you reply like it’s not even worth debating. “Besides, if anyone could find a cryptid it’d be you. A fellow cryptid.”

Bucky spins on his heel to leave.

“You’re welcome for dinner,” you call out, and he can hear you laugh.

He flips you the finger, and regrets it a second later when your singing resumes.

The sandwich is good. He appreciates it.

He even manages to keep pace with Steve the next morning. 

What he doesn’t appreciate is coming back to fifteen missed calls and four video calls from you.

From: co-host (TGS)

can you pick up 

From: co-host (TGS)

i know you have nothing going on in your life you are bitchless

Bucky switches off his phone for the next three hours. 

Finally, it’s a threat that you will show up at his door again and Bucky finally video calls you back that evening. 

“What,” he states.

“Took you long enough,” you huff, sitting up to adjust the camera. In the middle of the ordeal, Bucky sees your laptop open.

“What do you want?” he repeats.

“The team sent over the videos from last night,” you tell him. “At some point in the video you said ‘we’re not faking footage, get down from there.”

“Yeah.”

He hears you play the footage faintly in the background, almost to substantiate your point. He cringes at the sound of his own voice.  

“Who were you talking to?” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Heard you in the trees. Figured you climbed up there again.”

“Ah.” You click your tongue. “Interesting.”

“What.”

You hum. “See, that wasn’t me.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Yes, it was.”

“No, it wasn’t,” you say calmly. “I’d left to get dinner way before all that.”

“Right.”

“I’m serious. Got the timestamp on my video to prove it.” You look up at him through the camera finally. “So who were you actually talking to, Barnes?”

Bucky’s nose twitches.

“Bye,” he says shortly.

“Dude,” he hears you laugh loudly through the phone. “I fuckin’ told you you’d attract these things, you–”

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Next part

[kookslastbutton]

Too Late to Dream ༓ jjk (m) II ch. II

✑ Summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader

AU/Genre: angst, smut, fluff, marriage au, age gap, series

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 5,044

Warnings: 8-year age gap, flashbacks of professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), fighting, pent-up issues/desires, jk has daddy issues, mentions of therapy, kookie trying to be a good husband, cute coupley stuff that idk anyone will like but 🥺 👉👈, jk says cawk , idk why this is a warning

Now Playing: Make It Right, Tryna Be, Infinity, It Will Rain, Heaven+

A/N: Hi guys! I'm back! I thought I'd start off with a little flashback and then diving back into the story. Also, big thing–I decided not to make jk a complete butt. I don't want this story to be about "jk finally coming around after treating oc like garbage for wanting a kid". It's more of a we'll figure-it-out-together kinda thing though there will be bumps in the road. Anyway, enjoy 🥰

<< ch.I ༓ ch. III >> | series masterlist

To say falling in love with Jungkook was an effortless, butterflies-in-your-tummy, love-at-first-sight, you-know-it-when-you-see-it sort of affair is far from the truth. In actuality, you and Jungkook met on a very normal basis and had very normal rapport…well, somewhat normal.

Jungkook was your economics professor in grad school and you were merely one out of eighty of his students during the first semester. Surely you'd be walking out with no more than a barely scrimmaged 'A' and remnants of stupid economics jokes he and his colleagues found slapstick funny.

Jungkook always had an interesting sense of humor.

Bottom line? Your life wasn't a drama and you certainly didn't plan on living like it was–especially when your parents were on your tail, making sure their hard-earned money was well spent.

As if being bonked on the head by something called fate, however, Jungkook sent you away with far more than odd jokes and good grades.

Hey, hindsight is 20/20.

four years ago

“Oh, good morning.” A soft, yet hoarse voice strides past you. You view the man, estimating that he be in his early 30s though could easily pass for 25 by his youthful appearance. His hair is black, a bit shaggy but well-kept nonetheless. Silver piercings dangle from his ears and a pair of rectangular glasses rest on his perfectly symmetrical face. This is your professor?

Undoubtedly, what mesmerizes you the most is the striking arm tattoo partially displayed under the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt. You remember temporarily considering tattoo artistry in high school but studio arts appealed to you more.

Not like you got to do either though, seeing as you’ve been stuck in econ for the fifth year in a row. You’re parents insisted you get your master’s immediately after undergrad…how wonderful for you.

But back to the man at the front of the room. You weren’t expecting someone so hip and attractive–very, very attractive.

Your stomach churns but you brush the feeling away.

He's your professor for god sake.

The man, coincidentally your professor, quirks a small smile your way and sets his bag on the podium at the front. “Didn’t expect anyone to be here for another twenty minutes.”

“I just got out of another class a couple of rooms down so I’m here early.” You straighten in your seat and return a smile of your own. “It’s nice to meet you Dr. Jeon. I’m Y/N.” You start bouncing your leg up and down, clicking the pen in your hand. Please be right, please be right, you chant silently, hoping you remembered the name correctly.

Jungkook notices your slightly restless state but he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Just to be sure, you are here for ECON 602 right? Macroeconomic Theory?” He unzips his bag and sets his laptop on the podium. Making brief eye contact, he catches sight of the piece of paper directly below your nose. “That’s a beautiful sketch.”

You glance down, moving the paper to the side as if embarrassed. Not many people see your work beyond close friends, and even then you like to keep it to yourself. “Yes, absolutely,” you reply. “ECON 602, 12:15 pm. And thanks, I draw as a hobby.”

Your professor hums, nodding as he connects the HDMI cable to his laptop and lowers the presentation board.“ Dr. Kim is going to be quite jealous when he hears such artistic talent is in my economics class.” He lets out a slight chuckle. “You don’t mind if I tell him, do you? A little competition we have going on.”

You snort at the comment.

Dr. Kim Taehyung was the art department’s most talked about professor. Everyone knew him for his extremely unique perspective, classy personality, as well as his breathtaking artwork. You’ve passed him in the hallways a number of times, wishing you could study under him and dare you say, in more ways than one.

“I don’t mind.” You shake your head. “Are you and Dr. Kim close?” Maybe you shouldn’t be this curious but it was now fifteen minutes until the start of class and no one else had shown. What else were you going to fill time with? Awkward silence while you watch your professor fumble and tap on his keyboard?

“We were colleagues if you can believe that.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Only two years ahead of me in undergrad. When I first started teaching here I had no idea he was here too. But you know what they say __, it’s a small world.”

“Smaller,” you retort. “I feel like everywhere I go I run into someone I’ve known or seen at some point in my life. You just never really know I guess.” When you first entered university, you were counting your lucky stars that most of your high school peers were attending college nearby your hometown. You on the other hand were a good five to six hours from home. Last you checked, however, half of those peers were now getting married or on their second kid. Crazy how some people’s lives change on a dime.

You watch as your professor shuffles a few sheets of paper in his hands, scanning them briefly. “I can relate to that,” he mutters. “Pretty sure we haven’t met before though. Could be a bigger world than we think. Now where’s everyone else? Didn’t all drop last minute did they?” The man lifts his head, flashing a big gorgeous grin. His eyes are playful and dance with mirth.“Not that I would mind if it were just you and I this whole semester.“

“uh–“ is embarrassingly, all you say. He isn’t implying anything by that right? Oh god __, don’t be stupid. As you've established, this isn’t a romance novel and you’re most definitely not the main character.

“You seem attentive is what I mean,” the man says, breaking you out of your daze. “And beyond punctual. Two qualities that I hold in high esteem.” You’d say he had a tiny smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth but it was likely an illusion. Your professor has bigger fish to fry than worry about any possible scenarios you’ve concocted in your silly head.

Still, in a moment of sheer thoughtlessness, you say something you regret being unable to retract. “Thank you, I like you too.” As soon as the words fly out you feel the need to run out and bang your head against the wall. Thinking on your feet wasn’t your specialty.

Little to your knowledge, Jungkook finds your mannerisms cute and stifles the temptation to tease. You’re his student, after all, a little professionally please, he repeats to himself.

“So are you from here?” Jungkook asks, choosing to switch the topic before both of you get swallowed into a messy situation.

You shake your head in denial. “I live here temporarily but I grew up about five hours north of here. My parents are still there.”

“Ah, well that’s a bit away. I imagine you miss them?”

You ponder the question for a second, eyes rolling up in contemplation. “From time to time.” Jungkook gives a knowing look. He’s had his share of familial drama and the need for space.

“I understand,” he says. “I grew up ten hours south myself.”

“Wow, that’s…far.” You’re surprised by the distance and can’t imagine it’s an easy commute. You wonder how long he’s been here and more so, if he’s here alone.

“Yeah.” He rests his palms on the edge of the podium, leaning on them gently. The protruding veins in his forearms catch your attention but you pry yourself from lingering. After what you said earlier, the last thing you want is for Dr. Jeon to think you're coming on to him. “Gets a little quiet sometimes but I’ve learned to live with it.”

As if immune to learning from your mistakes you blurt exactly what’s in your head.“So you’re not–“

“Married? Dating? Seeing someone?” Jungkook finishes your sentence like it’s nothing he hasn’t done tenfold times before. “No. I’m not.”

You give a small “Ah,” nodding in understanding before another classmate walks in, putting an abrupt end to the conversation. Jungkook is quick to greet the young man who’s joined but he’s certain he won’t be forgetting your name anytime soon.

present

You tilt your head back, allowing beads of hot water to run down your bare skin. The sound of steady pattering combined with heavy steam relaxes your muscles.

You can't believe you actually told him.

Blurting out to Jungkook that you wanted a baby in the middle of a fight is not how you intended to open up to your husband. But everything escalated so fast that it just came out.

You think back to last night’s events.

Once the movie's credit scenes appear Jungkook feels your eyes burn through him from your lounged position. "You're making that face again," he says.

"There's no face."

"Look," Jungkook cuts shortly. "Will you just tell me so we can deal with it?!"

