#please my hands can’t keep up with the thoughts in my head

[artficlly]

lessons in lovemaking [part four]

marvel au bucky x blackwidow!reader

You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

Tags: 18+ content minors dni, nudity, female masturbation, fem reader, panic attacks, bucky is touch starved, mentions of previous sa, ex black widow reader, very consensual, safe words, safe word/motion use, bucky barnes needs a hug, angst, bickering, major arguments, sparring, training, mentions of alcohol, reader is lowkey depressed, trauma, mentions of past violence and death, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 10k

A/N: it's ready early! thank you everyone for the support. um i'll keep it brief but this is a pretty rough, angsty one. please trust and bear with me. it will get better. thank you for putting up with my silly ideas. also a big thank you to @soelstress and @buckybarnesfic for reading this over for me and giving feedback while i was pulling my hair out a bit! as always, sorry for any typos!

main masterlist | series masterlist

In the split second it took for you to twist around, an arm half-heartedly lifting to cover your chest, Steve’s complexion had lurched from deathly white to a deep, mortified crimson. One hand clamped desperately over his eyes, as if that could undo what he'd already seen. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, floundering for something to say, before he choked out a strangled “Sorry!” and spun around so violently he almost took the doorframe with him.

The silence that followed was somehow worse. Beneath your hands, Bucky turned to stone, all his warmth leeched away, as if he'd been sculpted into a gargoyle mid-breath. You remained straddling his lap, dress tangled around your waist, nipples peaked against the air. 

“Well,” You muttered dryly, glancing down at him. “That’ll give him something to think about during his little jogs around the compound.”

Bucky didn’t laugh. 

His eyes were wide, glassy. He jerked his head towards the door, then back to you, panic flickering across his features. “How much did he—What do I—”

His hands left you completely, raking his hands down his face, as if he could claw the moment out of existence. You caught it then, the way his shoulders started to shake, breath stuttering in his chest, fingers balling into a fist as he pressed his knuckles against his forehead. You reached for him gently, two fingers grazing his wrist, the start of a soft coaxing, just enough to try and ease his hands away from his face. But he caught your wrist mid-motion.

You went still, dread curling behind your ribs.

His grip was trembling, the cool metal of his vibranium fingers tightening around your skin. Wordlessly, he motioned, three firm squeezes in quick succession.

Stop. 

You were already sliding off his lap, kneeling in the tangle of half-kicked sheets and discarded pillows next to him in a futile attempt to give him more space, but it was already too late.

“Bucky?” You breathed, and he visibly flinched. You were unsure where the panic had pulled him, nor what thoughts drowned him, but you knew you couldn’t let him stay lost. “Bucky, talk to me.”

“I can’t, I can’t—” He gasped, voice thin like every breath was a fight. 

“Bucky.” You interrupted him firmly. “I need you to breathe.”

The super soldier ignored your instructions, crumpling in on himself as you hovered, unsure if touching him would make it better or worse. His breaths were coming fast, too fast. You could hear how each intake rattled in his chest, lungs not fully expanding as his body was quickly switching into a fight-or-flight mode. 

“He’s going to be upset.” Bucky managed to choke out, his voice breaking.

“Why would he be upset?” You pushed, keeping your voice steady and calm. “He’s your friend.”

“I don’t know, I just…” His voice was rising, near frantic. He was tugging at his hair now, stuck in a panicked spiral of his own making. 

“You’re panicking. You’ve had a shock,” you said quickly. “That’s all it is. Just breathe, okay? In and out, like we always do. We’ve done this before, remember?”

His chest heaved, a desperate sound clawing up his throat.

"I can't... I—”

"Just breathe," you repeated quickly. You needed to make yourself small, unthreatening. You dropped off the side of the bed, kneeling on the floor in front of him. "Bucky, look at me."

His eyes were wild. You reached out, gently, just brushing his kneecaps with your fingertips. "Let's rationalise this for a second, okay? You’re safe. Nothing bad happened."

He shook his head in short, jerky movements, like he couldn't even hear you over the roaring panic inside his skull.

"He's gonna hate me," he gasped, chest spasming. "I—fuck—he's gonna be disgusted—"

"Hey, hey, stop," you said firmly, voice low and steady, even as your heart hammered in your own chest. You pressed your palm lightly against his thigh. "Steve is not disgusted. Embarrassed? Sure. Mortified? Definitely. But not at you, Bucky."

"I—he—" He couldn’t even get the words out anymore. His hands tore away from his hair to clutch at the sheets twisted around him. 

