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sukirichi · 4 years ago

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earned it [01]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

request. (mafia au, sugar daddy au) + (dumbification, praising kink)

cw. smut, overstimulation, slight dumbification, praising kink, slight degradation, spanking, belt whipping, explicit murder, rough sex, shower sex, oral (f receiving), multiple sex scenes, riding, slight angst, veryyy unedited, sex when standing up, sex in pretzel position, dom! gojo, manhandling

notes. 🦋 anon, thanks so much for the request! i hope you love this one, i absolutely poured my heart and soul into this! minus the effort to edit, i’ll just edit this when i’m no longer sick lol

series masterlist

There he was again.

Working in a high-class restaurant located in the heart of the city meant you were no stranger to seeing people of power and titles, but he never failed to make everyone stop in their tasks every time he came around.

You don’t know his name, much less his usual orders since his usual table – middle 98 – wasn’t in your rotation. But you’re held captive in his presence, attention drawn to his broad shoulders clad in what seemed like a hand-stitched three piece suit, his striking white hair falling down in smooth tendrils. There’s something about the way he walks – confident doesn’t begin to describe it – that makes everyone surrounding him feel like they’re merely spectators to the enigma that was him, and he carries this observation proudly in his shoulders, that mischievous smile never absent from his face.

Your co-worker tugs at your sleeve, nearly knocking the empty wine glasses away from your tray. Barely catching them as you falter, you bow down to them in apology. No matter how intriguing the mysterious midnight comer was, you were still working. You needed to keep your head focused and in the game.

Hours pass by of shifting from one table to another, your hands beyond cramped from scribbling down such intricate orders. It’s a miracle you were hired in a place as luxurious as this in the first place when you couldn’t pronounce, much less spell the main dishes, but you proved through determination and hard work that the miracle was also accompanied by your grit. It didn’t matter that you were the youngest part-timer with little to no experience – unexpected things always happened when you’re backed in a corner, leaving you with no choice but to follow through.

This corner was nothing less than the struggle to make ends meet. While you’re lucky to have gotten accepted in one of the top state universities, there still came the issue of tuition fees, plus dorm occupations.

You don’t have the privilege to complain or whine that your experiences are probably not on par with what they expect of you, so you have to do your best; you have to keep pushing no matter how hard it gets and you’re barely awake for class the next day.

Clocking out, you bid goodbye to your co-workers and thank them for their hard work, about to leave through the back door when you hear his voice.

Your gaze lands on him from outside the kitchen, body twisted in the direction of where he sat, long legs crossed one another. He’s thanking the waiter for the wine, and you wince, because it isn’t just any wine. That’s one of the drinks locked in the special cellar because of its hefty price, yet there he was, swirling the red liquid around in his glass as if the amount of zeroes never bothered him. He’s reading something from his tablet, head tilted to the side as he drinks, and that’s when you see it.

It’s so miniscule you would’ve believed it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you, but you’ve seen in this class during one of your laboratory practices, the burn marks on your wrist a painful reminder of your carelessness.

Your boss’ shouts of warning fall onto deaf ears as you push past the double doors, feet moving on its own. The edge of the glass makes contact with his lips, gray lashes flattering across his cheeks, while time and sound becomes nothing but background noise to you. Your cry is inaudible when your hand pushes the glass away from his grip, the sounds of it shattering into pieces like a wake-up call to both of you.

For the first time since you’ve met him, the faintest look of surprise crosses over his face. His hands remain into a reflexive hold of the now missing glass, azure eyes cutting through yours.

You bow down to apologize – you can’t believe you’ve just done that and how his suit was stained and his pants soaked – but the words that left his lips stun you beyond disbelief, effectively freezing you in your state. His voice holds the same iciness as the blue of his pupils, but to you – just for you – there’s a tinge of awe behind them.

��Odd,” he says, “To think my life would be saved by you.”

You wake up with a gasp, hands clutched on the blanket covering your bare frame. There’s sweat forming on your hairline as you look around, wincing at the sliver of light passing through the curtains. Silver, ceiling length draperies obscure the view of the city skies outside, a huge reminder of where you are now – somewhere between the past and the future that’s about to come – and the king-sized bed you lay on almost feels like a dream.

Right. It’s been two years since you’ve met Satoru, the once mysterious customer turned into lover, an arrangement between financial aid and companionship solidifying your relationship with him now.

Your face burns at the sight of your clothes scattered all over your shared room. Your lace panties somehow end up on the chandeliers, the expensive material of your silk dress about to slide off the humongous TV and your bra hanging off the doorknob.

The light ache between your legs does nothing to appease your embarrassment. Even after two years of being with Satoru, it’s still difficult to believe he’s chosen you of all people.

He could’ve had anyone he wants. Not only is he beautiful, young, successful, and smart, he’s also an absolutely god in the sheets, your throbbing core attesting to his never ending array of his skills. Truly, Gojo Satoru was perfect, so much so that you pale in comparison to him no matter how much he’s assured you you’re the only he has eyes on.

It doesn’t make sense to you, but does it have to?

Love never required a logical reason for it to blossom, and you left it at that, fearful that it may just ruin whatever happened between the two of you. Besides, if Satoru wants you, then who were you to question that?

You swing your legs off the side of the bed to make him breakfast, but your legs shake upon contact to the floor, still very much sore after last night’s events.

Satoru’s been away for work for three days, and even though it wasn’t that much of a distance, he still acted like it’s been forever. He sure took his time with you, making you cum three times just with his tongue and fingers alone. He’s a cheeky and mischievous man; there’s no telling whether his words are just sweet lies or plain facts, but if there’s one thing you’re sure of, it’s that Satoru keeps his promises to heart. If he says he’s going to fuck you until you can’t walk the next day, he means it, and now you’re left groaning back onto the bed.

You’re thankful that it’s a weekend. Had it been a school day, it’s going to be an absolute pain in the ass. No matter how much he’s covered your school fees, you still won’t risk missing a day.

The door swings open, revealing your boyfriend clothed in nothing but his boxers, the smile on his face huge at seeing you glare at him. “Aw, baby,” he coos, sliding himself next to you, carrying a tray of pancakes topped with blueberries with him. Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulder and laughs into your air when you grumble at the soreness, which he tries to kiss away. “Sorry not sorry for last night. It’s not my fault I’m so addicted to you.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, fighting back that stupid fluttering feeling in your chest. Your attention is diverted to the luscious, fluffy pancakes, and your brows furrow at the sight. “Did you make this for me?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

You roll your eyes at him; his energy was always off the charts even after fucking you into oblivion. Thanking him under your breath, you reach for the breakfast, eternally grateful that it’s breakfast in bed because you can’t walk anywhere right now. However, Satoru pries your hands away from the fork, making you lean back instead as he spoon feeds you.

It’s a little humiliating – and he’s basking in this judging from the smirk he wears – but you give in anyway. Unlike him, your stamina isn’t monstrous. You’re still a human and you’re utterly tired, the glare endless through mouthfuls of the pancake. “I’m not a child, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’re my baby,” he retorts, smacking a kiss right at your lips.

You complain harder, ever so annoyed that you could never seem to throw him off guard and have the upper hand for once. Satoru eases the frown on your face by kissing you harder, his hand cradling your neck. He’s a fucking tease; his tongue languid and sensual as he tastes the honey coating your lips, sucking your bottom lip inside his mouth before nipping at it.

At the back of your mind, you’re wondering how each moment with him results into touching. Not that you really mind, of course, your stomach only flares up with heat at the thought he wants you just as much as you crave him.

Breakfast is soon forgotten right after seven bites as Satoru leans back against the headboard, thumb soothing circles at your hipbone to guide you on top of him.

He pulls away to breathe, a thin thread of saliva and honey between your lips present, and it’s so erotic that his eyes darken with lust, hands gripping a little tighter. You’re still bare on top of him, hardened breasts on display, but he holds himself back with heavy breaths, not wanting to ruin you further than he already has.

Satoru’s lips lands on your shoulder instead, thumb grazing under the weight of your breasts. He’s kissing you everywhere, almost as if he expects the flutter of his lips to heal you. You gladly let him taste you as he pleases, neck tilted to the side while you catch your breath.

The transition of him from an absolute freak in bed to the caring, compassionate boyfriend he is never fails to give you whiplash.

“How’s your studies?” he murmurs into your skin, his touch feather-like in caressing your back. You feel the hairs stand up at where he grazes them, shivering at the sensuality and tenderness he holds you with. “Doing good? My sweetheart still top of her class?”

“Hmm,” you hum back, planting yourself firm in his lap. He’s already hard under you, his cock twitching when your bare cunt presses on top of his tip, but he controls himself, focusing on your state instead. “My grades are tip-top, all thanks to your support,” Satoru smiles when you’re the one placing kisses all over his face this time, his giggles almost child-like.

Time flies by as you lay there in his arms. You’re lulled back into sleep at the sound of his heart beat, and just as you’re dozing off, Satoru pats your ass. “Baby,” he calls out, “Let me wash you first, then we’ll cuddle afterwards. What do you think about that?”

“That’d be great, I feel sticky.”

Satoru laughs, pulling panicked squeals from you when he suddenly hoisted you in his arms, carrying you bridal style. He kicks the door open before turning the heater on in the Jacuzzi, placing you under the shower first.

You close your eyes under the sprinkle of water, hands splayed all over his chest. Your legs are still wobbling, no thanks to him railing you as if there was no tomorrow, but he holds you upright, kneading his hands into your hair then washing every crevice of your body. When you open your eyes, you see him kneeling down to rub the loofah all over your legs, a slight pinch in his brows from sheer focus.

Your heart beats loudly on your chest, unable to process that the Gojo Satoru is on his knees, his touch nothing less of worshipping as if you were a divine being in his eyes.

It makes you breathe sharply as his face comes up before your core, his tongue darting out for a moment before he looks away, focusing on cleaning you up afterwards. His control and care for your well-being leaves you speechless, leaves you breathless, leaves you wanting him more and more and more that you’re kissing him again the moment he brings you both to his Jacuzzi.

He’s taken his boxers off to enjoy the feeling of skin brushing against skin, the fuzz of bubbles foaming up at your breasts only enticing him to kiss you with equal fervent passion.

You’re grinding down on his dick, his length encased between your lips that are extremely warm in comparison to the cool water. Finally, Satoru is stuttering beneath you, little whines leaving his breath as he kneads your ass, resisting the urge to slap the smooth flesh.

“Satoru,” you moan, “N-need you now, please.”

Fuck, his name on your lips mixed with your moans are enough to make him want to lose his restraint and just fuck you hard and deep there. He growls at how unaware you are of your effect on him, and he’s nothing short of starving in his kisses, never getting tired of tasting you over and over again. He wants to keep kissing you until your scent and taste is imprinted on his skin, to carry you around with him even when you’re not there, because he loves you, and he’s never loved anyone this much before. Especially for people like him, love was nothing but a myth.

Everything is a fantasy with you, a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. If you were to ask him to give up everything for you this instant, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

His heart is enslaved by your existence, and he nods, helping you lift your hips up to align his cock to your entrance. He takes note of your soreness as you slowly sink down on his cock, swallowing your whimpers through open-mouthed kiss. You’re shaking inside his arms, tiny scratches mixed with mewls making its way on his chest, further adding to the litter of scars already painted on his body.

Your head lands on his shoulder the second he bottoms out. Satoru groans at the feeling of your walls fluttering down on him, so warm and so tight that he has to lean his head back on the headrest just to catch his breath.

“You ride me, baby,” he manages through pants. “I’ll let you set the pace – do what’s comfortable with you.”

Your jaw clenches at the same time you clamp down on him one more time, eliciting another sinful moan from your lover. A lazy smirk graces your face as you ride him slowly, the image of the almighty Gojo Satoru falling apart at your ministrations burned at the back of your mind. You’ll replay this memory every time he leaves for work again, and the dreadful thought of having to watch him leave one more time fuels you to bounce on him harder, nails dug into his shoulder.

Satoru winces at the slight sting but doesn’t stop you anyway; he’s no stranger to pain. In fact, he’s a master of that and many more in more ways than one, though you didn’t know that – and he’ll never let you know that.

His eyes snap open at the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the water sloshing out the Jacuzzi. He’s met with the sight of you clutching the edges of the tub, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fuck yourself harder on his cock. Your breasts bounce right in front of his eyes, tempting him to latch a mouth around it, which he does, the sudden flicking of his warm tongue on your nipples driving you to the edge.

Your soreness becomes a hazy memory of the past with each slide down his dick, thighs burning from the exertion. Satoru is lapping up your breasts and palming the other expertly, his breath hot on your skin.

Something familiar coils into your lower abdomen with each hard thrust, and you throw your head back, moaning his name as if it’s the only thing you’ve ever known. You’re growing tired; he can tell from the way you’re barely lifting your hips, but you’re so close, so near, that Satoru takes it upon himself to push you both right where you wanted to be.

Your moan comes out breathless the moment Satoru grips at your hips, snapping his hips upwards at the same time he guides your body to crush down on him. He’s the one controlling your body, but you’re falling on top of him with no reserve, your weight slamming down to his groin in full force that he’s faltering. Satoru is entranced by the motion of your hips gyrating around the head of his cock, the wavering grin on your face a telltale you’re enjoying the act of destroying him, but he lets you – it’s only fair after the countless times he’s done the same with you. But oh, he’ll have you again and again, and he proves his endless desire for you by forcing himself deep to your most sensitive spots, the glimpse of your mouth hanging open as you come making his cock twitch.

Satoru squeezes your hips as he situates you flat on his cock, groaning as he came in thick spurts. You mewl, scratching at his chest as he rides his high out with a few more sloppy thrusts.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispers at the top of your hair, well-aware that your oversensitivity is clouding your mind. But he can’t help it, not when you feel so good around him like this. “Just a little more, I’ll be – fuck – right there, oh yeahhh,” he drawls out breathlessly, his cock twitching with the last strings of cum until he grows boneless inside you.

Satoru pulls his cock out, chest heaving up and down from that earth-shattering orgasm. In all honesty, he’s confident he could give you an even better one, but your lids are already fluttering close that he chuckles, pressing a kiss on your temple as a silent you did well.

Somewhere through your half-awake state, you manage to card your fingers through his hair, voice small and weak as you ask, “Don’t you have to go to work?”

Satoru’s eyes lour with something unreadable, and he’s thankful you don’t get to see the sudden glooming of his face. He gently pushes your head to rest on his shoulder, his eyes narrowed at his rippling reflection in the water. In his eyes, he sees the truth – he sees a monster holding an innocent angel he lives to protect – the truth he wants to conceal. He can’t even fathom the possibility of you finding out about who he really is, much less what he does that enables him to provide you with everything you need.

He’s the demon himself, caressing someone as pure as you in his arms, his eyes and true self sinister except for the gentle kisses he leaves at the shell of your ear.

If it keeps you safe, he doesn’t mind becoming even more of a monster if it means keeping you safe.

So he keeps you right where you can’t witness the slight moments of vulnerability in which his horns reveal itself, hugging you tight and possessively in the fear he’ll lose the only thing that matters most to him.

“I have a meeting tonight,” is all he says, is what he always says.

He’s mysterious and aloof, too vague every time you inquire him about what he does for a living. Usually, you’d feel worried or even wary that maybe he doesn’t trust you as much as you originally thought, but you’re too tired to question him further, and he takes advantage of your weakness wholeheartedly. All to keep you safe.

Satoru closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath, no longer bothered by the fact each step he took is getting him closer and closer to a point of no redemption.

He’s not worried about that anymore, not when his salvation is right in his arms, wrapping him with your love and false sense of safety that it becomes the lie he feeds himself every night just to keep going on.

“I just want to be with you a little longer.”

This time around, Satoru tells the truth.

The rust of blood dripping off the concrete walls is as normal to Satoru as breathing is for everyone else. He doesn’t falter in his movements, doesn’t scrunch his nose at the stench, and he doesn’t waver from swinging his arm back, the heavy weight of the wrench already wielded in his hand.

Someone dared come up to their base to face him head-on.

He has to admit, he was impressed with their guts, but now he feels empty save for a slight sliver of irritation at the man’s bloodied face. He’s panting after coughing up blood so much, his face unrecognizable after the beating Satoru gave him, teeth splattered on the floor. Satoru’s right hand man, Geto, stands at the side, silently inspecting his nails.

They’d been going at this for hours now, yet they seemed to be right where they were at the beginning. Torture was usually an effective method of gathering information, but this hostage seemed to be on the same par of monstrous as Satoru from his unyielding nature, even had the audacity to laugh.

Satoru stops in his tracks, a brow raised at what seemed to be so funny.

“Everyone spoke highly of you,” he spat his blood out, his busted eye twitching under Satoru’s stone cold gaze. “They told me you were barbaric, ruthless, the most feared mafia boss out here, but you’re pathetic now, aren’t you? You’re not the same Six Eyes who sees all they claimed you to be,” Satoru watched warily when his hostage smirked, the same one he always wore just moments from bashing the skull out of someone. It’s because he’s so familiar with it that Satoru immediately puts up his walls, Geto stepping beside him with his gun gleaming under his coat. As expected, the man does not falter, his laughter merely increasing in volume. “You’ve grown soft, Gojo. Your little lover is your weakness, it’s written all over your face. Tell me, what’s stopping you from ending my life already? Afraid that if she finds out, she might push you away?” When Gojo doesn’t answer, the man clicks his tongue. “I fucking knew it.”

Geto moves quicker than his boss. He draws his gun and aims it right between his eyes, only to be stopped by Satoru’s indifferent tone. “Stop.”

“But boss-”

“Why did you come here?” he stabs the man in the thigh with a knife, his screams of pain alleviating enough to distract the painful clenching of his chest. “I don’t believe you came here just to prove the rumors true. Now you tell me, why have you come here?” Satoru slams his fist down on the knife, the blade pushing past through muscles and hitting deep to the bone. “Answer me.”

“Th-there’s a drive in my pocket. Open it and you’ll see.”

The man doesn’t stop squirming as Geto rummages through his jacket, nodding to his boss once they got hold of the slick black device. Geto immediately plugs it to the monitor, several photographs popping up in a few seconds, and those few seconds were all it took to bring the infamous mafia boss down.

Because they weren’t just photos, they were photos of you.

Of you laughing with your friends, of you hugging Satoru’s arm in one of your dates, of you kissing him under the streetlight and even an intimate photo of you going down on him while he’s driving. It must be taken from a street cam judging from the blurry quality, but it’s crystal clear to him anyway, and Satoru’s mind muddles with thoughts darker than he once believed he’s capable of. He feels his anger bloom like fire licking up at his skin, his nerves bursting through, and he’s so obvious, so predictable that his hostage guffaws.

“I was right, I was right-!”

“You mean her?” his voice drips down with so much indifference, it shocks even he himself. His hostage shuts up at the sudden change of Satoru’s aura, that dark, fearsome aura that had people begging him to kill them as an act of mercy coming back to life. The man clamps his mouth shut, chills running down his spine because it’s no longer the same Satoru he mocked pulling the knife out from his thigh.

No, this is the Gojo Satoru, the devil incarnate himself, and he’s made the huge mistake of believing he would be affected by a mere woman. Satoru reads the fear on his face too easily, not bothering to hide his sigh as he twirls the bloodied blade between his fingers.

“She’s nothing to me. She’s just another bitch, another paid pussy. Favorite of the month, you could say, but nothing of worth to me,” he announces, ignoring Geto who’s stiffened up at the corner. “Did you really come all the way here just to see if you could find my weakness? If so, then your organization is a lot dumber than I thought, and I hate people who waste my time.”

“No, no, please, I was just jok-” his eyes widen when Satoru snaps his fingers, and Geto rushes to his boss with his gun. “Please, no, I didn’t think she was just a bitch-”

The man never got to finish his words.

A loud ‘bang’ echoes around the room, followed by a slight snap when his head falls backwards. Blood drips from the hole sitting in between his head, the aim perfect and flawless even with Satoru not looking back. He’s still Gojo Satoru, leader of the Gojo Mafia Clan, and he’s not the most feared leader in history for no reason. He’s always been blessed with a physical prowess and fighting abilities that allowed him to take on other clans by himself, but he’s changing. There’s now a chink in his armour, and people are starting to notice.

If he doesn’t do anything about it soon…

“Sir,” Geto begins, following the rushed footsteps of Satoru outside the hall, where his security is lined up with guns poised and ready to risk their lives for him. This was his power, this was his legacy – and this is who he was.

A killer. A monster. A demon – he’s everything you wouldn’t love.

“I know, Geto, I know,” Satoru says through gritted teeth, his bloody hands clenched into fists. He already knows what he’s supposed to do; he doesn’t need another reminder of it. “You don’t have to tell me anything I know of already. Now send that body back as a warning. I’m going home for tonight.”

Geto is stunned, and he’s got every right to be. After all, in his boss’ 28 years of existence, not once has he called anywhere or anyone home.

He’s always claimed himself to be irredeemable, to be unworthy of love and forgiveness, but slowly yet surely, he was beginning to look at life differently after meeting you, after loving you. The word ‘home’ was never in his vocabulary, and yet, every time your face comes up in his mind, it’s the only word he can think of.

He came home a lot earlier than you expected him to. You’re hunched over the table, legs swinging back and forth as you finish your school packets when the door chimes with the familiar beep. It’s only midnight and he’s already here, the excitement manifesting in you as you jump off the stools, running to greet your beloved.

Satoru ends up as a blur of frantic hands tugging his tie off, his scowl seething with anger and regret pouring off of him in waves.

Before you could say anything, he has you pinned on the wall, one knee inside your legs to keep you upright. Satoru is kissing you, hard, one hand raised to keep both your wrists planted above your head. You’re moaning at his aggressiveness, the sounds encouraged by his erection poking at you from your silk robe.

It’s not rare for him to come home in need of a fuck to clear his head, but…something feels different this time around. He feels different, almost like an entirely new person.

Satoru pulls away to press his forehead to yours, his eyes hooded with lust and lips bruised from the kiss. You’re confuzzled; your lover is the exact same person standing before you, the same person grazing at your breasts until your nipples harden at his touch, so then why does it feel like the person who left and came back are entirely two different people.

“Can I fuck you, angel? Please?”

Your words die down your throat.

Satoru’s never said please before, much less look this devastated as he asks to have you. He always says it with exuberant confidence, his present frown usually a smile. There’s no trace of happiness or even playfulness in his eyes this time around. Instead, they’re filled with fear – desperation, even.

You say yes before you realize it, but it’s enough for Satoru. It feels like he’s only been waiting for that word before he goes on a rampage, for his lips are on yours again, patting your thighs as a silent command to jump. You follow his orders and kiss him feverishly until it becomes a battle for dominance, tongue and teeth clashing against the other. Your hands are tugging at his hair from how rough he’s grabbing at your hips, spanking the sensitive flesh that draws a whimper at you.

You don’t know how Satoru manages to find his way to the leather couch even with his eyes closed, but he takes you there, no longer gentle as he throws your weight down. You’re falling, falling, falling as your knees hit the material, cheeks pressed against the headrest. You turn back to kiss him one more time, but Satoru keeps you down there, the sound of his belt unbuckling reaching your ears.

Satoru wraps the leather around his palm, kissing you flat on the lips just as he slaps the material to your ass. He’s pushed your robe to bunch up at your waist, groaning into your mouth upon the realization you’ve been walking around the house butt-naked.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he nips at your lips, feeding off of the pained moans coating his senses at each whip of his belt. “No underwear while I’m gone – you’re begging to be fucked, angel. You’re so filthy,” he swings his arm back to extend the length of the belt, squeezing your ass before he whips it harder against your flesh. You scream at the contact, nails ripping the leather couch and a slight puddle of drool on your lips.

“S-Satoru!”

“What?” he snaps, gripping your jaw, his eyes replaced with something animalistic as he stares at you. The love is gone in his eyes, your lover almost unrecognizable from the way he whips you again. You jut forwards, arousal pooling and dripping down his sofa. His eyes trail down your gushing pussy, nostrils flared before throwing his belt to the other side of the room. The buckle hits one of his expensive vases until it comes crashing down, the sound of it nostalgic to the first time you met him. “Can’t talk, huh, baby? What do you want? Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me,” you blurt out, wiggling your hips sensationally at his already throbbing dick. “Please fuck me.”

You suppose you should’ve been more careful with your words, because Satoru lives to please, and if you tell him to do something, you can expect he’ll give his everything.

He knocks the wind out of your lungs by squeezing your waist, sliding himself into you one, full thrust. You’re wet enough that he slides in easily, but it’s too fast, too early, that the sudden stretch is painfully pleasurable. Satoru delivers one more smack to your flesh that makes it bounce, his growls loud and ragged as he pounds into you.

You’re clutching at the backrest, eyes shut tight as all your attention diverts to the heat in your core. You wish you could see his face, hold his hand or see the way he admires you while he fucks you, but you can’t see anything. Tonight, you could only feel.

Each thrust sends the couch a little ways forward, his balls slapping against your ass. He’s cursing left and right, more focused on getting his anger out his system than pleasuring you. It’s a drastic change to your lover’s behavior in bed, yet you can’t find any muscle in your body that denies this. Satoru can be rough, but he never really goes all out. One way or another, he manages to hold back for your sake, but his mind’s a mess, the voices in his head screaming louder that it drowns out the need to make you cum first.

He’s relentless, grip bruising the harder he fucks into you. You know you’re gone in the instance Satoru plants one foot beside you, the angle causing him to hit deeper.

Satoru ends up fucking into your cervix with each hard thrust, fisting his hand under your robe while he slams forward. It’s so intense that your vision blurs, a faltered grip on the couch. You’re falling limp under his ministrations, his dick successfully hitting that spot that has you seeing white. You’re screaming, babbling nonsense while Satoru uses you as his own fuck toy, pushing past your tight walls and relishing in the way you hug his cock snugly.

He came first, his thrusts growing sloppy and stuttering for a moment. Satoru pulls out so quickly from you that you’re left gasping for air at the sudden emptiness, and that’s when you feel his cum landing on your lower back.

You’re too slow, too weak – or perhaps he’s too strong, too fast – to react properly to his movements.

Satoru doesn’t let you catch your breath as he throws you over his shoulder, your face nearly smacking his ass. You feel dizzy at this position, and the voice in your head tells you that you should be scared he’s manhandling you like this, but seeing him this way – so reveled, so angry, so out of control – has you rubbing your legs, core dripping at the thought of how he’s going to use you tonight.

Your eyes widen when he doesn’t head for the bedroom. You were so sure he’d take you there, but Satoru lays you flat on the marble countertops of the kitchen, the cold biting into your skin.

Satoru doesn’t waste another second before he spreads your legs open and dives into your cunt. You squeal, legs instinctively closing around his head when you feel his tongue lick a flat stripe at your pussy, but he only pushes them apart, encircling your ankles hard to keep you open.

You know he’s strong, but you’re still surprised that he’s capable of rendering you motionless, powerless like this. Your mind wanders off to a dangerous path in wonders of how else he’s hurt someone like this – whether intentionally or unintentionally – but he immediately pulls you back to reality when he sucks your clit, his eyes direct with yours.

His hands trail upwards to squeeze at your breasts, the immediacy of it all firing up that tight knot in your stomach that he failed to snap a while ago.

Satoru’s nose rubs at your skin the harder he sucks at your clit, tugging it upwards until you’re whining around him. It’s always so erotic to see his pretty face buried in your cunt like this; you’ll never get used to him eating you like you’re his last meal. He laps up your juices like a starved man, his tongue prodding between your lips and slurping everything you offer him, one of his arms retracting to slide two fingers inside your sopping hole.

You moan at the sudden intrusion. The sounds of your moans mixing in with the lewd squelching of your dripping pussy is extremely embarrassing, even more so because you’re actually gushing down his palm.

Your juices spread all over his face, and Satoru is greedy, thirsty for more. He pumps harder into you, curling them against the ridges of your walls, and finally, finally you’re there. Your orgasm washes down on you violently that Satoru has to keep a palm flat down on your stomach, his tongue not ceasing from lapping up your juices. You’re convulsing from his hold, stuttered moans rewarding to his ears.

He doesn’t stop coaxing your wetness out of your cunt, his fingers working you out and easing the previous pain of when he entered you without warning. Satoru leans up to help you sit up, his lips colliding with yours for a much gentler kiss this time around.

You cup his cheeks, feeling him slide your body across the counters. Your arousal that he’s failed to clean up remains there until it spreads all over the back of your thighs, the feeling sticky and uncomfortable, but you’re more focused in his tongue dancing with yours. He tastes sweet – like mint and sugar – but his moans are sweeter, the sound dulcet and making you weak on your knees as you taste yourself on him.

Satoru tugs you forward, panic flooding you when you feel nothing under you. You feel like you’re falling again and you immediately encircle your arms around his neck, but he chuckles through the kiss, quick reflexes put into work as he carries you.

The kiss is sloppy yet heated, both of you unable to focus properly when he’s growing hard again. You expect him to take you to the bedroom to finish things for once and for all, but he’s impatient – this much you know the moment he walked in, but somehow keep forgetting – wrapping your legs to his waist instead before slipping inside you.

You mewl into his mouth, eyes snapping open to look at him nervously. His legs are slightly bent as he bounces you on his cock like you weighed nothing.

In this position, he’s hitting deep each time you slide down his cock. Unable to help it, you graze your foreheads with his to stare him deep in the eyes, the usual passion in them slowly returning with each thrust. The work is placed on his shoulders as he holds you close to him, the mind numbing sensation of your erect nipples grazing his sensitive skin enticing him to rut harder into you, all to enjoy the way you fall apart above him.

You’ve been rendered speechless, mouth fallen open to release breathy gasps. Hell, you’re unable to moan, not when his cock is sliding in and out of you so lusciously that you feel every vein protruding from the base of his length. How he manages to walk while fucking you is beyond your comprehension by now, but he seems to be having the time of his life based on his grunting, continuously fucking deep into your pussy so much that he refuses to let you go. Satoru kicks the door to your room open and places you gently on the bed this time, trapping you in his arms but with enough space to let you crawl back up on the bed. You stop as your head hits the pillows, and the mood immediately changes.

Satoru stays still inside you, his large hand cupping your face while you both catch your breath. There’s something unreadable about him. He feels young yet old at the same time, giving you the impression that perhaps he’s still just a child trapped in an old man’s body.

There’s so much fear swirling through the blueness of his eyes that you frown, marveling about what happened to him.