"Just deal with it? Like it's some kind of nuisance of an issue that needs treatment?" You jump up from the couch and head to your bedroom in a fury, your husband hot on your trail.

"I don't mean to be pissing you off, sweetheart but I know something's up." He follows you into the bathroom, watching you reach for your toothbrush. "Can you please slow down and talk to me?" He grabs the toothpaste before you can, forcing you to stop in your tracks.

"I–I want…I want to be a mom. I want a baby."

"A baby? What do you mean you want a baby?" You see the panic settling in his eyes. Jungkook takes you into his arms, his thumb wipes off some of your tears. "Honey, I'm sorry I didn't know. When you came home from the park I didn't realize that little boy meant so much to you."

You try blinking back your tears but they keep running down your face. He's being gentle with you and you appreciate that but his choice of words tells you his answer is no. It's quiet, subtle, and cuts like a knife.

You break away from him to splash cold water on your face. The coolness calms your nerves. “He didn’t. Never–never mind what I said, sorry. I’m tired and I’m probably not thinking straight.”

It was a blatant lie but just look at your situation. Married for two years, still on birth control, and had no plans to change that. Suddenly one party diverts from the plan fully aware that the other is perfectly comfortable with the current plan.

Yes, you hoped he'd have a slightly better reaction but you don't blame him for his stunned look.

Plus, did you even have enough time to realize what you were saying? Feeling? It could easily be written off that you were simply impulsive, emotionally vulnerable, and so on with the track record you had regarding kids and parenting.

You sigh, bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

Not much else happened after the fight. Jungkook apologized again with his arms wrapped around your waist. He snuggled his nose in the crook of your neck and kissed your cheek too.

It was the usual, it felt familiar and warm but the pang in your head put a roadblock to that. No marriage is perfect. You know that. But you have a feeling you and Jungkook are headed for a steep valley, both on opposing sides.

"Hi.” You’re taken out of your thoughts when you hear the shower door pop open. Your husband steps in, with messy hair and half-open lids. Evidently, still sleepy.

You spare him a glance and quickly reach for your body wash on the shelf. “Hi,” you reply back, voice monotone.

Jungkook moves closer behind you and curves an arm around you. He grabs the bottle out of your hand and squirts some of the soap into his palm. “How did you sleep?”

A small shiver runs up your spine when his cool hand rubs circles against your upper back and shoulder. It still feels nice, you admit. You see some of the soap drip down and hit the shower floor.

“I slept okay. You?”

“I’m about the same.” Jungkook moves his hand a little lower, making sure to cover your whole backside. “I’m really sorry about how I handled things last night. What I said and how I said it was inexcusable.”

“Please, Jungkook you don’t have to keep apologizing about it. I know…and I’m sorry I spurred it on you so suddenly. It’s not how I wanted you to find out.” if at all, you add to yourself.

“Is it still true?” he asks, stopping his movements. “Do you really want to start a family?”

You feel queasy all over again. His tone is serious and if you turn around you’ll likely see the fire in his eyes. So you remain in your position, facing towards the shower head.

“I don’t know…” you finally say after thirty seconds of eerie silence. “But I think I do, I really do. Seeing our friends and other people our age have kids makes me wonder if we’d ever have that. I can’t explain why right now. I know it’s unexpected after we’ve been living a sort of way for so long.” After another pause you continue. “But I know it’s not a mutual thing and that’s…okay.”

“Sweetheart, even if we were to have kids…where would we find the time? The school year’s starting soon and I’m gonna be running ragged at the university next week. You know my schedule. I teach Monday through Friday, leaving at 7:15 am and returning around 4 p.m. You leave for work a little later in the morning but get back at 5 p.m. All our week consists of will be eating a quick dinner together, then I have to squirrel away to my office for the night to review class notes and grade stacks of assignments.”

Though you’re aware of how crazy busy Jungkook gets during the school year, you’re not foolish enough to believe that is the root of his argument.

“Maybe you’re right that we don’t have much time now but Jungkook, we can figure it out. You only teach 9 months out of the year and I can–I can stay at home or we can hire a nanny. And we don’t have to do it right away but–“

“__.” Jungkook turns you around so you’re looking eye to eye. He hesitates to say his next words, fearing a replay of yesterday. But he can’t bring himself to pretend with you. Not on something this serious. “I understand and I want more than anything to tell you I want the same, but I can't lie to you. Being a father, and having a kid, I think it’s wonderful but I just never saw that for myself. I’m so sorry I–”

Your heart concaves into your chest. You absolutely want him to be honest but it pains you to hear. Where do you go from here?

Slowly, you wrap your arms around his neck. Jungkook jolts a bit, surprised by your sudden gesture but welcomes the embrace.

“It’s okay Jungkook.” You settle your head into his shoulder, simply wanting to be close. One tear spills out, then another. “It’s okay.”

“No, look at me __. You didn’t let me finish.” You lift your head from his shoulder. Jungkook strokes your back soothingly before continuing. “If this is what you want, then I’m not going to stand here and be the asshole husband that just dismisses it. But this is a big step.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “Don’t say what I think you are. Jungkook you don’t have to do anything.”

“I’m not saying I change my mind.” Of course, that would be unrealistic, you talk yourself through, preparing for his next words. “However, I am–I am willing to seriously consider this whole thing, babies, diapers, strollers, all of it. But I need you to be sure that this is what you want. And the only way I think that can happen is if we start this slow. Sounds like I’m making some sappy speech huh?”

Jungkook cracks a faint smile.

You look like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop or for him to yell psyche and flick your forehead or something.

But none of that happens.

Instead, Jungkook unwraps one of your arms from around your neck, places a light kiss on your knuckles, and stares deep into your eyes as if making a promise. “I know this isn’t exactly heaven to your ears but I’m just trying to say, let’s not rush to a decision yet, okay? All of this did just get revealed yesterday and I think it’d be unfair to both of us if we scurry past it without thinking.”

Shocked. You’re utterly shocked. You were expecting him to give you a flat-out no or attempt to cover up the issue somehow. While, this isn’t your ideal outcome, if Jungkook is willing to take this seriously, no bullshit necessary, then so are you.

“Thank you, Jungkook.” You smile at him, feeling a tad lighter than you did before. Your heart beats again, slow and steady. “I love you.”

“I love you more than anything __. I married you and I intend to keep it that way.” Jungkook sneaks a wink and you press a kiss to his lips.

“Hey,” you pipe up. “It’s Sunday isn’t it?”

Jungkook nods in confusion. “It is..?”

“You have somewhere to be this morning don’t you?” You wait a moment before an oh-shit expression forms on Jungkook’s face.

As you remember your husband was supposed to be at some fancy gold club today. Like Jimin, a certain Kim Taehyung had his weekly “thing” too. Being close friends, Jungkook was supposed to be there, along with Hoseok.

“‘You're so right. 'M sorry honey I gotta go. They’re gonna kill me." Jungkook gives you one last kiss before slipping out of the shower. "I’ll be back for dinner.”

“Jungkook! Where the fuck have you been? We tried calling you!” Taehyung is the first to speak as soon as he catches sight of the younger man. He has his usual blush pink polo shirt on paired with well-pressed beige shorts.

He looks a little too handsome for golf.

Jungkook’s secretly glad his wife stayed home this time, as he’s fully aware of her mini crush on Taehyung in school. When she first found out they were colleagues he could tell she had borderline stars in her eyes.

“Sorry sorry,” Jungkook says. “I was doing stuff and time escaped me. Plus, I didn’t have my phone near me for a bit. But I’m here now, so let’s get going!” Jungkook walks in front of the two men, heading for the first stage of the golf course. “You guys coming?” He turns around and lifts both arms up.

Taehyung and Hoseok exchange looks before following his lead. It’s unlike Jungkook to be this eager for golf. In fact, he hates golf. And his explanation is a bit…questionable.

As much as Hoseok is a friend, he is also just as much of a psychologist who can't stop himself from practicing his craft when given the chance. “You doing alright?” Hoseok waits for Jungkook to answer, one hand clings around the top of his golf club while the other settles around his hip. "Haven't seen you since Jimin's last dinner.”

"Yeah, I'm good," Jungkook barely replies, watching Taehyung practice and few swings before taking the shot. Like a prodigy, it sinks right in. "Hole in one again man? I thought you painted."

Taehyung glances over his shoulder with a smug expression, cocky smirk, and sunglasses behind his head. "Don't be too jealous of hyung, Jungkookie."

"Fuck off Tae," Jungkook quips back. "I'm not 22 anymore. I have a good job, nice house, and a gorgeous wife waiting for me at home. What do you have? A bunch of golf balls in your pants.”

Hmm, a little more defensive than usual, Hoseok notes. And guarded too, something’s up.

"About that wife of yours Kook," Hoseok drawls. "How she doing?" Jungkook turns towards the man, slight distaste on his face.

“Uh, she’s fine. Thanks for asking. Also, I know what you’re doing and I’m not in the mood.”

"Ah Jungkook, you act like I'm being so malicious.” Smiling, Hoseok continues. “Can't I care about my friend of ten years without such accusations?"

Jungkook sighs and kicks the grass. Hoseok has been one of his closest friends for a long time so if there's anyone worth talking to about his current situation and who'd understand, I'd be him. "Well, I’m not saying much right now but.....__ recently told me she wants a baby. I’m still–I'm having trouble processing it. But I’m trying.”

Hoseok throws a hand behind the younger's shoulder. “That’s big news Jungkook and it’s completely fine that you’re still working through it. Don’t feel like you have to speed up the process either. I’ve known you both long enough to know that parenting hasn’t really been in the cards until now so I’m surprised myself.”