You frowned, your mind racing as you tried to decide your next move. The shift had happened so fast. Alarm prickled at the back of your neck. You needed him to come back to you, to breathe, to move, to thaw out before he became solid ice.

You leaned closer, gently but firmly capturing his wrists in your hands. Your fingers curled around the tense line of his forearms. His skin was clammy under your touch, his pulse erratic just beneath the surface. You drew his arms down, guiding them from where they hovered and settling them across his lap. 

"You’re not in trouble," you repeated, slowly and carefully. "Nothing bad is happening. Steve just walked in at the wrong time. That’s all."

He made a broken sound in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut. His vibranium hand was twitching uncontrollably against your grip.

"You’re okay," you whispered. "Look around. We're still here. No one's yelling. No one's mad."

He shook his head again, tiny tremors wracking his whole body.

"You're not back there," you added quietly, knowing exactly where his mind wanted to go. "You're Bucky Barnes. You’re safe. You’re home."

The words seemed to reach some small part of him. His breathing was still ragged, but he cracked his eyes open, glassy and rimmed red.

"There he is," you murmured, giving his wrists a soft squeeze. "Hi. Still with me?"

He nodded shakily.

"Good," you praised, shifting your grip to run a hand slowly up his arm, grounding him. "Breathe with me, Buck. In through your nose... hold it... out through your mouth. Easy. Like we always do."

You exaggerated the breath yourself, making it big and obvious, hoping he'd mimic you. You tried not to let your mind flicker to how ridiculous the situation was, you half-naked, the remnants of arousal now a cold, wet patch in your underwear as you guided a super soldier through his panic attack. Was he in over his head? Were you in over your head? He had used the safe motion. Had you pushed him too far this time—? 

No. No, you had to remind yourself. It was all fine, all controlled and okay until Steve walked in. He was the unpredictable element. Each time you and Bucky had lessons, he was handing you a piece of himself, handing you all of his trust. He was vulnerable in these moments, entirely raw and exposed. And you hadn’t even taken a second to ensure the damn door was locked, too caught up in the moment, the thrill. Why had you done that? Why were you allowing yourself to be so easily swept away?

It took a few tries, several messy, half-choked inhalations, but finally, finally, he caught the rhythm. You sat there with him, counting out soft beats under your breath, refusing to let your thoughts drag you under.

When the worst of the tremors had faded, you eased back just a little. Bucky shook his head slightly, another ragged breath escaping him, but this time there was something like life in it. His hands were still shaking, but he wasn’t clawing at himself anymore.

"You're okay," you soothed. "We’re okay."

"I’m sorry," he croaked.

"You don’t have anything to be sorry for," you replied simply. "It’s not your fault. Steve should’ve knocked. If anything, I should be charging him rent for getting a free show."

That dragged a real, if frail, smile out of him.

You grinned back, pushing his sweaty hair off his forehead gently.

“Listen to me,” you leaned in closer. “Let me talk to him. I’ll get Steve to come back. We’ll clear it up, face it head-on. It’s only going to make it worse if we pretend it didn’t happen.”

His blue eyes met yours, unsure. The colour looked almost unnatural, too bright against the bloodshot whites. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure, Bucky,” you replied, voice firm with conviction. “You think I’d ever do something to hurt you?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t speak, but you saw the tiny shift, his fists uncoiling, his breathing slowing, no longer tearing through him like it might rip him apart. You stood, tugging your crumpled dress back up to cover your chest again, hooking the thin straps over your shoulders.

Bucky stared down at his hands, gears in his vibranium arm whirring slightly, still sat among the dishevelled sheets. You knew he was overthinking, already surrendering to worry in those brief seconds. Against your better judgment, you reached out, cradling his head in your palm as you forced him to look up at you, shell-shocked and miserable. 

“I’ll be back," you promised. He blinked up at you, throat bobbing with a hard swallow, and you had to trust he believed you. You pressed a feather-light kiss to his temple, fingers dragging across his jaw as you pulled away. You could’ve sworn he tilted his head to follow you, chasing your touch as you marched towards the door. “And hey, atleast next time we’ll remember to lock the fucking door.”

You weren't sure if he replied or if he even heard you. Some part of you, the jaded, self-destructive thing that had learned it was safer to be alone, whispered that maybe there wouldn’t be a next time. And that perhaps it was for the better. You’d survived so far, tearing down anyone who got too close, keeping parts of you locked away in solitude for your protection…You crushed that thought before it could bloom any further and slipped barefoot into the hallway. Steve hadn’t made it far, and you caught him halfway to the elevators. 

"Steve! Steve, can we just talk?"