In the intimacy of the moment, you swipe the stray tear that had fallen down his cheek, smiling up at him in hopes he’d realize you’re always there for him. “Satoru,” you whisper, breath hitching as he starts to move. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Satoru props you sideways, your leg flat on the bed while he hooks the other one over his thigh that is spread beside your body. You have to tilt all the way to the side just to see his face, your hand now bent in an awkward position. Although he doesn’t answer vocally, his gentle thrusts are enough to tell you he doesn’t want to talk about it – he never does, and he never will – so you shut your mouth, focusing on the pleasure of him hitting deep.

Your heart aches for him. You wish he could tell you everything, to share you his worries, and you can’t enjoy him fucking you too much because you’re crying, chest clenching that he’s growing distant no matter how close he is.

You don’t want to lose him.

“Hey,” he easily reads you, leaning down to flutter his eyes at you. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired, okay, angel? But you’re making me feel good, you always do, so let me do the same for you,” Satoru kisses your tears away, the saltiness of it making him fuck harder into you, all to ignore the screaming inside his head.

He wants to hold you, he wants to kiss you, he wants to keep loving you like this, he wants to be with you, he wants to touch you – but it’s not that easy.

It’ll only keep getting harder in the future, but the future isn’t now. Today is the present, and it’s even more precious because you’re there with him. Right now, you’re untouchable by anyone but him, and it’s only him that gets to fuck you like this, only him who gets to see you whimper under him, only him who gets to kiss you hard while he fucks you deep.

He wants to fuck you hard enough that you never forget the feeling of him inside you.

Maybe he’s selfish, maybe he really is demonic, because he wishes that after this you won’t be satisfied with anyone else. He wants to fuck you hard enough you’ll keep wishing it was him, that it’s him who’s hitting your sweet spots and making you see stars, that it’s only him who can make you feel this good.

Satoru interlaces his hand with yours as he feels you tighten around him, the clamping down of your walls a telltale you’re near. You’re moaning, eyes dropping to where your bodies are connected. His cock is slicked with your arousal and he’s still thrusting to passionately, his hands touching you everywhere with the same ardor and impatience one would have when they know time is limited. And Satoru knows better than everyone that no amount of money can buy enough time in this world, because if such was a case, then he’d have done so long ago.

He silences his demons with the only way he knows how to; by kissing you and burying himself deep inside you, snapping his hips angrily as if they would counterattack his fears. Your hold on him is slipping from the sweat dripping down your bodies, but he doesn’t stop, his cock further stretching you out because he’s growing impossibly bigger.

Satoru’s cock twitches inside you, the motion pulling a gasp from you. He bites down on your shoulder, one hand gripping your other leg open as he grunts into your skin, his thrusts focused more on power than speed. He hits deep each time, the sensation of him sliding out slowly only to push back in vigorously to make your pussy throb too intense for you to even form proper sentences. He’s getting nearer, his thrusts growing more fervent and impatient. Satoru thumbs at your clit to coax you into following him, and with his thumb rubbing your clit and flicking it side to side, you end up finishing before him, your moan high-pitched and broken. He eagerly swallows the sound by releasing after you, refusing to pull out even as he feels both your cum trickle afterwards.

The sensitivity is too much for you that you have to push him away, and he complies, falling at your side but not before wrapping an arm around you first. His heartbeat is pumping under you, your hands tracing circles at his chest while he holds you impossibly close, littering kisses at the crown of your head.

It’s clear that something is wrong, but he won’t tell you no matter how much you ask. You know firsthand how annoying it is when someone can’t respect your space, so you close your eyes and let sleep overtake you instead, basking in the after sex glow and relieved only by his touch.

Hopefully, you think to yourself, he can tell you another time.

“Satoru,” you murmur seconds before falling asleep.

“Yeah?”

“If there’s something wrong…you’ll let me know, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he lies through gritted chest, pushing your head deeper into his sweaty chest. He has a habit of doing this; of pushing you close so you don’t see his face, so you don’t see the tears streaming down his face that are soon lost in your hair. You think that maybe he’s just breathing hard after work and fucking you, but he’s torn inside, feeling too broken that not even you could help fix his heart.

But you’re still there, and that’s enough for him. So he keeps his lips planted on your forehead all the way until the first sliver of light extends its fingertips over the horizon, the orange glow bathing you in an ethereal light while his body remained in the darkness.

It serves as a painful reminder that he’ll never be worthy of your love, that he’ll never earn the blessing that is your heart, that you’ll never truly love him the way he’s always wanted to be loved. Maybe now you think you do, but it will change once the darkness reveals his true nature, and the thought of you pushing him away hurts a lot more than having never been loved in the first place. To him, it’s a thousand times worse when you get a taste of something, only to have it pulled away from you.

And the longer he stays there next to you, he can’t help but picture your smile soon turned into a look of fear, your body bruised with marks and blood instead of his love bites.

They call him the notorious mafia leader who bows and yields to no one, but it’s not true. Gojo Satoru most definitely has his weakness, one that came into a form of his lover, and he can’t handle that you’d get hurt because of him someday that he believes it’s just better to let things be this way.

He’s silent from when he leaves the bed, refusing to look at you one last time as a final resolve of whatever is left in his strength. He quickly dresses himself and picks up your discarded robe on the ground, folding it and leaving it on the counter before shutting the door, the sound of his footsteps mute compared to the frantic beating of his heart.

Geto is already there at the lobby, his face empty yet eyes filled with sympathy. He opens the door for Satoru who slides in wordlessly, his lips pulled into a thin line while he punches in zeroes upon zeroes.

The words transaction complete flashes before him, and for a split second, he gets the urge to run back inside to hold you. But Geto clears his throat from the passenger’s seat, nodding at his phone that Satoru visibly deflates. His hands are numb the whole time he deletes your photos, your videos, and erases your contact, but it only hits hard that its over once he chucked the phone out the window, watching through his sunglasses as the device is crushed under another speeding car.

Its over, its over, its over – it keeps chanting at his head, and he wants to punch himself, wants to never see another daylight again every time he imagines you waking up alone and unable to find him. He wants to be sad, and he is, but there’s that relief blossoming inside him anyway that whispers its over, you’re safe that he can’t help but think…its okay, its over.

With that, Satoru rolls up the windows and nods at the driver who’s been waiting for him the whole time. He makes eye contact with a proud Geto from the rearview mirror, concealing his heartbreak with a laugh as he crosses his leg over the other.

“It’s over,” he says more to himself, “Let’s go.”

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. That’s the reason he got this far in life in the first place, he’s got his tenacity and dedication to thank for. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins as well, and he also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

And the punishment of loving you – only to have you slip from his arms – is a punishment he’ll wholeheartedly accept.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo-satoru-x-reader #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo satoru x reader romance #gojo x reader romance #gojo x reader imagines #gojo satoru x reader imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader imagines #gojo-satoru-x-reader smut #suki: 500 milestone event #suki: scheduled

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sableseb · 4 years ago

Note

I love your writing so sending in a request;

Okay Bucky/Seb or whomever you want to do this with : Reader sitting on their lap and trying to choke them with one hand. Trying cause she can't. Leaving love bites, etc then just puts her other thumb on their lips and gives them a naughty smile saying "You are my bitch now." and before they (the character) were just going along with it cause they were amused but after that dialogue they just flip the reader and choke her for real and say something along the line of "you will always be my slut." and then take it wherever you like.

Hope you and your family are safe and happy💕💫

Thank you so so much, darling! Wishing you nothing but love💞 Went with Sebastian on this one! I hope you enjoy cause I dunno what came over me while writing this...I genuinely went ham

word count: 1k

warnings: 1k of pure smut, dirty talk, daddy kink, choking, riding, pussy slapping, titty slapping, hitting, cum eating, spitting

tags: @meetmeatyourworst @stucky-my-ship @greeneyedblondie44 @harrysthiccthighss @fuckandfluff @sparksforkoo @bemine-bucky @thewritingdoll

“That’s it, use my cock, baby.” Sebastian gasps as you ride him on the plush, leather couch.

You love when he let’s you use his body, it gives you a sense of power. Having this beautiful man submit to you is something you wish would happen more often because the feeling is unmatched.

Each bounce causes his cock to hit that spot inside you that makes you see stars. You’re both a sweaty mess as you’ve been trying to reach your highs. You’re thighs are starting to burn as they rest beside his narrow hips.

The patch of hair he adorns catches your clit each time you sink all the way down. A coil has wound itself inside you and you so desperately need it to snap. You sit yourself flush against him, basking in the feel of his throbbing cock in your tight heat. You rotate your hips slowly as you look at him.

Sebastian’s once blue eyes are dilated to a complete black, his chest is rising and falling against the brace of your hands, his lips are swollen and pink. He looks like sin and it’s all because of you.

Your hand makes its way to his throat. You try your best to wrap it fully around his neck, but it’s just too thick for your dainty hand. It doesn’t deter you though, not even when he looks at you with pure amusement.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He grunts out as he feels your walls tighten around him.

You bring his face to yours and lightly trace your nose with his. You bring the fingers around his neck to his jaw and twist his face to the side. You bite his ear and whisper, “Making you my bitch.”

Sebastian turns his head back to look at you. He’s grinning a sick grin. He thinks it’s cute how you think you have to upper hand. Almost as soon as the words leave your lips, you’re harshly flipped onto your back. The leather automatically sticks to your damp skin.

His large hand encloses tightly around your neck, already there are bruises starting to form under the pressure of his fingers. You choke out a gasp at his rough demeanor. Being dominant was fun while it lasted…you’re truly at his mercy now.

“Your bitch? Oh, baby. You seem to forget who owns this pretty pussy.” He taunts and lands a rough smack against your cunt causing your hips to jolt. Sebastian rubs firm circles over your clit before landing another smack.

“You’re my bitch. Don’t you ever forget that.” He seethes, inches away from your ever reddening face caused by his restricting grip on your throat.

Sebastian pulls his hand away and you gasp for air. Your lungs burn as the cool air from the conditioned condo is inhaled. You’re practically dripping from his rough words and even rougher actions. You love when he plays dirty.

As your hooded eyes meet his, he’s all business and you can’t help but let a smile breakout across your face. You thrive off his dominant side rearing its ugly head.

“C’mon, daddy...you gonna fuck this pretty pussy?” you ask, your voice laced with innocence.

A stinging slap causes your head to whip to the side. A red print is marked on your skin and he thinks you couldn’t look any prettier. He grabs your face and leans into your neck to bite and suck the skin. You try to move your head to give him better access, but he has your cheeks firmly in his grasp and he’s not letting you move an inch.

Sebastian’s lips wrap around your ear lobe and he drags it through his teeth before whispering, “Daddy’s gonna ruin this pretty pussy.”

You clench around nothing, you ache to have him pound you into this ridiculously expensive leather. He wraps his hand around your throat once more. “Open your mouth.”

You comply and stick your tongue out for him, already knowing what he’s up to. He spits into your mouth, you feel it coat your tongue and it causes you to rub yourself against his erection.

“Now swallow.”

You hum in content as you swallow his spit. He leans in and kisses you, roughly slotting his mouth to yours as his tongue explores yours. The hand he doesn’t have around your throat slides between your bodies to line himself up with your entrance.

His thick girth slips into you and you gasp into his mouth. Sebastian starts a punishing pace that causes your chest to bounce each time his hips flush with yours. His hand tightens as he pounds into you and your eyes cross as pleasure takes over.

“What’s wrong,” he pants, “not so big and bad now are we?”

You can’t reply, your moans are getting stuck and your cunt won’t stop pulsing as heat engulfs you. His other hand lands a slap to a breast before roughly gripping it and then pulling the nipple between his fingers.

He feels you clench around him after each hit he lands on your body. “You love when I slap you around, don’t you my pretty slut?”

“Yes,” you choke out, “yes, daddy.”

As he continues his rough pace, you’re falling apart. The delicious drag of his cock, his groans and grunts, his hand around your neck...it’s just what you need.

He feels your body seize up, you’re cunt is squeezing him to the point where he can barely pull out of your wet warmth. His hand leaves your throat so you can breathe once more. Tears fill your eyes and your neck is flushed an angry red. You look gorgeous to him every time he takes you apart.

“Want you to cum in me, daddy. Fill me up.”

How can he deny that? His labored breathing and the wet sounds from where your bodies are connected are the only things to be heard. You’re running your hands up and down his defined torso, coaxing him to release himself in you.

A few more pumps and he does just that, covering your walls in white. You feel his warmness sooth your abused pussy and slowly leak out along his shaft. Sebastian pulls out and makes sure to finger his cum back into you. He lifts his long fingers to your mouth and you happily suck them clean, tasting yourself and him on your tongue.

You flash him a ditsy, blissed out smile before saying, “I should try and make you my bitch more often.”

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan fanfiction

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tamat3v · 4 years ago

Text

req: hey mate sorry to like probably ruin your reputation here but can i request pseudo-incest dabi with like overstimulation and sadomasochism?

❥• this was from my other acc, this req has been sitting and rotting for m o n t h s, i added my own twists and tweaks here and there [nah like actually a lot💔💔 the main kinks in highlight are still overstim and sadomasochism(ish for this one) so it’s not too bad] so i hope it is enjoyed. coming up with a title for this was living hell so i’ll figure it out later 🚶🏾

w/c: none, cus i’m trying straight up on tumblr, so help me god but it’s a pretty decent reading length i suppose

Touya hated you- despised you for the very fact you walked the earth in his lifetime. You were the most cherished one, the sun of your parents and he was the other one, who’s name was apparently so unspeakable because he was the disappointment. He hated you, did everything in his power to show his mom and your dad that you were no good. He knew what you were, he heard all of those girls and boys screaming as you basically pounded them into your mattress every other night. Only he knew how you toyed with and threw away each and every single one of them after you had your fun and gotten your dick wet enough for the week.

Touya curses the ground you walk on. He abhors you so, then why is it that this time he’s slumped against his bed? Hearing the girl cry and you pant with his pants feeling too tight? Why, god tell him why he walked into the room, acting like it was a mistake. Why he screamed at the girl to get lost and it was a sight to behold, how she scrambled for her clothes and flew out the door like a hurricane.

You were seeing red at this point. You’d finally convinced her to get into your bed and that god forsaken raven head had to step in a mess up. You were livid, shirt crumpled slightly and raised up as you flung the other onto the bed, hand wrapped around his throat dangerously with ill intentions which pinned him flat to the bed and all he could do was struggle. “Touya, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Touya couldn’t tell you the answer but how he wondered the same thing. No normal person would like being brutally tossed to the bed, being choked heavy with all rage- which was absolutely deserved. The crown of the pile of issues was that his hard on was furious in his pants, straining against the fabric. This is wrong, all so wrong. You were brothers for goodness’ sake, you could literally kill him for goodness’ sake yet he liked the hurt and he wanted you even more. He tried to speak out but his words died long before in his throat all he could let out was a weak, failing sound- so pathetic. You were so sour at the pitiful face he was making but it soon turned into a bitter smile on your face. As much as you wanted to thrash him for butting in and stepping far out of line, you would just rock his shit differently.

Because little did he know that you knew what he did. Unlike your parents, you heard him beating his pathetic, weeping cock and mewling at the dead of night to his own step-brother. You had seen his book, pages filled with the most obscene and perverse desires and fantasies he had and you knew from that day on he was far worse than you would ever be. Something about that cruel upper hand you had over him just made your stomach twist and all the right ways, who were you to not use this golden opportunity that fate had dealt you?

“You know, Dabi, I’ve read that book of yours.” He immediately sprung to life, eyes popping out their sockets. “_____, I can explain, it’s really not what you think it is-“ There it was. You dropped one harsh and heavy handed slap on his cheek with no hesitation and he was silent, effective immediately. “I don’t remember asking you to talk, Touya-kun. I read each and ever single one of those pages. You’re so sick, you know that?” you spat, tone seething and acidic. “‘Bet you liked that slap, didn’t you? Being pressed up underneath me like this? I know who you are, Touya: a perverted whore.”

Oh how he was shaking under you, legs turning inwards with his thighs pressed so cutely together to quell the sweltering heat in his pants. He was dripping, tip pumping up those sinful tears non stop ‘till it was so sticky. Touya’s brain had switched off, eyes unfocused on you but a sharp slap to his thigh, right next to the throbbing hardness brought him back whimpering. You finally released his throat, purpled bruise marks adorning his skin as he choked in air, just for it to be knocked out of his chest when you flipped him onto his back.

“From now on until I decide I’m done with you, you have no say. Shut up and take it like the slut you are. I will not listen to you but I don’t think it’s need anyway. I know you’ll enjoy every single second of it like the freak you are.” You weren’t asking, simply stating. You ripped down his stupid, tacky pants and slid in, no warning needed. Touya was undone with that, tears stinging hard, his lower half even harder but he liked the pain- so much that he came immediately, crying out already and you were incredulous at the realization.

You slapped his ass harshly. He didn’t deserve your mercy, not that he wanted it anyways. His dark hair was disheveled as you began hammering into him relentlessly. He cried from the overstimulation- it hurt so good. His body was absolutely shredded and you were far from finished with him- so far from it. His mind was not computing the stimulation, he was numb but felt everything at the same time. Was this an out of body experience because this didn’t feel real at all. He was bordering consciousness when you squeezed another high from his spent body already.

What time was it now? Touya was lost in a different plane when you finally pulled out, daylight peaking through shut blinds and he was limp. He was beyond useless and he- he felt you push in once more and shredded attempt at a scream erupted from his torn up vocal box. “Oh? So you are still awake. You better be, you will take what I give you, Touya.”And you were so pleased with your work, yhe points in which you had hit on his body were bruising, heat still so close to the surface of his skin and it was perfect for you.

#wix.writes #OK MAYBE ITS NOT THAT GREAT BUT ITS A START #dark content #dabi smut #bnha dabi #tw.overstimulation #tw.sadomasochism #tw.pseudo-incest #dabi.writing #mha smut #bnha smut #dabi x male reader #x top male reader

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starshipsofstarlord · 4 years ago

Text

God is With You, Even as You’re Sinning

Pairing | Sam Winchester x reader

Summary | it was your first time not killing a monster, and in its place, taking the life of one of your own. Guilt entraps you, and it is up to Sam to break you out of your pitiful hypnosis.

Warnings | mentions of death, blood, angst, guilt, some smut, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative unprotected sex, fingering, swearing, mentions of murder

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Fuck God. This was all his fault, everything was to be fair. He had left the world to continue on its own accord, the apocalypse threatening to spill over the planet and destroy it and all beauty that was lingering through the existence of humans.

They killed each other, and the creator of all could care less. It was his smallest problem, he didn’t mind that the murderer was succumbed to guilt, or how many restless nights that he or she endured. God was cruel, even if he held up a facade of being your ally, and trying his hardest as he supposed, to be your friend.

Your hands shook as you remembered the entailment of your mistake. It was a slip up, a vast and surreal experience that people usually learned from. But what were you supposed to do, not kill a human again? Yeah you had gotten that, after all, the initial deed had not at all been intentional.

There was the victim’s blood dried upon the outer layer of your skin, casting you in the perfect image of murderous intent. However, you had no thirst to kill, instead, your hunting of monsters, alike to many others partaking in a similar lifestyle, executed the mythical beasts to protect the human population.

It pained you truly, to know that you had killed a person. You hadn’t even spared the familiar body a second glance, and out of panic, you fled the scene, leaving the body of the city cleaner in the gutter, laying in the remnants of his friends’ and family’s waste, burying him in their crude excrement.

The thought alone, and the sight that was engrained in the peripheral of your mind had you feeling sick. Slowly, you plodded down the steps of the bunker’s entrance, surely leaving footprints trademarked in all kinds of grotesque evidence.

Without much care for what lay heavily inside, you dropped your duffel from your shoulder, allowing it to fall on the ground with a disgruntled clatter. Nothing meant anything anymore, not if you were indeed a real killer. Whilst some monsters had weaselled their way into society, ending their pathetic attempts at normality was different than taking away the life of an innocent and mortal bystander.

Often, with the darker and crueler species, there were reasons as to why they pretended to be of human birth. Mostly, it was so that they could feed from the naive flock, or kill for their own amusement. Either way, none of their reasons were good.

But now, you thought of yourself as no different than them. A creature that needed to be put down for their crimes. Filing, you breathed in, only inhaling the various moulds of putridity that was weaved into your hair, and stuck to your skin like a face mask.

“Should I call you Cassie now?” At the joke, a laugh from the speaker was triggered. He was quite amused with the sight of you, and thus, you sneered at the tall man, hating him a little bit more than usual.

“Your pop culture references aren’t appreciated Winchester, it’s more Dean’s street.” Shoving past him, his high shoulder floundered back at the harsh and ignorant impact, an expression of offence covering his stupid face. Like a fawn, he tumbled after you, watching as you walked sullenly into the kitchen, yanking the door to the fridge open, and extracting one of his brother’s store bought beers.

“I’m going to guess the hunt went bad.” Sam speculated, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, and staring expectedly down at where you popped the cap off the bottle recklessly with your teeth. He almost winced at the sight, but he wished to keep this arrogant demeanour up with you, it was a natural desire to piss you off, and he’d be pissed at himself if he let it slip out of simple pity.

“Guess correct. Well done, you’ve won a trip to Hawaii.” You waved your free hand mockingly in the air, as the other raised the liquor to your mouth, allowing you to wilfully gulp the bitter liquid down. At his presence that remained nursing over you, you cocked a brow, leaning forwards as you expectedly looked back at the moose. “Just leave me alone Sam, I’m not in the mood for putting up with your bullshit.”

He, however, seemed not to be phased by you wanting to be left alone, and instead, quickly snatched the poison out of your hand, leaving you throughly prepared to keep him right in the balls. “What the fuck?” You all but screamed at the not so jolly giant. In turn, he crossed his arms across his chest, placing the bottle down on the island.

“I could ask you the same y/n.” His tone was dominantly serious, causing you to cower back into your shroud of guilty conscience. “Tell me what happened on that hunt, of which i told you that you shouldn’t have went on alone, since you wouldn’t have been able to handle it solo.”

You felt demeaned by his words, they sparked an anger out from the firm pit of your stomach. But you knew deep down, he was getting through to you, which was something that you had not managed to even do by yourself. Air heavily passed through and out of your nostrils, as acidic tears pooled in your eyes; a crack was falling down your walls, and out of all people, it was Sam Winchester whom had caused it.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have gone alone, but you know what, I thought of what a Winchester would do. And then I remembered, I am sure as hell not a Winchester and I don’t have a brother anymore! Not now, he didn’t even know who I was earlier, didn’t even recognise a single genetically identical hair on my head as he watched me parade through the town, the very one that I ran away from when he was a baby and I was seven, wanting to hunt a monster. Yet, i didn’t kill a damn monster Sam, I murdered my brother because you’ve been right all along, I’m not fit for this job. I am a mess, so congratulations, you finally have got me to admit the one thing that you keep reminding me of.”

��Y/n...” Sam wasn’t sure how to respond, he felt the waves of shock ripple through his body. Never so freely had you been vulnerable around him, and here you were now, with very visible tears cascading down your utterly torn face. He understood it was an accident, and the times that he and Dean had tried to kill each other under supernatural circumstances had him wondering what if.

Shaking your grime tethered head at the sound of his cracked voice, you stormed past him, and immediately raced towards the shower room, finding to your luck, which had been non existent during the rest of the day, the halls were barren of life. Walking through the door, you tore your ruined clothes off, chucking them upon the floor without much acknowledgement, before you went under the warm spray of the shower head, trying to calm yourself.

To rid your skin of its evidential accessories, you had to scrub your skin until it was immediately raw. Everything within you ached, as you flicked back to the memory of the clueless expression that had been worn by your blood brother. It was probably a good thing that he didn’t know who you were, or else, he’d have known that his own sister murdered him due to her incompetence to listen to others.

Now, you were not even sure what were your tears, and what droplets of water belonged to the shower itself. For over an hour, you basked int eh warmth that seemed unable to cure your cold blooded system, turning the spritz off, and covering your body in a fluffy towel, that you were sure belonged to someone else, but right now, you could care less about who owned what.

As you reached the door to your bedroom, you found it to be preached slightly open, and as you pushed it the rest of the way, you saw Sam sat on the corner of your bed. You held your arms around yourself, insecure on the fact that beneath the stolen towel, you were nothing more than you. A wolf in sheep’s skin.

“Can I help you?” You bitterly asked, your eyes still burning from your own faulted loss. Sam breathed in, his eyes trailing up to your face, that was naked from any gruesome cosmetics or make up. The bareness to your completion illustrated an aura of innocence, and evidence that you were the same as him - human.

“That’s my towel.” The male hunter laughed, in hopes of changing the previous and well wounded subjected to ensure that you felt better. But what was he kidding, nothing could fill the void that you had dug in your own heart, nothing was closer than the bond between siblings, even if you were considered as strangers.

“Take it back then.” Too exhausted from your gruelling day, you dropped the material, your confident action making his eyes go wide, as he tried to look away from your exposed skin to respect your boundaries. It was impossible though not to allow his hazel hues to slip up the trunks of your thighs, up to- no, that was wrong, very wrong.

You had just lost your brother, not to mention, by your own hand, and he was prone to checking out your freelancing body, taking in every curve and twisted scar that was prominent to his speculating eyes. His eyes dropped to the discarded towel, which he had purposely left on the heating rail for later use, and then, they switched back towards you.

He stood, walking behind you as you looked through comfort clothes within your dresser. A light touch of his hand brushed your hair away from your neck, as he breathed a sweet hoax of hot air upon your scare. Sam was relieved that you didn’t reject the contact, and instead, pressed his lips upon the flesh, finding succession whence you hummed deliriously to yourself.

This interaction had been inevitable for a long time, but now no longer were the suspected intentions for such an exchange to be to release well endorsed frustrations. No, he was going to clear your mind for some sensual moments, and make your pretty little head forget for a moment that you had pained yourself in the worst of ways.

Turning, you laced your hands through his chocolate locks, massaging his scalp as you pulled him closer so that your lips could endure a rougher clasp against his. There was no passion, behind each contribution there was a spur of hunger, he grasped your ass cheeks, pulling you up to be sat upon the top of your heavy dresser.

Obliging his command, you spread your legs so that he could stand between their partition, his hands now running up the windows of your thighs. For a while, the pair of you did nothing more than make out, and cup a feel here and there, but soon after, Sam dropped to his lanky knees, leaving kisses in the wake of his descent.

His thumb and forefinger spread your fluttering folds, watching as your slit squirmed for attention. Sam licked his lips at the sight, running his middle finger up the expanse, until he came to your yearning entrance. Slowly, after making sure you were wet enough, Sam slipped his digit inside, you wiggling your hips to adjust to the thrust of his one finger.

To add to the sensations that were overriding your body, he moved his mouth to closer proximity, smelling the divine aroma that pulsed out of you. It was far too addictive to not get a taste, and thus,he pulled his finger out, sucking off your juices contently.

But that small sample just wasn’t enough, which encouraged him to dive face first into your pussy - literally. His long tongue teased your folds, slurping at the lips, and then switching to your clit to heighten the stimulation. He kept up a rhythm, using it as a pattern to push you closer to that edge, and he was surely certain that you were enjoying his oral work as you ground your face against him, moaning at his succulent administrations.

“Sam.” Oh god, was it pleasant to hear his own name fall out your mouth in such an erotic manner. It was far different from the way that you usually used it to snide at him, though, the thought of your regular treatment of him aided only to spur his lustful actions on. He wanted you to cum, for your juices to run down his face in waterfalls, looking as though someone had tried to drown him.

His work would not be complete until you found it difficult to even pronounce his short name. Digging his tongue in the hood of your clit, tracing around the protective area, his fingers returned to their earlier placement, and he quickened their pace until he could hear a satisfying squelch in the air.

Rapid sounds of parted moans raked from your mouth, your chest sticking out as you breasts heaved with your heavy breathing. It was noticeable that you were close, not just from that, but you were squeezing the circulation out of his fingers. “Fuck.” Left you in the form of a squeal, as you pussy wept its juices.

Sam was quick to lap everything that left you up, once more, tasting those that clung to his fingers. He went back in for another taste, but you tightly grouped his hair, pulling him away from your sopping cunt. “Need you to fuck me Sam, now.”

In an instant, the hunter stood, working precariously on undoing the buckle of his belt, and pushing all material that covered his lower half to the bottom of his thighs. He read already hard, and oozing precum. You swept your finger across the tip of his dick, bringing it to your lips to taste his foreshadowing seed.

Sam huffed at the sight,picking his prick up in one hand, and jerking himself a couple of times. And then, he aligned himself with you, rubbing his cock around your wet crevice a couple of times, slapping his tip teasingly against your puffy clit.

“Want my cock baby?” He asked, smirking as he watched you nod your head repeatedly. With that being all the confirmation that he needed, he pushed into you,feeling even more turned on as he heard you mewl, and watched the ecstatic expression cross your face as his dick fit inside of you all the way.

He grasped your hips, pulling out once before pushing in again. He repeated the action, his own eyes rolling to the back of his head at how tight you were. This would make you forget the cruel method of god, his story was not as epic as he though, for his characters were screwing against his will, basking in a distraction rather than the regretful pain that seethed in your trodden heart.

Another thrust had your nails clasping onto Sam’s covered back, biting onto his shoulder through the plaid, as you held back the tears that were trying to creep out of your blissful eyes. A few grunts left Sam, as his pace increased, and with every thrust, which only served to fuel him further, the dresser smashed into the wall behind it, most likely leaving a decent dent within the historical architecture.

“Gonna cum.” You told him, dragging him in for another tongue filled kiss as your cunt pooled around him, coating his cock in the honey from your delicious pot. He soon followed after, and for a moment, he remained against you, allowing you to bask in the comfort of his strange presence.

And then he pulled out, watching as his distraction dripped from your entrance, trailing down your thigh in a white streak. An orgasm smile was pulled onto your face, but it was certain to not last long for when you returned to the reality that laid waiting for you to return.

Sam stepped closer again, moving his fingers towards your cunt, and pushed his seed back inside of you, watching as your puffy pussy lips swallows any part of him that it could get. He would distract you for as long as he could, and then, deal with the inevitable.

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donutloverxo · 5 years ago

Text

The donut mishap

Note - This is the first of my soft!reader series. I'll try to post them chronologically now on. Note that this is set in 2013. And a dear friend helped me out with this. Thanks a lot to her <3.