“I think she’s still a little unsure, but something happened the other day and it struck a cord inside her. She wants a family and,” Jungkook steps to the side, and Hoseok's hand slips from his shoulder. “I wish I could tell her I want it too. But I can't lie to her like that. I also don’t want her to bury that desire for my sake, so I told her we could consider it. I don’t know man, I feel like I’m trying to do the right thing but I don’t know if I can do this. Will I ever change my mind? I want to, for her.”

Hoseok looks at his friend with soft eyes, compassion in them. “Unfortunately, this is not something you can foresee nor force. At least not this early. But you’re definitely doing the right thing by not brushing her off. As real as your feelings are about not wanting a child right now, so are __'s feelings. It’s best you listen to both sides.”

Jungkook tousles his hair around. “I just–fuck.”

Hoseok doesn’t need further explanation to understand Jungkook’s predicament. He’s frustrated, blames himself, and is struggling to come to terms with reality. The unknown scares him and he doesn’t want to lose control of what little he has. “I’m sorry, Kook…it’s a heavy load. Why don't you come in for a session sometime? I think this might be something worth talking through."

“You mean therapy? I don't know, I’m about to have a pretty tight with school starting.”

"One hour, forty minutes at least," Hoseok insists. "Why not try it once and if you don't like it, you don't have to do it again. I love you both and as a friend, I want to be here for you. Beats standing around and watching Taehyung kick our ass at golf. Just think about it and let me know. As I said, I'm always here for you bro."

Jungkook nods and reaches a hand out to gently squeeze Hoseok's shoulder. "I'll think about it. Thanks."

"Hey!" Taehyung waves from afar. "What you guys doing still up there? I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes! Don’t forget that last place buys lunch.”

“He’s referring to you Kook.” Hoseok chuckles, slaps Jungkook on the back, and walks down the golf course toward Taehyung. “You suck at golf.”

Jungkook grunts, following close behind. If this were a benching competition he’d be taking home the whole damn meal.

With Jungkook still gone doing who knows what with his buddies you decide to blast your very wide array of music. It’s a good thing you and Jungkook live in your own house or else your poor neighbors would be knocking down the door with the landlord by now. Yes, that may or may not have happened once with you were in college.

Along with the music you stick true to your character and spread your art supplies on your drawing table. You had your own mini studio, thanks to your wonderful relator who helped find you the house. You reach for a pencil, spinning it between your fingers. Maybe you should finish the drawing of the park’s pond.

Mm, you don’t really feel like packing all your supplies and driving over right now.

Deciding to save it for another day, you ponder ideas of what to do instead. Should you try out your new watercolors? You bought them last week and while you weren’t exactly in low supply, if your husband can have a hundred scented candles you can have your paints.

bling–

You snatch your phone hearing the notification bell.

Jungkook: the rest of your morning going well? [sent at 11:03 a.m]

You smile faintly and type out a reply. Sweet to check in you suppose.

__: Fine. How are the guys? [sent at 11:04 a.m]

Jungkook: Whooping my ass but it’s alright. [sent at 11:07 a.m]

Good, you smirk. Jungkook is awful at golf. And he can stand to lose at something like the rest of you.

__: When are you coming home? [sent at 11:10 a.m]

Jungkook: Looking to wrap things up around 4 pm. I think we’re having a late lunch. Miss you. [sent at 11:13 a.m]

__: Okay, sounds good because I was thinking maybe we could go for ice cream when you get back. After dinner? miss you too [sent at 11:14 a.m]

You stare at the screen, waiting for a reply.

One minute goes by…

Two minutes…

Three…

Jungkook: Okay, sounds amazing. But why not before dinner? The place we like closes early on Sundays. I love you! [sent at 11:17 a.m]

Oh shoot, that’s right. You and Junkook have gone to the same ice cream shake since you first started dating. The couple who run it are super sweet, only a decade older. How could you forget?

__: I’m a dummy, yes we’ll go before dinner. I love you too [sent at 11:18 a.m]

Jungkook: Noo, you’re not a dummy! But okay, I’ll see you soon! [sent at 11:19 a.m]

Rejuvenated, you turn off your phone, jump off your art stool and crank the current song up–Runaway by Bon Jovi. Let’s see, you think, tearing a piece of watercolor paper from your drawing pad, what to do.

When the idea strikes you prepare water, paintbrushes, your palette, and anything else you may need for the next five hours give or take. You snatch your phone again and scroll through your photo gallery, hoping to get a good reference photo.

Your best friend’s birthday was two weeks away and she’s been subtly hinting for a painting of her, her fiancee’, and her dog Bear. As her closest friend and well-practiced artist, you think it is best to appease her request.

Jungkook comes home at 4 pm on the dot. Not a minute later. He looks happy, you conclude. Genuinely happy. It looks good on him.

“__!” Jungkook runs through the front door and lifts you up in his arms. He spins you around and you place your hands on his shoulders. This is so unexpected but nice.

“Jungkook,” you struggle to catch your breath. “What’s going on?”

“I just love coming home to you.” He places you back down and grabs your wrist. “Come on, I wanna stuff you full with ice cream.”

“That sounds so weird,” you laugh.

“Why?” Jungkook opens the front door, ushering you to go ahead of him.

“Because…it sounds like you want to stuff me. Like in a weird way.”

“Woman, that cleared nothing up for me.” You hop into the car with stupid grins on your face. You don’t even know what you mean let alone having to explain to your husband. What can you say, Jungkook makes you a little braindead.

“I just mean that you wanting to stuff me with ice cream sounds like the witch from Hanzel and Gretel. You wanna fatten me up to eat me. Or taxidermy,….or Build a Bear.”

“What the fuck honey,” Jungkook curses, backing out of your drive. “Did you get into something funky while I was gone?”

“No what–ugh never mind.” You stare out the window, arms crossed and biting back the need to giggle uncontrollably. Why were you so giddy right now?

Jungkook glances over with amusement. He knows you’re inches away from balling over with laughter. “You know what honey?”

“Hmm?”

“I think instead of stuffing you full of ice cream, I’m gonna stuff you full with something just as good.”

“Don’t say it Kook, don’t. I’m going to bust a gut.” You beg fully aware he’s not about to back down.

“My fucking cawk,” he says, making sure to exaggerate the last part.

You throw a hand over your mouth, tears well up in your eyes and this time, they’re not sad ones.

You pull up at the small, but charming ice cream stand at around 4:20 pm. It’s a decent crowd tonight.

You and Jungkook get out of the car with laced hands. You’ve managed to calm down now, thankfully. As you make your way to the line a small voice catches both your attention.

“Appa!” A little girl with blue ribbons in her hair runs past you. She looks between eight to ten years old. You and Jungkook follow her movement as she leaps up into her father’s arms.

You smile at the interaction. Her father kisses her cheek and chuckles as she shows him her ribbons. She looks like she’s telling a very eventful story.

Beside you, Jungkook stiffens. His eyes set on the pair but you’re unsure what he’s thinking. “Kook?” you say, but he doesn’t respond. You shake his hand, the one laced in yours, but still no response. It’s when you step in front of his view that you get him back.

“Hey,” you say. “Are you okay?”

Jungkook blinks at you and shakes his head a bit. “I’m good, sorry. Not sure what happened there. Must be a bit out of it today. Let’s go get some ice cream.”

A/N: I like this series vv much...thank you to anyone reading :) Lmk your thoughts and if you wanna be tagged comment or send me an ask!

Taglist:

@frieschan @oldermenluverrr @tatamicc @kookswifesblog @llallaaa @sunnybyeol @namtaeh @exactlygreatcoffee @whipwhoops @yoongisducky @ktnj91 @junecat18 @thvlover7 @yoongiworshiper

Masterlist

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Hear me out iii is a big boy you know what I mean I can’t be the only one who thought about him showing in the tummy while fucking. Please ignore this if you’re not comfortable with it just had to say it.

I am a child of God until I am not… I have nothing else to say. And I thought I was a iv girl, got a feeling that I’ve been lying to myself.

Warning: this is smut people. Kids go away.

Nighttime is for freaks

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You could feel the amped-up emotions pouring out of III when you saw him backstage. He preferred to keep the relationship between you two wrapped up and tucked away. Yet it was III who had laced his fingers through your hair, pulling you closer to him, pealing the bottom of his mask up before smashing his lips against yours. Slightly taken back by his actions you stay frozen for a moment before returning the kiss with just enough force, hands slipping to tug at his hair.

You both barely made it to the hotel and only because the whole time you were the one pushing III’s hand sway from between your thighs. Hissing at him to just hold on for a moment. It was bad enough that the rest of his team had been whistling ever since they walked in on your make-out session. But the moment the hotel door was closed, it’s like all of the self-control was out of the window. Clothes were being tossed across the room, as a hungry kiss after a hungry kiss consumed you both. III’s teeth graze your shoulders. Biting down onto the strap of your bra before pulling it down your shoulders with ease, sending a shiver down your spine.

You watched him sink to his knees in front of you. Lips following every curve of your body. Sloppy kisses painting your skin until he stopped right at the waistband of your red thong. His dark eyes looking up right as his fingers, pushed the damp material of your panties to the side, coating his fingers in your arousal. “You will be a good girl tonight, take it all, won't you?”, III asks, slipping a finger between your folds. A light moan slips past your lips as you splay your hands over his shoulders for support, nodding eagerly. “Good, cause I have plans for you”, he musses against your inner thigh and the next thing you know your legs are over his shoulders, back pressed against the wall as he eats you out like a man starved, fingers pressing into your thighs, keeping you from clapping over his head.

“Jesus, fuck, Christ”, you moan as the second orgasm begins to take shape in the depths of your belly. “No, Jesus, just me”, III grunts, pulling one of your legs over his shoulder and making your vision go hazy as he thrusts into you mercilessly. The sound of the headboard hitting the wall and your wetness filling the dim room. “Fuck, fuck, I can’t”, you mulled, trying to push at his chest but moving a man like him was impossible. Plus, you two had agreed on safe words at the start of your sexual life, and you sure as fuck weren’t using them now. “Give me one more”, III grunts leaning in, “You got one more for me, I know that you do”, he muses, biting the swell of your breast before, wrapping his mouth around your nipple, swirling his tongue over the sensitive peaks.