He didn't even turn around, just threw a hand up over his shoulder. "I don't think I want to know what I just walked in on—"

"Listen," you snapped, stepping sharply into his path before he could retreat any further down the hallway. He tried to sidestep you, but you mirrored him without hesitation, cutting him off cleanly. He shifted again, impatient, but you were faster, darting to block him completely. You planted yourself firmly in front of him and crossed your arms, chin lifted in a challenge. You were sure you looked a right state, hair messy, lips swollen, and the remnants of your makeup smudged. "He’s freaking out in there, okay? He thinks you’re mad at him. Please just come back and reassure him it’s fine—"

“Is it fine?” Steve cut in, slicing clean through your rambling. The edge in his voice made you falter, your brows knitting together in confusion. 

Was he… angry? 

Steve Rogers was ever the serious figure in the compound, tightly wound, controlled, the kind of man who dotted every ‘i’ and crossed every ‘t’. But you’d never heard his voice drop in such a way before—low and tight, his jaw clenched and his posture stiff, as if he was stewing on something unspoken. 

“What?” You managed to stumble out.

Steve looked you up and down, unimpressed. His arms crossed over his own chest in a mirror of you, biceps bulging against the fabric of his sleeves. “What you’re doing. Is it really fine?”

You hesitated, thrown completely off-balance. This wasn’t anywhere on the radar of reactions you’d prepared for. You’d expected embarrassment, maybe a flustered apology, half-hearted but well-meaning. Perhaps even a flash of happiness, pride that Bucky was finally confident enough, safe enough, to take a step forward in his life. You’d braced for fist bumps, for some awkward bro code moment, whatever the hell men did. What you hadn’t prepared for—what hadn’t even occurred to you while you were coaxing Bucky through his panic—was that Steve’s anger wasn’t aimed at Bucky. It was aimed squarely at you.

Steve watched you expectantly, and all that tumbled out of your mouth was a bewildered, “I don’t understand?”

“Listen, I don’t think there is a polite way to put this…” Steve said, voice low, tight with restraint. His weight shifted forward like he was gearing up for a fight he didn’t want but felt he had to have. You braced yourself instinctively, steeling yourself with a deadly calm, ready for an outburst, accusation, or insult. But to your surprise, when he spoke again, it wasn’t anger that flooded out. 

It was fear. 

Fear that you had no problem deducing came from a desire to protect Bucky, not just from H.Y.D.R.A., any other foe or the world as a whole, but to protect him from you. 

“He’s vulnerable. If this goes south, it could break him.”

“You don’t think I know that?” you shot back, sharper than you intended.

Steve’s eyes flickered with surprise, but from the way he was gritting his teeth, it didn’t take a genius to tell he disapproved. He took a slow breath, like he was trying to hold back everything he wanted to say but couldn’t.

“Just—” His voice cracked slightly. He ran a hand down his face, visibly struggling. “I need you to understand. Ever since we got him back, I see pieces of him. Fragments of the man I used to know.” 

He paused as he motioned vaguely into the air, as if he was trying to stop the floodgate of words spilling from his lips.

“And it kills me, it kills me every day, knowing we’ll never get all of him back. That parts of my best friend are just… lost forever. I don't know what H.Y.D.R.A. took from him—hell, maybe none of us ever will—but what I do know is that he’s hanging on by threads. Whatever you’re doing with him is a bad idea.”

He swallowed thickly, his eyes flashing with something dangerously close to desperation. “It won’t just hurt him. It'll undo him. And I can't…I won’t let that happen. I won’t let you play with his emotions like that. I don’t want you damaging him any further than he already is—-”

Any sympathy you felt for Steve quickly drained as you felt heat rising up your neck, and before you could stop yourself, you snarled, “I’m not damaging him—”

You knew this look. 

The thinly veiled judgment behind it. 

It had followed you like a shadow from the moment you were freed from Dreykov’s clutches. You weren’t oblivious to the way people glanced at you when they thought you weren’t looking, the way prejudice soured even their best intentions. You were not naïve. You were not feeble enough to stand there and be quietly condemned.

“Are you sure?” Steve cut back, ignorant of the frustration now festering in your gut. “He’s not ready for whatever you’re pushing onto him—”

You pinched the bridge of your nose as you struggled to hold onto your temper, but it was slipping through your fingers fast. You could see it in the stubborn line of his mouth, the narrowing of his eyes.

“I’m not pushing anything onto him!”

You took a hard step forward. The movement made Steve tense, like he half-expected you to swing at him, but you didn’t. You just stood your ground, daring him to keep going, daring him to say something worse.