Summary - A quest of baking donuts brings you to the avengers tower. But what happens when your paths cross with the star spangled man?

Warnings - curse words, steves ptsd

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 2.3k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

You squinted your eyes concentrating on putting just the right amount of pressure on the piping bag to get the perfect swirl of frosting on the cupcake. Your breathe hitched as a little air bubble appeared, aside from that it looked perfect. With a nice stiff peak.

You smiled looking over the cupcakes and donuts; over 12 hours of work. You felt like a proud mama.

When you started working at the Bakery, granted you only did so because you loved how cute their desserts looked but never could afford them, you thought you’d get to make money off of your love for baking.

Instead they stuck you in the back, doing books and maintaining accounts. Yeah you were going to grad school to be an accountant but it still wasn’t fair!

You never got to learn anything new about baking, or even try any delicious pastries. You just spent 4 hours everyday playing with the numbers.

And then you got a call from Linda, your boss. Panicking about how the head chef is sick and they have an order from the Avengers.

The Avengers were just a bit controversial. But for the most part everyone was grateful for them and looked up to them.

You can’t disappoint them. They’re superheros! Literal gods!

You didn’t really have much of an opinion on them. Except that the God of thunder from space made you all tingly sometimes.

You were just happy you got the chance to make such variety of desserts. Maybe now you could convince Linda to let you help out in the kitchen every now and then.

“You’re going to have to deliver them yourself.” Linda said looking them over and taking a small bite from the mint macaroon. “Take a taxi. Think you can handle it?” She handed you a hundred dollar bill.

There were only two boxes, one with the donuts and another with different assortments of patisseries. You accepted the bill and called for an Uber.

Normally the bakery doesn’t do delivery but when someone even mentioned Tony Starks name, Linda agreed to deliver, almost gave it away for free.

You made it to the tower in one piece. Glad to know that all the desserts seemed like they were doing alright in the boxes. You craned your neck up to look at the tower. Yet you couldn’t see the top.

You tried your best to be careful with the giant pink boxes in your hands muttering ‘excuse me' to anyone you may come across so as to not bump into them. You gently lay the boxes on the reception counter. Giving the brunette receptionist a huge warm smile.

“These are for Pepper Potts. Should I just leave them here...” You trailed off.

Looking around to see everyone dressed to the nines in sleek business formal clothes. You were wearing your pink dress with small red strawberries splattered all across it, it ended just below your knees, maybe not the perfect dress for the beginning of fall, or making a delivery for that matter. It made you feel self-conscious you tried your best to not think about how unprepared you must seem.

Which wasn’t entirely your fault. They were the ones that expected such a large order in under 12 hours.

“Alright ma'am you can go up and set them up.” She said hanging up the phone and giving you a visitors pass.

“Oh I...” You wanted to disagree. Ask for someone else to do it. You just KNEW you were going to mess it up.

But you couldn’t really say anything when she smiled “Thank you.” Probably in a way to shoo you off and deal with the person behind you.

You somehow made your way to the elevator, asking for directions twice, only it was too crowded and you were running out of time. “I’ll take the next one.” You said, although no one really seemed to care, they were either looking at their phones or chatting with each other.

A nervous smile painted on your face, so you could delude yourself into thinking everything is fine to calm your nerves. You couldn’t even afford to take your phone out of your sling bag to look at the time, not with your hands occupied.

After waiting for forever you were able to get into an elevator which was only occupied with a few people. Finally you were at your desired floor.

You were to take the boxes to conference room B12.

So you looked around, distracted. Your mother had always told you that your absent mindedness will one day come to bite you in the ass.

‘Try living in reality once in a while.’ She had said in such a condescending tone.

You huffed back then, thinking you were fine just the way you are. Until you bumped into what you thought was a brick wall, too distracted by the numbers and signs and twists and turns.

You quickly looked in front of you, when you felt the boxes you had held up collide with something. It wasn’t a wall, it was what looked like a human man. You tried to balance your feet stumbling back a bit before falling flat on your ass.

“Omph” You let out as you felt the cold hardwood floor sting your behind. Your precious donuts and desserts falling to the ground.

You looked at the ruins, how the frosting and sprinkles decorated the floor, taking it all in, asking yourself if this is a dream.

By the angle you were sitting in, you were sure the man could see your underwear, but you didn’t care. Because you were completely ruined.

You looked up at him, your lips quivering and your eyes glossy. “Why?” You asked as he stared at you completely dumbfounded, as if he had never seen a girl before.

Steve wanted to refuse right away. As soon as they said the words ‘honor’ and ‘appreciate’. A ceremony just to honor him and thank him for his service to his country.

He did try to convince Tony that he hated such things. To be the centre of attentions and plaster on a pageant smile for all the flashing cameras. That is not what he signed up for. His goal was never to get fame and recognition.

He ultimately had to relent. Because it was supposed to be an inspiration for others and to ‘boost morale’.

“Just flash your perfect pearly whites for a few hours, it’s really not that hard.” Tony said slapping Steve’s shoulder. As if they’ve been friends forever and he doesn’t take some kind of sick sadistic pleasure in watching Steve suffer.

They spoke of how brave he was, how even as a sickly kid he stood up for what was right. For his country.

Really he could tolerate all that. Even be grateful for it.

But his anxiety came back as they showed pictures from the wartimes, projected onto the white screen.

He’s a hero they said.

So brave.

Selfless and compassionate.

A man out of time.

Lies. Blatant lies. He was far from a hero. He knew that. But he realized the extent of it when he saw the pictures, some of them familiar to him, having happened just in front of him not so long ago, even if it had been decades for everyone else.

All of his brothers, his best friend died. Protecting their country. For their duty. They made the ultimate sacrifice and were more than happy to do so.

He recalled one commander saying how he would love to die serving his country. It would be his greatest accomplishment.

And here he was. Wearing a suit that he had no doubt cost thousands of dollars. Drinking expensive champagne, giving interviews, having his face on magazine covers. Taking pictures with his ‘fans'. Living the high life.

How the fuck was he a hero?!

He couldn’t look at the remaining pictures or listen to them. He tried to zone them out, tune out his anxiety and his guilt. To not let his mind go to those dark places, to linger on the past. Nothing good would come out of it.

He could still do good. Be good. Wash off his sins. If he kept trying and moving forward. If only it wasn’t so hard.

There was no such thing washing your sins off of you. No one can resolve their sins by simply confessing to them in church. Or counting thousands of hail marys. His hands and his soul will always be tainted with blood.

Somehow he got through the whole thing. He was about to run off the men’s room. To take a breathe and collect his thoughts.

Tony stopped him “What’s with your resting bitch face Rogers?” He snarked but was taken aback by the scowl he received “Fine go. Remember we have a meeting with the corporal.”

Which was what the whole ruse was all about. To appease the army. He was surprised at just how bad the whole world is, but he couldn’t even begin to comprehend the shitshow that the army had become.

He rubbed his face sprinting towards the balcony. To get some fresh air, be alone as long as he can before he has to go back to being Captain America.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t hear your footsteps, which his sensitive hearing really should’ve picked up on.

He turned the corner only bump into you. Making you fall on your ass.

“Why?” You gave him a look of betrayal as tears fell down your face. You wiped your cheek with the back of your hand kneeling and working on putting your desserts back in the box.

“Oh my god... ma’am I’m so sorry.” He apologized as soon as he registered what he had down. Crouching down before you to help you clean it up. But he doubted that you would be able to eat them.

“All my work.” You moaned looking up and meeting his eyes.

Your defeated face almost made him pull you into his arms. But it wouldn’t exactly be proper to do that to a stranger.

“Don’t call me ma'am!” You huffed as more tears escaped your eyes. “I’m not like 50!” You crossed your legs sitting on the floor and staring at your boxes.

“What should I call you then?” He asked his tone gentle and inquisitive. Truly curious to know what your name was.

“How about you call me nothing? You’ve done enough.” You frowned as you looked into his crystal blue hues. He was simply put beautiful.

You never thought that’s the adjective you’d use to describe a man, but that was all you could think of.

However his beauty didn’t excuse his actions. It certainly wouldn’t bring back the desserts you worked so hard on. So all you could do was be mad at him.

“I can pay for them.” He blurted out and then winced. You probably made them yourself. He can’t exactly replace them.

“It was the first time I truly baked. And now I’ll lose my job.” You sniffled tracing the frosting which was smeared on the floor with your finger. “And the Avengers will all go hungry...” You rambled your voice small. All you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry into a pillow.

You sneered at him as he chuckled. He immediately stopped pressing his lips into a straight line. “I doubt they’ll go hungry. I promise you won’t lose your job. No one has to know.” He reasoned. His plump rosy lips stretch into a smile, that must be worth at least a million dollars. His eyes creasing and yeah he really was beautiful.

You felt your anger resolving but decided to remain firm. To not let him work his charms on you. “They will call my boss when the delivery doesn’t arrive. And my boss will fire me!” You exclaimed spelling it out for him. Since he seemed to fit the stereotype of the dumb pretty blonde. Or was that exclusive to women?

“I can promise you no one will tell your boss.” He hesitated but then put his hand over yours in an effort to reassure you.

“What? How – how will you do that?” You asked getting more and more frustrated that he failed to understand just how grave this situation was for you.

“I uh... do have that kind of authority.” He said giving you a small nod. At least he could do some good with this ‘status' he held.

“Hm” You hummed still suspicious. But he was wearing a suit which looked expensive. His stance seemed that of someone who was powerful. His voice although soft held some stern undertones. “I – how do I believe you?” You asked and laughed at your misery as you realized you didn’t really have a choice.

Finally, pressing a palm on the floor you got up. Collecting your boxes. “It’s okay.” You sighed. “I guess I wasn’t really looking either. Whatever happens I’ll deal with it.” You said giving him a somber look.

“Uh – are you sure?” He stammered afraid he got you in trouble and couldn’t really do anything about it. Even more so that you were leaving and he’d probably never get to see you again.

“I’m not really a liar.” You shrugged as he stood up with you.

You didn’t have the opportunity to marvel at his tall stature, and how big he was compared to you. Or just big in general. You simple turned around your head hung low.

Only to look back at him over your shoulder. You tried to suppress a whimper, at just how hopeless you were, and asked “Which way is the elevator?”

Tags will be in the reblog! If you want in on the taglist click the link in the bio or shoot me an ask/dm.

Please note that my work is NOT to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

#steve rogers x soft!reader #steve rogers x plus sized reader #steve rogers x reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain america x you #captain america x reader #steve x reader #the donut series

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lovingmyselfcore · 4 years ago

Text

(and it dies) a million little times

Part 1 of 2:

For you I would ruin myself

I have to post something so I still feel like I'm accomplishing things while I write (what was going to just be the other half of this) the second part of this. And also while I wait for inspiration so strike for Protect You or Skate Into My Heart because I promise I haven't given up but I have commITMENT ISSUES LEAVE ME ALONE

ANYWAY this is for@the-love-yourself-journal (or I guess @perseusjackson-jasongrace) who is the literal queen of Jercy idc. She got me to ship them in the first place so thanks babe

Ps Percy isn't white because canon Percy isn't white fight me

It felt wrong, hiding such a secret from her. He and Annabeth had always been honest with each other, it was why they had been drawn together from the moment they met.

She was definitely the best marriage option he had seen. Despite that, despite being able to converse with each other in a way that most married couples they knew could not, there was something missing.

When he’d met the blonde-haired boy, he realized what it was.

Percy had struggled his entire life with this. This sickness. It had always been drilled into his mind that people experiencing what he was experiencing was wrong, sinful, in fact. So he never spoke of it. Never spoke of being attracted more to the boy next door than the girl. Never spoke of the fact that aside from his wedding night, years ago, he’d never had sex. He couldn’t. Not with her. Not with any her.

Laughing blue eyes, annoyingly perfect teeth.

He couldn’t tell her. At best, she’d laugh, then ignore it. At worst, she’d tell everyone, and he couldn’t imagine what would happen to him then.

A horrific death on the street, most likely, followed by a long, agonizing stay in Hell for his sins.

A small, faded scar on his upper lip from his childhood.

Percy was sitting at his desk in his office, pretending to work while actually waiting for him to appear. As always before he actually showed up, Percy’s mind ran rampant. His own brain spat insults at him, his gut twisted at what he was doing. What he was doing to Annabeth. His heart screamed at him for not being able to stop himself, from not fighting harder to go back to being in love with Annabeth, despite knowing he’d never been. His soul longed for its other half.

The way his nose would scrunch when he laughed, the laugh only Percy could draw out of him.

Percy shifted in his chair. His tie was too tight around his neck, he was going to suffocate. Maybe he should. The clock continued ticking, as it always did.

The feel of his hands, on his face, his hips, his back.

“He is here to see you, Mr. Jackson.”

“Send him in.” Voice professional, practiced, despite the lurch in his gut. His brain, his heart, his soul all screamed louder, arguing their own points. Waging their violent war within him.

As always, the sight of him quieted them all.

Percy stood, adjusting his tie, and made his way over to the man leaning against his now closed door. His throat bobbed as Percy approached.

Percy lifted a hand and traced that scar, his voice barely above total silence, “I’ve missed you.”

Jason Grace’s breath was hot on his hand. His voice matched Percy’s, “You will be my ruination.”

“You are already mine.” Then Percy lunged forward, capturing his lips.

Looks like his soul had won this one. Again.

~~~~~

Piper McLean fidgeted uncomfortably with the hem of her skirt. She’d ruined many perfectly good skirts like this. Sitting. Waiting.

“Sooner or later you’re going to completely unravel one of those.” Piper looked up and was met with gray eyes. The same gray eyes that had been staring at her all day. She’d been staring right back.

“The children’s break is short,” Piper murmured back, standing from her stool.

“Indeed,” Annabeth replied, moving forward to take Piper’s hands.

“What are we doing?” Piper’s voice was hoarse, scratchy. “We have husbands.”

“Indeed.” Was all Annabeth said again, her grip on Piper’s hands tightening.

“I love Jason,” Piper said, mostly to herself.

Annabeth’s lips pursed, “I love Percy.” She took another step forward, Piper was almost completely pressed against her teaching desk. She dropped Piper’s hands to cup her face, and Piper’s eyes fluttered closed in response. “But not like I love you.”

Piper opened her eyes, “We are going to destroy each other.”

“I would gladly destroy myself for you, moya solnishka.”

“Don’t you feel bad?” The distress in Piper’s voice forced Annabeth to pull back. Her eyes held a level of concern that made Piper’s breath catch.

“I do,” She conceded after a moment of silence, “For lying to Percy. For lying to everyone in my life. For having to hide you. For having to hide us. But I do not feel bad for loving you.” Her voice held a note of desperation, she was begging Piper to understand. “Do you?”

Piper didn’t respond for a beat too long, Annabeth pulled further away, her face flushed.

Their time was up, the laughter of the children echoed through the schoolhouse as they returned.

“I’m sorry,” Piper said.

Annabeth shook her head, “No, Piper. I’m sorry.” Her eyes were miserable, “Forgive me.”

For what? Piper tried to ask but the lump in her throat stopped her.

“I have ruined you,” Annabeth said simply. “I am forcing you to go along with my sins.” Her back was straight, her face was empty, but Piper could see how hard she was fighting to keep it that way.

Piper shook her head but Annabeth didn’t see it, she was walking out of the door already.

Oh, gods. What had she done?

~~~~~

“How was your day?” Jason asked his tone the same forced lightness it had been for months.

“It was good! Nothing out of the ordinary.” Her tone was the same.

Jason nodded from his seat at the couch, “Good. That’s very good.”

“What about you?” Piper’s hands were shaking as she laid the plates on the table.

“My day was the same,” Jason said as he slid into a chair at the table.

Piper looked at him for a long moment and came to a decision.

“Jason?” She asked, clutching her fork tightly.

“Yes?” He looked up from his plate.

“I would like to visit a friend after dinner.”

Jason nodded, “Of course. I’ll invite over one of my coworkers while you’re gone.”

As they resumed their meal, they seemed lighter than they had all evening.

~~~~~

Piper knew she couldn’t very well just appear on Annabeth’s doorstep, so after she washed the evening dishes she called her.

Her fingers were heavy as she slid the ring to dial the numbers she had long ago memorized.

Piper’s hopes were answered when Annabeth was the one to pick up the phone.

“Annabeth,” She was breathless. “I-” She remembered Jason and her voice dropped low, “I need to see you.”

Annabeth was speechless and Piper wished she could see her face, “May I see you?”

Annabeth’s voice was just as low with an edge Piper couldn’t name, “Yes. Yes. Meet me.”

She didn’t have to say where. Piper knew. The place they’d always meet at. That secret place, filled with their sin. Their secrets. Their agonized love.

Piper hurriedly stuck the phone back in its place and pulled her coat over her shoulders. She kissed Jason on the cheek and was out the front door before he could respond.

~~~~~

Jason sat, bouncing his leg until Piper had been gone for long enough. (It may not have even been long enough, it was just until he could not wait any longer.)

He raced to the phone and dialed the number engraved on his heart.

“Hello?” Percy asked. Thank god. Jason hadn’t thought of a decent excuse to give Annabeth if she’d been the one to answer.

“Can you get away tonight?” Jason asked.

Percy waited for a beat, as if in thought, before responding. “Yes, I can.”

Jason smiled, “Piper is out for the evening. You could come here.”

“I’m on my way.” Jason laughed at how quickly the words fell out of his mouth and the hurried click signifying he hung up.

~~~~~~

Annabeth trailed her lips up the column of Piper’s throat, and breathed deeply through her nose, “Is that a new perfume?” They were in their spot, a dark, shadowy corner in between two factories, hidden away from the rest of the world.

Piper dug her fingers into Annabeth’s shoulders, “Yes,” She knew what Annabeth wanted to ask, but knew she wasn’t going to put Piper in that place. “It’s for you.”

Annabeth froze and pulled an inch away from her spot on Piper’s jaw. “It smells good,” Her voice was hoarse and she resumed her ministrations along Piper’s jawline.

“Annabeth, about this morning-” Annabeth cut her off, shaking her head.

“No. It’s alright, sweetheart. You don’t need to apologize for your feelings, ever.”

“The rest of society would disagree.”

Annabeth understood her meaning and ducked her head to hide her face. “How long can we keep doing this?” Desperation.

“I don’t know,” Piper wrapped her arms around the other girl’s shoulders and pulled her flush against her.

Piper breathed deeply, feeling the warmth of Annabeth’s body, a stark contrast to the metal of the factory wall at her back. “All we can do is live in the moment.” Piper pulled Annabeth’s face away from her neck. “Damn the rest to hell.”

Annabeth nodded, “Damn the rest to hell.” Then they were kissing again.

~~~~~~~

When the doorbell rang Jason raced to answer it, feeling like an excited puppy.

Percy was leaning against one of the pillars on the porch. He was beautiful; Jason had yet to see a time where he wasn’t. Shining green eyes, so painfully alive, that black hair Jason knew he frequently fought with to make it ‘work appropriate’. The lean, toned body that Jason often found himself staring at, or thinking of.

Percy was surveying the neighborhood, the picture of unruffled aside from the tightness in his lips. When he heard Jason open the door, that tightness vanished, replaced instead by the grin that Jason had fallen in love with in the first place.

Whoa. Reel that back in. Calm down, Grace. No love here. Just a drug that always gave him the high he needed. No love. That makes it too serious. This is harmless fun. Well, not harmless.

“Jason?” Percy interrupted his spiral and Jason realized he’d been staring silently, that he hadn’t let Percy inside.

He shook his head, “Sorry.” He stepped back, opening the door wider. Percy walked in and threw himself on the couch, looking perfectly content and at home. As if what they were doing wouldn’t result in pain, physical and emotional.

He could always go back, he reminded himself. There was always an out. He was addicted to the poison that was Percy Jackson, but he could always escape.

The click of the door closing was a death sentence.

He could always get out, right?

~~~~~~~

It had been a few days since Annabeth and Piper had seen each other, the two women were teachers at the same school, yet they always seemed to miss each other. In the hallways, the break room, before and after classes, they could never catch more than fleeting glances and the swish of hair and hips around a corner. Annabeth was determined to change this.

She saw a flash of brown hair that she immediately registered as Piper, glancing at the clock to make sure she had enough time before her students were expecting her, she nearly sprinted after the other girl.

Piper was leaning against the wall when Annabeth found her, grinning. Her eyes, shards of multicolored glass Annabeth always found herself drowning in, were glittering in the harsh light. Annabeth stalked closer and Piper’s grin didn’t fade.

“Oh no,” She drawled, leaning enough to rest a hand in the curve of Annabeth’s waist, attempting to tug her forward. “You caught me.” Annabeth couldn’t resist Piper’s smile and met it with her own, the smile she only gave Piper. “What will I, this poor damsel, do?”

This was risky. This was really fucking risky. They were basically out in the open, where another teacher or staff member or even the students could easily find them.

Piper reached up and drew the pad of her finger against that crease in Annabeth’s brow and Annabeth knew she was done for. Piper smiled, this one soft and adoring, and Annabeth melted through the floor.

Annabeth gave up on trying to stay as unaffected as possible, pressing her lips to Piper’s. Piper pressed herself closer as if she was trying to mold them into one person. The soft, smooth contours of Piper against Annabeth’s sharp, hard edges of Annabeth was like some kind of poetry. It was probably a metaphor about who they were as people, blah blah blah. She didn’t have time to think about damn metaphors. Not while Piper was here, kissing her like she actually wanted this. Like she’d do anything to keep this. Annabeth knew it wasn’t true, knew Piper wouldn’t ruin her life for this. (She didn’t blame her, but it was nice to pretend sometimes)

Piper smiled into the kiss and mumbled, “This is nothing like how the fairytales normally go.” Annabeth let out a surprised laugh.

Piper pulled away, staring unflinchingly into Annabeth’s eyes, the storms she was responsible for keeping at bay. “Gods,” She turned her head and Annabeth had no idea where this was going with this. “This is better than any of those fairy tales.” Then she moved, winding her hands into Annabeth’s hair, and kissed her again.

Gods, she’d fallen for this girl. She had no idea when it had happened. Maybe 30 seconds ago, maybe the first time they’d met, three years ago. Maybe it was when Percy was on business trips, which meant that Annabeth could work without anyone to make her sleep, eat or anything ‘healthy’ and Piper would come over. Make her take breaks from her work. Listen to Annabeth rant about things she knew she didn’t understand. Annabeth had so many plans, to escape this hell town, fight for her rights, build something permanent somewhere she loves with someone she loves and be unafraid to live. She also had even more impossible dreams; to build something. Piper humored her, always listened to her, attention never wavering. It was more than Annabeth could ever ask for.

She was more than Annabeth could ever ask for.

Annabeth pulled away, telling her as much and something flashed in those kaleidoscope eyes but she didn’t respond.

“Piper?” Hazel’s voice echoed into the hallway they were in. Piper leaped off of her, hurrying to straighten herself.

Hazel rounded the corner right as Piper and Annabeth had gotten themselves together.

The woman smiled at them and looked at Piper when she spoke, “Leo needs to see you,” Piper opened her mouth but Hazel cut her off, “I have no idea why.”

"Okay, thanks," Piper said, definitely too out of breath for it to be anything but suspicious. Piper hesitated a second longer, fighting to not look back at Annabeth but finally, she walked off.

Annabeth smiled awkwardly at Hazel and the other girl grinned but it quickly turned somber, "I don't know what you're doing, Annabeth." She shook her head, "I don't want to know. But I want you to know this," She stepped forward and clasped the other girl's hands in hers. "I care about you. I care about Piper. Be careful, please." Her wide gold eyes were begging, "Be careful, Annabeth."

"I'm trying," Annabeth tried to say but it came out a choked whisper. "I'm trying."

Hazel nodded and leaned forward so they were touching foreheads. "I'm scared for you."

Annabeth wanted to reassure her, but the words got caught in her throat. They both knew Annabeth couldn't promise anything.

~~~~~

Percy was staring at Jason.

This wasn't a rare occurrence, the opposite, actually. Percy could often be found staring at Jason.

But there was something about Jason Grace under the moon and her stars that was absolutely breathtaking.

His head was tilted back, eyes closed, breathing deeply, a small smile on his lips. The starlight seemed to wrap around him, shielding him from the world, announcing him as one of them. His blonde hair was damp from their earlier shower and the moonlight danced through the silky strands. Gods, Percy thought, taking him in, he's ethereal.

He was leaning back on his hands, ankles crossed over the edge of his porch.

They were in Jason's backyard, sharing a smoke; Percy took a long drag, trying to ground himself. Piper would surely be back soon, he didn't have much longer. He needed to come back to earth and distance himself from the star that was Jason Grace.

When Jason's eyes fluttered open and he turned those crystal-blue masterpieces on him, his smile growing into something wide and soft and fond, Percy knew he was done for. Fuck coming back to earth.

Jason reached over, and plucked the cigarette from between Percy's lips, and brought it to his own. He leaned back to stare at the sky again and Percy leaned sideways until his head was pillowed in Jason's lap.

Jason kept one hand on the deck to prop himself up and ground the cigarette out, dropping it to comb his free hand through Percy's hair.

"We should leave," Percy said suddenly, breaking the peaceful silence.

Jason's hand stilled briefly. "What?"

"Leave town, together."

"Where would we go?" He didn't sound angry (thank the gods), he kept his voice soft, but Percy could hear that note of disbelief.

"Anywhere," Percy replied and Jason huffed a laugh above him.

"That's not much of a plan. Besides, we have lives here."

"You're all I need," Percy said, way too sincerely, tracing a pattern on Jason's knee with his index finger.

Jason's hand stilled again and Percy cursed himself and everything that existed to make him say that. Now I've scared him away, Percy thought bitterly and got off Jason's lap.

Jason was staring at him with a look Percy couldn't decipher, his lips parted slightly. Percy wanted to kiss him; this wasn't the time to kiss him. Keep it together.

"Perce-"

"Jason!" Piper's voice carried out the back door and wrapped around the two of them like a vice.

Jason went considerably pale and Percy stood up. "I'll see you whenever I see you?" Percy said.

Jason just nodded, still staring at him.

Percy opened the backdoor and stepped inside, saying a brief 'hello' and 'goodbye' to Piper before finally making it back to his car.