Gasping you threw your head back, the feeling of him all over you, hitting all the right places made your head spin. His lips crash onto yours right as his fingers move to circle your clit and that’s all you need to slip over the edge. Fingers curling, you arch off the mattress, the kiss being the only thing keeping you semi-quiet.

You stay like that panting. Ears ringing. Vision still hazy. Yet you can’t help but bite your lip as III pulls up, his toned chest glistening with sweat. He thrusts into you a couple more times, savoring the feeling of the warmth surrounding his dick. You whine lazily at the movement. And then he stops. “Wait”, he mutters, pushing into you once more. “III, no that’s enough…”, you rasp out, feeling your legs trembling from that lazy thrust alone. “Fucking look at this”, he grunts and you can feel him growing hard inside you. “How the fuck did I never see this… fuck”, his hands push at your legs, spreading them further apart. You trail your gaze to where his eyes are narrowed. A whimper slips past your lips as you see what exactly got your boyfriend worked up all over again. Every time III bottomed out you could see him within you. Faint yet noticeable enough view of his dick penetrating you from within in.

“Shit, baby, I need to go again”, he grunts, nostrils flaring. Leaning in he cups your face, “Let me fuck you one more time”, he pleads, “I can’t… I need to watch it… fuck”, you feel him twitching inside you making you clamp up around him. “Okay”, you mutter, watching a sort of relief wash over him, “Okay?”, he asks once more and all you can do is nod. His hand wraps around your neck as he crashes his lips against yours, your puffy lips kissed raw by the time he pulls back, “You’re so good to me”, he praises, withdrawing his hips back, “Such a good, fucking girl”. You knew that you were gonna lose this round. When his eyes practically went black as he watched himself filling you up and the slow and steady rhythm soon picked up. “III, fuck”, your breath hitches as he fully let himself go. Groaning like you had never heard him before. You truly thought the trust couldn’t get any more viscous but it’s as if something snapped within III at the sight of that bump in your lower belly. His fingers move from your hips, pressing down on it. And pleasure like no other shoots through you. “Ahh, too much, baby… I”, a broken moan rolls off your tongue, nails clawing in his arm as he pounds into you. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as he hit just the right spot deep within over and over again. “You take me so well”, he grunts, but his voice is muffled by the ringing in your ears as pleasure fully consumed you. “You stay with me”, III orders hand slapping your cheek carefully as he turns your face so you would look at him, “I can’t”, you cried out, tears falling down your cheeks. “You can and you will”, he grunts, thrusts growing more erratic. And this is the exact moment that you both know, can feel how close you both are. All you can do is moan. Breathy. Short pants of pleasure fill the place as you feel him devour you into the oblivious. “Fuck”, III practically shouts, body going ridged as warm waves of his release fill your body. You can’t even remember if you scream as your vision blanks, and for the first time you understand what people mean by saying that they see stars. Your body is drumming with pleasure. Seizing as you ride the overwhelming sensation.

You feel soft lips kissing your cheeks, fingers slowly brushing hair away from your face but your brain is not ready to make sense of any of it. “Hey”, a familiar voice fills your ears, “You with me, gorgeous?” You lazily open your eyes only managing to blink a couple of times. “I need words”, III urges, “Cause as sexy as you look fucked out of your senses, I need to know that my girl is okay”, brushing his fingers across your lips, III looks at you expectedly. “I think I’m high”, you mutter, voice raspy. III chuckles, “High on what?”, the bastard dares to smirk. “Your dick, asshole”, you grunt, scrunching your nose when he moves inside you once more. Sensing your discomfort III quickly reaches between you both, “I’m going to pull out but I have a feeling it will hurt”, the eyes that had looked at you with nothing but lust now were laced with concern. And he wasn’t wrong, you hissed more than once but III was there to kiss the tears away.

“I think you broke the lower part of my body”, you muttered after a heartbeat of silence between you two. “I would say that I am sorry but we both know that would be a lie”, he chuckles, reaching for a water bottle on his bedside table before handing it to you. “I love you”, he mutters watching your disheveled body, one that looked like a million bucks to him, especially now. “I love you too, you sex demon”, you grunt, making your boyfriend full belly laugh, before attempting to turn to your side but failing miserably. “Come on, I’ll carry you to the shower”, III leans in kissing your shoulder tenderly before scooping your tired frame into his arms with ease. “Do you think others heard us?”, you mutter against his chest with a yawn, “You share a wall with IV”. III simply shrugs, “Nighttime is for freaks anyway”.

[television-overload]

fate is the handspike

(an X-Files ficlet)

[Read on AO3]

Summary:

Starting on February 23, 1964, Teena Mulder begins to worry about her young son. At first, she thinks maybe he's wishing for a little sister, a wish that will be granted very soon. But he insists the little girl he talks to is called Dana, and she's too little to play, but she likes when he reads his books to her.

(fic below the cut)

i.

At first, Teena thinks it's cute.

"She's just a baby, mommy, she can't play yet," he'd say.

"Oh, is that right?" she'd reply, indulging him in his childish fantasies. Perhaps this was his way of asking for a sister. The other moms in the neighborhood often urged her to give Fox a sibling, citing a child's need for company and social engagement, but Fox had always seemed so happy to play alone. She's not on the best of terms with her husband at the moment, either, which complicates things.

But then there's times when she sees Fox on the floor, legs splayed out before him as he recites his favorite picture books to his imaginary friend, and she wonders if she ought to be worried. Just a little.

Dr. Seuss, Curious George, Clifford the Big Red Dog... The boy has a photographic memory. Though he's too young to properly read, he has a grasp on the basic plots and recounts them in great detail, turning the pages as he goes.

"This one is called 'Where the Wild Things Are,' Dana," he says, because his friend's name—he insists—is Dana. He turns the book in his hand and shows the colorful illustration on the cover to a patch of carpet on the living room floor. "Don't worry, it's not scary," he assures her. Her. It. Whatever it is he's spent his days talking to since late February.

When he tells the story, he uses his own name, instead of 'Max.' That's how she'd always read it to him, and that's the only way he knows.

"And Fox told the monsters to be still!" he narrates with enthusiasm. "He used a magic trick and looked right in their BIG yellow eyes, and they were all scared. They said Fox is the most wild thing of all, and they made him king!"

ii.

There was one night when she'd woken to find Fox standing in the corner of his room, speaking softly to the wall.

"Shh, it's okay, Dana," he soothed in his little voice. "Here, I'll sing you a song. Twinkle twinkle little star...."

She never tells Bill what she's seen. He's always too busy to notice himself. But others know.

"He's quite an imaginative young fellow," Spender notes, taking a draw from his cigarette as Fox rolls around in the grass outside the house in Quonochontaug. Since "Dana" learned to crawl, he's been even more preoccupied than usual. He shows her all his toys, tells her the names of all his action figures. He announces to his mother one day that he's going to teach Dana how to walk. That she can only stand on her own for a little bit right now, but she doesn't cry anymore when she falls down.

Bill, if he ever catches wind of this, must think he's talking about one of the other kids from Teena's ladies' group. But there's no "Dana" in this neighborhood. Not on the Vineyard, either. She's checked.

iii.

The day she finds out she's pregnant, a part of her wonders. Though her knowledge of her husband's work is small, she knows enough to gather that things she might have thought impossible, could in fact be possible. Perhaps her son had been having visions of his baby sister, long before she was even conceived. Maybe it had simply been a sign that he would one day be a big brother. Soon.

She'd long since dispelled thoughts of ghosts and hauntings and exorcisms.

He tells Dana all about the baby in mommy's tummy. He giggles and makes silly faces, pausing in between sentences, which she gathers must mean his friend has developed the ability to speak.

"Mommy, she said my name! That's right! Fox! Fox!"

iv.

When Samantha is born, "Dana" seems to disappear overnight. This, at least, supports her theory that he had simply been preparing himself for a new sibling, and after a few years, she's completely dismissed the issue. Fox shows no other signs of strange or unusual behavior. He is nothing but a doting big brother, who occasionally gets annoyed by his freckle-faced kid sister, as any brother is wont to do. He reads to her, plays games with her, watches the television with her. They're two peas in a pod, and not once does the name "Dana" escape his lips. She is all but forgotten.

Until he's twelve years old. Samantha is gone, and Teena lacks the patience to deal with his questioning.

"Mom? Does the name 'Dana' mean anything to you?" he asks.

"What? Of course not, Fox, why would you ask such a thing?"

He looks down at his feet, shoulders slumping. "No reason. Forget I asked."

v.

When Fox lays awake at night, the bedroom next to his now dull and empty, he thinks he can hear a voice. It isn't Samantha's—though he'd thought so at first.

"By heaven, man," she reads, "we are turned round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded sea!"

What does this girl know about fate? What does she know of this upside-down world?

"Read the next chapter, Dana!" he hears another girl's voice speak. The words are faint—muffled—like he's underwater. But her voice is clear.

He falls asleep, like most nights, listening to the tales of Ahab and Starbuck, and a great white whale.

-.-.-

Tag List ♡: @today-in-fic @agent-troi @baronessblixen @captainsolocide @cutemothman @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @numinousmysteries @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @teenie-xf @thursdayinspace

[anjelicawrites]

Soft IV

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x reader x Osferth

Synopsis: one anon asked for another episode of the Soft saga, with the whole polycule in it. This starts right after the coda to the third episode.

Warnings: p in v sex, blowjob, handjob, anal fingering, anal sex, kissing, scratching, titty sucking.

A/N: hi nonnie! This took me way too long to write! I hope you like it!

Part I, II, III and the Coda.