“I think this attitude is part of the problem, Rogers," you bit out. "How is he supposed to overcome anything, experience anything if you baby him? If you cut him off before he has the chance to grow? I’m not hurting him, I’m just helping him.”

Steve opened his mouth like he had a retort ready, but whatever words he had dried up halfway to his tongue. His hands, balled into fists at his sides, finally sagged open in helplessness. His whole stance wilted slightly, shoulders bowing under the weight of doubt.

“I don’t know...” he muttered, the words dragged from him reluctantly, like they tasted sour in his mouth.

You didn’t give him a chance to wallow. The anger was already riding too hot in your blood, crackling in your chest.

“He consents. Every time. I check with him every time.” You hissed. “Because I know how important that is to him, because it’s important to me too, but that’s a topic none of you will ever address, is it?”

Steve stared at you, breathing heavily through his nose, his chest rising and falling like a man trying desperately to hold onto his last thread of composure as you continued your rant. “We never go past his comfort zone. I never pressure him. I never trick him. I respect him. Why would you even think that?”

His mouth contorted into a scowl before he finally answered, “because I don’t know you.”

You recoiled a fraction, brow lifting in disbelief. You could’ve sworn there was a flicker of recognition in his gaze, like he was watching something familiar but hadn’t quite put the pieces together yet. You stared back at him, heat flushing your face, and when you finally found your voice, it came out quieter, but no less biting.

“No, you don’t,” you spat, the words ripping from your throat. “I know I never put the effort in, but you can’t say you ever tried either.”

The hallway fell into a suffocating silence. The kind that rang in your ears. The kind where neither of you wanted to be the first to speak, where the air between you burned with the things you couldn’t unsay now. Steve’s jaw worked soundlessly for a moment, his eyes flashing with a storm of emotions he clearly didn’t trust himself to voice. He finally just looked away, the tension radiating off him like static.

It would have been so easy to leave it like that, to turn your back and let Steve stew in his distrust. But that wouldn’t help Bucky. And he was the only thing that mattered right now.

So you spoke up, catching the thinnest, fraying thread of truce before it would fade entirely.

“Look, I don’t care what you think of me," you tried to calm your voice, keeping your tone neutral despite the fire licking up your spine. "I don’t care if you even like me to be honest, but what I do care about is that if you say you’re his friend, if you say it’s your job to look after him, then I need you to go back there and reassure him before he spirals.”

He dragged a hand through his hair. A rare, raw show of uncertainty from Captain America himself, usually so sure of himself and his actions. “You’re... you’re probably right.”

Before he could hesitate, before he could get cold feet, you reached out and grabbed his arm. His muscles went tense under your grip, but you didn’t let that deter you. You pointed a finger at him, close enough that he had no choice but to meet your glare head-on.

“Don’t treat me like the villain because I care.”

Steve gave one stiff nod, but he said nothing. You stared at him a second longer, making sure it stuck, before you finally released him with a shove of your hand.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and stalked back down the hall. You didn’t look back to see if Steve was following.

You didn’t need to.

His footsteps, reluctant but steady, fell into place behind you.

The silence prickled along your skin as you navigated quickly back to Bucky’s apartment. His anxious face plagued your mind, the way his breathing had turned shallow and scared, like a caged animal. 

The door to Bucky’s apartment was still ajar, just a crack, like he'd been too afraid to close it. Or maybe he hadn’t even noticed it was open at all.

You pushed gently at the handle and stepped inside.

Bucky was still sitting on the edge of the mattress, hunched forward, elbows digging into his knees, hair half-clinging to the sweat still damp on his temples. His shirt was still wrinkled from earlier, his vibranium hand flexing unconsciously, twitching in small stutters as though trying to grasp at something he couldn’t hold.

His eyes lifted the moment he heard the door creak, wild, wide with nerves, and then they landed on Steve.

“Hey Buck…” Steve started, voice soft.

“Steve, I can explain—“ Bucky’s words spilt out in a tangle of panic, but Steve raised a hand, halting him.

“It’s alright,” Steve said quickly, the kind of quick that begged not to make it worse. His eyes scanned the room like he didn’t quite know what to do with them. “I’m not mad. I just… didn’t expect it.”

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, giving a weak, crooked sort of smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “So, uhh… how long has this been happening?”

“Since the gala,” Bucky muttered.

“The gala?” Steve echoed, blinking. “You two really hit it off then, huh?”

You resisted the urge to groan. There was a pause, awkward and brittle.

“So are you like dating or—”

“No—” You and Bucky answered in perfect, rapid unison.

Maybe too fast.