He slammed his hands on the hood and cursed, "Stupid, Jackson. That was stupid." he opened the car door with considerably more force than necessary and sat down heavily. "Fucking idiot." And now he had to go home to Annabeth and pretend nothing was wrong. Great.

~~~~~

It started with the notes. Sticky notes with slurs scrawled on them (against his race, his orientation, anything they could get a hand on), in horrible handwriting, stuck to his desk at work. Jason didn't mention any, but when he took his coat off and draped it on Percy's couch, one fell out, crumpled as if Jason had furiously shoved it in his pocket.

Percy had picked it up, saw what was written there, and knew that this wasn't a coincidence. Someone knew. Someone knew about them and wasn't very happy about it.

He'd briefly wondered if it was Annabeth, but no, she didn't seem to be angry at him or disgusted, but she had been colder lately. When the notes started appearing in places that weren't as public as his desk, Percy got more concerned.

He still hadn't talked to Jason about it; the notes and what had transpired on Jason's porch either.

They'd elevated too. Notes in his car, calling him a disgrace to his family and god. But Percy wasn't as worried as he probably should've been. After all, this person was hiding behind ink and paper, if they had something to say, they could do it to his face.

But when they started threatening him, Percy finally spoke to Jason about it.

"Have you been getting notes?" He asked.

Jason was sprawled on Percy's bed, sans shirt, arm thrown over his eyes as if shielding him from the light.

Percy himself was sprawled next to Jason, head on his chest, legs twined together.

Jason peered down at him, blinking wearily. His glasses were sitting on the side table. "What?"

"Notes," Percy said as if this explained everything. "That are calling you-" He swallowed and Jason's eyes tracked the movement.

"Yeah," Jason said finally. "I haven't been too concerned." A lie. If Percy knew Jason at all (and he did) the other boy had been worrying himself to death over this, afraid to tell anybody, panicking and overthinking alone. The thought made Percy's chest ache.

"I wasn't going to mention it," Jason said.

"Me either, but this recent one," He trailed off, already doubting if he should be worrying Jason over this. But it did technically involve him.

Percy pushed off of Jason and the other boy made a whining noise in the back of his throat. Percy grinned as Jason flushed in embarrassment.

Percy pulled the crumpled note out of his discarded jacket and read aloud to Jason, who was still on the bed, "I know all about your illicit affairs-"

"Oh, how proper."

Percy snorted, "Tell me about it." He cleared his throat, "Anyway. -with Jason Grace." Jason stiffened. They knew his name. "If you don't do what I want I will tell Annabeth and Piper all about it. And maybe more than just the two of them, too.”

“Mhmm. And we believe them?”

“I’m not sure,” Percy said tossing the note onto the nightstand and belly-flopping onto the bed next to Jason.

“If you did, you wouldn’t be here,” Jason said, practically.

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I know you.”

Percy smiled, "Yeah, I guess you do."

Jason smiled back, only for a few seconds before his face fell; Percy felt his heart jump to his throat. "What are we going to do?"

"You already have an idea," Percy said, staring at him.

"You're not going to like it."

Percy sighed, "Let's hear it."

"We can't see each other."

Percy shot to his feet. "No! I'm not letting some heathen," He pointed angrily at the note. "Bully me into staying away from the man I love."

Jason went deathly still and Percy's brain finally caught up to what just happened.

"'Man you love'?" His voice was quiet and Percy didn't know how to read that.

"Yeah," Percy whispered. "Yes."

Jason wasn't looking at him and every second that passed, Percy felt his heart chipping away.

"I-" Jason swallowed and wet his lips. "I love you." His voice was hushed as if he was scared to be heard.

Percy stared at him for a beat of bated breath before lunging at him. Jason laughed as his back collided with the mattress.

Jason held Percy's face in his hands and looked him over, drinking everything in before kissing him.

The notes could wait.

31 notes · View notes

yeontanismypresident · 4 years ago

Text

truth untold | jikook

a/n: uh hey guys i know this isn't what i normally post, but i did a roleplay with a friend (they're so talented holy fuck i'm in love bro) and decided to post it on here since it's already on ao3! they wrote for jimin and i wrote for jungkook. so, come cry with us and watch jikook be all lovey dovey after their rainy day fight hehe <33 thanks for being an amazing rp partner @eglantinian and s/o to my baby @minloop for making this awesome header love you bb <3

pairing: park jimin x jeon jungkook

word count: 11.1k (yikes good luck)

genre: angst, fluff, smut, idolverse

warning(s): unprotected sex (pls be safe babies), finger sucking/fucking (yes, it's a warning bc fuck i love it 🥵), oral sex, fingering, the authors falling in love, Feelings™, okay i think that’s it ghfjd

summary: I love you, I love you, I love you, and I didn't want to be forgiven. That's the hardest part. I looked at you, and I didn't want to be forgiven. Because loving you is not a sin.

But that's it.

I love you, Jimin. In spite of everything.

Park Jimin doesn't trust words.

Pretty ridiculous, given how much he loves being affirmed by it, but there's such a thing as "loving compliments'' but not allowing yourself to be deceived by it. There's also the fact that he's got a vendetta... against some words and how someone says it. Not to mention, words are highly fluid, able to empower or destroy when choreographed into perfection. Just like the twists and turns of chaînés or the smooth glide of a moonwalk. An emotion in motion rehearsed a-plenty with the intent to electrify.

To dazzle, to revive, to thunder people's spiritless lives.

Words.

That's it.

That's why he remains a stoic sceptic, pining and fawning over words, but never also completely trusting them until he's sure that the person speaking them does not intend to deceive him. It's very exhausting, but it's a struggle he puts up with in order to protect himself from getting hurt.

Honey, it is one of the sweetest things in the world, but only because they were a product of the labour of a thousand bees. Because while others may think he just readily wears his heart on his sleeve when he's acting like a mochi, they don't realise that it took years to get to the level of confidence he has today. Persistent and consistent labour, that's what it took to make himself appear effortless, not birth lottery.

Not ever.

Which was why he kept rewinding Jungkook's speech, nay, confession, in his head over and over again when they argued in the practice studio. He's practically memorised every word, the heartache and the love in the maknae's voice ringing clearly through the space between them. Jimin's stupid mind even etched in his memories the way Jungkook's brows furrowed in frustration when he shouted at him to "do what you want."

Or the way the tears fell from Jungkook's eyes when he slammed the door to his face, intent on leaving him there in the studio. Jimin wanted some time to himself while walking to their dorm — it was only 20 minutes away, anyway — because he doesn't trust himself alone with Jungkook. He'll end up ruffling Jungkook's dark hair before tugging it back so that he could tilt his head to face him and lose himself in the depths of his dark, dark gaze.

The sweetest eyes in the world, he'd once thought to himself when he first met the maknae. It was just. Just looking at him then, he already knew it was over for him. Jeon Jungkook wasn't just some band member of BTS to him. Neither was he just some cute boy that he can't help feeling fond of. Nor a younger brother he'd dote on endlessly. No, not at all. Once he looked at Jungkook and got to know him throughout the years, Jimin just knew.

One way or another, their lives will always be intertwined.

Serendipity.

He didn't expect it. And yet here he was, falling in love with him. Can't get him out of his head. Can't get him to be affectionate with him even as a joke. Can't get him to stop pushing him away in front of the camera. But still. Still, he kept trying because Jungkook....

Just now, his eyes, his voice... none of it ever held any intent to deceive him.

Not at all.

It's just that today, Jungkook really had to tell him everything he's wanted to hear from him. And while Jimin knew that Jungkook's words carried weight, he just couldn't help doubting it.

Especially when Jungkook's hands kept fidgeting.

And that's the thing — Jimin suddenly felt that he might be uncertain. That maybe he said those words sincerely, but why was he still being unsure? Like damn it, it's not like he was never afraid every time he made himself look like a fool whenever Jungkook kept dismissing him or denying his affection.

It drove him a little crazy.

But still, even now as he's walking outside and ignoring his phone — it's been vibrating ever since he left the studio, and truthfully, his legs feel a little numb already, but he left that place with his head held high, so if anyone's going to do the chasing, it won't be him, not again — Jungkook's words were a chorus he can't help himself from repeating over and over again.

It's just that I've never felt this much for anyone before.

I don't know how to take it. One day, you were there, and I felt like nothing made sense until I met you. I love you, I love you, I love you, and I didn't want to be forgiven. That's the hardest part. I looked at you, and I didn't want to be forgiven. Because loving you is not a sin. Why does it have to be, just because people are uncomfortable? Why does it have to be, just because you're a man and I'm a man? Why does it have to be, just because I got afraid? I just kept overthinking everything, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you.

But I've been in love with you. Still do.

Fuck. I just said it all. But that's it. I love you, Jimin.

In spite of everything.

And then he just had to look afraid. It's not as if he's the only one.

He sighed, closing his eyes only to blink them open when a drop of rain fell on his cheeks.

His lips curled bitterly. He didn't need to cry at all.

The skies will do it for him.

How lucky.

Jungkook stands in the middle of the practice room, all alone with only cold silence surrounding him. There are silent tears falling from his eyes and gliding down his blushing cheeks. Where did everything go wrong? He was sure he saw the signs right. Sure, he had pushed Jimin away when he was just trying to show his affection, but what else was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to do when they had thousands of eyes on them, just waiting for one of them to make a mistake? It could have cost them their career. No matter how much he loves Jimin, he can’t won’t ruin the rest of the group’s careers.

He can’t help but feel embarrassed and hurt. How was he ever going to face Jimin after this? Would his Hyung make fun of him? Would he hate him? Avoid him? Jungkook really put his heart out there, did the one thing that has terrified him for years and he’s...shut down? Rejected? Was he wrong to assume Jimin had feelings for him too? Is this what heartbreak feels like? Like his heart was ripped out of his chest and stomped on a hundred times? Like someone tore it into a million pieces all the while laughing at him for being so idiotic? How long will he have to deal with this aching, sharp pain in his chest? Until he can get over Jimin? Will he ever get over him?

His head snaps to the opening door so fast there’s a loud pop throughout the room. Wincing, Jungkook rubs the back of his neck, praying that behind it is Jimin coming back to clear things up, to confess it was all just some sick joke he was playing on him. But it’s not him, and Jungkook doesn’t know how he should feel when he comes face to face with the confused one of Taehyung. He probably looks like a right mess with tears leaving a wet trail on his blotchy cheeks and falling off his chin, eyes bloodshot from how hard he’s crying.

“Jungkook-ah?” Taehyung hesitantly asked, slowly making his way towards the maknae, “Are you okay? What happened?” He places a comforting hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, the warm and kind gesture causing him to break even more.

Jungkook gasps for air. He can’t breathe and everything fucking hurts. What does he do? Should he call Jimin? Make sure he got home safe, or should he give him some space? The sound of thunder shakes him from his panicking, and he walks to the window to see dark clouds rolling in. Fuck. It’s about to rain and Jimin is walking back to the dorm. He’s going to get soaking wet and then he’s going to get sick. Jungkook is sure he’ll hate him even more if he does end up ill.

With his mind made up, he frantically grabs his phone. Opening up Jimin’s contact, he hits the call button, silently begging the other to answer. When he’s met with Jimin’s voicemail, he leaves a desperate message, telling him to call him back. He does this multiple times, each time feeling more and more hopeless.

Please pick up, Hyung.

Everywhere was grey.

The sky, previously golden touched with lilac at dawn, is ashen. The streets, once dazzling silver pavements in the moonlight, have returned to its original shape, a dull concrete in the day unlike the vision in his daydreams — mocking his stony reflection in the muddy puddles that have formed beneath his shoes as rain continued to fall quickly, wetting his cheeks. Jimin wanted to laugh, but the sound is trapped in his throat as his phone kept ringing in the background. It was supposed to be quiet. Yet even in this grey afternoon, his fingers couldn't help inching towards the source of the sound — a half-hearted wish to silence the chaos that was his heart.

Jimin took a deep breath, trying to gather himself. Well, more of trying to remember why he exploded in disbelief despite knowing the truth in Jungkook's words. It's just that after he made the decision to not be as affectionate to the maknae, that's when he suddenly tried to get close to him. It's like someone dropped a bucket of cold water on him, paralysing him. It made him feel like an afterthought — Jungkook's warmth towards him had come too late, the abrupt 180 of his efforts giving him a whiplash that when Jungkook finally said those words, he just saw red.

He ran a hand through his hair. He had overreacted.

Jimin is usually able to separate his emotions from his thoughts easily, enabling him to focus and see things clearly for what they were. It just so happened that everything about Jungkook affected him greatly, his control slipping every time their eyes met. Almost every time, that is. The thing is, Jimin had always prided himself with his willpower and resolve, but in that argument... he didn't care. He just lost it.

It's just that... when he saw Jungkook hesitate, he also got uncertain. Afraid. And Jimin hated being unsure, hated losing control, hated the bitter after-taste of regret.

And yet, leaving Jungkook in the studio, it was all he felt.

Regret.

He bit his lip, no longer stopping the tears from falling.

I was wrong, he thought, averting his gaze from the puddle beneath his shoes once he realised he had halted on his way to the apartment — the pause feeling like a thread was trying to pull him back, stopping him.

I was wrong, he repeated, breaking down as he took the phone from his pocket, the ringing never stopping.

Never hesitating.

Never afraid.

Not anymore.

Jimin wiped his cheeks, resting a hand on his face as he answered the call with a quiver in his voice.

"What is it?" he asked, trying to sound firm, but all he heard was the way he sounded so broken.

And all it took to keep him afloat was Jungkook's voice.

Jungkook is still muttering helplessly to himself, feet pounding against the wet pavement as he tries to find Jimin. He doesn’t know where the other is and there’s panic clutching at his heart and everything is just a gigantic mess. Did Jimin head towards the dorm? Or did he decide to go on a walk somewhere else? Somewhere Jungkook wouldn’t know about? Turning towards the opposite direction of their dorm, Jungkook sets a brisk pace, phone still to his ear as he waits for Jimin to answer his phone.

The rain is pouring now and Jungkook can hardly see what’s in front of him. There’s hardly anyone out, so no one can see the way he’s breaking down in the middle of the sidewalk. So caught up in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice that the constant ringing has stopped. Only when he hears Jimin’s broken voice coming through the phone does he react.

“Jimin, I am so sorry,” Jungkook sobs, feet frozen as he tries to stay standing. He refuses to break down even more when he's out in public.

All he wants to do is fall, fall into the older’s arms. To feel his comforting arms wrapped around him in a warm embrace. But would Jimin still want to hug him after this? Did he freak his Hyung out too much by confessing? Hurt him too much? Did he push him away for good? Jimin’s voice breaks his disheartening thoughts.

His throat tightened.

Jungkook was crying. Because of him. Fuck. Jimin's tears suddenly halted, his frustration towards himself rising — not realising that he was squeezing the phone unconsciously until his nails dug red half moons on his skin. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he listened to the maknae's shaky breaths through the phone.

“I told you not to call me,” Jimin still tried to resist, his control slipping away yet again. Except… except he’s starting not to mind it once again.

Only for Jungkook. Only him.

Because loving you is not a sin, Jungkook's words filled his thoughts once again, breaking through every wall, every monument of fear he thought he built perfectly in spite of his trembling hands — afraid of anyone discovering his deepest fears, afraid of letting anyone in, afraid of no one trying at all.

I love you, Jimin. In spite of everything.

He raised his eyes to the sky.

The rain ceased, and once again, the horizon burst with colours.

His lips trembled.

"W-where...," Jimin spoke more softly this time, hoping it would soothe Jungkook a little, hoping he'd understand, hoping he'd keep trying, "where are you?"

I want to see you.

“I told you not to call me.”

Jungkook feels as if the breath was stolen right from his lungs. He thought the older wouldn’t want him to call, but he was hoping he was wrong. He has no clue how he should respond to that. I’m so sorry, Hyung. Please, just tell me where you are. I promise to leave you alone, just let me know you’re safe.

“Hyung…” Jungkook whispers and he’s not sure whether or not Jimin can hear him. He’s afraid to speak up. He’s afraid his voice will crack and that he’ll appear even more pathetic than he already does.

He wants to give up.

If Jimin’s made it clear that he doesn’t feel the same, then why should he continue fighting for it? Why fight for something that isn't even there?

Jungkook glances up when he doesn’t feel the harsh, cold rain pelting on his skin anymore. It’s stopped raining and the clouds are slowly dispersing, leaving behind a blue sky with a vibrant rainbow. The sun is shining down on him, warming his shaking body, and his body releases its tension.

"Where are you?”

Where is he?

Jungkook looks around at the scenery surrounding him. He’s… where is he? He can feel the panic returning, tightening his chest and lungs until it feels like someone is stomping on his chest. His eyes are frantically moving around, trying to find something familiar, something that will tell him where he is. Where is he?

“I don’t know where I am!” Jungkook sobs, fingers shaking as he clutches his phone to his ear. Jimin’s voice slowly calming him down, grounding him to reality once again.

"Jungkook-ssi," he murmurs over and over again, hearing the panic in the maknae's voice. He almost burst into laughter, the shock of Jungkook's bewildered reply making his heart flutter despite his concern. But that would just set Jungkook off to even more panic, so he swallowed it, willing his mien to follow so that he wouldn’t laugh.

Fuck, he loves this boy so much.

"Jungkook-ssi, take a deep breath," Jimin said more firmly, trying to capture Jungkook's attention. He needed to focus, and as much as Jimin wanted to see him, they won't be able to do that if Jungkook can't calm down.

He looked around him — he's just a few blocks away from the dorm now, and it should be easy to pinpoint his location, but given the maknae's tendency to lose himself in the height of panic, he might as well be the one to go to where he was.

"Just — don't move. Stay where you are. I'll come get you," Jimin offered, trying to get a hold on the situation. When someone is panicking, you can't ground them with softness. You need to be assertive — turn off their impulsive urge to jump off the cliff with cool, solid, and sound facts.

Basically, logic the fear away.

It's just that Jungkook disagreed, his voice breaking, trying to fight against himself, anyway. A taxi, he said, tumbling over his words, the desperation making Jimin curl his lips in fondness, I'll take a taxi. Or I don't know. Run. I'll run to you. But no, a taxi. A taxi would be best, I guess, I really don't know where I am.

At last, Jimin lets out a chuckle.

"Jungkook," he whispers, his tone the softest it’s ever been, dropping the honorific, knowing that the maknae will realise what he meant.

He heard the shudder in Jungkook’s voice, the sound of his name from his lips stilling the maknae.

“Jungkook,” he repeated, his tone firmer, but nonetheless just as soft as he uttered it a few moments ago, “I’ll stay.”

He looked at the sky again, lips curling at the rainbow.

“I’ll wait for you,” he says, voice low and husky — a sound he only uses for Jungkook.

I miss you.

“I’ll wait for you.”

Jungkook’s mind is reeling.

Jimin will wait for him?

Does that mean….

He doesn’t waste any time trying to figure out what that means. He needs to get to Jimin as soon as possible.

As much as he wants to run to Jimin, run to him until he’s in his arms, he decides to take a taxi. If he ran then it would take him at most 20, maybe 30 minutes depending on if he got lost again. A taxi would get him to Jimin in around ten minutes. But would it be more meaningful if he ran to him? After all, who doesn’t want someone to run after them? Show them how much you’re willing to do for them?

“Don’t hang up,” Jungkook whispers, “Please don’t hang up, Jimin-Hyung.”

He wants Jimin to stay on the phone with him. Stay on the line and just talk to him, help him not have a panic attack again. He just wants to hear the voice of the man he’s in love with. Always wants to hear his sweet, warm voice. With Jimin’s reassurance, Jungkook’s shoulders slump and he waves a taxi down. Throughout the drive Jungkook holds his cell phone tightly, breathing gently as Jimin’s voice echoes through the speaker. The ride goes by quickly and before he knows it he’s rushing out of the taxi, throwing some money to the driver, and finally running towards Jimin.

He stops just a few feet away from Jimin, admiring the way the sun shines on him, casting a soft glow and making him look like a beautiful angel. Jungkook wants Jimin to be his angel.

His voice is timid, quiet among the growing crowd of people, “Hyung… ”

"Hyung...," Jungkook breathed, his lips trembling before him as they stared at each other across the street.

Jimin could only eye him with his heart in his throat, his cheeks flaming, his mind pensive and out of control all at once. He curled his fingers, restraining himself from simply bolting towards Jungkook — much like what the maknae was doing when he halted — their dark gazes holding onto each other's — everything missing from their previous conversation spilling in the silent moment between them, the truth untold about to break free.

He shivered — not in a bad way, but an uncomfortable sort of shiver tinged with the pleasure and bashfulness that emanated from having your feelings reciprocated way — at the twinkle in Jungkook's eyes, shining with the hint of previous tears. Jimin mentally cursed at himself for making Jungkook cry earlier, but he pushed it down for the meantime because his heart won't stop pounding as the maknae's lips started to curl the longer they stared at each other.

Ah, Jimin is so far gone in the world of Jungkook land, and he doesn't even feel one whit of guilt, just plain pleasure — pure, unadulterated happiness filling his every being, making him feel like he's floating as he returned the maknae's tender smile.

Slowly, Jimin pressed forward, step by step — feeling calmer as the thunder of his heart calmed down each step he got nearer to Jungkook. And once they were face to face, almost a breath away from each other, Jimin couldn't help it anymore. He just broke down, tears falling from his cheeks — he rubbed them away with the pads of his hands, shaking his head at Jungkook who tried to do it himself, but he can't let him do that — Jimin had to do it for himself so that Jungkook would know that he wasn't alone and that he wasn't the only one who cried.

Once he calmed down, he eyed Jungkook once more, just taking in the way his dark eyes softened towards him.

That's it, Jimin thought, biting his lips in total surrender — he engulfed the maknae in his arms tightly, like a slam dunk hug, the kind that he wanted to shout at the rooftops, screaming, this is the man I'm in love with, and he loves me, oh my god, he loves me back!

Jimin sniffed as Jungkook's hands encircled his waist, so he leaned back just in time to catch the wide, bright, completely enamoured grin that the maknae was giving him. It was enough to weaken Jimin's legs a little, but thankfully, the maknae was holding him tightly. He took a deep breath, resting his forehead on Jungkook's before holding his face in his hands. He brushed his thumbs over Jungkook's cheeks, feeling the slight wetness from his previous tears.

Oh, my love, Jimin could only think, caressing Jungkook's face slowly, just feeling him and soothing him. Then he wrapped his arms around Jungkook's neck, pressing himself closer as much as possible — a silent way of asking forgiveness for how much he hurt Jungkook earlier.

He took a deep breath, resting his chin on top of Jungkook's shoulder before he lowered his head to the maknae's ear. Jimin bit his lower lip to stop himself from crying all over again just before he murmured, "Just... just let me love you, Jungkook."

And when Jungkook nodded against him, he hid his face in the crook of Jungkook's neck, letting the tears fall anyway.

After a while, Jimin let go of Jungkook, wiping his face as he gripped the bottom of the maknae's shirt.

"Let's go home, then?" Jimin asked, hiding his face for the meantime, willing his mien to cool while he searched for a taxi. They need to be alone now, but given how a crowd was forming around them, here isn't the best place to be — no matter how much they wore black hoodies to help hide their identities — two men hugging each other while crying is still an oddity in South Korea, no matter how much the country claimed they were progressive.

Jungkook understood quickly, though, only humming in agreement as his eyes scanned the streets before ducking his face a little when he saw some girls staring too intently.

"Let's go," Jimin repeated with a slight grin, and when Jungkook's hands travelled to his wrist so that they don't get separated in the street, his lips curled even more.

Once they get home, he's so going to kiss Jungkook until he's breathless.

Until Jungkook can only utter and remember one thing: him.

Jungkook’s grip on Jimin’s wrist is tight, his other hand clutching at the back of Jimin’s shirt, trying not to lose him in the crowd surrounding them. He can feel the eyes of many people on him, probably wondering why he’s so close to another man. But, he doesn’t care. All he cares about is getting back to their dorm so he can cuddle with Jimin. He just wants to be held by the older man, feel his arms embracing him. He’s always said that Jimin was the best person in BTS to give hugs (he promises he’s not being biased).

Once they’re in the taxi, Jungkook glances at the driver, making sure he’s not looking before he grabs Jimin’s hand, intertwining their fingers and giving a gentle squeeze. He’s staring out the window, trying and failing to hide the grin spreading across his face. His heart pounds frantically in his chest as Jimin squeezes his hand back. That has to be a good sign. There’s a rosy blush going from his cheeks down to his neck. God, he’s so in love with Jimin it hurts.

Does this mean Jimin loves him as well?

Jungkook hopes and wishes on every shooting star out there that he returns his feelings.

Why else would he tell you he’d wait for you?

Maybe because he’s your Hyung and would be responsible if something happened to you.

The maknae shakes his head, getting rid of those self-deprecating thoughts. He wouldn’t think like that. Refused to.

He’s just about to fall asleep, exhausted from the events that happened earlier. His head is resting against the window, but Jimin’s soft voice fills his ears, causing him to sluggishly lift it. With tired, half-lidded eyes, Jungkook watches Jimin pay the taxi driver. Before he knows it, his Hyung is gently helping him out of the car and leading him into the building. Inside the elevator, safe from any prying stares, Jungkook leans on Jimin and wraps his arms around his smaller body.

“Hyungie, I love you,” he mutters, half-awake and unaware of the words he’s uttering, or the reactions from the older. He’s still filled with so much guilt for hurting the man he’s in love with, “‘m so sorry for making you uncomfortable. I didn’ mean to.”

The rest of the ride up to their dorm is full of Jungkook spewing apology after apology with a few “I love you’s” added into the mix.

Warm.

Jungkook was so warm.

Jimin was trying to control himself, ignoring how his reflection on the elevator betrayed him with his flushed cheeks when the maknae's hands wrapped around his waist. If that wasn't enough, Jungkook just had to rest his cheek on top of his shoulder, basically embracing Jimin everywhere, though he guessed that the maknae was clueless over how much it greatly affected him.

If only that was all.

If only.

But no, Jungkook had to murmur "I'm sorry's" and "I love you's" near his ear. His ear. Was it possible to be this jealous of an organ that was attached to his body? Seriously, Jungkook's lips kept brushing against it every time he whispered, voice a little shaky from tears, but hot damn was it so low enough to make Park Jimin's eyes flutter close and moan a little.

He bit his lip, cursing how slow this damn elevator was, delaying his chance to thoroughly kiss Jeon Jungkook he'd stop crying — so he pressed on the number of their floor with an impatient grunt while his other hand traced comforting half-moons on Jungkook's arms. He wasn't about to be cock-blocked by a fucking levitating metal box, thank you.

Finally, they reached their floor with a ping that Jimin felt was mocking, but that was just his anxiety talking because he really, really wants to hold the maknae in his arms — surrounded by fluffy padding and soft blankets to park their bums to. Like, c'mon, they deserve it after that gruelling dance rehearsal for No More Dream, all right?

Once the doors opened, he ruffled Jungkook’s hair to wake him, but the maknae groaned his disagreement, so Jimin laughed before kissing his cheek.

That snapped Jungkook to attention, his form straightening against Jimin’s back before allowing himself to be pulled towards their apartment. Jimin bit his lip again — Jungkook’s response to him amused and turned him on at the same time, BUT they needed to sort things out in a safe space, so he casually scanned the apartment for any open cameras. Unfortunately, there were a lot, so Jimin kept walking towards their room, gripping the bottom of Jungkook’s shirt so he wouldn’t lose him.

He mentally sighed in relief when he found that the staff were merciful enough to leave the cameras in the bedroom off for the meantime. They must have turned it off since the rest of the members were out, but that was damn more than enough. Shit was exhausting.

Once he locked the door, he pivoted to check on the maknae, who already plopped himself on the bed with pillows while waiting for him. The sight made his lips curl fondly — Jungkook’s wavy hair was all messy from the practice and hysteria earlier, so it made the weary gaze he gave Jimin looked cuter.

He bit his lip again, his cheeks heating for the nth time when his eyes met Jungkook’s — a silent plea he interpreted as please, come be warm with me again.

Ah hell, he’s gone off to Jungkook land once again when there’s a whole Jungkook that was begging to be kissed in front of him.

He shook his head, willing himself away from the trance as he laid down beside Jungkook on the bed and laid his forehead on top of the maknae’s before closing his eyes for a bit — just taking him in, feeling the tenderness seep in between them.

When it felt right — Jimin didn't know how he knew, but he just knew when Jungkook reached out for his hand and laced their fingers between them — fine, he bloody knew because he was waiting for a sign that it was okay from the maknae, okay? — Jimin opened his eyes and held Jungkook’s gaze in place, eyes never straying anywhere else when he pressed his lips on top of Jungkook’s fingers.

The gesture drew a shaky breath from the maknae, and it curled his lips. If this was how Jungkook reacted with a simple peck on his hands, what more glorious sounds would he hear when he kisses him on the mouth?

Jimin drew closer to the maknae, rubbing his nose on Jungkook’s cheeks affectionately before lowering his voice when his lips were just a brush away from Jungkook’s lips.

“May I kiss you?” he whispered even when there was no one else in the room besides them.

The question made the maknae’s brows furrow, as if to say, Why do you still need to ask, Hyungie?

Jimin smirked, cupping Jungkook’s face in his hands. “If we’re gonna do this,” he explained, caressing the maknae’s brow, “I want to know you’re okay with it. I don’t want it to be like before when it wasn’t clear, so I’m asking.”

When Jungkook nodded and looked at him expectantly, Jimin laughed a little, shaking his head. “No, I’m not asking just to kiss you. I’m asking because in case you didn’t hear what I said earlier properly, what I’m asking your permission for is…”

Jimin took a deep breath, playing with the ends of Jungkook’s dark hair on his forehead. He looked down for a bit, gathering the courage to repeat what he said earlier. Ah, why was something so precious and previously hidden in his heart that he managed to blurt out earlier so hard to say again? Was it because he felt braver in front of other people? That’s not fair to the both of them — not when it mattered more to let the truth be heard when it was just the two of them.

He almost couldn’t say it again, but Jungkook breathed his name without honorifics, and that was it. That was it. Jimin raised his eyes and held onto Jungkook’s warm gaze.

“Just let me…,” Jimin said shakily, tearing up a little, the words making him feel like he’s handing his heart to Jungkook — which he was, okay, it’s just. Ugh. Feelings. He took another deep breath. “Let me love you, Jungkook. I love you.”

“I love you,” he repeated, posing his mouth over Jungkook’s.

“In spite of everything,” he repeated the maknae’s words, lips crashing over Jungkook’s as his eyes closed with a flutter, his heart singing, the truth finally free.

He heard Jungkook gasp against his mouth when he deepened the kiss, his fingers carding through the waves of his dark hair.

Oh, my love, Jimin can only think again, breathing Jungkook in, lips yearning and burning, their hands slowly, tenderly reaching to pull each other close because space didn’t belong in the dictionary if it meant that all the years of pining wasn’t all for nothing.

Because right here, right now, with Jungkook’s lips tenderly caressing his in return, Jimin is finally free.