Osferth is used to live small, being raised in a monk run orphanage has taught him to be pauperistic, this is the reason why he has no issues with sleeping in dingy motels and eat whatever he can find, when his job takes him away from home. Now that is living larger, going by what the monks drilled in to him, he doesn’t feel guilty when he scrambles to go home, where his comforts are.

NSFW and 18+ only under the cut, please!

Only God knows how hard it had been for him to stay away and focus on the job, while Aemond was in pain and the work to keep him safe fell on your shoulders for a whole, awful, week; not that Osferth doesn’t deem you capable, it’s more his own instinct to protect the ones he loves that gnawed at him, until he was home and you had jumped into his arms.

It’s not unexpected that you and Aemond decide to take care of him, and not the other way around, still Osferth’s heart is filled with gratitude for, the two of you, who keep choosing him day after day, even though he feels he’s never going to be at your level.

“Let us, my love.” You murmur in his ear when he tries to undress you and Aemond. “You had a long week.”

He wants to reply that yours and Aemond’s had been worse, he can’t, because Aemond takes a gentle hold of his chin to kiss him, deeply, silencing his words until he’s naked and half hard between the two of your.

“You missed us.”

Aemond’s smirks, his hand around Osferth’s erection jacks him into full mast and steals his voice: he’s already puddle for you two.

Obediently Osferth lets you turn his head to kiss him, slowly as Aemond’s hand keeps moving on his erection, whimpers and moans spill from his lips as the pace quickens; Osferth wants to warn Aemond that he’s close, so close, if he doesn’t stop soon… Osferth comes, pressed between you two, his legs tremble with the power of it, the pleasure a hazy mist in his brain. He lets Aemond hug him to carry his weight as you kiss his nape to then go to the bathroom to start the water for the bath.

Against his tummy Osferth can feel Aemond’s desire, hard and warm his erection is pressed between their bodies, causing flames of desire to ignite inside of him; his mind is torn between letting go and be pampered by you and Aemond, and trying to give back the love he’s receiving. He tries to open Aemond’s slacks to slide his hand in, but Aemond’s fingers curl, with a soft hold, around his wrist, his other hand is busy freeing his erection.

“Let me help you.” Osferth’s voice is a slurred moan that flies directly to Aemond’s cock. “You were in pain.”

“I was, indeed.” Aemond’s lonely eye burns with hunger. “The only thing keeping me sane was imagining you back home, warm and needy for us, for me.”

It’s the husk in Aemond’s soft voice that makes Osferth’s head spin, the quiet determination of a man who knows what he wants and is ready to take it; it’s usually the other way around, it’s Aemond who soaks up all the affection and lets himself be taken and loved, pliant under your hands and Osferth’s, rarely he takes control, when that happens, Osferth can feel his body liquefy with need, his more dominant nature retreat to allow him to enjoy Aemond’s love and desire, the way he’s doing now. He needs to hug Aemond to keep himself on his feet, all his strength, all his blood seem to go straight to his cock, leaving his head empty of coherent toughs and full of cotton; Osferth moans when Aemond takes a firm hold of his ass, his big hands on his cheeks to force his budding erection against his raging one in a slow friction that makes fireworks explode behind Osferth’s closed eyes.

Both men moan when you wet hand takes a hold of their cocks, moving up and down with a slow motion aimed more at amping up their need, than anything else.

“Come with me, my light, the water is ready.”

Osferth’s body is not his anymore, he’s a marionette in your arms that lets itself being turned, so that he can hide his face in your luscious breasts with a long moan. Blindly he follows you to the bathroom, complaining only when you have to release him to get into the huge tub; you open your arms at him once you’re seated and he scrambles on his feet to join you, sighing when his back is cushioned by your breasts.

Your hands caress his inside of his tights with long strokes, slow and deliberate in the way you’re ignoring his erection, preferring to tease the area where his legs join his hip; he wants to beg you, but his words die when Aemond appears, naked, apart from the collar, at the door. He’s all hard planes of muscles, white skin and dark nipples, his erection red and angry against his belly; with the confidence of someone who knows he’s wanted, he saunters to the sink to pin his hair up, feeling Osferth’s burning stare on his body: he’s desired as much as he does the other man. Only when he’s done he turns around to observe you two in the water, your legs pinning Osferth’s open and he loathes that he can’t see the other man’s erection under the bubbles.

When you bought the house and started renovating it, you choose to install the biggest bathtub you could find, because you wanted to treat yourself, now you never stop giving yourself pats on your back, since there’s enough space for three grown people to chill together.

“Relax.” You murmur in Osferth’s ear. “Close your eyes, you’re finally home, you’re safe. We’re safe.”

You repeat the mantra while you let your hands wander on Osferth’s chest; it’s not a sexual touch, your goal is to make sure all the tension you still feel in his muscles disappears. Little by little his body melts against yours, until he’s completely boneless when Aemond lays against his chest, just to hear the whoosh of the air entering and exiting his lungs and the steady thumping of his heart.

It’s not sleep, what Osferth is experiencing, he’s existing with the two people whom he loves the most in the entire World, he’s feeling them the way they’re him, he’s letting his overworked brain know that Aemond is as pain free as he can be, and that your mental health is not hanging in the balance of Aemond’s neuritis flare, and Osferth’s absence. He lets himself be manhandled by you two, body and hair washed until the smell of the motel toiletries has disappeared from his body and he’s been scrubbed with your ridiculously expensive products.

He keeps his eyes closed when Aemond helps him out of the tub and you’re there to bundle him up in the fluffiest bath towel; he’s almost asleep when he, finally, lays on the bed, his long limbs spread out to take as much space possible.

You curl next to him, with your head on his shoulder, your hand playing with the hairs on his chest. Aemond exits the bathroom and throws the bathrobe on the floor; he eyes you and Osferth with love and hunger. Yes, his erection has abated during the bath but he feels lust clouding his brain at the sight of you two cuddling, naked, on the bed.

“Do you want to tell Aemond what you did me, Osferth?”

He recognizes that tone, you’re taking control as Osferth curls, shyly, against you. He wants to be cuddled and coddled, his submissive side always needy and a bit coquettish.

“What is it, beloved? What do you want to tell me?”

Unconsciously Aemond’s voice is deeper, a rumble in his chest that makes Osferth blush and hide against yourself even more; you have to convince him with soft words to turn his face and look at Aemond.

“You know the rules, my love, you need to use your words like a big boy.”

Osferth pouts cutely and tries to hide his face again, he’s too slow though and Aemond manages to get a hold of his chin to look into his clear blue eyes.

“I can’t give you what you need if you don’t tell me, beloved. You want me to make you happy, don’t you?”

Aemond’s voice is a deep murmur, filled with lust and desire, that flies directly to Osferth’s cock, which now swells, untouched, against his tummy.

“Perhaps, does Ñuha egros se sumby, My sword and shield, want to cuddle?”

“No.” Osferth pouts.

“Does my beloved want a kiss?”

“Perhaps.”

Aemond smirks before he leaves a quick peck on Osferth’s lips, only to deepen the smirk when Osferth starts to complain.

“If you want more, you have to tell me. I’m here for you.”

Aemond tries to control his smile as he sees the fight on Osferth’s face, enhanced when your fingers start caressing his nipples, how his cheeks redden and he tries to hide his growing erection, only to have his legs spread by Aemond.

There’s so much he wants, so much he’s dreamed about when he was away, but when he’s reduced in this state, he has to force the words out of his mouth: take me, have me, fuck me until I pass out, mark my body because I missed you so much, show me your strength because I fear you’ still hurting, he has to make himself say them and still his eyes can’t meet Aemond’s lonely stare. When he’s like this, Osferth reverts back to the shy boy who was raised in a monks run orphanage, more of a convent, really, where his budding sexual needs were chastised and he was punished for them. When he needs to be taken care, he forgets his sexual proves, the freedom he’s gained from himself, he wants to be taken by his hand to simply let go. You know, as well as Aemond does, what he needs, the only matter you two care is having his full consent, having him tell you two what his heart desires, to give it to him fully.

Aemond kisses him, his tongue gently playing with Osferth’s, until the kiss is deep and filthy, the latter’s hips jump against his with need.

Tortuously Aemond’s mouth follows imaginary lines on Osferth’s body, his lips leave soothing kisses where his teeth have nibbled and bitten; he moans at the taste he can feel under the bathing gel and the cream you’ve slathered his body with: that woodsy taste he’s always connected to his beloved, freedom and the fresh smell of a clear spring night; Aemond’s lips seek more of it with each kiss and small love bite as Osferth’s body arches under his with breathy moans.

“Please.” Osferth begs, his glossy eyes half closed. “My sweet prince, my lady love!”

His cock is so hard now, red and heavy against his tummy, warmed by Aemond’s breath on the tented skin, his nipples raw with your kisses: he’s so ready to be taken, to forget who he is, that words desert him again after he’s called for you two. He can feel tears fall down his eyes when he can’t tell you two what he needs, when his tongue is tied and only whimpers manage to leave his mouth. Thankfully you are there, your fingers slotting in his wet hair to turn his head on the side and help him focus.

“Can you answer with yes and no?” You ask him, patiently waiting for his voice to come out.

“Yes.” He breathes out.

“Shall I take you, beloved?”

Osferth’s eyes dart to Aemond, he blushes deeply before he can answer with a moany ‘Yes’

“Spread your legs for me, so good sīr sȳz issa jorrāelagon, so good my love.” Aemond smiles, proud. “You’re so hard for us, will you be good and not come just yet?”

Osferth hiccups on a moan at the words, and care he hears in Aemond’s words: anything, anything for the man who loves him so deeply.

“Will you let me ride your cock, my light? After Aemond is inside of you? Will you let me keep you safe?”

“Yes! Yes!” He moans, your cunt is his home, the safest place in the entire world.