The silence that followed was deafening. Steve raised both brows, then glanced between the two of you slowly, clearly re-evaluating everything. Bucky shifted uncomfortably, rubbing at his jaw while you picked hard at the raw skin around your nails. 

“Alright,” Steve said after a moment, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m not judging. I’m just trying to understand. It’s a whole new century, Buck. I guess we gotta adapt to the times.”

He was trying, that much was clear. His voice gentle, his posture no longer combative, though the tension in his shoulders hadn’t quite let up. It was the kind of compromise only a man like Steve Rogers could offer—discomfort wrapped in compassion.

You opened your mouth, the words slow to form on your tongue. “We’ve just been… I’ve just been…”

You hesitated. Your eyes flicked to Bucky, trying to read him, trying to decide whether he wanted this out in the open, whether he’d say anything at all. But his body locked up like it expected pain, arms folded, metal fingers curled tight. His expression was a mix of shame and fear.

He looked like a man staring down a loaded barrel.

“We’ve just been fooling around,” he cut in, voice flat and even. “Nothing serious.”

Nothing serious.

You tried not to flinch, tried not to let the words sting like salt in an open wound, nor assess why you felt that way. You didn’t understand why it hurt so much, considering you had repeated those same words to Natasha not long ago. He wasn’t lying. What he said was true, even if he carefully sidestepped the messy reality of the lessons. That was a whole other rabbit hole Bucky clearly wasn’t ready to admit to Steve. Maybe not even to himself.

Still, you forced yourself to nod along, pretending the hollow feeling in your chest wasn’t there. Pretending you hadn’t gotten a little too attached to this— to the lessons, to the quiet understanding, to the broken man sitting right in front of you.

Steve’s gaze shifted between the two of you, his mouth tightening. He didn’t press, but the flicker in his eyes said enough. He noticed something, but he just wasn’t brave enough to acknowledge it.

“Alright, I believe you,” Steve said carefully. “You told anyone about this?”

“Just you,” Bucky muttered, still refusing to meet his friend's eye.

You shifted your weight, the guilt gnawing at you sharp and immediate. You forced a breath through your nose, nails digging into the tender skin around your thumb. Neither super soldier seemed to notice the way your jaw tightened, or how the metallic taste of iron bloomed across your tongue from how hard you bit down.

You couldn’t keep lying. Not now. Not after everything you had just preached about trust and care, not if you wanted Bucky to keep believing in you. You had to tell him. In the spirit of being truthful, you would tell him. You had to own up to the fact that you had foolishly confided in Natasha, that you had allowed her to get under your skin, left yourself vulnerable in a way that could very well undo everything you had built together.

The word caught your throat on its way out.

“Well...” you interrupted, voice soft, bracing yourself.

Both men turned to you, and you already regretted your decision. Steve straightened subtly, his arms crossing over his chest as he glanced between you and Bucky with wary eyes, as if already preparing himself to referee whatever was about to happen. But it was Bucky’s reaction that truly cut, his whole body going rigid where he sat, muscles locking beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. His brow furrowed, deep lines creasing his forehead as he stared at you with a mixture of confusion and something rawer, something alarmingly close to hurt.

“You told someone?” he questioned, voice tight.

“No, it’s just... Nat,” you admitted, the words spilling too fast, too desperate to soften the blow.

Bucky's face twisted. “You told Natasha?”

“No! She, uh, kinda pieced it together?” You fumbled over your words, blindly and furiously picking at your nails.

“What?” 

“Look, you’re not exactly subtle,” you rushed to explain, feeling Steve shift awkwardly at your side as the conversation nosedived. “I was going to talk to you about it first, but then she cornered me, and I didn’t know what to say—”

“When?” Bucky cut in, voice rising. “When were you going to talk to me about it?”

“I don’t know!” you burst out, exasperated with yourself more than him. “I was trying to figure out how to bring it up—”

“You lied to me.”

“No, I was just—” you tried, stepping forward instinctively, but the look he gave you rooted you to the spot.

“I asked you if you had said anything to Natasha or Yelena,” Bucky interrupted, voice low and wounded, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “And you said no.”

“It just didn’t feel like the right time—” you mumbled weakly,

Bucky rolled his eyes, a sharp, bitter sound escaping him. He looked past you, to Steve, as if hoping for some escape.

“So Natasha knows,” he muttered darkly. “And then we can assume Yelena probably knows as well—”

“Nat wouldn’t say anything—”

Bucky’s laugh was hollow, almost humourless. “Do you know that? For sure?”