Jungkook’s breathing is shaky with each loving action Jimin performs. His fingers tingle where plump lips brush, and his cheeks heat up as Jimin’s button nose lightly rubs against it. He listens intently, wanting to hear everything the other has to say. He had the chance to pour out his heart earlier and now it’s Jimin’s turn. There’s a slight pang in his chest, his heart hurting at the insecure expression on the older man’s face. He knows it’s not easy to discuss feelings, god, does he know. So, he’s going to give his Hyung all the time he needs. This time, he’ll be patient, he’ll bite his tongue and refrain from interrupting.

His eyes flutter as Jimin’s fingers run through his hair. It’s calming and he can feel his tense muscles relaxing with each passing second. He wishes he could pause time. All he wants is to stay here in Jimin’s arms, being held in such a comforting way, away from the public eye, and away from everyone that will try and keep them apart. Opening his eyes, he notices his frustrated expression. Lifting a hand, he caresses Jimin’s cheek, thumb rubbing against the soft flesh.

“Jimin.”

It’s all Jungkook can whisper before Jimin’s lips are being planted on his own and his eyes are slipping shut. He shakily gasps into the kiss, lips moving rhythmically against the older’s.

It’s soft. So soft.

It has Jungkook feeling dizzy.

Has him feeling light. Like he’s floating on cloud nine.

It’s all he’s wanted, more than anything he’s wanted in his life, but he still wants more. He wants to feel Jimin’s body flush against his. He has the strong desire to tangle his fingers in Jimin’s hair. Tangle his legs with his best friend’s. So he does just that. He slides closer, one hand coming to rest on the back of Jimin’s neck, the other carding through his hair, fingers gently grabbing a fistful of locks. He angles his head to the right, following Jimin’s lead. His heart is beating so fast he’s afraid it’s going to jump right out of his chest, and when Jimin curls his hand against his chest, he hopes he can’t feel the fast pace. Hopes he can’t hear how hard it’s pounding.

Jungkook sighs, leaning forward to press Jimin against the bed, arms caging him in, both hands now running through his tresses. He rests between his best friend’s open legs, unconsciously grinding down when his thighs wrap around his waist and moaning at the sweet, delicious friction. Jungkook teasingly bites at Jimin’s bottom lip, tongue slipping inside when Jimin gasps. Breaking the kiss, Jungkook’s gaze zeros in on the thin string of spit connecting their kiss-swollen lips. His eyes trail all over the older man’s flushed face before gazing into Jimin’s eyes.

“I love you so much, Jimin.”

"I love you so much, Jimin," Jungkook's voice was full of tenderness that it made him choke up again, tearing up a little.

Such a sweet sound from an angel.

Ah..., he fell in love all over again. He doesn't even need to worry whether Jungkook will misinterpret his silence since he knew for sure that the way he was staring at the maknae was enough — he couldn't even look at anything else except him.

Jimin took a deep breath, appreciating the way Jungkook's lips were parted a little, his lower lip shining from the kiss they just shared. He could feel his cheeks heating up again, especially when Jungkook pressed himself between his legs, his weight sending a delicious shiver throughout his body. He bit his lip, raising his hips a little, just to see how the maknae would react.

A loud moan fell from Jungkook's lips, and it made him feel emboldened, tugging at the maknae's hair near his nape before he pressed an open-mouthed kiss on Jungkook's. The maknae shuddered, his fingers curling on the bottom of Jimin's shirt. Jimin bit on the maknae's bottom lip, making Jungkook roll his hips against him again.

The gesture made Jimin smirk, a mischievous plan forming in his mind when he saw how much Jungkook's eyes kept saying, I want more, Hyungie.

Jimin flipped them over, not losing one moment to sit just before the tip of Jungkook's bulge.

Slowly, he unzipped Jungkook's hoodie with his teeth, making sure to maintain eye contact until he reached the bottom with a loud smack of his lips. The gesture made Jungkook gasp audibly, the tent of his arousal swelling further as Jimin lifted the bottom of his shirt and caressed his abdominal muscles, dragging his nails a little before drawing little half-moons all over the maknae's stomach. Jimin smirked every time Jungkook could only utter his name with soft and frustrated sighs, his desire all too apparent for Jimin to see that he can't help leaving open-mouthed kisses too.

When he reached Jungkook's neck, he made sure to press his full lips on the spot — the soft pressure causing the maknae to cant below him with an alluring shiver, another moan falling from his lips as he stared at Jimin with half-lidded eyes, the swirls of his pupils growing darker when their eyes met.

"I love you, Jungkook," Jimin said softly, pressing a chaste kiss on the maknae's lips before dragging his lips on the younger's collar bones — punctuating every kiss with a small bite, another silent way he hoped Jungkook would understand to be —

I want to be with you for a long time, if you'll let me, so please, please, please be with me. Be with me, my angel, and I will give you all the best of me. I love you so much my heart glows when I'm with you, so please, let me love you.

Fuck, he's tearing up again, so he blinked the tears away, caressing Jungkook's face once he finished worshipping the maknae's sculpted body just so he remembers that heaven is not a place, that home is not place, that love is not a place — that nothing matters, that everything is useless, that life is pointless if he can't be with him.

So please, let this be right.

Let him make things right.

Just for once.

Just for him.

"I love you," he swears it's the only refrain he can utter with his heart feeling like it'll unfurl wings anytime it's directed towards Jungkook. So he repeats it again, kissing Jungkook deeply once more, feeling their hearts pound at the same time as he laid on top of the maknae.

He could keep kissing Jungkook's soft lips forever, but he needs to breathe too, plus there was the really pressing situation down there — their arousal swelling against each other's, so he tugged at the maknae's waves when they paused their kisses, not yet opening his eyes as he rested his forehead on Jungkook's.

He just. Fuck.

It's, like, his mind has gone off to Jungkook land and wants to stay there forever with him because he kept falling in love with the maknae the more they kissed and pressed their bodies against each other. Just... just how much would he fall even more once their bodies united in one sweet rhapsody?

He took a deep breath.

Slowly, Jimin opened his eyes, gazing directly at Jungkook. He rubbed his nose against the maknae's cheeks again as he lowered his voice with a request.

"May I touch you now?" he murmured, his hands poised over the buckle of Jungkook's belt.

I really want to hold you.

Jungkook can’t stop gazing at Jimin with wide eyes as he pulls the zipper down with just his teeth. It was one of the hottest things he’s ever seen and he knows it’s going to be ingrained in the back of his mind forever. A gasp slips past his trembling lips, feeling his dick twitch as Jimin’s warm palms slide against his taut stomach. Nails dig into his tan skin and he hopes, god, he hopes they leave marks for him to stare at later when he’s all alone. So he can gently trace over them and feel the slight sting reminding him of who left them there.

“Hyungie,” Jungkook moans, eyes growing dark as Jimin places a soft, open-mouthed kiss on his neck. He wants him to leave pretty, red marks. He wants to have Jimin’s claim all over him. He needs everyone to know that they’re in love and don’t care about the opinions of others.

His heart skips a beat at Jimin’s words. I love you, Jungkook. This doesn’t feel real. How is it that there is a literal angel above him, peppering fond pecks on every visible inch of his skin? How is it that this man, this wonderful man, loves him? It all feels like a dream to him. A dream he never wants to wake up from. He wants to live in this moment for all of eternity.

”May I touch you now?”

Well, if Jungkook wasn’t fucked before, then he definitely is now. Who knew Jimin asking for his consent would be this sexy? He can feel his cock throbbing at the idea of finally being touched by Jimin. He’s dreamed of this ever since he discovered he was in love with the man and finally being able to experience it has him feeling so many emotions. Love. Excitement. Arousal. This was really happening, he was really going to be able to show Jimin how much he’s wanted this.

Licking his lips, he whispers against Jimin’s lips, “Please. Please touch me, Hyung.”

"Oh, is that so?" Jimin can't help tease, fiddling with the buckle of Jungkook's belt, flicking it open and close, casually dragging his nails over the bulge of the maknae's arousal, his smirk widening when Jungkook bit his lips in frustration — his pretty cheeks visibly flushed from all the foreplay.

He draws closer to the maknae, leaving soft pecks over Jungkook's cheeks until his lips met the maknae's ear. Breath hot and swirling with desire, Jimin licked his ear and bit it gently. "Tell me, then, my love," he murmured against Jungkook's lips, biting the maknae's lower lip when he said my love. "Tell me. I need words."

Jungkook let out a cry, suddenly placing his hands on Jimin's hips, grinding against him. Jimin chuckled a little before swatting it away, taking Jungkook's hands gently and holding it on top of the maknae's head. Jimin clucked his tongue, shaking his head at the maknae playfully. "You have to listen to your hyung, Jungkookie."

The maknae grunted, grinding against him again, but when Jimin didn't budge, Jungkook tried to caress Jimin's hands on top of him, thinking maybe being gentle was the way to go about it, but no, no, no. The moment Jungkook pressed himself between Jimin's legs, gentle was for kisses and their belated love confessions, not making love.

Tender was it.

Tender can be the red and the blue blossoms that mark their bodies when their nails and their teeth roughly drag over each other's skin, when their bodies cant towards each other's as they scream their names to oblivion, when their bodies shiver in the aftermath of the previously undelivered truth finally kissing the sun.

At least, this is what Jimin thinks, tracing Jungkook's lips with a finger, whispering, "Your mouth, my love, open it for me, please."

Jungkook's lips fell apart, eliciting a low growl from within Jimin's abdomen, the maknae's compliance turning him on so fucking much. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Jungkook's dark eyes were so, so dark that Jimin can't help biting his lower lip again.

Takes two to tango, after all, he thinks with a smirk, sinking a finger into Jungkook's open mouth, pressing the pad of his finger on the maknae's tongue before inserting another and pumping it rhythmically — his mind so gone that only the sensation of Jungkook receiving his fingers into his mouth without question kept him moving — that it was his idea to do this, that it was the taste of Jungkook's spit wrapping around his fingers, that it was all real, not a daydream he concocted each time he and Jungkook danced way too close for comfort on stage because every moment with Jungkook was just that electric.

Fuck, he thinks again, taking a deep breath as Jungkook stared at him like he wanted to eat him.

Jimin shivered as he drew his fingers away from the maknae's mouth — the moment all too real and too hot to the touch.

Fuck, he thinks again, his hold on Jungkook's hands above his head loosening, his pulse rising, his mind falling into another dimension of oblivion as the maknae growled and flipped their positions again, leaving Jimin to fall on the bed with a soft plop as Jungkook aggressively kissed him over and over again as they rolled their hips against each other in unison.

He bit Jungkook's lower lip, tugging the maknae's zipper open and dragging the maknae's cock out, pumping it quickly between them as their lips crashed on each other's, never letting go. When Jungkook gasped against his mouth, Jimin squeezed his cock again, enjoying it swell in his hands as they kissed each other again and again — the concept of time and space confining and expanding to several infinities with every caress.

Oh my love, Jimin could only think, tearing up again, even as he can't help smiling against Jungkook's lips when he laced their free hands together.

The universe has moved for us, and I'm so happy that you love me too.

My love.

The pet name has Jungkook tearing up. That’s the only thing he wants in this cruel, twisted world. To be Jimin’s love. The thought of being the only one for Jimin makes him want to cry, to sob out how much he loves him and how much he would do for him. How he would go to the ends of the Earth for him. How he would run a thousand miles just to reach his hyung whenever he needed him. He doesn’t want to cry because of this. Only when Jimin finally breaks him down in the most pleasurable ways does he want to cry. So instead he grips his hyung’s hips and grinds up against him, his dick getting the much needed friction he’s been craving. He can’t stop the gasp that falls from his trembling lips. Who knew he would have a hyung kink?

Jungkook whines, lips parting and tongue sticking out. The need to please his hyung makes the action come easily to him. He needs to be a good boy for his Jimin-Hyung. The strong desire to make Jimin proud builds inside him. He doesn’t want to make him regret this. Jungkook gazes into Jimin’s eyes, his eyes pleading with him, pleading him to do something.

Hyungie.

The moment Jimin adds another finger and thrusts them in and out of his mouth he’s a goner. His lips wrap around the digits, tongue licking in between them, and his eyes flutter shut as he suckles on them. There’s drool leaking from the corners of his mouth and Jungkook’s body is feeling hot, hot, hot. Everything about this moment was perfect to him. The way Jimin held his wrists in a bruising grip to prevent him from breaking free. The way Jimin felt on top of him, controlling the situation and playing Jungkook like a puppet. Jungkook opens his eyes, staring at Jimin with half-lidded eyes when the fingers are removed. He focuses on the string of saliva connecting his kiss-swollen lips and Jimin’s wet digits. Everything was perfect.

Jungkook notices Jimin’s hold on his wrists slowly loosening and starts to count, eyes still locked with Jimin’s, unadulterated lust in his gaze.

One…

Two…

Three…!

Once he hits three, Jungkook is flipping them over with a low growl. His lips smash against Jimin’s, passionately placing kiss after kiss on his mouth, hips grinding down to give them both friction. Jungkook breathlessly gasps, cock throbbing in Jimin’s hand. He cants his hips up, moaning as his cock slides in and out of Jimin’s grasp. Eyes shut, mouth parting, he frantically reaches for Jimin’s unoccupied hand and locks their fingers together.

Don’t let go, hyung, please don’t let go. Just hold me.

Love me.

Oh my love, I am made anew with you.

This is what Jimin thinks, removing Jungkook's clothes with trembling fingers as the maknae pressed his naked arousal against the tent in his pants. Fuck, he's just so damn good, he shivers with so much want and need, and everything else could just fade away, he is utterly, completely, irrevocably a goner for one Jeon Jungkook.

He holds onto Jungkook's shoulder before reversing their positions once again, his every being filled with just one intent — loving every inch of Jeon Jungkook for all the universe.

And so he does, taking his top off, reveling in the way Jungkook seemingly marked his skin like a painting, his dark gaze tracing through every inch of his body as he wet his lips like he desperately wanted to dazzle his abdomen and his chest with every languid roll of his tongue.

Just like that, Jimin feels every dream of his come true.

His mind is gone, gone, gone, it's all just Jungkook — his euphoria.

"My love," he breathes again, eyeing the maknae through the curl of his lashes as they slowly removed each other's pants, their fingers caressing each other's all throughout, never wanting to be apart even for a second, never wanting to be uncertain once again, never wanting to lose each other again.

Once they were fully bare in front of each other, Jimin took a deep breath, taking in the sight of Jungkook laid out before him.

Could he still sleep again? Could he still dream again? Could he still close his eyes again?

Would all that still matter when right here, right now were beyond his wildest dreams?

He's tearing up again, his heart so full yet so light with the way Jungkook stared at him with so much love.

"I love you so much," Jimin falls, resting his forehead on Jungkook's, before kissing the maknae's brows. "So much," he kissed Jungkook's eyelids when it closed, "my heart glows," another kiss on his nose before caressing the maknae's face just so he could kiss him fully and deeply on the mouth, "when I'm with you."

His tears fell freely when Jungkook's hands found its way on his back, tracing comforting swirls, every shape a reciprocation of Jimin's love for him. So he kisses the maknae's tears away when he tasted the salt of his tears afterwards. And just. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The stars are in the sky, and they are flying, their hearts soaring to the vibrant horizon.

This isn't a dream, Jimin breathes, kissing the maknae's taut stomach until he reaches Jungkook's cock. So he grinds his bare arousal against it, the delicious shiver in their bodies just syncing as they both moaned aloud. Jungkook reaches for his hands, lacing their fingers together, not wanting to let go.

Jimin drew another shaky breath before sliding down a little, only a little at least just before the swell of Jungkook's dick, so that he could prepare to take all of it in his aching mouth. He wants it all — the bad and the good, the worst and the best, everything that is just Jungkook.

Just him. That would be enough.

And so he takes Jungkook's cock in his mouth, running his tongue along the length inside his mouth just to hear the maknae growl in pent up desire — let it all out, my love, Jimin thinks, eyes closing as he savours the feeling of Jungkook's alluring shivers with his ministrations. He dragged his teeth a little, testing to see whether Jungkook liked it or not, and was rewarded with a chorus of fuck, I'm so in love with you's, so he smirked and bobbed his head on his cock again and again until Jungkook tugged at his hair in frustration just to say I want you, Jimin, I want you, I want you, I want you.

His eyes darkened with pleasure when he opened his eyes and met Jungkook's gaze, the desire so fucking contagious he could just swim in the depths of those eyes forever, no kidding. So when Jungkook rolled his hips, grinding against his mouth, Jimin let him fuck his throat raw to oblivion.

Jimin let out a loud gasp once Jungkook came in his mouth, swallowing all his cum before fingering and licking all the salty remnants on his full lips. Jungkook was still trembling beneath him, so Jimin caressed his face and his hair, soothing him as much as he could.

"We did the annual physical just last month," Jimin muttered, languidly caressing Jungkook's parted legs before him, "and we're both clean, right?"

Jungkook could only nod, his eyes still closed from the aftermath. Unconsciously, he opened his legs more when Jimin's hands drew nearer his cock again. Jimin bit his lips when he saw how Jungkook's cock swelled up again, his arousal just so big and so full and begging to be loved again.

"Perfect," Jimin murmurs with a low growl, posturing his fingers right before the entrance of Jungkook's perfect ass. He took a deep breath, and eyed Jungkook so he'd do the same before he slid one finger in to let the maknae get used to his touch. When a moan fell from Jungkook's lips, he slid his finger further before inserting another, widening the opening a little more and pumping it, trying to loosen the tightness in Jungkook's ass.

When he slid the third finger in, Jungkook grabbed his shoulder, his voice shaky as he drew a breath and bit his lips. Jimin, Jimin, Jimin, was all the maknae could utter so Jimin pumped all three fingers further, settling within the maknae's ass deliciously.

"I want to hold you now," Jimin whispers, his forehead resting on Jungkook's as he posed his own cock in front of the maknae's ass. "So just... just let me love you, Jungkook."

And when Jungkook replied with, Love me, Jimin, love me. Because I love you, too —

Jimin forgot to breathe.

He slid his cock slowly, deeply within Jungkook's ass, his mind empty, his heart full.

The world is so different from yesterday, and now we're becoming a we.

Jimin tears up again, their bodies colliding in that sweet, sweet rhapsody.

We love each other, oh my god, we love each other.

I'm so happy.

Jungkook's hips jump, his dick twitching. Fuck. The feeling of Jimin's teeth lightly scraping his cock followed by his hot tongue has him wanting more, more, more. He wants Jimin to hurt him in just the right way until he's begging him to stop. He throws his head back against the pillow, hands reaching down to pull Jimin's hair, mouthing falling open only to repeat a mantra of Jimin's name over and over.

The maknae lets out a cry, grinding into Jimin's mouth as his best friend swallows around his thick length. His hands are tugging and tugging at Jimin's hair, tears blurring his vision before slowly cascading down his flushed cheeks. He fucks Jimin's face in deep, steady thrusts, and when he glances down, he can see Jimin's throat bulge where his cock is repeatedly sliding in and out. It pushes him over the edge fast. His back arches and he screams as his orgasm hits him hard. Jimin, Jimin, hyungie.

Jungkook's mind goes blank and he's letting out a loud moan at the feeling of Jimin pushing one finger inside of him. It feels amazing. It feels so much better than when he does it. Especially when he adds two more fingers inside him, scissoring them to prepare him for Jimin's cock. It's such an addicting feeling that he never wants this to end.

Before he knows it, Jimin is leaning over him, sweaty forehead against sweaty forehead.

So just... just let me love you, Jungkook.

Jungkook frantically nods, hands wrapping around the older's neck, holding onto him tightly, “Love me, Jimin, love me. Because I love you, too—”

He cuts himself off with a loud, breathless gasp because Jimin is finally, finally, pushing into him. He's connecting them in the most intimate way and it has him tearing up because goddamnit he's so in love and they're finally one. He lays there with his eyes closed and sighs over and over, just taking in the sensation of Jimin making him feel so full.

"Okay," Jungkook whispers as he opens his eyes to gaze lovingly at the other, "I'm ready. You can move."

Jimin could scarcely breathe when Jungkook gazed at him with those dark, dark eyes, the swirls of it clouded with pleasure and love — his eyes seemingly repeating his earlier words, ...I looked at you, and I didn't want to be forgiven. Because loving you is not a sin... I love you, Jimin. I love you, in spite of everything.

Angel eyes.

Eyes I'd fall in love with over and over again , Jimin catches himself thinking as his lips fell apart with emotions he can't even — didn't even — need to have words anymore, the assurance from Jungkook's words — Love me, Jimin, love me. Because I love you too — breaking him apart and making him feel whole at the same time.

You can move, the words fell so softly from the maknae's lips that Jimin almost came from just that, but he controlled himself, willing his mien to cool and adjusting his cock deep within Jungkook before pressing a kiss on his forehead.

Their hands intertwined, Jimin began to move, thrusting and pumping as deeply as he could, letting Jungkook feel every inch of his love within him. A shaky moan fell from his lips when Jungkook panted against him, pressing a kiss on his throat as they held onto each other's hands tightly — a gesture he felt was one of Jungkook's ways of assuring him that it was all right, that they wanted it both, that they don't have to be alone ever again.

He didn't even realise that his eyes have closed as they thrusted against each other, their bodies uniting so sweetly, so feverishly, so lovingly that Jimin could only see an explosion of colours when his lids fell and Jungkook cried against him. The sound made Jimin blink his eyes open, worry suddenly filling his heart when he saw that tears were falling from the maknae's eyes.

Jimin paused, caressing Jungkook's face, pressing his full lips everywhere — his eyelids, his brows, his cheeks — to take the maknae's tears away. "Don't cry, Jungkook," he murmured against the maknae's lips, "don't cry, my love."

When Jungkook only cupped his face in return, Jimin couldn't help crying too — the maknae pressed his lips against his, wiping all his fears away. The gesture caught him off guard, making him laugh as their tears mingled with each other's when they bumped on each other's noses afterwards.

Oh, my love, Jimin can't help thinking again when Jungkook laughed with him — the sound of it making him laugh and cry harder just like the maknae as they moved again within each other's depths, making love in the darkness of the room.

Ah, even the darkness was so beautiful — the shadows of their bodies moving and pressing against each other in a united rhythm, spreading their warmth all over the bed beneath the glow of dusk falling, sun and moon filling the skies in a chiaroscuro of colours — their love for each other silent, but loud, loud, loud in spite of everything.

"Hey, stay by my side and laugh," Jimin murmurs once they came together, his voice hoarse as they moaned and screamed together, the high from the unity of their fall filling them both with warmth.

"Live happily with me," he continues, kissing Jungkook's eyelids, not yet parting from the maknae's depths. "We'll make it work."

He just doesn't want to let go anymore.

"So stay with me," he whispers, kissing Jungkook's forehead. "I'll be with you, every step of the way."

Because a future without you is a world without colour.

"So will you still be with me, my love?"

Tears gather in his eyes as they tangle their fingers together. As one. His head is thrown back, messy hair fanned out on the pillow. Dreamy sighs slipping past his kiss-bitten lips at the feeling of Jimin’s mouth barely grazing his neck. He tightens his hold on Jimin’s hands, praying he understands what holding onto each other means. I’m never leaving you, hyung. Not again. Never. You’re mine and I’m yours. Only yours. Forever.

Jungkook gazes at Jimin through blurry vision, taking in how beautiful and angelic he is in their moment of love. His eyes are closed, mouth parted with small sighs and moans being released in the air, cheeks flushed with the exertion of their activities. Of them making love. A lone tear trickles down his cheek at the thought of them making love. It’s what they’re doing, and Jungkook still can’t fathom how lucky he is to be able to love and be loved by Jimin.

Love. It’s such a crazy thing, but he’s so grateful he has the chance to experience it. With his best friend at that. What more could he ask for? It’s such an overwhelming thought, and he’s hit with so many feelings that he can’t help but to finally let the tears fall from his eyes and make their way down his cheeks.

He opens his eyes, gaze connecting with Jimin’s, and he leans into the comforting touch as he repeatedly whispers I’m okay. Jungkook just cries harder at the soft gesture and the feeling of pecks being lightly placed all over his face. God, he’s so, so, so in love and he doesn’t know how to handle it. So he returns the gesture and swipes his thumb under Jimin’s eyes, wiping away the droplets of liquid before placing a chaste kiss on his chin, giggling when their noses bump against each other.

And he’s so happy, so happy, that they can still find humor and laugh in this moment. With each pump of Jimin’s hips, Jungkook could feel himself climb higher and higher to his orgasm. With each thrust, he could feel his head getting fuzzy and his body rising in temperature. With each laugh and kiss they shared, he could feel himself falling even more in love with his hyung.

Jungkook’s release hits him hard, and he clutches onto Jimin, pulling him even closer as he cries out Jimin’s name over and over again, their hearts beating in sync. His breathing slows down, but he keeps his eyes closed. He’s so tired and all he wants now is to sleep in Jimin’s arms. It’s one of the only places where he feels completely safe and protected. He sighs once again when Jimin kisses his eyelids. He feels so tranquil lying here in his lover’s embrace and hearing his sweet, sweet promises.

So will you still be with me, my love?

The maknae slowly opens his eyes to stare at Jimin with unadulterated love and adoration, tenderly kissing him and whispering against his lips, “Always.”

Always, Jungkook breathed against his lips —

And oh, oh, Jimin was crying again — how wonderful was it to love and be loved in return. His Jungkook, his sweet, sweet Jungkook. He... he really said that — the one answer he previously never thought of having when he earlier thought —

Always — it is now the only refrain that exists in his heart.

Always — it is now the only word that his soul wants to know, wants to share with Jungkook.

Always — it is now the only light he seeks in this previously monochrome world.

A word filled with so much radiance, so much promise, so much euphoria.

"Ah, my love," Jimin murmurs against the maknae's lips, cupping his face, kissing him over and over again.

"You are me," his breath staggers as Jungkook kisses him back and whispers, his voice in the same quiet and tender tone, "I am you."

Park Jimin doesn't trust words.

But when it came to him, Jungkook never lied.

His eyes, his voice, his touch.

And if it's with him — if it's with him — Jimin will never fear anything ever again.

Because that's what they'll be. That's what they'll do. And that's who they’ve always been.

Never hesitating.

Never stopping.

Never afraid.

No longer.

Because one way or another, their lives were always meant to be intertwined.

Fate. Destiny. Serendipity.

Always.

22 notes · View notes

alias-b · 4 years ago

Text

sins of my youth. 017

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: New chapter! Sorry, it's late! Took a while to edit this one. Evie's birthday bash comes with a flood of feelings and heavy smut! Billy struggles with his heart when emotions get too real. xoxo

Ask box & Tag list are both open!! Come and chat with me after! :)

Chapter 17: Heart-Shaped Shadow Box

Monday was strange. News spread like wildfire. Carol Perkins and Evie Fenny had a civil interaction. See it and be amazed. All’s well in the animal kingdom again.

Order restored. Clouds opening. Roll on snare drum followed by velvet curtains.

Even the snow was thawing to wet slush.

It all happened at Tommy’s dented locker near the English hallway’s corner. Evie stopped. Hit her mark flawlessly. Found the light. Flashed a pleasant smile which earned Carol’s lip twitching in response.

And the crowd went wild.

“Tommy and I are sitting with you. At lunch. Might want to warn Steve and Heather to put the claws away. We’ll come bearing gifts even. Well...promises of gifts we'll deliver on later. Not school-friendly.” Carol fished for a pack of mints in Tommy’s pocket. This was clearly not up for debate.

“Consider it an early promise for your birthday.” Tommy had added with a beam of teeth.

“Sure. Cool. See you guys.” Evie held a book to her chest and continued to her locker. Switching items around before she went back to meet Billy at his. Spotted the faded leather of his jacket and ducked a little to sneak upon him.

A feline on the prowl ready to overtake the dominant male lion.

"Did you know you're the only girl around here who doesn't cover herself in that Love's Baby Soft crap? The grown woman perfume gives you away, chica." Billy spoke without turning. Evie's made an annoyed sound and dropped her shoulders, inches behind him. "Not a complaint. I like the thrill of it."

Blue eyes peered to see her there and Evie got the urge to stick her tongue out as a child would. Didn't want to tempt Billy though. Or did she?

"Yeah, yeah." Air blew a curl from her face. One shoulder nestled into the locker next to him. “Feels weird today.”

“You’re not getting into a fight for once.” He remarked, smacking metal shut to lean back against it while the student body bustled along. Eyes slipped down and Evie pouted, straightening.

"My eyes are up here, Hargrove." Two fingers rose to gesture at them.

Little extra work put into her eyeshadow and lipstick today. Little extra time picking out outfits that weren't for Fredrick. Can't go wrong with a loud print that looked like it was out of a creepy hotel's carpet. Or a short skirt with her tights. Evie felt especially positive about her body today.

She didn't eat anything bad this morning. See. She was getting better. She was stopping because she was in control and could stop this sickness at any time she wanted.

"Sure. I'll get there." Gorgeous lashes batted to knock the wind out of her, but Evie puffed. Billy's gaze lifted, flicking with amusement because she was too easy to rile up. Too easy to get blushing. "Must feel weird," he'd repeated, "no battle."

“That could be. Farewell badass reputation. I knew you all of two days.” She sighed for dramatic effect and he actually smiled, head shaking before an arm swept around Evie’s shoulders. Pulled her taut and flush into his fire.

For once, she didn’t look at anyone else.

Leaned into Billy and walked along as if she was meant to be there.

As if they didn’t look funny together.

That was a beautiful thing this morning. Something that made her feel full and in control.

“Weirded me out when Mona let me in to collect Max and you three were snoring on the pull-out.”

“Sweet that you carried Max home.” Evie teased. “What a good big brother you are.”

“Yeah, just when I warm up, she edges off me.”

“How’s that?” Evie peered up at his face.

“Don’t know, she hasn’t been her annoying self. Growing up or whatever. Might be all her friends.” Billy only shrugged. “Snappier at me. Quieter. Guess I deserve it. She stays out of dad's way, but he has an opinion on everything she does.”

“She’s a teenage girl. We all have our moments. I'm sure it's not easy for either of you.” They turned down another hallway. Billy stiffened so she allowed him to change the subject.

“I did have good luck on my Saturday quest.” He sounded genuinely triumphant. Lips turned into her curls to mutter. "Small victories."

Around them, lockers shuffled and smacked about. Chattering students moved to let them pass. Evie Fenny on the arm of his royal highness, Billy Hargrove. King. What a lucky girl she was.

If they held her echoing heart to their ears, they'd probably hear rich ocean waves. Evie wondered if Billy had reached deep within in, if he'd find twinkling sea glass and opalescent shells

“Yeah, you were gone the entire day, where’d you go?” Evie had laughed and he stunned her with the flippant reply.

“Got your birthday present.”

Evie came to a halt at the corner. Spinning to see him. Billy batted his lashes again, smirking.

“What? It is the 27th, right? Wednesday?” He winced like perhaps he’d been wrong.

“How and where did you get that info? And you remembered it?”

“I have my ways, Evie.” He bit his lip. Scanned her. “Surprised I got you something?”

A blush damned her to hell.

“No, I just… A little.” Evie looked away at the trophy case. Saw them reflected and straightened up. Shuffling back. One hand rubbed at her collar. Illusions faded like dying lights. Too easily.

"Well, believe it, I'm full of surprises."

“My mom is doing something small at the salon that she thinks I don’t know about and then I’m going to Heather's. Party on a school night. Her parents are out this week so free reign in the mansion.”

“I might have heard something about that.” Billy shrugged, peering away so she could take him in.