“Good, good.” Your lips land on his forehead. “I will ride you, now let Aemond prepare you.”

You let Osferth lips wound around one nipple to suck softly as Aemond fingers start pushing against his tight ring of muscles. Patiently he breaches him, knuckle after knuckle, finger after finger, until he’s three in and he can explore him, seeking his prostate to gently push against it, eliciting Osferth’s hips to move following his slow rhythm.

Osferth whines around your nipple when Aemond’s fingers leave his hole, only to moan when Aemond’s bulbous head enters him, his body arching at the intrusion, his muscles pushing against him, yet Aemond is relentless, slowing making his way with short pushes and pulls, until Osferth’s body lets go and he can fill him fully, fighting against the need to fuck him fast: tight, tight, always a vise around his cock.

Aemond’s eyesight clouds with needs and with the lust curling at the base of his spine when he sees the way Osferth is biting his lower lip, now that he can’t suck on your breast any longer: he knows he’s fighting the urge to push up into Aemond, to start fucking himself instead of letting his body adjust to the intrusion.

Osferth’s body shudders under your when your wet cunt starts sliding on his hard cock, wetting it, mingling your honey with his, his hips try to follow yours and he moans, when he impales himself more on Aemond’s cock. His back arches with need, his hands grab and scratch your skin when you don’t stop and keep taking your pleasure from him, unabashed, your beautiful breasts swinging over his face.

“Please.” Comes broken from his lips. “Please.”

Slowly you take his cock in your hand to slowly sink down, letting your body adjust to his invasion, to the thickness that seems to take your sanity away, until you’re straddling him, fully, with a satisfied smile on your face.

Under you Osferth is lost, his eyes glassy with pleasure, his mouth slack to let soft whimpers out when you and Aemond start moving, slowly, making sure he feels every inch of Aemond’s cock and every crevice of your cunt. He tries to buck, tries to make you two go faster and is subdued by the passion in every stroke of Aemond inside of him. Your muscles clench and unclench around him as you slowly grind against him: he’s not going to leave the sanctity of your cunt, not today when he needs it the most.

Your orgasm is a quiet thing, that slowly unfolds from your loins up to your spine with every grinding motion of Osferth’s cock against your G-spot, every kiss Aemond leaves on your nape, with their hands on you, caressing and grasping at your sweaty skin, pleasure builds and builds. Under you Osferth moans and arches his back, his eyes screwed shut, a similar fire coursing through him with each and every dual movement you’re subjecting him to.

“Come, my light, come with me!” You whine.

Under you Osferth’s body is ravaged by full body shudders, he squirms and arches, moans desperately when his end seems to elude him, his nerves lashed by too much pleasure, his prostate, his cock and God! You’re begging him to come! He opens his eyes, all he can see is you taking what you need from him, ethereal like a goddess.

With a scream he comes, ropes and ropes of seed hitting your walls as you follow him, milking him until you fall on his body, breathless. Inside of him Aemond tries to fight his own end but the vise around his cock is too tight, too perfect after days apart and he lets go with a shout, fucking Osferth until his body can’t move anymore and he falls next to him, only to curl against him to kiss all the available skin he can reach.

Under you Osferth’s body relax again, his lips find yours, and Aemond, to kiss you two slowly and sloppily, letting you two worship his body with soft caresses now and gentle pecks that lull him into slumber.

You help him turn on his side to push his face against your breasts, he makes such a happy sound you can’t help but smile yourself. Behind him Aemond looks dead to the world, his long limbs splayed open as he waits for his brain to restart himself; in between sleep and wakefulness, you tug on his hand until he plasters himself against Osferth’s long back, falling asleep immediately after. You stay awake for a handful of minutes, just observing your lovers, your family, finally back where they belong. You can sleep safe now.

OG!Poly taglist : @fan-goddess, @notyour-valentine, @aegonx, @darylandbethfanforever9 @20thcentwriter @peachysunrize

Ewanverse taglist: @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose

[woso-dreamzzz]

Miracle III

Aitana Bonmatí x Baby!Reader

Summary: An early morning with Mama

The sunlight filtering into the room has Aitana blinking awake, squinting as the soft rays of sun glow directly in her eyes.

She yawns, glancing away from the gap in the curtains to look directly at the baby monitor on her bedside table.

The image shows you clearly, wide awake and standing. One hand grips your pegasus plushie while the other stretches up to play with one of the hanging stars on your mobile.

You're probably getting too big for it now, developing quickly from baby to that weird baby-toddler in between that Aitana can remember happened to Skatt and before Skatt, Conejita.

She wishes that she'd studied them more carefully so she'd be prepared for this.

You seem to realise she's watching you though with the same weird sixth sense you have when you're playmates are ready to climb in the playpen with you at training.

You babble a bit, interspersing nonsense with real words as you blow spit bubbles.

"Mama Ta-Ta! Ta-Ta!"

Aitana finds a fond smile appearing on her face as she rolls over in bed, slipping her feet into a pair of fluffy slippers and pulling on a bathrobe to keep the early morning chill out.

You make a little noise of happiness when your bedroom door opens and Aitana plucks you into her arms without anymore nagging.

"Good morning, estrella," She coos, dropping a soft kiss to the end of your nose which makes you go cross-eyed.

"Mor'ing Mama Ta-Ta."

You reach out a hand to grab at Aitana's face, scraping weak little fingers against her cheek before finally getting a grip on her ear.

She laughs, gently pulling your grabby little hand away as she checks the funny little cuckoo clock Mapi had gotten you as a joke.

It's still early.

Too early to be up on a day off.

"Let's go to my bed."

You seem fascinated with the soft blanket covers as Aitana lays you in the middle of her bed as she strips back down to just her pjs, running your fingers over the patterns again and again as you gnaw on pegasus' wing.

Aitana drags you towards her in just the way you like, pulling out your fuzzy onesie legs until you're right next to her.

You kick out happily as she gently manoeuvres you into a sitting position.

There's no hope in getting you to sleep again, not when you're wide awake like this but that doesn't mean the two of you can't stay in bed for a little while longer.

Aitana is easily amused by the funny little sounds you make and the way that you try to sound out words you've heard her say before.

You're startlingly intelligent for your age, far advanced than what Aitana can remember baby Skatt and baby Conejita to be like. She isn't quite sure whether it's a genetic thing or just how much time she dedicates to your education, young as you are.

Tv time is spent only watching educational kid's shows or some documentaries. Time is set aside to watch a bit of football together of course but even then, Aitana waffles on about tactics and formations and everything else under the sun she can think of.

She's read all the baby books about raising children bilingual and how to foster a love for reading in them. She'd taken you to her parents once and returned to find her mother reading a university grade textbook to you before bedtime.

She doesn't know if it's just a Bonmatí thing or if it's how she's raising you.

Either way, she's glad because even now you're working your brain and you've barely gotten up.

"Mer-ry," You say and Aitana smiles.

"Mercury," She corrects.

"Mer-cry."

"Mer-cury."

"Mercury!"

"Good job, estrella!"

You giggle as Aitana tickles your tummy, hand coming out to imitate her movements but Aitana captures it easily, pressing a soft kiss to your palm.

The rest of the early morning goes the same way, with you struggling to say all the planet names until Aitana helps to correct you.

At some point, you migrate to her lap, head tilted all the way back on her shoulder so you can see her clearly.

Something about the way you look at her, your soft baby features, the smile on your face, the sparkle in your eyes, has Aitana's chest bursting with warmth.

"I..." She says, feeling slightly choked up as your hands gently explore her fingers," I love you, estrella."

"Lub you," You say back," Lub Mama."

The warmth turns to ice instantly, like a lance cracking her chest open and finding a home in her heart.

"No," Aitana says gently," No Mama. Mama Ta-Ta, remember? You've already got a Mama."

You shake your head. "Mama."

"I...Estrella...Estrella, no. I'm not Mama. I'm Mama Ta-Ta."

It feels disrespectful to take that role.

This was never the life Aitana was meant to have. You were hers biologically. That had been the plan.

She was meant to donate her egg, the least she could do for her two best friends who desperately wanted a child but couldn't have any of their own. She was meant to be Tia Aitana, Tia Ta-Ta who would swoop you up occasionally and show you the joys of life. The one that you could come to when you were a moody teenager and in that stage where you 'hated' your parents.

Maybe if you had called her 'Mami' it would be different but Mama was the name that Aitana's friend referred to herself as. She was meant to be your Mama, not Aitana.

Not Aitana who is already pushing invisible boundaries by allowing herself to be called Mama Ta-Ta.

You shake your head stubbornly. "Mama!"

It seems you've inherited the Bonmatí stubbornness too as your smiling face sets into a little frown just like Aitana's.

She doesn't know how to explain it to you, doesn't know how to explain that she can't be your Mama. No matter how much she wants to.

"Mama..." You whine, frown morphing into a chin wobble and a chin wobble morphing into big fat tears rolling down your face.

"No, no, estrella! It's okay! Don't cry! I'm sorry!"

Aitana desperately tries to bounce you, to soothe your tears but you're inconsolable until you're tucked into her chest, hand reaching up to tug at the collar of her sleep shirt.

"Mama," You babble through your tears, trying to shuffle even closer," Mama, please."

Aitana's own bottom lip wobbles as tears prick in her eyes.

She rests her cheek on the top of your head, breathing in the soft baby smell that never quite left, lingering on the edges of her senses like it had the first time she'd met you.

It feels disrespectful to take her friend's name but at the same time, it feels right.

To be your Mama.

To take the name that you've so happily bestowed upon her.

The name you've chosen for her.

No longer Ta-Ta or Mama Ta-Ta.

Just Mama.

You whimper a little, wiping your runny nose all over the front of her shirt. "Mama?"

"Yes, estrella," Aitana says," I'm your Mama."