“Why are you so worried—”

“Because I don’t want people to know!” he snapped, voice cutting sharper than you thought he could bear to be with you. “Are you not embarrassed?”

You recoiled in shock.

Steve exhaled a breath that came out sounding suspiciously like a curse, entirely unexpected and out of character for the golden super soldier.

“Why would I be embarrassed?” you asked, voice steady despite the way your chest ached.

Bucky opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His eyes darted away, landing on the sheets crumpled around him like they held some escape, some answer. His whole posture shrank inward, collapsing in on himself.

You didn’t let it go. You couldn’t.

“Why would I be embarrassed?” you repeated, louder this time, forcing the question into the space between you.

Bucky still wouldn’t look at you. His shoulders hunched, head bowed. Scolded dog—but for once, you didn’t find it cute. 

“Are you embarrassed by me, Bucky?” you asked directly. 

“No,” Bucky said immediately, shaking his head. “No. That’s not what I meant—”

“It sure sounded like it,” you scoffed. 

The silence that settled over the room was uncomfortable enough to make Steve squirm, the blond opened his mouth to try to smooth over the situation. You stopped him before his tongue could even form a syllable, holding up one finger as you stared across at Bucky. He blinked up at you with an expression cut somewhere between guilt and horror as he realised there was no coming back from what he had just implied. The insult had hit, the damage done, and all that was left was a chasm between you. 

“I should go,” you said at last, voice clipped.

“Now, hold on—” Steve interrupted, stepping forward slightly. 

“No, it’s fine," you cut him off, shaking your head. "You two should talk alone anyway."

Bucky's head jerked up slightly at your words, expression stricken. He didn’t move from where he sat, just watched silently as you crossed the room with stiff, deliberate motions. He didn’t stop you as you gathered your bra from the floor, nor when you collected your coat and shoes from where they had been haphazardly tossed.

At the door, you paused, squaring your shoulders before gesturing vaguely between them with a small, almost pitying smile. Your eyes locked onto Bucky’s, not angry, not scolding, just exhausted.

“Remember, in and out. Use your words. Talk to him, sort it out.” you reminded him, voice gentle but unwavering. “You’re on your own now.”

“Wait—” Bucky reached out instinctively, voice cracking under the strain, but it was too late.

You snapped the door shut behind you, cutting off whatever apology or excuse he might have tried to offer.

—

You’re on your own now.

The words had echoed through your mind like a curse, looping over and over.

They whispered back every time your phone lit up. They rang louder when Natasha tried to corner you with soft girl-talk after long missions or training sessions. They surged again whenever Steve hovered too close after briefings, or loomed beside the coffee machine like he was waiting for the perfect opportunity to get you alone.

You’re on your own now.

You were beginning to think those words weren’t for Bucky but for yourself.

It was your mess—a slow-burning wreck of your own making. Bucky had reached out in the aftermath, trying to bridge the silence with texts asking to talk, explain, and understand. You’d read them, every one, then locked your phone and buried it like that would bury the damage too. You were too exhausted. Too goddamn ashamed of how much you’d let him in.

You’d broken your own rules and now, predictably, you were bleeding for it.

Two weeks later, you were doing better, or at least performing the illusion well enough that no one dared question it. You’d buried yourself in work with single-minded fervour. What started as six-hour recon missions inside Karpin’s club had stretched to eight, then twelve. You hadn’t missed a shift or turned in a report that wasn’t pristine, timestamped, and drowning in intel. You were producing results so efficiently that it bordered on obsessive. Another compromise, another calculated smile, another night letting your soul rot beneath the thump of bass and leering stares in the club’s smoke-slicked VIP rooms. Progress came steep and you were the currency.

The black dress you wore clung like regret, stitched tight across your thighs and chest, sweat seeping through the synthetic fabric. Glitter clung to your skin like a rash, and your heels had carved angry grooves into the backs of your feet. The thick eye makeup you’d smeared on hours ago had begun to crumble in the corners, leaving your reflection a cracked porcelain doll in the glass door you passed. But none of that mattered. You just wanted to make it to your apartment, scrape yourself clean, and pretend, if only for a few hours, that you hadn’t given up everything just to feel nothing.

You slapped the final handwritten debrief into the data analyst’s hands, your signature barely legible. 

Another mission done, but you had the sinking feeling your day was far from over, mainly because Steve was standing by the elevators with a little too much casual ease. The kind that wasn’t casual at all. He’d been lingering since you arrived to complete your debrief protocol, hovering just close enough to be noticed, but not close enough to call it out. Hands shoved in his pockets, one foot angled toward the hallway like he was trying to look like he had somewhere else to be, even though he didn’t. He was waiting, watching, hoping to intercept.