Freckles stunning and sparkling crystals for eyes. Endless ocean waves under a balmy sun. Evie wondered for a moment if perhaps he was oblivious to how candidly beautiful he was some days.

She inched toward him. Forgot their reflection. Forgot the students with eyes that burned. Saw Billy glanced back and froze. Caught.

“You ever think…?” Billy gave this squint to study her there. Thought he saw flecks of gold within her eyes. Sparking at him. Drawing a charge. New stars giving birth he might be able to count if he looked deeper.

“Yes...?” Evie hushed, just barely edged up on her toes. Billy never finished it. "I do."

"Do? Do what?" He flushed there. Sounding vaguely drunk. Inch back toward her.

Two magnets pining from a distance. Drawing ever nearer.

"Think. Long and hard." It came out a saccharine whisper. “I think too much in fact.”

He gave this dumb, little chuckle. Unable to grasp his thoughts. Unable to share them.

“I think about things I can’t control and I get so mad.” Evie scoffed. Thought her eyes watered due to the intensity. “I can’t stop even though there’s very little I can control. It's like time and space. I can't... But, I know that, Billy, and I can't seem to stop.”

Abrupt, she pushed up to her toes. Captured his lips. Just hard enough to make her point explicit. Hard enough to send him all aflutter. Bursting to pieces from every vein. A might wave crashed into them both. Swept them away. She stayed close enough to finish the thought. Made him drink it down.

"And I think you're made of that same stardust." Evie swooped around him. Left Billy dizzy as the bell rang. She didn’t look back at him. Only smiled to herself and let curls bounce as she slipped off.

Billy spun on his heel to see her. Left drunk in a billow of honey amber. A smile overtaking his expression. A warm tint in his freckles.

He could have blamed her eyes with their hold. Could have blamed her hair and the way the light illuminated it just so. Hell, he could have blamed that damn perfume. The concoction of oils and lotions you'd find listed in an old witch's spell. Although, she was from New Orleans, so perhaps voodoo. He tried to rationalize it. Make it purely sexual. Make it rough and tumble.

Either way, too much became clear. Evangeline Fenny was beautiful and she was going to ruin him. And Billy was going to let her do it. Any number of heartbeats it would take, he was going to succumb. This sin he'd be begging for again and again. This lovely sin that filled his soul until it burst.

A red hot ribbon would noose his heart and twist out to Evie's own. They could sink and float and be just fine. The thought of being tethered to something tangible didn't have to feel like a cage and muzzle. It could be freeing too. Sprinkled in their signature stardust that gave it an ethereal filter. An iridescent shimmer.

Even if it terrified him to the core.

** ** **

Evie didn’t need to prep Steve and Heather for Carol and Tommy’s impending infiltration of their lunch table. More news in the animal kingdom.

Princess Heather and Duchess Carol caught whispering at Heather’s locker between second and third.

Truly fascinating. Pan in close for a better look.

Evie passed them and could only blink. Almost running into Robin on her way to Yearbook.

Heather and Carol standing close to each other as if they hadn’t been in a nasty fight the week before. Giggling and hushing tones. Carol traded a bobby pin from her hair for an elastic Heather had tucked into a coin purse shaped like a pair of cherries.

That was a serious transaction in girl world.

Carol tugged playfully at Heather's tee, hand poised to her lips to whisper before the other girl was nodding. Evie had a thousand questions but decided not to bother. Red hair swept to flick as Carol turned to go. Following Evie because they were in Yearbook together with Nancy and Jonathan.

Usually, they sat across the room in opposite corners. Today, they shared a table.

“Heard the bio classes moved the dissections this year up to March.” Carol made a face and sorted through science club photos. Seated across from Evie to work on some new pages.

“I always skip school those days and do some make-up work later. I’ll take the grade hit.” Evie grimaced.

“I just partner with Tommy, make him do it, and he’ll get us a solid C plus.” A shrug. Their teacher flicked on some hippy music they liked to pass the time. Lazy class. “Do a bunch of shots after.”

“Yeah, I can’t even handle being in the room.” Evie stacked some finished sections aside. “How are things between you and Tommy?”

Carol peered up briefly between making little notes. Blew a pink bubble and popped it.

“He’s still my number one slice. I don’t know, I thought he’d get weird about the whole thing. Kinda shocked me.” She mused, shifting pictures about. “I did say he’s gonna marry me one day. Pretty sure. I mean we’re plenty stupid and we fight. But, we’re allowed.”

“Good, that’s...good.” Evie felt eyes blaring holes. Stared at the page she was reworking.

“Feels like you got another question in there, Fen.”

“I don’t know.” Shoulders hitched higher. Evie tucked some curls back and smacked her mauve lips.

They sat in silence under dim fluorescent lights for a few minutes. Carol paused to apply a fresh layer of gloss in her tiny compact. Flashed the mirror at Evie’s eyes to bug her.

“Hey.” One hand swatted aimlessly when she was blinded. Carol snickered, slapping the mirror shut.

“You’re really into him aren’t you?” A head tilt. “Billy.”

“Things...shifted after the dance. He asked me out. Then, I asked him out. We sorta went out together. Nothing official. I don't know what's a date and what isn't with him. I don’t. As I said, I don’t think he does girlfriends. I don’t think I'd make a very good girlfriend either.”

“Not with that attitude." A scoff. "Have you asked?”

“...No.”

“You’re overcomplicating it because you have major, major trust issues, Evie.” Carol deduced easily. Too easily. Evie sat back. Opened her mouth to protest and shut it. “Billy might have issues too. But, if a guy screws up and spends two months following you around trying to make it right. Not really sleeping around. Obviously it’s crossed his mind. Just quit dragging and ask him. You might like the answer.”

“I don’t know, sometimes I think it’s supposed to be like a fairy tale. Without all the...ugh.” Evie cringed at herself. Nails tapping the rhythm of a new song she was working on at home.

“Make the fairy tale happen. Be like Cinder-fucking-ella. Cinder-Evie.” Carol leaned in to roll her eyes. “Evie Fenny wants romance in Hawkins. Some of us can’t even get cable, you know.”

Evie snorted. Peered up so both of them laughed. Tension fluttered.

“Just slam him into a wall and ask. Billy will respond to that." A wink before she got sultry. "Lick his balls or something. He’ll probably get the hint. Boys aren't complicated.”

“Oh, god.” Evie was still giggling silently. Tried to keep it down under the music playing as students went to go develop some photos. Nancy and Jonathan saw the two and couldn’t help whispering. Odd sight. “I kinda have already.”

“No, shit?” Carol bit her lip. "Evangeline, you absolute harlot."

“I mean,” Evie blushed, “we’ve done stuff. Just not gone all the way.”

“Look at you. Ugh, I know he’s good in the sack. I just do. Tommy and I even talked about it cause we’re like that. We hinted inviting him in once at a party and he was too busy mooning over you at that time.” Carol fiddled with a purple gel pen. Played coy. Tongue in cheek. “Tommy’s not bad, we get a lot of practice in though.”

“Billy...he puts cologne or something...down there. Makes the taste weird.”

“Uh.” Carol groaned. “You know, I bet Tommy picked up that trick from him cause he started doing it after Billy rolled in. I fucking knew that Cali boy would be a bad influence.” A sly look followed. “Evie Fenny is getting it. And she could be actually getting it if she weren’t a damn coward.”

"I am." Evie covered her face.

"Just..." Carol shrugged and tugged one of Evie's hands down by the wrist. Voice low. "Just think about how good it'll be when he's undressing you. Kissing your neck. And those hands. The thing he might whisper in your ear... Look at you blush."

She released Evie with a light laugh, continuing.

"Don't make it rocket science. Ask him. Get the orgasm you deserve, Evie. That's my motto."

“Not terrible... We get heated and during times I’m actually about to tear his clothes off, we keep getting interrupted. It’s like some evil force is against us. I don't know, I still get weird when he touches my body and I'm trying to stop.”

Carol only flashed her teeth.

“Maybe your luck will improve. Burn some more incense.”

Evie only hummed in response. They mulled over pages again. Traded images to find the perfect shots.

“Gonna ask you something, you don’t have to answer because it’s stupid.” Carol’s voice dimmed. Eyes unable to raise for the first time as she tapped her nail. “Do you, like, miss him at all? You know who.”

Evie blinked at her.

“That’s not stupid... Ah, sometimes. I don’t think it’s exactly him I miss. Maybe just the good times we did have. Talking. Feeling important and indispensable to someone. The times he held me or gave me things or included me in his life as if I could actually fit. Maybe it was wrong and fake, but he saw something in me and he wanted that to love him back. I’ll bet it did if anything.”

“Oh.” Was all Carol said, nodding. “Did he put those bruises on you last week? Tommy saw you.”

“Yeah,” Evie cleared her throat, “and Billy found out. He’d picked up some stuff beforehand. I tried to end it and Fredrick didn’t want to and then he got scared. Tried to scare me which got violent. But, Billy, ah...beat the shit out of him.”

“I think Tommy would have done the same...if he had a chance. He talked about it. Jumped right into macho man talk when I...when I told him. Looked like he might cry when I told him how long it really went on. He believed me and my own mother didn't.” Carol exhaled a sharper breath.

"She didn't want to hold the blame," Evie piped up. As if she knew the horrible truth of motherhood and life and what colors should never go together. How some women weren't meant to be mothers and some women weren't meant to be daughters either. "Some mothers...they can't handle the fact that maybe they brought the monsters home. They were blind. Not all of them manifest under our beds, they get put there by people we trust."

"Miss Mona have bad boy luck?"

Evie peered aside.

"You could say that." She paused and had this brief moment of repetition and ferocity. Repeat something. Believe it. Harder each time. "My father though, he loves me. More than anything. He'd be here right now if he could. He would. I made him so happy." This almost manic smile tugged her lips desperately. Carol saw a flash that resonated, but Evie snuffed it. "I bet Tommy is doing what he can to support you, even if he's a little lost about it."

“These boys. Acting like they can chase all our demons away or something. Scared when we try to do the same for them.”

“Right. Our demons aren’t remotely tackled, they’re mildly concussed.” Evie agreed. Softer eyes lifting again to meet Carol’s across the way. “I guess trying is what matters most though.”

They both seemed to accept that gentle sentiment.

** ** **

Mona Fenny was terrible with surprises. Always giddy and singing along to music to drown that out. Bopping against the wheel as she drove Evie into the salon. Parked around back, smiling bright.

“You go on first, baby. I gotta get some bags out of the truck.”

“Oh, boy.” Evie pushed out. Mona plucked her from school early that Wednesday. Made her gussy up a little extra. Red sweater dress with a black belt. Gold glitter over her smoked eyes. Red lip to match. Pretty patterned lace tights and boots. Green bomber pulled close, she trudged inside. Through the backroom and out into darkness.

Lights flicked to blind her. Spots dancing.

“Surprise!” A chorus of sing songs. Music picked up. Dolly Parton of course.

Evie plastered a smile and gawked as if she hadn’t expected it. All the salon ladies. Heather. Susan and Max. Claudia offering a cake decorated with pink and periwinkle buttercream flowers. Candles dancing.

Evie closed her eyes and made a wish she held close to her heart before blowing them all out in one go. This one would come true.

“Thank you, ladies.” Evie peered around at the salon decorated in gold streamers.

“Lets get some cake passed around now. I’m sure these girls have some excitement planned.” Mona clapped her hands and ladies dispersed. “We’ll do gifts and our dinner this weekend. You’re eighteen and you don’t want to spend the night at your mother’s salon.”

She kissed Evie’s cheek and licked her thumb to wipe the pink print aside.

“Thank you, mom,” Evie felt something heavy in her gut, “I love you.” Mona was trying so hard to make this nice for her. One day. Then she'd disappear back into her slinky dresses. Into her work. Into those adult parties. Into another man's arms. Away from Evie and whatever glimmer in her daughter's soul was so frightening.

“I love you. Go sit. We’ll bring the cake over.”

Evie crossed to Heather.

“You pack a bag? We’ll take you to school tomorrow.” She bounced in a seat when Evie nodded. “Sure you don’t want to do anything else tonight? We could see a movie.”

“Nah, a bonfire. Roasting marshmallows. Chinese take out and wine. I just wanna hang out with my friends. Plus, it’s a school night.”

“Ah, let loose a little. For your birthday.” Heather shrugged as slices of cake were sorted around. Max sat alone in the corner, picking at her piece when Susan left to go to Mona and chat.

"One sec, Heath," Evie went to Max and sat down. Slow as if she'd scare the younger girl off. “Hey.”

“Hi. Uh, thanks for having us. My mom keeps telling Mona you guys have made us feel welcome here and all.” She pulled the sleeves of her grey hoodie lower. “She gave Mona some gifts for you to unwrap later. I hope you like them.”

“Yeah? I'm sure I will. We like you. Can’t wait to open those also.” Evie scanned her. “I had fun, you know, at the sleepover. We should have more.”

“You don’t think I’m a dumb little girl?” Max peered up. Finally took a bite. Odd to see a growing teenage girl so disinterested in a heavily frosted cake.

“No, you’re smarter than most of the kids at school.” Evie wondered briefly who could have put that thought in her head and made it stick. Didn’t take long to figure out who. Mad Max was being slowly worn down.

And she was so small here. So fragile and thin. Evie couldn't help picturing a shadow looming over Max's red hair. The tiny amount of force it'd take to knock her off her feet. Neil in a drunken stupor gunning slowly for the other fresh target in his house.

“You can come over any time. I have a lot of movies and Blue likes the attention. She's a needy little thing.”

Max pressed her lips. Gave this small half-smile.

“Thank you. I'd like to hang out more. I'm only friends with one girl around here and she's being homeschooled until next year."

“Can I hug you, just as a thank you for being one of the coolest girls I know?”

Surprise etched.

“Okay.” Max practically threw herself into Evie’s arms the moment they set the cake aside. Thin fingers bunched up the fabric of Evie’s dress so she cupped the back of Max’s head and held her.

“It’d be cool to have you as a sister. We could team up on Billy. My skateboard and your roller skates. I saw a pair hung up in your room.”

“I mean, we could still do that now.” Evie laughed. Tipped Max’s chin up. “You’re gonna be okay.”

It seemed to resonate. Heather joined them as they ate their fill of cake. Evie unwrapped a couple small gifts. Jewelry and craft supplies. Fabrics she’d wanted and makeup.

Heather whisked her away to Loch Nora after some farewells. They practically bounced into the big house. Ordered a ton of food before they got the fancy fire pit out back started so it’d be ready later.

The doorbell rang.

“Steve!” Evie perked after answering. Let him squeeze her in a hug. Practically plucked her from the floor which earned a surprised giggle.

“Got you something, it’s small.” He smiled sheepishly and offered a little box. “You’re a tough girl to buy jewelry for even if you wear a bunch. You know that, Eves?”

“No, I’ll wear just about anything.” Playing coy, Evie gave an endearing sway.

“You hardly take the music note necklace off and I’ll never find earrings better than the ones you make.” He swept a hand through gorgeously styled locks. Cracked a pleased grin. "I notice things."

“Ah. Fair.” Evie poked his chest. Heather waved when she came in from the back. “My dad got me this necklace from one of his trips. Sometimes, I’ll change it or wear something with it.” She touched the gold chain.

“I found this at a fancy vintage joint,” Steve explained as she opened it. An ornate brooch. Stunning sun and moon. Soft expressions attached with two looping chains. Decorated in shimmering opals.

Evie stared at it. Had this panicked thought about the one Fredrick gave her. The glittering ladybug.

The one she swallowed that had not come out yet.

“Do you like it?” Steve broke into her thoughts. Evie blinked and shook her head to smile.

“It’s beautiful, thank you. I’ll pin it on my coat now.” Evie kissed his cheek and bounded off. Left Steve there to blush a sweet, dewy pink.

More doorbells. Clicking incessantly until Steve groaned and opened it. Billy followed by Tommy and Carol coming up the path from another car.

“Password?” Steve played his bratty self.

Billy cocked his head and charged in to put Steve in a headlock. Messed his hair up while he got slapped at as Tommy cackled on the way in.

“Jesus, Holloway, I forgot about your digs here. Bigger than Harrington's place. No offense.” He waltzed by with Carol on his arm. Left Steve and Billy to wrestle.

“Hey, boys! Not on her birthday.” Heather got between them. "I agreed to this very strange joining of two groups out of love and friendship. We're all cutting the shit now."

“He started it.” Steve shoved off and reached to ruffle Billy’s curls. Got a hard swat for it. "We're still burying the hatchet." Beating up creepy teachers brings boys together, he figured.

Evie liked all of them, that was good enough for Heather.

"Dick." Billy jabbed back.

Tommy peered back at Steve. Old times. New surroundings. New mindset. The other boy shrugged at him, lighthearted.

Evie poked her head around the corner. Blinked in surprise.

“Hey, all… No wonder Heath ordered the entire menu.”

“We come in peace, Fen.” Carol removed her coat and Tommy presented a couple of bags.

“Also, we brought the wine and weed. As promised at that first lunch.”

“I just said to get wine...but, I won’t complain. We can only smoke it outside. The smell will linger and my dad won’t like it.” Heather winked, coming to take the items. “Thank you, guys. We have food coming. Movies. S’mores for the fire pit.”

“Look who's trying to behave on her eighteenth.” Carol winked. She shared this look with Heather that Evie didn’t notice. Billy stared at her. Watched nervous hands smooth out her dress. “Hargrove, didn’t you bring the lucky lady a gift? Be a gentleman and present it.”

“Left it in the car.” He cocked his head, signaling for Evie to fall in stride next to him. Without her coat, she clasped her hands behind her back and followed him back outside. Down the stone steps.

"Still weird?" Tommy came to Steve, hands in his back pockets.

"Honestly, yeah." He nodded as Carol went after Heather out back. Both of them plotting.

"Does suck about the princess. We know you liked her and all."

"Ah, she's happier with Byers. Things happen. Guess it's part of growing up."

"How about we drink a bunch tonight and start some shit over?" Tommy clapped Steve's arm, earning a cracked smile.

"I'd like that."

Outside, Billy and Evie crossed to his Camaro.

“Glad you guys came. Might be boring, I said nothing too exciting.” She puffed cold air. Billy opened his trunk and fished for something wrapped in newspaper.

“We...didn’t have fancy wrap so I used the Sunday cartoons. Only part of the paper I can get my dad to let go.” He winced, handing it to her.

“No, I love the funnies.” Teeth etched at her lip. Evie met his eyes to open it.

“It’s a little fragile.” He warned. Evie peeled the paper away and blinked a couple times.

A thin shadow box with a tarnished black frame. Inside pinned was a luna moth. Dainty specimen all glowy in moonlight.

“Whoa. How-?”

“I found it in this old antique shop up in the city. Hidden way in the back. They had a bunch of them, different bugs. I don’t know, it made me think of you.” He explained. Too delicate like he might shatter. Evie ran her fingers along the frame. An object of wonder and curiosity. “Kinda strange and pretty...and you’re damn strange and pretty.”

She gave this breathless snort. Snapped out of it. Looked up at Billy’s eyes with this vulnerable sort of expression crossing.

“I really love it. Thank you.” Evie took his chin and kissed him. Felt that same sensation whirl that made them both dizzy.

Billy pushed his forehead into hers. Brushed their noses and dropped aside. Let his head rest on her shoulder. She smelt the blond hair and felt it tickle her neck. One breath hitched.

“Let’s get back. I’ll put this in my bag so I can hang it up at home.”

Evie held it close as they walked along. Not looking at each other or touching. They wouldn’t be able to handle it. She figured this gift is what her heart had always looked like. A deep, dark shadow box with a pretty moth fluttering inside behind glass. Waiting to be seen and admired. Waiting to flit out and feel the wind and sun.

Going inside, she wondered if Billy had known that. If he placed their stars just so because he knew how they fit together.

Tension sprang through laughter over take-out boxes. Trading and gorging on food while a horror flick played before them. The Funhouse. Seated on the floor around the coffee table against the sofas and chairs. Odd gathering of souls.

Tommy was a squirmer. Kept hiding in Carol's shoulder. Steve felt himself looking around. He had his friends back and more. This could be nice again. He hadn't been social since everything fell apart with Nancy. Befriending Heather and Evie was a good start.

Billy’s leg bumped Evie’s and she gave this blush like someone caught them being obscene. Settled into him for the last half of the movie when they were full and the night rose outside. Billy felt a spark as Evie hid in his chest at a jump scare. Chuckled to himself to play it off.

Evie Fenny watched horror movies for a living, she just needed a reason to play dumb and get close to him. But, she wasn't gonna admit that. Being tucked under his bicep was too good.

“Psst, hey.” Evie said in his ear. Billy slid his eyes to see the TV light play on her expression.

On the expensive screen, a rat-like vampire snarled. Mutated and warped with saliva on his fangs.

“Hm?”

“That’s you.” She hitched a squeal when he pinched her side. Pulled in closer by his arm.

Carol and Heather were still shooting each other looks. Mugs of cheap red wine got passed around. Bloomed cherries in everyone’s cheeks and mouths.

They gathered around the fire outside. Roasted marshmallows and lit up joints. Heather’s family had a fancy pit built into the ground and a stone seating circling it. With most of the snow gone, they all bundled up. Carol draped into Tommy as they shared a smoke.

“Steve, eat this one. I made it special.” Evie flashed a crooked, devious smile. "For you."

“I don’t trust you.” He laughed, opening his mouth before she stuffed it in. Marshmallow fluff covered his lips until they cackled. Steve pushed a fresh one back at her that melted chocolate over her mouth. Evie giggled and caught Billy staring as she licked her lips. Wanting to lap it up himself.

"Did I get it all?" Evie faced him, breaking the moment. Billy reached up with his thumb and swept it under her bottom lip. Saw her tongue shift like it might jet out before he pulled away and licked the pad.

"Now, you did," he winked.

At that point, Tommy and Steve caught on to Heather and Carol's little knowing looks. Took some eye-fucking to get there but they made it.

Heather was pleasantly blazed. Leaning back with her feet up on the stone. Sighing. Evie puffed and passed a smoke back to her. Started to blow out before Billy angled her face at him. Inhaled some of the pot to enjoy it.

"Tommy, who supplies your shit?" He hummed.

"Hill Valley, they supply all the locals. Stoner who gave it to me swore it made you fucking time travel, I think he was right."

"Go back in time and stop this asshole from beating my keg record." Steve snatched the joint next, gesturing to Billy. Only got a rough laugh in response.

“So, we’re all fucked. But, I have rooms. Lots and lots of guest rooms.” Heather mused. “I’m so rich and popular, guys.”

“We had no idea.” Carol faked a gasp. “Prissy drunk.”

“This is so weird.” Evie rubbed her cheek, lulled into Steve so he put the smoke between her lips with two fingers. Let her inhale it before she puffed out. “All of us, I mean. It’s weird. Life sucks and we’re just like...friends now.”

“It’s like we wasted all that time on stupid shit when we could have been doing this.” Carol decided with red eyes. Everyone nodded in response.

Evie fell the other way and put her head on Billy’s shoulder. Slowing, they stared at the flickering fire. Smoke rising to purge whatever was here before.

"We still gonna share a lunch table after this? Acknowledge each other?" It was Steve who spoke up.

"Nowhere else to go." Billy reached out to take the joint from him and finish it. That was agreed upon too. Wasn't the worst sentiment at this hour.

They came down from the wine and pot. Simmered. Put the fire out and trailed back into the house. Watched half of another movie before they started to split off.

Steve passed out on the biggest couch so Evie covered him in a blanket. Stopped Billy and Tommy from drawing on his poor, sweet face. Gave him a kiss on the temple for good measure.

“Think it’s time. Midnight. Happy Birthday, Evie.” Heather mashed her into a tight hug. They all left Steve to snore and wandered upstairs. Changed and washed up.

Billy disappeared down the hall to one of the bathrooms. Evie emerged a bit later from Heather's room rubbing her nose.

“Tommy and Carol can use this room." Heather was in the hallway gesturing. "Steve’s on the couch. Hey, Eve, you want to use the third floor? Sheets are fresh. The birthday girl should get the best and biggest guest room. Right, Carol?”

"I couldn't agree more, Heather. We left you something special on the bed. It was too big to wrap."

Snickering followed.

“Sure...sure…” Evie ruffled her hair out, not listening. "Night."

“Enjoy your present,” Carol gave this little sing-song. Arms crossing as she watched Evie climb the steps. Waited until she was gone to plant a slick high-five on Heather. “Idiots.”

“Totally.” Heather went off to bed.

Evie pushed the door open and jumped a mile at the same time Billy spun, dropping his shirt.

“Oh, sorry, they said…” It dawned that Evie had just been tricked. “They told you to sleep here?”

“Yeah, Heather said...oh.” He clicked his tongue and smiled, head shaking because he had to look away. It was all too good.

Evie pressed the door shut and planted herself against it. Locked it idly. The snap sparked Billy to attention.

“I’ll be having a little chat with them about this. It's...um...” She scanned him in his jeans. Saw muscles twitching under flesh. Wet her lips.

“Yeah, I’ll be getting down on my knees to fucking thank her.” He marched over. Kissed Evie hard against the doorway then brought her flush into his frame. Hands trailing down the curve of her back.

She hitched a gasp and got one arm around his neck. Felt about to turn the lights down. Moonlight spilled in. Full and bright.

Billy’s hands were under her shirt. Bunching it up. Palming her bottom. Tracing the lace edge of her underwear to playfully snap it. They stumbled around toward the bed. Evie on her toes pulled him down for more kisses. Felt like no amount would be enough.

“Not a motel, but I think we can make this work.” Billy got pushed into the plush covers. Sat up to let Evie climb into his lap. They looked at each other. Stilling.

"Is this okay?" She mumbled and he only nodded.

Breathing deep until hearts pounded in perfect sync. Evie cupped his face. Opened her lips against his until Billy gave this visceral moan.

Fingers slipped under the tee again. Squeezed her breasts. Hurried the fabric up so he could taste her skin. Evie shuddered and tipped her head back. Grinding into him. Pulling his hair because he was ruining her already.

Because Billy Hargrove was about to be her beginning and end.

Because she was fine with that.

“Evie...” Billy groaned. Fingers pushing into her flesh. He sucked little flower petals into her chest. Tongued her nipples to hard, rosy buds. Evie felt one hand wander down into her panties. Cried out at the two digits that slipped against her experimentally. "Yeah?"

“Y-Yes. Like that. You feel so good, Billy.” She attacked his neck. Kissing and nipping until his legs shook. She would ruin him just as well and he'd already tried to make peace with it.

Billy brought his fingers up to suckle them. Shifted to wet her nipple and lick the arousal off. Two strong hands, turned them to throw her into the mattress. God, his muscles. Evie felt him crawl up her body. Hovering to just look at her with spun gold spilling around his neck and crown.

Felt more intimate than anything they’d done. Just looking. Taking a body and soul in.

Billy started pulling her shirt off. Going for her panties to toss the flimsy fabric aside. No resistance followed. She wanted him to look. Wanted to be seen. Maybe it shouldn't have felt so incredible.

Eyes watched her surrender there bathed in the moon. Evie rubbed her thighs together. Covered her breasts with her arms. Billy’s chest heaved. Mouth sweeping down to kiss her until the resolve melted. He pinned her wrists playfully and kissed down her neck, stopping to inhale that perfume.

"You're pretty." Lips nudged her insecurities up and away. "So pretty."

Billy brushed dark curls from her shoulders and cheeks. Began to peck soft kisses everywhere he could. Mapping her face out. Every so often she found his lips to steal one back. A soft breath grazed her ear.

“Lemme see you, too.” Evie got a hand free and cupped him boldly. Billy jolted into her palm. Moaned. Beautiful beyond words. He let her push his pants down and stroke him. Gazes melted together and he stopped her only to toss his jeans aside, up on his knees to breathe even.

Evie pushed up only to marvel at him. Reluctant hands lifted. Smoothing down the hard contour of his chest. The line of those hips. She wanted to map him out as well.

"You're beautiful." She brushed her mouth against his hip. A true Eros.

Billy combed his fingers into Evie's hair, tilting her face up so he could curve over for a lengthy kiss. Moaning when she praised him. Wordless with her simple touch. Explored all the exposed honey skin. Counting little freckles. Billy nuzzled his nose into Evie’s, pressed their heads together, and breathed her in. All of her.

“Gonna eat you out.” He nipped down her chest, pushing her back into the bed. Evie tensed on instinct but nodded. Wanting it. Saw those lashes flutter before he buried his mouth into her mound.

She cried out into her palm. Spine arching so his taut arms wound under soft thighs. Held her hips to adjust. Spread her open for his tongue. Devoured her shamelessly. Pornographically.

Billy liked to make noise. Like to force it out of her too. He flicked his tongue inside. Lapped up toward her bundle to tease and cradle it. Slight stubble made red swatches on her tender skin.

What did she like? What made her pray for mercy?

It left Evie to twist around. Hands grasped for the sheets. She gave him her voice willingly. Gave him every beat and sigh and pulse. Billy made this obscene suckle against her. Crawled up with slick lips so Evie pulled him into her frame. Kissed those pink lips. Licked into his mouth. Tugged at gold locks and ran her hands along his back.

Billy was nudging between her legs before Evie shifted so they were on their sides. Shocked him with a murmur.

“I want to be on top first.”

“What?” He actually laughed lightly. Pecked her mouth. “No, no, sweetheart. I’m on top.”

“I called it first and I'm the birthday girl.” Evie pouted. Pushing him on his back playfully. Billy came up on his elbows. Brow furrowed.

“You’re serious. But…” He sounded breathless when her hand smoothed down to stroke him. Persuading. “But, I’m the man. It’s our first time. The man’s supposed to be on top the first time.”

“Says who? You’re so cute when you say dumb things, Billy.” Evie taunted, kissing his cheek. “There’s no rule. Maybe I wanna be the man...if you really wanna put it that way. You’ll get a turn. Maybe. You might convince me.”

He smiled when she winked at him. Evie kept up her persuasion. Swung her leg over his hips. Kissed up his neck because she knew it would make him into putty. Billy could only shudder.

Evie let her weight rest against his frame. Snuffed out every voice that told her she couldn't be desired and sexy. Billy moaned at the feel of her too. All of her. Grasped fleshy hips and ran his hands up sloping curves. Evie pressed into his chest, curls spilled over her shoulders.

“I might really die if I don't feel you soon.” Billy just marveled up at her. Cupped her breasts until Evie sighed into his touch. A blush spread over her cheeks. She captured his mouth in response.

Eyes met and she gave this little nod so he followed it. Muscles tensing.

“I want to feel you, too.” Evie licked her lips so they adjusted a bit together. She came up and gave him a few slow pumps. "Do you really wanna feel me, Billy?" His shaft pressed flush into her folds. Hips rocked slow. Torturing.

Looking clouded, he nodded and tried to find some words.

"Fucking, please. Evie." He tilted his head back. Chest heaving. “You, uh, took your pill?”

“Like clockwork.” Evie shuddered. "I want this. You."

Billy looked down and gave her thigh an encouraging squeeze, biting his lip as she positioned him. Starting to sink down. They both cursed aloud. Went tight after a shared quake. Evie mounted him. Let him fill her all the way up with her hands flat against his chest.

“That’s it. Fucking perfect.” He was muttering while she whimpered quietly. Massaging her hips so she’d relax. “You don’t have to move yet. Feel so fucking good. Look at me, Evie.”

She did. Darkening eyes peeking through a curtain of curls he moved aside.

“I got you, Angel. I got you.” Billy lifted for a kiss. Bucked slightly inside her so she gave this experimental rock into him. Mouths brushed together and he whispered. “Fuck me.”

He begged that. Begged for her. Only her. Evie pressed him back down. Tilted her head aside at the feel of him pulsing. Started to move with some fervor.

Fingers squeezed her hips. Left marks guiding her into his thrusts. Both of them sinking fast.

“Mm, Billy.” Evie arched there against the moon and stars. Let them fill the room with her voice. She hitched a cry when he gave her ass a playful swat. Urged her to go faster. Billy wiggled and came up a bit. Pulled Evie all the way down and drank her moan into his lips.

He held her there, biceps flexing when his hands went around her back so he sat up fully. Teeth nipped at her chest and he undulated up inside her. Took some control back.

"H-Hey..." Evie was slipping fast. Mouth parting while she clung to his shoulders. "I'm the man."

"It's your birthday," Billy mumbled into her throat. "Little worship is what a pretty girl deserves on her birthday. Don't you think so?"

Fingers pushed between her spread legs. Worked her until a cry muffled into the crook of his neck. Evie curved into him. Clung. Rode him harder.

“So good.” Billy managed again. “Pretty, pretty, pretty.” He pulled her hair. Exposed that creamy throat to his mouth once more. Tormented her until Evie’s resolve melted so he could flip them over. Another cry echoed. Hips pushing with force deep into her. She gripped his shoulders, legs curling around his hips.

“Billy, please…” Evie mewled under him. “More.” She tucked some blond hair aside sweetly. Both of them slicked and wanting. Connected utterly.