[damnasstyles]

I just sent a request but didn't realize i literally sent that same exact one like months ago omg I'm embarrassed. .. but can you do a dad!harry one of his first time alone with the baby 😭

hii!! i’m so sorry it’s taken me forever to write this, but it’s finally here! hope you like it! ❤️

*jesus i'm editing this on august 2024, i had completely forgotten i'd never published this lol, soz. anyways! edited it a bit and finished it so here you go! x*

880 words. Enjoy! x

_______

Ottilie was 12 weeks old and it had been over four months since yn had been out with her friends, whether that'd been for lunch, dinner, a party or just a coffee. This is why Harry had arranged for her to have a day out with her friends. Well, more than arranged, he strongly encouraged her to go out with them. She had been turning them down ever since Ottilie was born, but it was about damn time she got some quality yn time and get away from the mommy role for just a few hours.

This, of course, led to the situation Harry was in right now: covered in puke with a crying and smelly baby who refuses to leave her father’s arms. 

“C’mon, sweet pea, we gotta take the onesie off and shower, alright? It’ll be twoooo seconds” He rocked her back and forth for a few more seconds before laying her down on the changing mat, which caused her to shriek harder than before. “I know, baby girl, III know, it’s alright, it’s okay” He tried to calm her down while getting her clothes off as quick as he can, his hand tickling her belly gently in an effort to cheer her up. "It’s ookaay, babyyy, look! All ready! Let’s take a warm bath to make you feel better, yeah?” He undressed himself at quick speed and opened the water tap. There was no way he was going to bathe her by herself since she was so fussy, not having as much skin to skin contact with her daddy as possible would make her even fussier. Such a daddy's girl.

He leaned forward over her and lifted her up, laying her on his chest, before walking into the walk-in shower. He had grabbed a small towel to cover Ottie with before walking in, so warm water would soak her but not fall directly over her. The warmth of Harry's chest, the soft drops of water on her back and her daddy's heartbeat seemed to soothe her a bit, though she could not seem to settle down fully.

"That's much better isn't it, bug? Hm?" A soft head kiss always made his heart flutter. "We have nice warm water now, and we're getting cleaned uupp" His soft tone never failed to soothe Ottie. From the moment he knew he was going to be a father, he started reading parenting books like it was his new religion. There was one specific chapter he read that stuck with him the most. It focused on the language development of the baby, and how narrating what was happening to them built better language foundations and encouraged faster acquisition. Since he'd read that book, he'd talk to the belly every single day without fail. Most days it'd be for an hour, but even in the most exhausting days he'd never skip at least a 10 minute monologue with Ottie in utero.

"Is your tummy hurting again, little bug? S'that why you got sick all over daddy and did a big explosive poo? That's okay, it happens to the best of us. We'll finish this niice shower in a minute, and we'll do some bicycle legs once you're in your cosy little pyjamas hm? How's that sound?" He booped her nose playfully with a soft and loving smile, making Ottie squint just a bit before letting out a soft sound, a mix between a giggle and a whine.

Once little Ottie was thoroughly clean, Harry stepped out of the shower and quickly wrapped her into a new clean and dry towel, making sure she was well wrapped before he laid her down on the changing table and pulled his dirty boxers back on. He'd get a proper shower and change of clothes once Ottie was more settled.

He put Ottie into a fresh nappy and cosy pyjamas in record time, and took her to his and yn's bed. After he sat himself against the headboard, he laid Ottie between his spread legs, on the mattress. "Theeeee wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round. The wheels on the bus go round and round, aaall daaay looonggg" Harry sang as he moved her little baby chubby legs up and down, one at a time, at the same time, side to side, circle-wise, any way that'd help her release the suspected gas inside her. And it worked! The moment he pushed both her leggies up and against her belly at the same time, gently yet firm, she let one rip that it made the bed covers shake! "Oop!" He said stopping his singing, little Ottie let a cute relieved "ah" sigh before a big smile and squeal appeared on her face. Harry bursted out laughing as she picked her up and kissed her cheek repeatedly. "That was one naaasty gas, bubba! Good job!"

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

If you want to read more about harry and ottie's adventures, check out my masterlist here and feel free to send in requests!

[s1eept0ken]

mommy!kink x femdom!reader with vessel or III fic pretty pls??!!🫣🤭😻

don’t feel forced to write or answer if it makes you uncomfortable! your comfort is more important 😌

tysm! 😘

Pretty boy ☣︎ III x Fem!Reader (nsfw)

warnings-most of it…should be used to it by now!!

a/n-I LOVE this idea! I haven’t written much with fem!dom but lmk how this turns out👀

ALSO NOT PROOFREAD I’M SO SORRY FOR ANY MISTAKES

MDNI!!!

꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎

you were in bed reading your book when iii creeped up next to you and put his face into the crook of your neck, you knew he wanted something, “what’s wrong?” you say while placing your book down and running your hands through his hair. He sat up and looked you in the eyes, looking a little nervous to ask what he was about to. “Well I was wondering…could we maybe just one time..try having you be the dominant one?” he muttered out. You raise a brow unsure, but thats when the images start flowing through your head, imagining him a moaning mess begging you to let him cum! such a pretty boy. You lean forward and grab his chin and nod then begin kissing him passionately. You place yourself in his lap and push him down on his back, you are quick to remove his top leaning down sucking dark hickeys into his sweet spot, causing him to whimper out softly. You pull away and run your hands down his soft chest sending his shivers. You lower yourself down to his pants, looking up at him for permission he nods. You quickly pull down his silly pyjama pants, you palm him softly through his boxers causing him to groan out. “P-please baby…” he whimpers out softly running his hand through your hair. You giggle in response and pull his boxers down watching as his cock rise out.

You lean down and put his tip in your mouth sucking ever so slightly, running your nails up and down his sensitive shaft, earning more whimpers from him. “M-mommy please..” he whispers out. You sat up and looked at him, he looked somewhat embarrassed, like he didn’t mean to say what he did but little did he know it made you just want him even more. You grab his jaw softly, forcing him to look at you “no need to be embarrassed baby, you sounded like such a needy boy” you giggle out at him as he reddens even more. You sit back and pull your top and bra off, following with your pants and underwear. You crawl back onto him and he reaches his hands out to grope at your soft breasts but your quick to softly swipe his hands away. He furrows his brow at that “no touching just yet pretty boy” you whisper into his ear. You lean in and suck on his sharp jawline, his soft sighs he lets out is like music to your ears.

You finally line your entrance up with his needy cock, slowly sinking down onto it, you try to hold back your moans as much as you can to focus more on his pretty sounds. The way your tight, warm heat felt around him feels so good, he snaps his hips up into you whimpering as you tighten around him. “Such a needy boy aren’t…you” you whisper into his ear breathlessly. You rock your hips slowly in circular motion, sending him over the edge desperate for more. “N-need more mommy…” he whimpered out, you chuckled and ran your hands up his chest, to his throat squeezing it softly causing him to moan out softly. Stop your movements indicating him to thrust up into you which he does, deep, fast thrusts. You lean your head back and grip onto his shoulders feeling your orgasm come along, you can also tell he’s close just by the way his thrusts are harsher and how he’s a blabbering mess. The room filled with loud, needy moans you lean into his ear “be a good boy and cum for me” you whisper. He grips your hips tightly and thrusts deeper into you once more and that’s all it takes for both of you to come over the edge. His warm seed filling up your tummy and your warm pussy clenching around him tightly.

You wait a moment and crawl off him and place your next to him, both of you a panting mess, his pretty blonde hair sticking to his forehead. “Maybe that’s gonna be more than a one time thing…” he mumbles while rolling over to you pulling you in and tightly wrapping his large arms around you. “But you’re still my good girl and belong to me” he mutters deeply into your ear running his large hands through your hair.

꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎ ꩜˚₊‧⁺⋆♱⋆☠︎︎

omfg. Yall…THIS HAD ME GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET IN BED, apologies if it’s not perfect but I hope you enjoyed!

Love you and thanks for the request!

[keis-slut]

Sex In The Pizzaplex

fnaf

chapter iii. - Monty ⚠︎

CW: CHOKING, PRAISE, DIRTY TALK, TUMMY BULGE, FACE FUCKING, IMPLIED DEGRADATION, PRED/PREY MENTION, OVERSTIMULATION

My shift tonight was a little different.

Instead of cleaning up slobber and probably shit off the Daycare floor, and picking up random toys or baby pacifiers people had left behind,

or being fucked by the Daycare attendant...

I was assigned to clean Monty's room, tune his bass, and check if he had any damages on his shell.

I was a bit mortified to enter his room, even after hearing they all liked me anyway, I was still afraid Monty would be a bit

unpredictable.

But, I still went with it, maybe i'd get lucky here too. I could check another one off the bucket list.

As I approched his greenroom down Rockstar Row, I expected him to be angrily destroying everything inside, but it was silent.

Maybe he wasn't in there.

I furrow my eyebrows, wondering where he could be, but I shrug and continue anyway.

I scan my badge, and the door opens for me, revealing a dark, and trashed greenroom.

"oh, my..." I mumble, the door sliding shut behind me.

There was only one light in this room, still holding on by a thread, so it wasn't pitch black, but still not easy to see. It flickered as I walked further into the room, stepping on what seemed to be ripped up cardboard and soda cups.

As I carefully step forward trying not to trip on these things, I suddenly heard a noise next to me, before I was slammed into something behind me. My breath hitched as I hit the wall, and I look up to be face-to-face with the Gator as he bent down to get to my level.

"well, well, well...look who decided to visit..." He purrs his light southern accent, bringing a clawed finger to scratch at my chin.

"Hey, Monty" I greet casually with no shame, as I calm down from the unexpected scare.

"you know, I'm a little angry about the show today...talk about great timing" He pouts sarcastically, and my mind decides to be bold, knowing he was referring to his infamous angry tantrums we all heard daily.