You knew better than to take the elevator. Not just because it was a coffin on cables, but because he would follow. You could already picture it, his voice low in some lame attempt not to spook you, trying to reason with you, explain himself, maybe even apologise. You didn’t want it. You didn’t want any of it. Not his concern, not his guilt, not whatever sense of responsibility he’d suddenly found like loose change in his pocket. He’d said his piece two weeks ago—said you weren’t good for Bucky. So what was this? Regret? Or worse, another excuse to tear into you?

You ducked your head, ignoring the burning ache in your heels, and made a sharp turn toward the stairwell.

“Hey,” came Natasha’s voice, too light, too amused.

You didn’t stop walking. What was this? Some kind of coordinated attack? 

“Trouble in paradise?” she added, like this was a game. Like any of this was remotely fucking funny.

“Jesus, give it a break.”

“Not when you keep moping around like you’ve had your heart broken—”

“My heart isn’t broken—” you snapped without turning, pace only quickening.

“Look. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t realise things were so serious between you and Barnes. Let’s just talk about it—”

You stopped at the stairwell door, hand on the bar. Your spine went rigid, and you turned slowly, fixing her with a scathing look that could've flayed skin. She faltered under the heat of it.

“Oh, fuck off, Nat.”

Her smirk dropped. And just like that, you shoved the door open and disappeared into the stairwell.

Two weeks of silence, two weeks of pretending, two weeks of giving everything you had to missions because it was easier than sitting still. Easier than thinking about how much you’d given away and how little you had left.

You should’ve talked to him. Should’ve answered. Should’ve tried.

But you hadn’t. You hadn’t had the strength, or maybe just hadn’t wanted to be vulnerable one second longer than necessary. Because once you were vulnerable, once you opened that door, you couldn't un-feel what was felt. You couldn’t un-know the way he looked at you. 

You hit the fifth landing when it happened, and your heel caught.

A sickening skritch, and your ankle jolted back, yanked by the spike of your stupid, overpriced, Stark donated shoe catching in one of the grid holes in the grated metal step. You cursed, gripping the railing, yanking once, twice—harder.

It wouldn’t budge.

A breath shuddered out of you. Your hands trembled as you crouched down, fingers scrabbling to free it. The heel was wedged deep in the hole, warped just enough that it wouldn’t twist loose. You gritted your teeth, tugging again. Nothing.

The pressure inside you, simmering, festering, unspoken for days, snapped like a wire. You stood abruptly and kicked your other shoe off with a grunt, the heel clattering against the wall with a hollow thud. Then you grabbed the stuck one with both hands, tore it loose, and flung it with everything you had.

The shoe hit the concrete wall with a loud crack, then fell limp to the landing.

You let out a dry, broken sound—half laugh, half sob—and dropped to sit on the step, barefoot, legs shaking. No tears came, but the pressure behind your eyes stung. You pressed the heels of your palms hard into your face, breathing ragged through clenched teeth.

You’re on your own now.

—

The shower hadn’t helped.

You’d stood under the stream far too long, letting the water scald down your shoulders and rinse away the tension, the sweat, the last remnants of Karpin’s perfumed hell. Now, dressed in an old t-shirt and soft shorts, you stood at the foot of your bed. The sheets were untouched, cool and smoothed from disuse, undisturbed like a hotel room no one had ever checked into. You blinked at them like they might blink back.

You hadn’t been sleeping well. Not for weeks. Then again, sleep had never come easily. Most nights, you crashed on the couch, half-dressed, half-conscious, the TV humming in the background. There was something final about beds, something about the unspoken history soaked into the mattress and pillows. 

With a small, habitual sigh, you pulled back the covers and slid beneath them, curling slightly onto your side, picking absently at the skin around your thumbnail. You winced when your nail caught a sore patch, your skin already raw and torn, but didn’t stop until the sting sharpened.

You reached for your phone, trying to distract your nervous hands. The light burned your eyes, too bright in the dark room, but you navigated by muscle memory. Messages. His name. Your thumb hovered, heart slowing as the thread opened.

The last ones sat like ghosts, pale and greyed, still waiting for a reply.

Just talk to me.

Please?

I’m sorry.

I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it like that.

Can we please talk?

You stared at them, lips parting slightly. That sick little ache twisted low in your ribs. You scrolled past, skimming quickly until the tone shifted, until the anger and desperation faded into something older. 

Are you still awake?

Come over?

Can’t sleep.

Still can’t sleep.

I made tea. It’s too strong. You’ll hate it. Come fix it?