Billy was so ample with her body, chasing her fears away with his hot touch and lovely kisses. He hovered over Evie. Pulled out and looked down to where their bodies met. Loved the sight of himself disappearing inside. One hand brought her thigh higher for a better look.

"Flexible girl. I'll keep that in mind."

Evie fluttered around him. Reached down and touched their mixed arousal. Played with herself while he watched and started to find his pace. She licked her digits of their slick. Let him have a taste after. Billy laced their fingers and came down to watch her eyes.

Panting. He really began to pound into her until the bed was rocking with them. A filthy sound of skin slapping together with each thrust joined their gasps. He didn't care if this whole damn neighborhood could hear them.

“Love the way you squeeze me.” Billy’s thumb was back against her. Tormenting perfect little circles that had her whining. Evie had this out of body moment like she was watching herself writhe on the bed. Billy Hargrove fucking her stupid. Praising her. Touching her. Uttering nasty things about how she was all his now and he could spend forever making her feel so good. “Gonna come inside this sweet, little pussy after I make you quake. You wanna come for me, Evie? That’s my fucking girl.”

“Oh, fuck...fuck, I can’t stand you.” She tightened around him. Eyes rolling back. Relishing his touch so he sped up. “I’m right fucking there, Billy, don’t stop. Stay with me. Stay…” She cupped his face. Found those drunken lips.

“Don’t have to stand, I,” he shuddered, “I got a perfectly good face you’ll be sitting on later.”

Cheeky little shit.

Evie actually laughed. Thrilled. Pulled him all the way against her body, arms under his and around his taut back. Billy stopped all the dirty talk to whimper.

She felt so good. He didn't know it could feel this good.

“I’m yours, Billy,” Evie decided at last with a flutter of glowing moths escaping the heart-shaped shadow box carved into her chest. Happy. She so wanted to be his. Mouth against the shell of his ear. “All yours.” Her thighs shuddered and he felt her entire body lock. A graceful arch went through it. “I’m c-coming.” Evie managed so he stroked harder. Made her gush around his cock with the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Kept thrusting to draw it out as she squeezed him too tight. Chanting cries of curses mingling with his name. All sin.

All his.

Billy couldn’t even warn her. He held out as long as he could and began to fuck release inside her. Both of them wrapping tighter around each other. Still trying to rock through it like they were lying on a warm beach being caressed by sweet ocean waves. Evie sagged, out of breath as he collapsed against her body. Still rutting like an animal to finish himself.

Gasping, Billy came up to pull out. Watched his own release sink out of her. So fucking hot, he couldn't help pushing it back in. Evie tensed. Overstimulated when he pressed dainty kisses to her tummy and chest.

Blue eyes came up to meet her brown ones and something broke. Shattered. Flooded out. They both locked in to feel it. Billy looked at her and the sensation consumed him utterly. Betrayed him. He stared and couldn’t look away. Frozen. Ruined. Evie blinked up at him. Spread open and hair splayed. Reached up to caress his jaw with her brow furrowing.

“Billy, you’re shaking.” She swallowed to catch her breath. Eyes searching him. She tipped his head forward to kiss his warm temple. Lingered with sweet promises. Both of them on fire and slicked in glowy dew. “I got you.”

He still trembled so hard. Unable to stop. Let Evie bring his head to her collar so she could pepper more kisses into his hair and comfort him.

Billy stared out at nothing. Floated in this sort of subspace while Evie brought him back down to touch the Earth. Gentle as she could. They held each other there. Evie still kissing him. Petting him delicately and humming in his ear. Idly, he let his fingers whirl into her curls.

“Are you alright? Billy?” She tried again. Massaging his shoulders while he listened to her beating heart. Something wet splashed against her neck as he shuddered. Sniffling once.

“I just…” He came up. Let awareness flit back. Got near silent. I think I’m happy. "I'm fine." The feeling spread a cold under his bones. "You?"

Billy cupped her head for a lazy kiss. She smiled up at him.

“I'm okay. Better than okay.” She soothed again. “I got you.” Naked, they wound around each other. Got under the covers and laid twisted together.

“Evie.” Billy choked on air. Chest sinking. He had to let one truth out. Just one, he owed her that much. And it ached. “Gotta tell you something.”

“Yeah?” She sunk into his chest. Held. Evie braced like it might hurt her too.

“You know you're... You're the best thing about this place.” Billy squeezed his eyes shut. Let her hold him tighter in response. Let Evie give up some of her warmth to him because he needed it and she just liked to see him happy and safe.

“I didn’t know it could feel like that.” She began, fingers making shapes into his chest. Evie opened her heart. Let him admire it. "Billy, I want to be more with you. Like...Like a girlfriend. This sounds silly. You don't have to say anything. I just...I don't want to run from you because you make me happy. I think I might make you happy too. We're... You were right about a lot. The stars and all. Despite everything, I think we were supposed to find each other and it feels good. I want to be yours-"

Billy tilted Evie's chin up. Hushed the truths with his lips. Nuzzled her so she'd relax back into him. He couldn't reply. The syllables wrapped around his throat and choked him. And Evie trusted him. So, she didn't ask for them. That made it ache more.

Placing her head upon his chest when they shifted again. Billy went very still. Stared at the ceiling and wiped his eyes as she dozed. Fingers combed into her hair to coax her off to an easier slumber.

Billy just laid there. Felt numb. Felt too much. Couldn’t look down at Evie nestled into his body.

He stayed there two hours. So still. So lost. So found.

These sensations that tried to drown him. They were creeping like dark gossamer veils over his eyes. Unable to be near Evie, he eased out from under her. Rubbed his eyes. Felt like she seared his skin down to bone and marrow.

He knew it was wrong. Knew it might hurt her. Would hurt her.

She let him into her heart and he was running. Eros fleeing Psyche the moment she held that candle to his being and saw him for what he was. One speck of wax dripping hot upon his flesh. Blinded by that light, he probably didn't see her crying there after him. Selfish boy.

Billy thought he would be sick. Tremored there. He just couldn't stop it. Couldn't explain it either.

And he just couldn’t be near her anymore. Fuck.

But, he promised. He promised her. He wanted to keep it and instead scrambled to dress. Empty eyes still staring at nothing. Billy finally peered back. Scanned Evie comfortable on the bed. He could have gotten back in. Woken her and told her that he wanted to be all hers too.

“I’m sorry.” He whimpered.

It hurt. It hurt too much. Billy actually had to rub his chest. Tried to numb. Tried. All this time they spent together and now he just couldn’t be near her. She broke him. Billy felt himself climbing too high. Up toward the stars. Falling to pieces.

Aimless steps brought him outside. Into the freezing cold. Away from Evie’s touch and amber perfume. Away from this girl who gave him exactly what he wanted and it was just too much. He couldn’t hold it. Didn’t want to see it shatter before him.

So, Billy got into his Camaro and drove off. Far away as he could to the edge of Lover’s Lake. Up a hill so he could see the quiet city before him. Evie would wake up. Feel the change that he promised he wouldn’t give her.

Fuck.

“Fuck!” Billy crumbled aloud. One fist pushed into his teeth. Quivering until the tears fell hot. Huge and wet down his flushed cheeks. Unable to stop the flow, Billy dropped his head. Began to sob louder than he ever had in his life.

Because this would break her in turn. Validate everything horrid she thought about Billy Hargrove. Because he should have stayed in that bed mapping more kisses down her spine. Instead, he convinced himself that they weren't made of the same stardust. They couldn't be.

Evie's heart-shaped shadow box was hung too far from reach amid untold galaxies and when Billy rose to admire it, his wings melted like Icarus before him because that's what he deserved. That was always what he knew he deserved.

All he could think about was his mother in that tub. Neil's boot squelching his back and the meaty wack of a belt. It wasn't possible for him to be something that could be tangible and loved. Evie had been right. Stars were placed in a certain order and that couldn't change. He'd been stupid. Hopeful.

He was the coward. This got too real and he couldn't just let himself have it.

And what made it heavier was the pure thought of Evie waking alone to confirm her biggest fear.

"I'm sorry." Billy kept chanting these words that were so often too difficult for him. They wouldn't stop this time. "I'm sorry..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Local boy crushed under the weight of his own emotions. Eeeep, I finally let them do the deed. Someone make them a 'congrats on your sex' cake. Please if you enjoyed leave words below or chat with me in my ask!! Thank you all so much!!

TAGGED:: @80sbxtch @nottherightseason @orxhidshavana @alagalaska @alongcamedolly @kellyk-chan @10blurredsmoke10 @charmed-asylum @unmistakablyunknown @lukespatterson

#billy hargrove #Billy hargrove x oc #Billy Hargrove smut #billy hargrove fanfiction #Billy hargrove x plus size oc #mine #SOMY #writing #Billy x Angel #Angel Fenny

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nabrizoya · 5 years ago

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This was the original reply/draft to prompt sent by @zvko way back in may (ily bro). this draft didn’t seem to suit well for the prompt, i thought. now though, i’ll let you decide. partly-edited. or just plain unedited lol.

54: One reaching for the others hand to comfort them, to provide support. A thumb brushing lightly against skin. + Jesse and Lucie.

Lucie was aware of the Tower bell chiming at midnight as she stared steadfastly at the barren windowsill. She preened her ears to hear the ghost of his laughter, all to no avail. The night looked unfazed by the atrocities her mind imposed on her. She sighed, restless and wide awake in her bed, and continued to stare at the ceiling.

She missed him. She craned her neck to the windowsill yet again and closed her eyes, thinking about the nights they had spent awake, talking and laughing until dawn drew them apart. She remembered the games of chess they played, the way he gestured for the pieces for her to move and would win. She reminisced the nights they had spent outside, in the rain and fog and snow, venturing on midnight voyages. And her stealthy pursuits for books on necromancy right under his nose and getting away with her plans? Successful.

She missed him. Terribly.

It had only been a few weeks that they had been apart. Jesse was back to life, still sick and weak and mentally worse than he was before. She didn’t have to see him to know how his nightmares plagued him- they haunted her too. They were fantastical in their graphics, elaborate and daunting. She could project her torment into her writings, her own sense of twisted terror and trepidation. She wondered what Poe’s thoughts would be if he ever read her works; would he be just as fascinated, terrorized and amazed as she was when she read his works?

Lucie couldn’t bear it any longer. She pushed the duvet off her and sat up. The windows were empty of his presence and the clouds behind them carried their gossips, barely sparing a glance at her as she changed into her gear. She fastened a rope and a grappling hook around her waist and drew the cloak around her. Then marched noiselessly into the night towards Gideon Lightwood’s house.

Once she reached the premises, she observed the windows were barely lit and darkness spilled through most of them. Lucie wondered which of them led to Jesse’s room. She was conscious of the panic that began to bubble within her. Jesse wasn’t a ghost anymore; he was human and breathing. She could not risk being found, especially not after what had happened to Eugenia and how Daisy had handled hers. She wasn’t panicking at getting caught; she couldn’t fathom what excuse she could provide for her unannounced arrival.

Jesse was sent to Basilias for three weeks following the utter destruction that Belial had ensued. Lucie had heard, er, eavesdropped on her parents and collected that Jesse Blackthorn was back in London only that evening and that Gideon had proposed to take him under his care for the while.

And there she was, under the window from which the barest of candlelight was spilling through, hoping it was Jesse’s room. She threw the hook and fixed it around the metal that held the pipelines in place and climbed. And to her utter horror, in the littlest of light, she could see the figures of two people entwined in a rather intimate embrace, their faces barely visible.

Lucie was never the best to reciprocate shock; her hands let go of the rope of their own accord, and she gasped as she fell backwards. She held onto the rope as quickly as she let go, but chafed her palms throughout her futile attempt at a safe landing. She tumbled to the ground with a thump and bit down her lip to prevent the scream that was beginning to erupt.

She whimpered as she sat up and looked at her hands, scratched and slightly bloodied. She tried to fish for her stele but could hear the sound of window panes opening. Lucie struggled to free the hook and it came off in an instant, much to her surprise. She covered herself just as Thomas’ voice floated with confusion in the air. “’Think that was a burglar?”

“No,” the other voice said. “I should think not.” Lucie smiled despite the raging pain in her limbs. She could see Alastair help Thomas secure the window and disappear behind them. The iratze was quick to draw; the pain vanished as swiftly as it had come, her hands looking as good as they ever were. She looked at the windows in desperation, her momentary sense of joy now gone. Where was Jesse Blackthorn?

She critically examined the windows. Jesse liked keeping his windows open; his room in Chiswick -when she had spied for necromantic books, a perfectly reasonable adventure- had revealed as much. There used to be plants around the sill and the room usually overlooked a scenic sight ‘ten times worth the painter’s imagination’, as Jesse had once claimed. She trudged through the backyard towards the other end of the house and looked for the one set of windows that would set her heart in a frenzy.

Lo and behold, there it was: two sets of them open as curtains balled close by one set of windows. She watched the cherry blossom sway its flowers to sleep, the wind mumbling a mellow lullaby to it. Her heart lurched; she was so close to him. She drew another rune of stealth at her throat and fastened the hook. She climbed up the rope nervously.

When she reached the window, she tapped at the pane and fixed her foot on the metal around the pipe. Jesse was next to the window in no time. It was a blurry few moments until he reeled back in shock and then come to his senses. Jesse guided her in gently, though Lucie knew better; the moment was gone before she knew, replaced by Jesse’s anger. With Jesse promptly reprimanding her for her impetuousness.

“You can’t possibly be here-” he thundered. But Lucie paid him no heed. She was smiling, her attention wholly captured by the beauty of him. He looked healthier than he was when he had left London. His face was less pale, though there were shadows under his eyes. He wasn’t as thin; there was flesh to him when she touched his shoulder in a daze. His words ceased when she held his scarred hand, in awe with the utter humanness of him. He didn’t look strong, not as strong in the sense of shadowhunters, but at least as strong as any human could be. He had been sick for his entire life, and then dead, but he was better in just three weeks and he would be better even more. Lucie was proud of him.

She stepped back, still lost and removed her hand from his. But he reached forward and held hers, tightening both his hands around hers and holding them close to his heart. “You could be ruined, Lucie. Why are you here?” he asked her softly.

She shook her head. “You look all right,” she said. “But I know you are not.”

He dropped his gaze to the floor just as he let her palm loose. Lucie only stepped closer to him and wrapped her arms around his neck comfortingly. She hugged him tight and heard his heart hammer, feeling the joy of his life tear at her heart. Jesse froze for a moment before he wrapped her in his embrace, burying his head in the nook of her shoulder. She stroked his hair, knowing the glint of sadness in his eyes very well. “I’ve missed you, Jesse,” she mumbled. “How are you?”

Jesse said nothing. They stayed in the embrace for Angel knows how long. Neither of them dreamed of pulling away. The breeze from his open windows swayed them in their song, whistling through the curtains and swooshing them out and away. The two of them were knit into one another, their embraces tight and safe and reassuring. As slow as the night, Lucie’s shoulder grew wet with Jesse’s tears, his shoulders shaking with the pent up agony and pain he bore voicelessly for so long. Lucie felt the overwhelming need to shut the windows and keep him close, cut him away and protect him from every thorn that would dare to come closer. His knees buckled away and he pulled her to the ground; Lucie didn’t mind the pain. She held him in silence, and when his sobs grew louder, she murmured gentle reassurances to him. She held him for hours, suddenly remembering the time Cordelia had held her for hours, preventing her from falling off the cliff. The urge to protect someone so fiercely could never be cultivated. It just came without a question and you protected them without a doubt. She patted his back, the young traces of his muscles reassuring her about his onward health. She cursed the universe for damning him for the sins of his parents.

At some point, she found herself murmuring a lullaby into his hair. Her eyes were thick with tears she hadn't shed when she’d heard that Jesse was gone without a goodbye. Four weeks, the first one having been taken away for questioning by the Clave and the rest at his stay in Alicante. She blubbered, her own sobs mixing with his as she thought of all the people she had lost, of the sacrifices Jesse had made and the pain he had endured. She cried of her mother’s and her brother’s agony when they were tortured by Belial. Of the people who had died and the chaos that each one of her friends had borne, of heartbreak and crumpled wishes. Jesse swayed her this time, letting her cry and complain on his shoulder.

The two of them were a mess. But they were there for each other.

When their sobs stopped, they still held one another. Lucie clutched at him for dear life and Jesse caressed her now unbound hair. “Don’t leave,” she mumbled as she pulled back, wiping the tears on his cheekbones. She sat up on her knees, pulling him closer, and pressed her lips to his burning forehead. Jesse tightened his arms around her waist and held her tight. “You are all right. And you will be all right,” she whispered and drew back, staring down into his eyes that were so open and vulnerable. Jesse reached for her hand in his and linked their fingers together, his fingers caressing the scars on her hand. Their gazes never left one another’s. They stared and stared until the moon shied away from the fierceness in their eyes. Their promise on the light with which they loved each other.

“I won’t,” Jesse promised. He kissed the back of her hand.

Yeah, um. Dunno why the world had to read this, but this was The (TM) first ever time I wrote after a really long time. Kinda like how this one turned out, the direction it took, though er, the writing...; thanks for reading, either way!

#meh #good idea or not?#idek lol #jesse blackthorn #lucie herondale #the last hours #tlh #mine*

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scottymcgeesterwrites · 4 years ago

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Final Fantasy X Review

Year: 2001

Original Platform: PlayStation 2

Also available on: PS3 and PS4 (HD Remaster)

Version I Played: PlayStation 2

Synopsis:

Tidus is a renown blitzball player in the city of Zanarkand. One day, his mysterious buddy Auron whisks him away to the land of Spira after a massive entity known as Sin attacks Zanarkand. Tidus ventures into Spira, a strange world lacking in advanced technology. There, he finds many uncomfortable truths after joining a pilgrimage with the summoner Yuna.

Gameplay:

I will preface this by saying that this was my very first Final Fantasy game way back when I was like 13. I wasn’t keen on handling RPGs yet so it took me ages to finish. The result was me falling in love with everything about it. Final Fantasy X is the last main Final Fantasy game to feature turn-based combat. One of the coolest features of the battle system in this game is being able to switch characters in the middle of a battle. I missed that afterwards. When I played more Final Fantasy games after this, I kept thinking instinctively that you could switch characters in the middle of battle.

Leveling up is conventional but also introduces a Sphere Grid. You gain Ability Points to progress through a grid where each sphere unlocks a special ability or a higher stat. You can pick different paths along the grids and, typically, by the end of the game you are crossing over other character's grids.

The only truly annoying aspect of playing the game was the sphere puzzles in the temples. Every so often you have to enter a temple and solve a puzzle by placing spheres in the right places. It was so mind-numbing and the irritating music really didn't help either.

Because of how the story is told, the game is much more linear than its predecessors. The bulk of the game is spent journeying on foot across Spira. But don’t worry – there are plenty of secrets and extras to unfold – PLENTY. You eventually get an airship, but instead of flying around a world map you simply pick a destination on a map and you’re there. It sounds lame but the world is already so massive and detailed that Square probably couldn’t fit the graphics of flying around a world map.

Graphics:

The cinematics blew everyone away – because for the first time we have VOICE ACTING! JUST LIKE WATCHING A MOVIE! The voice acting worked really well in this game. It was only ever awkward when Tidus was being, uh, really annoying.

Exhibit A:

youtube

The in-game cutscenes can also be a bit stiff.

Story:

Final Fantasy X was my very first Final Fantasy game – as such, I could be biased in how I feel about it. Or maybe not. I’ve grown to be enough of a dick to crush my own dreams.

The story is completely different than the rest of the series. Completely different. While the rest of the series likes to make references to Western mythology and atmosphere (medieval and industrial settings), Final Fantasy X actually has an East Asian setting. There are no knights in armor or empires fighting rebels or even technological powers like Shinra. There are no witches or wizards. The story and references are quite esoteric, more mysterious and conceptual.

The narrative is radically different from the entire series. For the first and only time (so far), the main character narrates the unfolding events to the audience. After getting sucked out of his homeworld of Zanarkand, Tidus gets caught up in a pilgrimage to defeat Sin. Sin is a massive creature that returns every so often to punish the world for its dependence on technology. (So Sin is basically a kaiju.) A summoner with his or her friends go on a quest to defeat Sin, and the Calm returns for some time until Sin returns.

Spira is probably my favorite Final Fantasy world. It’s beautiful and haunting at the same, sad and bright. You can tell that there was once a great cataclysm but the long years have overridden the past. The rules of the world are so unique. Monsters are explained as the ghosts of people who have not passed on. A summoner this time not only summons great beings (called aeons) but also “sends” the dead away so they can find the Farplane, essentially Heaven. Like I said before, the concepts of Spira are very esoteric and East Asian. While Final Fantasy X does derive influences from Christian concepts (i.e. pilgrimage, priests, doctrines), it just as much references many Japanese and Buddhist concepts (rebirth, wandering souls, sacred temples). Overall, Final Fantasy X’s story is the most religious and spiritual in the entire series.

It’s relatively rare for a JRPG to take on an entire fictional world with a visual design referencing Asian settings. Usually, Final Fantasy and other JRPGs are more obsessed with Western settings (i.e. medieval towns). Spira is ripe with influences from island nations and places like Thailand and Bali.

The major plot twist require you to wrap your head around a bit, but surprisingly nothing is truly complicated. For the most part, you follow the story through the pilgrimage, learn some backstory stuff, and then face the end.

There are several “main” villains. For argument’s sake, and for the sake of not ruining any spoilers, let’s go with Seymour. Seymour is a recurring villain who again ups the ante on the bishonen trend. He’s also the biggest pain in the ass out of any Final Fantasy game. Ask anyone who has played this game and they will get Vietnam flashbacks of fighting Seymour. The bastard keeps popping up every so often to hinder the party’s progress. Seymour may look strange, but don’t let that fool you. He is also seriously one of the most fucked up villains in the entire series.

Tidus is unique in that he is an outsider viewing the story. He tags along and has his own story arc to deal with. Tidus’s story is one of the most personal and relatable. It’s so unique to play as a character who is not a conventional fantasy hero like a thief or a mage or a knight, but a sports celebrity with daddy issues.It’s also unique in that Tidus isn’t even the central character – Yuna is. Yuna is the summoner on a pilgrimage to defeat Sin. Even so, Tidus still plays an important role by falling in love with Yuna, influencing her goals on the pilgrimage.

In retrospect, Final Fantasy IX appears to be a prototype to Final Fantasy X. Tidus is a version of Zidane, except, unfortunately, a bit more annoying when he tries to woo Yuna. Zidane and Garnet’s relationship mirrors Tidus and Yuna’s; both involve an upbeat male trying to woo a reserved, quiet female. Tidus is the temptation to Yuna’s repressed Catholic schoolgirl personality, advising her to loosen up. The existential crisis that Tidus faces is also similar to Zidane’s.

All that being said, Final Fantasy X is my personal favorite in the entire series. It has its flaws, and yes, it’s a sappy romance. But I love it. I fucking love it. I LOVE IT ALL. I love the world. I love the plot. I love the music. I love all the characters. Auron is so fucking cool. Just look at how cool this guy is.

And that ending. Oh man. I really don’t want to spoil anything but at the same time. UNGH. This game. It is poetry. Everybody is a real gangsta until they watch what happens at the end.

Final Fantasy X is probably the most unique out of all the Final Fantasy games. Different didn’t pan out well for Final Fantasy VIII. But for Final Fantasy X – different was good, really good.

Music:

Final Fantasy X does a few things radically different from its predecessors. For one, the series’ main theme isn’t featured. That may sound like blasphemy to some. In retrospect, it might have been a good move because frankly I can’t see the main theme being played anywhere in a story like this. The “Prelude” theme is only briefly featured in an opening menu, but this time it’s given a sick beat that makes you want to dance a little jig.

Alas, Nobuo Uematsu begins to detach himself from full reign of the soundtrack. Two other composers, Masashi Hamauzu and Junya Nakano, also co-wrote a bulk of the soundtrack. While Uematsu composed the main themes of the game, Hamauzu and Nakano composed many of the other tracks. While not everything they did was so different from Uematsu, there are a couple tracks, namely “Assault”, which is distinctly unlike something Uematsu would ever compose. I don’t say this in a bad way at all. The score is still golden. But after Final Fantasy X we see Uematsu depart, and Final Fantasy music starts diving fresh into the unknown.

The pop song for this score is “Suteki da ne”. It’s pretty good although I prefer “Eyes on Me” and “Melodies of Life”.

The HD Remaster soundtrack seems to skewer the original sound of the music. I’ve listened to it and was very displeased by what they did to “Assault”, which was one of my favorite pieces. The original soundtrack has more umph, more pomp and circumstance.

Meanwhile, “Otheworld” is a metal song – a first for the series. It plays in the opening when Tidus plays blitzball, and in one of the final battles. “Otherworld” is frequently misattributed to Rammstein, especially back in the days of Limewire. They had nothing to do with it. Uematsu composed “Otherworld”, and Bill Muir, a lead singer from the metal band xtillidiex, sang it.

Uematsu’s fully orchestrated work on the ending scene is masterful. The emotion behind it brings tears to my eye. It wrecks you, man. It pulls those heartstrings and doesn’t let go. It hurts so good to listen to it and remember how the story ends. It is the most emotional track for the most emotional Final Fantasy ending. It is here where you realize that Nobuo Uematsu could really be a movie soundtrack composer. His craft came full circle here.

Notable Theme:

“To Zanarkand” – the main theme of Final Fantasy X. Beautiful, gentle, and solemn.

youtube

Verdict:

Final Fantasy X is my personal favorite. Final Fantasy VI can objectively be called the best, but I have a soft spot for Final Fantasy X. I admire its unique story and its world. It can be campy and corny at times but I love it overall. Objectively, it’s still of a higher caliber in the series.

Direct Sequel?

Yes. Final Fantasy X-2, or also known as Final Fantasy X-2: For Fangirls Who Couldn’t Handle the Ending to X.

I kid. That was harsh.

But I mean. . .

They gave this Charlie’s Angels vibe with Yuna, Rikku and this new girl Payne.

And like I guess it’s cool but like the tone is soooo campy.

And then they sing and it’s like J-Pop and . . .

Yeah.

This was the sequel.

This was the first Final Fantasy sequel ever made.

And it was. Uh. It was something.

At the time, I could only play about a quarter of the way through before feeling wrong about it. Many critics would agree that it robs the dignity of the original game. I do want to actually try playing it again. I might come into it with a new mind. But. Still. I prefer they leave the original ending untouched.

#final fantasy #final fantasy x #final fantasy x-2 #yuna #tidus #final fantasy tidus #tidus x yuna #square enix #fantasy rpg #jrpg #video games #onvideogames

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korkrunchcereal · 4 years ago

Text

Lohn’goron

Death has been broken

In the struggles of the self

To fight is to live

Once more Gargaron Khral found himself upon his familiar rise over the Barrens. So often he had sat upon its crest that the dry grass and crumbling dirt had become indented, his meditation imprinted upon the land he called home. A welcome breeze helped to cool his skin from the unrelenting warmth of the sun, and the soft cry of a bird sounded in the distance.

Beyond the hills of the Barrens, the peaks of Stonetalon Mountain were visible, jutting forth from the earth like gnarled and mangled fangs. From up high Gargaron watched the land, curiosity glimmering from his eyes. A pack of zhevra that so far below were but splotches of black and white grazed with little fear, for instinct and familiarity had made the grasslands comfortable. They thought themselves safe. From above, Gargaron knew otherwise.

He saw metal catching the sun’s rays, the reflection gleaming across sharpened steel and into his eyes. Gargaron blinked, shaking his head to clear his vision. Another orc stalked the zhevra, a spear in hand. The wind blew against the hunter, masking their scent from the herd. Each step closer seemed like hours upon the sun’s fall, Gargaron’s muscles strangely tense with the anticipation of the hunt; of the kill to come.

“He will not kill them, you know.” A woman’s voice called behind Gargaron, familiar enough to draw his attention away. He craned his neck, looking upon an orc woman. He had seen her before, and his brows furrowed in annoyance.

“You.” It was neither name or title for Gargaron did not know them, and so it would serve as both greeting and warning.

“Khral.” She answered, giving a short nod of her head.

“Why are you here? Come to trick me again?” He turned to look back down upon the hunt, puzzled that he could not find either hunter or zhevra that had been there moments before.

“Trick? You are mistaken, warlord.”

“I told you, I am no longer warlord!” He snapped his teeth in irritation, waving his hand dismissively. Some time ago the woman had sought Gargaron’s help to investigate the ruins of a Kor’kron barracks. Instead he had found the one-time Warlord Skullcrusha, rotting away in his shell of hatred. The two had argued, leaving Gargaron brewing with resentment of both Skullcrusha and himself. When he had left the barracks the woman was nowhere to be found.

“So you have proclaimed. Thrice now.” The woman moved to sit beside Gargaron, seemingly oblivious to his simmering rage…or simply ignoring it. The grass did not stir at her approach nor as she sat. “As I was saying, I did not trick you.”

“You led me to him.”

“Yes.”

“You knew he was there, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” She repeated, her eyes watching something in the grass below that Gargaron could not find.

“Why?”

“To begin your journey.”

“Journey?” Gargaron turned to look at her in confusion, blinking in shock when he saw she was gone. He shot up to his feet, eyes narrowing as he looked around. Already the sun had dropped low, being caught upon the teeth of Stonetalon. His nose twitched, the scent of something sweet filling his senses.

“Yes, journey. You have languished too long in this place; your spirit atrophies from your doubts. Your fears. Your nightmares.”

“Bah!” Gargaron whirled around, trying to find the woman. The cliff he had been standing on shrunk, as did the northern mountains. His toes curled in grass wet with dew, and he looked to find he no longer stood in the Barrens. Confusion and doubt filled his senses, and he reached instinctively for a weapon that had long been buried.

“hmm.” The short sound was laced in amusement. “This is where your doubts began…do you remember this place?”

“I…” Gargaron’s hands clenched, the orc eyeing the surrounding landscape. He had been here before, though not as it became. “Nagrand. This is Draenor.”

“Yes. The false world made reality. The wrongness here…it weeps like an open wound. But what did you find here, Gargaron Khral?”

“Disappointment.” Was his answer. “Disappointment…and failure.” The orc collapsed into the grass, feeling a great weight pull him down. A part of him was distrustful at what he said, for he spoke freely of his burdens to an unfamiliar entity. Yet it felt right, a feeling he barely remembered.

“Yes. The chains of your doubt hold you here, in this memory.” Thick fingers pressed against his back, kneading into the taunt muscles and causing him to tense. “It’s alright. Relax…”. He groaned, instinctively leaning back into the touch. He felt her face and two small tusks press against the back of his neck, their tips piercing skin and drawing blood. his eyes glancing out of the corner to see curls of red hair fall across his shoulder.

“I-“