"but who says you have to take your anger out like that? it's just more of a mess I have to clean..." I respond, slightly suggestive.

He narrows his eyes at me curiously.

"and what is it you are referring to?" He hissed, his face inching closer to mine.

"you're smart, aren't you? put the pieces together, big boy" I smile up at him, placing my hand onto his cold chest plate as he towered over me.

"don't taunt me" He pushes himself closer, and this gesture alone made between my legs pulse.

"i'm taunting you?" I sarcastically question, bending down and stepping out from under him.

He huffs and turns around, a low growl admitting from his advanced voice box.

"i'd watch your tone..." He warned, and I backed up into his torn red couch, sitting on it comfortably. I hum, placing my hands on my thighs.

"make me" I provoke purposely, and he stomps over to me, clasping his clawed hand around my jaw, from palm to fingertips making its way from my chin to the back of my head, he forced me to look up at him.

"you're one filthy girl, aren't you?" He snapped, as I purred into his large robotic hand.

"so you do understand" I laugh, bringing a hand to stroke his pelvic plate.

"I wanna know what you're hiding under here" I purr seductively, and his hand drags down as he wraps his metal fingers around my neck, squeezing it just enough to make my eyes roll and harder to breathe.

"Monty..." I moan breathlessly, his red eyes locked on me from behind the lenses of his star-shaped glasses.

He leans closer to my face, eyeing me as I bring a hand on top of his robotic one placed around my neck.

"who else have you done this with?" He growled, releasing my neck from his choking grip as I whine disappointingly.

"no one, you'd be the first" I lied, but he bought it as he perked up and his tail snapped behind him.

He leaned down a bit more, his big hand now placed on one of my thighs.

"I can smell you from here, slut" He snarls, trapping me on his couch as he then placed his hands on either sides of me.

"so needy" He teases, the end of his cold snout touching my nose, he was so close.

"just for you..." I admit, writhing beneath him and bringing my hand to gently caress between my legs as they're slightly spread.

"how about you take those off for me, baby..." He gestures a clawed finger to my pants, and I smirk, bringing my hands above my head and hooking them over the couch behind me.

"how about you take them off for me"

I was purposely giving him an attitude, hoping this would spark more of the anger inside him, annoying him to the point where this angry-sex had to be a thing.

And it seemed to be working as he snarled lowly, quickly bringing a robotic hand between my legs and completely ripping the fabric covering me to shreds with his claws. Shivering as the cold air touched my exposed skin, he eyed me like a predator, and my pussy throbbed knowingly being his prey.

"so wet already, you'd get fucked by anything, wouldn't you, slut?" He teased, reminding me of the fact he was an animatronic.

But shamelessly, yes, the thought of just being utterly destroyed by these heavily advanced AI robots really appealed to me.

And Monty was about to be the first.

I brought my hand between my legs and traced a finger along my soaked pussy, gently hovering over my clit as my hips jerked forwards.

"Monty..." I moan, and he lets out the darkest growl ever in response, so obviously leaking with desire as he crawled over me.

"yes, baby?"

"use me, please" I beg, barely pushing a finger inside me as his greenroom starts to grow hot and heavy.

I heard a low click from Monty's shell, and looking down slightly I noticed his pelvic plate open, shifting upwards as a large, green colored phallus-shape emerged from inside, slightly dripping with something green from his purplish tip.

"oh, use you?..." He snaps, suddenly grabbing my waist and lifting me off the couch, my back still pressing against the cushion behind me. I whine as he brought his leg up on the couch to hold himself up, and had no problem picking up my body like a weightless doll and bringing me down onto his cock.

"fuck, Monty!-"

I scream as his tip kisses my cervix, I could feel it, my walls clenching around him as it burned for a few seconds. He was so big and stretched me so quick, it took me a little to adjust.

"you asked for it, baby, and look at you"

He squeezes my waist tighter, and I bring my arms to hold myself up against the couch.

"taking me so well, like a good girl"

He held the bottom half of my body up as he slammed into me, only slightly able to see how his tip rubbed me so deep as it bulged on my lower tummy.

I throw my head back with a mewl as my pussy hugged him in all the right places. Suddenly, he had shifted on his leg, leaving me to shift on him too. A loud whimper emits from my throat as that shift had him teasing my g-spot, my soft walls now clenching harder around him.

"you feel so much tighter now, baby, you wanna finish on my cock?" He asks, knowing all too well of the pure bliss I was in, unable to make out a proper response.

I felt something release from my core as my vision went hazy, my head lolling to the side as I assume I had finished.

But he didn't pull out.

My mouth hung open as my eyes squeezed shut, and I felt his hands remove themselves from my waist and travel down my legs. He pulled them so my heels were brushing his shoulders, his hands placed on my thighs as he crawled onto the couch, pushing himself deeper inside me, my legs shaking.

"you said use you..." He growled, harshly pulling himself out before plowing in again.

"so i'll use you 'til i'm done" He adds, slamming into my overstimulated cunt as I cry.

I didn't want him to stop, I was extremely overstimulated but it felt so good as he probably forgot I was even a real person for a bit. Grunting, growling, scratching, using me angrily. He fucked so recklessly, his sunglasses had fallen onto my chest, but it didn't stop him.

He brought a clawed hand to my shirt, using a nail to rip the buttons off, it flying open to reveal my bra, breasts spilling out from his thrusts.

He took his nail again and brought it between my boobs, hooking it onto my bra and pulling it. And with a snap, that was off as well, my breasts bouncing free.

I needed new work clothes now...

His thrusts grew sloppy eventually as I laid almost lifeless, letting him throw me around however he pleased because, from the second orgasm I had built up, it pleased me too.

He pushed himself into me deeply as he sat there for a second, letting my pussy carefully wrap around him before he sharply pulled out, my squirting climax getting all over his chestplate.

I whine as I try to catch my breath, relaxing as he stood up.

But he abruptly grabbed my arm, and my eyes snap open widely as he pulls me to sit up.

"you think i'm done with you?" He snarles with a low chuckle. I sat on my knees as he approached me, his cock perfectly at eye level as I was still on the couch to be tall enough.

"let's see how well your throat can take me now" He snarls, gripping at my hair harshly as I moan. He brings his other hand down to my jaw, using his thumb to pry my mouth open.

"open your pretty mouth for me, baby" He pleads.

He went from being completely ruthless, to sweet in a matter of seconds, but what's so hot about it is that "sweet" was an act to pity me. To look down on me, to make me feel small. And It made between my legs just pulse for more.

I shifted so I was able to sit on my foot, the pressure just enough against my clit to get me off, rolling my hips subtly.

His hand that had pried my mouth open made it's way to my hair too, pulling at it as he brought his tip to my lips. I open my mouth for him and he immediately thrusts, his head choking me. My eyebrows knit as my eyes roll to the back of my head, a loud moan vibrating against his cock. He fucked my face in such an animalistic way, not stopping to let me breathe. I had drool seeping from the sides of my mouth as he pet the top of my head, and slipped himself to the back of my throat.

"I love how well you take me...doesn't matter how" He admits, a low growl rumbling from his voice box as he thrusts, holding it there for a second before a liquid spilled on the back of my tongue.

It wasn't warm, and not salty, but rather sweet and a bit bubbly.

He pulled out of my mouth, my lips making a pop as his release spilled from my lips slightly.

"you're so pretty with my mess all over you, baby" He praised, bringing a clawed thumb to my lips again and sticking it in my mouth. I looked up at his eyes, staring at him as I circled my tongue around his nail, still rutting myself against my foot, attempting to get off for the third time.

I sucked on his thumb as he loomed over me, watching me as I pathetically attempted to get off with a needy whine.

But his stare was only helping as I felt a release in my core, the adrenaline in my body now abandoning me.

He retracted his finger from my mouth, and closed his pelvic plate as I threw myself back onto the couch with a moan.

"come back anytime, baby"

[13keithxpidge13]

While mother was pregnant with Visenya, Lucerys's Omega instincts were going haywire a good chunk of the time. He would often wish to be by his mother's side for long periods of time, scenting his mother's pregnant stomach and resting his head against her tummy. Mother will coo and kiss his curls, whispering how he's going to be the best, most caring big brother and that Visenya will love him with all her heart.

When she is born, Lucerys is the first out of all their siblings to hold their newest addition to their family, their first little sister. She's the sweetest thing, a little bubble of joy. She's most fond of Lucerys himself which brings Luke nothing but pride and he spends the most time with her as a newborn.

When they arrive at King's Landing to show the newest Princess of the Realm to court, she's immediately named; The Realm's Bell for her beautiful smile and her laughter that chimed like church bells throughout the halls. She was a true princess, as beautiful as her mother.

Aemond had met her and found himself softening at the little girl's grin. She was truly beautiful, reminded him of Lucerys. She had his nose, his rosy cheeks, and...his smile. Technically, it was Rhaenyra they both got it all from but, Aemond didn't see it that way.

He finds Lucerys and his family in the Godswood where Helaena and her pups all play as well. Joffrey, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, Viserys II, and Aegon III all squeal and giggle as they run around, playing tag and whatnot as Helaena and Rhaenyra keep a close eye on them all.

Aemond feels his breath get caught in his throat as he watches Lucerys hold onto little Visenya, cradling her in his little arms as she giggles up at him. He smiles so /wide/ as he gazes upon her, so happy.

Aemond swallows thickly and licks his lips, the scent of /happy Omega/ wafting throughout the garden.

The alpha inside him rumbles with satisfaction at seeing the Omega of his desires in such joy and happiness, and to see him with a babe that looks just like Luke himself with Aemond's hair? It is as if all of Aemond's dreams have come true.

Lucerys giggles as little Visenya squeals up at him and he showers her with more kisses.

Aemond smiles.

Perhaps, one day, Aemond would give Lucerys a babe to call his own, to call /their/ own.