“Shhh…” the voice interrupted, a soft whisper against his ear. “Her hair is like a bellowing fire, and her skin like the deepest ocean. She is wild, her passion dancing like a roaring flame. A promise, made under foreign moons. A regret, carried until the end of the world.”

“The weight of it all; leadership, the Horde…it was too much. I let her go so that I could focus on survival, on the Kor’kron and…” he sighed, disappointment lacing his words. “And I still believe I made the wrong choice.”

“She is not your only failure on this world though, is she? Look, Gargaron.”

Gargaron looked and felt a surge of panic fill his being, nearly causing him to flee. Two orcs charged at one another, weapons drawn and war cries loosened. One wore plates of blackened steel forged with the crude blows of a tyrant’s will. The other wore plates of crimson to match the figure’s hair, with a face so much like Gargaron’s own. Younger, but the weight of sin had begun to etch itself into his features. Gargaron watched his doppelganger strike down the black plated warrior, before falling to its knees.

“How many orcs did you kill?”

“I don’t know. A hundred? A thousand? More than I ever wished.”

“Yes…the sins of your people are marked upon every inch of your body. You had heard of the orcs; how their proud legacy had been twisted by ambition and cruelty. The great lie of nobility. Then you learned the truth, didn’t you?”

“The orcs,” Gargaron began, trying to find the words. “They…we are a violent race of monsters. I had been naïve enough to believe the stories. To believe our history was one of survival, and strength born of noble purpose. I believed…” he paused, letting his head fall into one of his hands with eyes closed. “I believed we were better than what we became…could be better.”

“But you feel that is mistaken?”

“I know it is!” He barked, raising his head once more to look upon his reflection. He had known then the great lie or had at least begun to suspect it. “All it took was a tyrant’s words to sway my people! An orc, who had no gift for speechcraft convinced an entire race to commit wanton violence and horrendous atrocities and for what purpose? What grand and ‘noble purpose’ was there?! We are a race drowning in the sea of our own bloodlust! In a thousand years…no a hundred years what will remain of the orcs? There will be no great ruins of our civilization or recording of our culture. All we will leave is the scars we have placed upon the universe.”

He received no response, feeling the soothing touch upon his back fade. Something harsh drags across his muscles now, and he winces in pain. He stands, finding himself upon the shores of a shattered island. There are bodies everywhere, both Horde and Alliance and the acrid stench of sulphur and blood overwhelms him. He turns, vomiting into the sand. His eyes water, breaths laborious as he recovers.

“This is where the Horde died…and in many ways you did as well, Gargaron.” Gargaron wearily glanced around to find the voice, before looking down. The woman lay in the sand before him, several purple fletched arrows buried in her chest and neck. They were not of Alliance make, for their barbed tips betrayed their owner.

“The dead; they’re up to my knees here.” Gargaron stated, spitting out the after taste of his vomit in disgust. “Look at them left to die! Sylvanas did not care! The horde did not care!”

“But you did. The chains of Draenor bound you, slowed you but did not keep you. You fought still.”

“Of course I fought!” he took a step forward, the bodies of man, orc and elf replaced with that of demons. There is no island here. There is but a dead world, twisted by foul purpose. Something charges at Gargaron, and he instinctively swings up. His sword makes contact and-

-his sword. The weight is almost unfamiliar in his hands. The Sword of Khral, both Gargaron’s namesake and the lineage he aspired to. The blade, so sharp as to sever muscle, sinew, and bone as if hot butter sliced through his attacker with ease.

“Yes. You fought…and fought. And fought. And fought for that was the law of Argus.” Argus. A name Gargaron had learned to hate and fear in equal measure. “And how long did you fight?”

“I do not know.” He answered. He spoke the truth; the Twisting Nether was a strange realm of chaos and entropy, and Argus sat within its churning madness. For all Gargaron knew he had fought for countless millennia, in a never-ending tide of slaughter and carnage. The demon’s had given him a name, spoken in hushed whispers among their misbegotten kind. He was ruin, an omen of catastrophe given rage at the end of a blood slick sword.

Even now, Gargaron felt sick from it all.

“It fills you with disgust. I can feel it. Why?”

“It reminds me that despite all my best efforts…despite everything I have done to be more than my bloody heritage, that I will always be slave to my base nature. How can I strive to show my people are more than our weapons and our hatred, when I succumb to the same mindless bloodlust. And..and it reminds me of him.” A nameless title for a beast given the mockery of orcish form.

““Skullcrusha.”

“Yes. Is that to be the eventual fate of our people? Monsters driven by bestial wrath, with reason replaced by animalistic fury?” Each word spoken gave form to the nightmare, the tyrant he had dreamed so often of now stood before Gargaron. He was goliath in size, looming over Gargaron and casting his dark shadow.

“You fear him because you fear this is what you may become. Take a look upon him Gargaron…you may find pity.”

“Pity!?” Gargaron guffawed, waving his hand in outrage. “Pity for this monster?! I-“ he paused, seeing the bands around Skullcrusha. He saw the chains, clasped around wrist, ankle and throat. He saw the strings, tugging at arms and legs like a puppeteer.

“Pity, because he has never known freedom. In all the long years he has existed, he has been slave to another. His purpose in life is only to serve…and I find that quite sad. But it is not the only legacy you loath, is it?” Her words faded in the wind as did Argus, bringing now the stench of burning meat and ash, and he finds his eyes begin to sting as smoke swirls around him. He coughs, his lungs filled with the acrid taste of a roaring fire. He flicks his hand, trying in vain to wave away the smoke.

The wasteland had disappeared, and in its stead was water. A vast ocean lay before him, yet that paled in comparison to the monolithic tree that was Darnassus…and Darnassus was burning. Gargaron had not watched its fall, though heard from his infrequent visits to civilization. There was only one word for the destruction of the Kal’dorei home. Genocide. By the ancestors, he could hear them scream. Gargaron fell to his knees, covering his ears in vain. He glanced up, seeing the orc woman staring at him with curiosity.

“Gah! Make it stop! Their screams are deafening!”

“This is where you died, Gargaron. Though you did not step foot upon the coast of Darkshore, nor witness Darnassus’ fall this is where Gargaron Khral was buried. Why?”

“Why!?” Gargaron roared in anger, waving his hands to the destruction. “Look at it! This is all the Horde has ever been! One bloody massacre after another.” As he raged, Darnassus began to fade, the titanic tree twisting and turning until wood became stone, and branches became walls. Yet still it burned, and upon banners blue and lions gold the fire still raged.

“Mmm…You were a child for this, weren’t you? Too young to remember…but you cannot forget the bright roar of the flames, so blinding for your small eyes or the screams of murder so loud that you cried.”

“The echoes of our history.” Gargaron muttered, finally pulling himself to his feet to watch the city’s destruction. “This is all the orcs are…all the Horde is.” His voice is soft, defeated and he feels tears welling up. “This is all I am.”

“No.” A single word, the conviction of it shaking Gargaron. He turns to look at her, confusion evident on his face.

“No? All I have seen is that I am doomed to failure; that my people are and will always be nothing more than monsters and the Horde little more than the prop of a mad warchief desperate for power. That I…” he paused for a moment, collecting himself. “That I am nothing more than a fool pretending to be a noble warrior.”

“No.” She repeated. “You shoulder the burden of a people, and expect not to collapse beneath its weight?” A barking laughter was given as answer to her own question. “No one is that strong Gargaron. Not even you.”

“Then what am I?”

“A warrior. A blademaster. A warlord…A Khral. You are all of these things and so much more, Gargaron. Come, look once more upon your nightmare.” She waved a hand to her left, Gargaron’s gaze following the motion to once more stare at Skullcrusha, still enchained and enthralled. “Did you know he was once a pale orc?” She smiled at the look of shock Gargaron gave her. “Yes, those wretched things you met on Draenor. His mind was already plaything to darker powers…It was only natural the leash was passed from one tyrant’s hands to another. But not you, Gargaron. Though you were raised in the Internment Camps, you have known real freedom. Love. Passion. Family. Yes, even disappointment, defeat, and sorrow. You have felt life in all its purest forms.”

“Defeat…is life?”

“Of course. How can we grow stronger if we are not challenged…if we are not defeated? How can we be more than what we are if we do not fail?” She paused for a moment, before sighing. “You will always carry the burden of your people. Of your legacy. That cannot be changed, and for that I hope you can forgive yourself…and me.”

Gargaron turned to face her, only to find himself once more upon his cliff overlooking the Barrens, the mountains of Stonetalon catching the sun’s light far to the north. He blinked, looking around in confusion before shaking his head. Idly he scratched his beard, looking down over the cliff side. He felt hands upon his shoulders once more, though did not tense up this time. His eyes closed, and he saw the ocean’s skin and hair of fire.

“You have fought to erase your failure’s for so long, Gargaron. You have fought for Warchiefs, Warlords and conquerors…it’s time to fight for something else.”

“What is there to fight for?” He asked aloud. Her image faded, replaced with that of Garrosh. A single word entered his mind. Power. Another image, that of Skullcrusha and another word. Servitude. Third came an image of Varok Saurfang, an orc Gargaron had not thought of for some time though learned had recently passed. To die.

“Indeed, what is there to fight for? Why do we fight?”

“You sound like one of the Pandaren…” Gargaron muttered.

“There is wisdom in the question. Why do we fight, Gargaron? Sometimes, the answer is simply because we must. Because to not fight is to allow darkness to take hold; to allow tyrants and monsters a foot in the door. Sometimes we must fight to live.” It was not images or words that filled him then, but passions. He felt the warmth of a campfire and of a woman’s touch. He felt the heartbeat of a wolf, pounding against his skin. He felt joy and wonder and…and…

And life.

He felt it all for but a moment, before it was carried away by a chill wind. Gargaron’s eyes opened as he realized he was now alone. He looked down upon dead grass and barren soil. It was dark now, and cold as if it was to rain but there was no cloud in sight. He felt uneasy, realizing then he could not hear a single sound. He was not deaf, but rather there simply was no life anywhere. Not the sound of animals, nor the howl of the wind.

“A darkness is coming, Gargaron.” Her voice echoed in his mind, booming like thunder in the silence. “To the far north upon frozen shores, the veil has been breached. Fight to stop it. Fight for the right to live. Fight, because if you do not then all of creation is at risk. Close your eyes Gargaron…and awaken.”

Gargaron shot up from his bed, sweat pouring off of his brow. He looked around, wide eyed. The fire in his home had long since turned to embers, and from what he could see beneath the flap of his hut it was nearing sunset. He groaned, pushing himself up to sit on the bed’s edge. How long had he been asleep, and had he been dreaming? He must have been, though it did little to ease his unrest. Absentmindedly he rubbed the back of his neck, pausing as he felt something wet. Slowly he brought his hand forward and even in the dim light he could see fresh blood.

“What the…” his eyes went wide, remembering his dream. Outside he heard his wolf howl, giving a long mournful wail. “Rosha!” he shouted for her, already pulling himself out of the bed. Her cry sent a chill running up his spine and as he pulled away the hut’s flap he gasped. Dark clouds were approaching from the Stonetalon mountains, so vast as to swallow both the sun and sky.

His wolf stepped beside him, whining as she nuzzled his leg. Gargaron glanced down and knelt, hands gently playing at her mane. “Something is wrong girl. I know you can feel it. I can too.” He looked back to the rapidly approaching clouds, feeling uneasy. A cold wind blew across his chest, causing him to shiver.

“The veil has been breached…” he muttered, repeating the words in his dream. “An ill omen from the same mysterious woman met with a sky that flees the northern winds...Perhaps...” He stood up, sighing. He had fled from this moment for too long now. He turned around, moving back into the hut to kneel in front of the fire. Rosha quietly approached beside him, sitting to watch. His hands dug through the embers, causing him to wince in pain. He continued to dig through the ashes and into the ground, pulling out handfuls of dirt. “Well?! Help me out!” Rosha yapped, before digging her paws beside him.

They dug for several minutes, the floor slowly crumbling away until he was near a foot below. The dirt gave way to a steel box, and Gargaron brushed at it. With a grunt he pulled, the length of it as tall as he was. It had been years since he first opened the box, and slowly almost in reverence he unlatched the clasps. The steel creaked with the motion and with a gentle touch he grasped the hilt of his weapon. Orcish runes glowed faintly as he pulled forth his blade, and for a moment the very air stilled as if in tense. The Sword of Khral felt as familiar to him as the last time he carried it, as if an extension of his own arm. It felt good. Right. He had run from his failures; of her, and of his people and the Horde. It was time to stop running.

“I have hidden from my regrets for too long, Rosha. I’ll never be rid of this malaise; of that I am sure of. But…I can fight it. To live. Now come! We leave for Ratchet. With luck we will find passage to Northrend, for that must be where I am called to fight. Ancestors know what evil that wretched place has spawned now.”

#Warcraft #world of warcraft #Skullcrusha writing #gargaron khral

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constancecunningham · 4 years ago

Text

Safe as Houses || Constance & Remmy

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: Gallow’s End Estates

PARTIES: @whatsin-yourhead & @constancecunningham

SUMMARY: Shaken by her actions at the docks, Constance goes for a walk, but she isn’t alone. Remmy makes a proposition.

CONTAINS: Brief references to past abuse.

Remmy had a decision to make.

Life was still moving and they’d been standing still so long. It was time to decide if they were going to keep moving, or if they were going to stay still. Sure, they had forever, but that didn’t mean the people around them did. And forever wasn’t even guaranteed, was it? As long as slayers and hunters existed, nothing was guaranteed. Not that Remmy blamed them, but they had to accept the fact that even if they did nothing wrong, even if they presented no threat, did nothing bad, there would always be people like Alain who would cut them down anyway. Though he had agreed not to go after them until they hurt someone for real again, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t change his mind again. Or that someone else would come along who wasn’t willing to compromise. There were too many variables in forever, that was the one thing Remmy knew was true.

And so, it was with that in mind, that Remmy found themselves strolling through town, coming upon old places that they’d found comfort in in the past. Mooseventure, Al’s, the Commons...and lastly, the Bend. And the awful, dirty, shitty apartments they’d first lived in when moving here. And while the place had been just horrible, they’d met two of their very best friends while living here-- Blanche and Nora. And while Nora was off doing...who knew what, Blanche was still here. Still fighting. And Nora was around, she made sure maintenance came to the house to keep it in working order for the residents that did still live there, even if they were undead. They deserved a nice place, too.

It wasn’t until Remmy got closer to the building that they realized the person they’d seen standing out front wasn’t standing at all-- they were hovering, just above the ground, and Remmy could see straight through them. A ghost. Thoughts of Nadia flooded their head and Remmy hesitated a moment before they realized, again, that they recognized this ghost. She had been the ghost sitting next to Remmy on the bench in the park that day-- the day Morgan had died. This ghost was Constance. Remmy would never forget her face.

They walked up towards her nervously, but kept their demeanour calm. “You’re um...you’re Constance, right?”

Constance had fewer and fewer places left to her where she felt safe. Everywhere she explored, there Morgan was and there her rage blazed, weakening her grasp on her own soul, narrowing her vision to the size of a pinprick. And yet the sun rose and the sun set and she could not sleep. Perhaps, all this considered, returning to the outskirts where she had been born and the woods where she had played alone. Constance glimpsed the gray sunlight cut and scattered like flour through the many branches. She imagined that the sun remembered her, the trees remembered her, and the creatures she cared for and buried and the treasures she was so afraid to lose she buried them too and touched them not at all until they were useless--those must remember her too.

Drifting forwards, she explored further, searching for the way back home. Or what she had called and cursed as home. It had to be right around--

Oh.

Constance was no fool. This world had no love for brittle things like the excuse of a house she had been born in. No markers or ruins signified the life of her or anyone else she had crossed paths with. And yet, there were still ruins before her. Chipped and peeling print, exposed bricks of gray rock, falling shingles, a faint drip of a leak, somewhere. It almost brought a smile to Constance’s face, to know that this world, and this spot, was one still riddled with leeks. Inside people were cold, they cried, they hated, they starved. And most likely, no one would remember them any more than her. How to think of such a miserable life, now rendered into multiples like some catastrophic math riddle. Was it cursed ground? Was it her, or just the twisted bend of this world and the wickedness of the people who moved it?

She heard a voice call her name and turned. She knew the face, but its place didn’t come to her at once. “...Good day,” she said curiously. “You’re solid, real solid. I don’t have many of those that know my name. How are we--” And then it came to her. That day at the beach. Constance stiffened. “If this is another one of Morgan’s blessed stomping grounds, I can take my leave without being threatened,” she said. And she should leave, if this was true. She was so weak, and so angry. She wanted Moran’s death to be something precise, even elegant. She couldn’t manage that if even looking at the woman riled her to snapping light bulbs.

“What? No,” Remmy said, shaking their head. “It’s not-- it’s not. This is uh-- I used to live here.” They motioned to the apartment building down the way, as ragged and decrypt as the houses surrounding it. This had nothing to do with Morgan, and Remmy found it all the more quiet when they realized that, too. They turned to look back at Constance. “Why are you back? You know she-- she wants to hurt you, because of what you did, what you’re...doing.” They weren’t sure what to feel yet, only that they knew they could sense a deep sorrow coming from the specter, and the idea of one of her closest, best friends wanting to harm someone simply to harm them. That wasn’t the person they thought Morgan was, but it terrified them, deep down. And they weren’t sure if it was the thought of her hurting someone or the thought that Remmy hadn’t known her capable that scared them more. “It’s not safe here for you.”

Constance grew more confused. For people who were determined to align themselves with the Bachman family, Morgan’s friends demonstrated a strange amount of concern for her. “I never left,” she said carefully, waiting for the subterfuge to reveal itself. “I saw her bleeding on the street, and there was so much noise I thought even you wouldn’t hear how I screamed with relief. I was sure I had never done anything more perfectly. Did you know that there were only two other casualties? I regret them as sins and doubtless I will be punished eventually, but all those machines, all that glass and noise and screaming, and she was gone by her own doing with only two more people caught in the crossfire.” Constance’s voice softened, wistful. “And I thought, I want to stay to see the moon and the stars and a new sun, in a world with no more survivors of the Bachman line. And I saw it. And then I thought, alright, that must be enough now. Only I didn’t fade. And I think I’ve tried rather hard at it, but no one I ask can tell me the secret, because if they had it, they wouldn’t be here still. But here we are. I can only think that some part of me suspected the truth all along. I did nothing perfect. I only made her into more of a monster.” She went quiet, regarding the strange figure again. “I don’t care about being hurt. And I don’t care about what she wants to do. I want what I asked for.” What was so very hard to understand about that? “Why is this not safe? If you’re not going to beat me with iron or tell her where to find me, why wouldn’t I be safe? Why is it any concern to you in the first place?”

Remmy wasn’t good at this part. There was a struggle going on in their heart and it made them feel sick. Morgan was their best friend, they should be on her side for this-- but Constance was clearly suffering, too, and even if she’d been the one who’d put Morgan’s death into action, did she not deserve a chance at forgiveness as well? If Morgan got that chance, why not her? Simply because she was a ghost? And so young. Younger than Remmy. Younger than Nadia. Remmy wiped at their one exposed eye. “What’d they do to you?” they asked quietly, ignoring everything else for now. “The-- the Bachmans. What made you so...sad?” And they chose the word carefully, pausing for a long moment before saying it, because it was a very particular feeling they heard in her voice. It seemed like such an innocuous word, but Remmy could find no other to describe it. The sound was so familiar, so close to their heart. “It’s not safe because...when people want to hurt you, it doesn’t matter who you are or how you feel, they’ll do it. And it’s just-- it’s just another cycle of violence. Why does everyone wanna hurt each other so much? Why does anger have to be the emotion we respond to? Does anyone really think making someone else hurt fixes anything? Makes anything feel better?” They sniffled again. “It’s my concern because I don’t want to see you hurt. You or Morgan or anyone. I’ve had enough.”

Constance rolled her eyes and turned back to look at the building that had replaced her family’s house. She felt nothing as she drifted through the world, but she could feel the despair coming from this place. “Why do you care?” She huffed. “It was tragical, and foolish, and I lost everything. Even before I cast the spell, I had nothing left but myself. And handkerchiefs worth of objects I had on my person, but those were worthless, too.” A picture. A phony charm. Some cornbread. A flattened penny. The paper she’d used to make her plan with Agnes. A baby’s rattle would have been worth more in comparison. “My father said I was born melancholic. And cruel. He said a great many things, but perhaps he was right about the way I was born. It is difficult to come to an end such as this and feel as though you were not fated to pain from the start. And if you cannot understand a feeling such as mine, if you have never needed to see your pain paid back threefold, if you have never needed to feel a name and a line burnt out by time once and for all, I should think you wouldn’t want to taste it.” But the figure persisted, and Constance wondered if they knew Blanche Harlow as well. “Morgan is my only missing piece,” she said. “And my worst, for of course it should be this way,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “It used to be that you couldn’t walk half a mile without running to a Bachman relative, or Bachman owned land, or a Bachman friend. And now I have one fiend of a woman so small, she’s practically the size of a child. I think I’ve accomplished a great deal. I’ve changed the world. If that was your only wish, and you’d paid for it with your self, wouldn’t you risk paying again to see it done? To be finished, and have your wish come true?”

“I don’t know,” Remmy answered honestly, “I just do. I can’t help it.” And they couldn’t. And the more they thought about it, the more they realized they’d always felt this way. They’d always had a bleeding heart, hadn’t they? Even when they were a child, so angry and lost and scared, all they’d wanted was to help other people. Taking the fall for things that weren’t their fault; letting others use them if only to make themselves feel better; helping others even when they were struggling themself. Remmy had always felt the pain of the world around them and wanted to help-- it had just taken death for them to realize that. Swallowing, they looked square at Constance. “No, I wouldn’t,” they finally said, once Constance was done speaking, and was looking at them for some sort of validation. “But that’s just me.” They knew everyone, everything was different. “Doing that will just turn you cold, you know. I-- I understand how you feel. Maybe not entirely, but I do, on some level. I grew up with nothing. No mom, a deadbeat dad, poor as shit...and queer, to boot. People all told me I was never going to be good for anything. That all I did was bring others pain. I was trouble. I wasn’t worth it.” They swallowed, clearing their throat of the tears that threatened. “But they were wrong. Because...they don’t get to decide who I am and what I’m worth. I get to decide that. And-- it took me a long time to figure that out, but I did. And it’s true for you, too. What do you even gain by killing Morgan? By destroying a family line? Whatever pain they caused you-- it was so long ago. Morgan is so far away from whoever really hurt you, the pain you cause now just starts a new cycle of pain and violence and-- why would you want that? Don’t you want peace? Don’t you want...to be happy?”

The story the figure told was so familiar, Constance couldn’t bring herself to trust it. Perhaps someone had written about her, perhaps her death had meant more than one more miserable, nameless body in the woods. Which was more plausible? That some misguided record and put down the details of her cruel existence, or that this stranger, this person who had screamed and cried over what Constance had done would possibly understand her? “You don’t understand anything about me,” she said stubbornly. She drifted away from the building, away from this...person. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m trying to conserve my energy and be stable! A solid like you wouldn’t understand that either.” She wanted them to go and leave her be. A world that ignored Constance was painful but it was at least familiar. And perhaps if she stomped on her feelings enough she could find the words to explain how hopeless she truly was, and how little she had left beyond her wish. She bound herself to it that night, however many moons ago. Constance wasn’t sure if she would know how to let go until it was finished, even if she was mad enough to ever want to.

“Yeah, I do,” Remmy insisted, following after her. “Life treated you like shit-- you never got anything good and happy. And then when you finally did, it took it from you, right? It tore everything away, including yourself?” They went around her-- remembering how Nadia had said she didn’t like being ignored and walked through-- and stopped in front of her. She could easily phase through them, they supposed, but it was the act that mattered, right? “If you really think you’re the only one that’s ever suffered, you’ve got a big reality check coming, Constance. I died, too, you know,” they said, crossing their arms over their chest. “Alone and afraid and only after watching the rest of my world be destroyed. The only difference is that I woke up solid and you woke up transparent. That doesn’t make you any less of a person, or-or any less worth being given a chance. Maybe-- maybe you’re still here because this is your second chance to do better, to be better. To be...happy. And don’t-- don’t tell me what I do and don’t understand. I understand a lot more than you-- or anyone-- thinks.” And they were tired of everyone thinking they didn’t. They were tired of being pushed aside.

“If only I had truly been here this long,” Constance said bitterly. “If I had really been here this long, I might have finished my curse before your wretched friend was ever born. But when I bargained myself, I went…” Constance didn’t know the words for what had happened to her. There was nothing like it in any scripture she had ever read, Christian, Pagan, or otherwise. “It was like sleep, but it wasn’t. I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know that my house was trampled like it never mattered, or that there were huge petrol beasts coloring the air or that a girl can get made fun of for wearing a dress now, that was a stupendous treat to discover while I was visible. By the heavens, I wish I had really been here for so many years! I would know what to do with this nothing body better!” She was getting upset again. Lights behind her were flickering, screaming strange, buzzing, artificial screams. “I...woke up...in a circle. When she brought me here,” Constance said carefully, voice trembling. “To hurt me. I died and then I...was there, and I had lost even more than I knew how to reckon for. And I don’t think I’m the only one who’s ever suffered. I just think I’m willing to do something about it. I wasted my power when I was alive, mostly, but I won’t make that mistake again. I was a witch beyond measure, and even in death I can rebalance the scales. If there’s anything being in this wretched era has taught me, it’s that time bends long and slowly. Maybe you don’t see the point in what I’m doing or what I want, but maybe the stars and the trees will, maybe the lives that can grow without so much destruction or meddling. And I will know. I’ll know I didn’t just take it, or give up or ‘get over’ it.” She sighed, and realized what a fool’s gesture it was. “I don’t know if I am a person. I don't feel that way all the time, and however I try to be better, whatever I touch so far has turned to destruction and hut, and not even that which I intended. I think my soul is...strange, at best. But I do appreciate...whatever it is you are trying to do. There are not many kind people here. It is good to know they continue to exist, however few.”

“Morgan isn’t wretched,” Remmy said quietly, “and neither are you.” They were quiet for a long while, not flinching when Constance made the lights flicker and screech with electric hums. They looked over to the decaying apartments, then back to the spirit, and felt another tug at their heart. “She didn’t summon you to hurt you, you know,” they finally said. “She just wanted answers. To why her life was always falling apart, to why she wasn’t allowed happiness. You can...relate to that a little, can’t you?” They didn’t know what they were searching for in any answers from Constance, but they knew that she was trapped in a world that she wasn’t allowed to escape, suffering more pain. Remmy looked at her with eyes full of sorrow. “This world is-- scary, yeah. There’s a lot of not good things in it, but...there’s a lot of good, too, you know. You just haven’t...seen it yet. I could show you, if you want,” they wondered if she was even still listening, “if you’d give me the chance. Not everything here is destruction and meddling, like you said. And...certainly none of it is because of one person. Cursed or not.” They paused, biting their bottom lip, before continuing. “You are a person. Maybe different than the kind of person you remember being, but...you’re still a person. Just as much as me, or anyone else. And I think...I think maybe your soul is just a little lost. And I don’t think you deserve to be hurt just because of that.”

Constance couldn’t cry or rail at the stubbornness of this person, not without destroying yet even more of the world, and she did not want to rush to disappoint herself or Blanche even further. But it was all she could do to keep herself from it. She wanted to laugh, or fall over from the incredulity of it all, but feared the impact of that feeling as well. Could a shade such as she disrupt the world from delight? Had such a thing ever happened before? “What manner of creature are you?” She asked, shaking her head. “You know better than many what I am capable of. What I have done. ...What is it you really want from me?”

“I don’t...I don’t want anything from you, Constance,” Remmy said back, shaking their head again. “That’s not...I just want to help you. I know you’re probably alone and afraid...and I know how that feels. I don’t want anyone to have to feel that way.” They mumbled, hands digging into their pockets. Constance wasn’t safe, just drifting out among the general population. There were hunters and exorcists and mediums everywhere. She was already having such a hard time even keeping her spirit body together. It reminded Remmy of some of the ghosts they’d seen wandering the old haunted mansion. Slowly, an idea struck them. “Hey, you, um-- you said you’re having trouble staying stable, right? Figuring out this...spirit thing? What if I had a place for you to go? Where there’s other ghosts and it’s safe. No one can hurt you there. Would you come with me?”

The idea of such a place had never occurred to Constance. She couldn’t imagine it in her head, except as some euphemism for a ghost prison. They didn’t make human proof vessels, only salt and iron lines that tore her apart for trying to exist. But this...whoever they were, were so persistent. Surely if this was some jest or a trap, they would be worn out by now? Or would they? Constance had learned the hard way how persistent a lie could be. Perhaps this was how they proved their loyalty to Morgan, by luring her into a trap.

Constance hesitated for a long time. She should know better than to believe in...oh, so many things. But she said, “Tell me where it is and I will find it on my own. I can find out if it’s what you say it is or not. Who are these ghosts who trust you anyway?”

“Right, yeah,” Remmy said, nodding slowly once Constance finally spoke. “It’s um-- here,” they motioned for her to follow them around the building to where the horizon broke and on top of a small hill sat the mansion, off in the distance, beyond the cemetery. “It’s that house there. I, um-- used to live there, actually. When we moved in, there were already ghost residents so we just sorta...let ‘em stay. Didn’t seem fair to make them leave, you know? We had to establish ground rules and stuff, but we made it safe. For us and for them,” they explained. “We’re all just people. I think they...liked being seen. I would sit with them, even the ones that didn’t talk. It felt nice...to be needed by them.” They paused, went quiet, then looked over at Constance one last time. “Come whenever you want, no obligation. But...it’s safe there. I promise.” And even if it wasn’t yet, Remmy would make sure it was.

#safe as houses #wr remmy #wr chatzy #wr remmy chatzy #abuse tw

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