You could almost hear his voice, tired, soft, and just a little grumpy, the way it got when it was too late and he didn’t want to be alone but didn’t know how to say it.

You scrolled further, reading the back-and-forth, the playful jabs, the dry jokes, the quiet check-ins he always offered at the end of your missions, even when he already knew the details. You closed your eyes and saw it clearly, his apartment cast in low, amber light, the muted hum of the fridge, the TV murmuring. His arm would hang lazily over the back of the couch, like he wasn’t obviously waiting for you. 

You could picture how his lips would twitch into a grin when you finally walked through the door. The quiet press of his hand against the small of your back as he led you past the threshold. How he had grown more confident with each night, how he laughed now, full and unguarded, at the sarcasm that used to make him flinch. How he looked when he was unravelled beneath you, breathless, red-cheeked, eyes blown wide.

You didn’t know when your hand had slipped beneath the sheets.

But now it was there, curled between your thighs, brushing past the waistband of your shorts as memory and longing swelled in your chest like a bruise. His voice in your ear, the way he would shiver when you whispered to him. The little whines he tried to swallow down.

Your fingers found slick heat, and your breath hitched as you brushed against your clit, circling slowly, gently. You kept your eyes closed. It was easier that way. Easier to summon the image of him pressing kisses to your sternum, the chill of his vibranium palm cupping your breast, thumb skimming over your nipple. You could almost feel it.

A soft moan escaped your throat as your fingers dipped lower, working in a rhythm that was steady but hollow, a poor mimicry of what you really wanted. Still, you chased it—chased him—through every flicker of heat and memory.

You ground the heel of your palm against your clit and gasped into the pillow, hips twitching upward. 

“Bucky—”

His name slipped from your lips, barely a breath.

And everything stopped.

You froze. Fingers stilled. You sat up sharply, yanking your hand away like it burned, chest rising and falling beneath the old cotton of your shirt. You would’ve thrown your own damn traitorous hand across the room if it wasn’t attached to your wrist.

You stared into the dark, lips parted, throat tight, wondering how the hell you’d ended up here, half undone in an empty bed, chasing a ghost who hadn’t spoken to you in weeks.

—

You stepped into the gym, the doors swinging shut behind you with a dull thud. The air greeted you like a punch to the lungs, rubber mats, dried sweat, and stale air conditioning. Your routine had become muscle memory by this point. Drop the bag by the bench. Roll your shoulders. Stretch until your bones stop screaming. Pretend everything is fine.

Except it wasn’t.

You blinked against the harsh fluorescents, scanning the space. No flash of red hair. No high blonde ponytail bobbing by the punching bags. No snide commentary lobbed across the sparring ring. Just quiet. Not peace, it was never peaceful, but that suffocating kind of silence that settled just before the ground gave out.

And then it did in the shape of Steve Rogers.

“They got pulled last night,” he said, emerging from the weight racks where he and Sam had been mid-stretch. “Mission came in late. Left before sunrise.”

You nodded once, jaw tight, masking the drop in your stomach. Of course they did. Of course, they left. Probably Nat punishing you for being a bitch to her by the stairwell.

Steve offered a vague, practised smile, too quick, too knowing. “But don’t worry. We’re subbing in.”

Your gaze flicked to Sam, who gave you a friendly wave. Then to Bucky, who was hunched over, lacing up his boots with a quiet intensity that suggested he’d rather be anywhere else. His eyes caught yours for only a second, just enough for you to register the damage. He looked as wrecked as you felt. Pale, bruised beneath the eyes, mouth tight. He hadn’t slept properly in days. Favouring his right side again, you could see the subtle strain as he stood up, rolling his shoulders in faux nonchalance. 

You hesitated. “You’re... stepping in?”

Steve shrugged. “We usually run around this time anyway. Figured we’d help cover.”

You glanced back toward the exit. The door was still there. Still functional. Escape was still an option, and you were a pretty good liar when you wanted to be. But selfishness was a slippery thing, and you didn’t move.

So you nodded, slow and controlled. “Right. Okay.”

You dropped down into a lunge, one knee kissing the mat, the other bent clean above your ankle. You held it steady, focusing on your breathing as your muscles slowly stretched awake. 

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, using that easy posture he adopted when he wanted to appear relaxed. It only made you suspicious.

“What do you three usually run on Mondays?”

You shifted into a hamstring stretch, straightening your front leg and folding over it with practised ease. “Sparring,” you said, voice calm despite the tightness in your shoulders. “Nat’s idea. She says it sets the tone for the rest of the week.”

Steve gave a small smile. “Great. You’ll go with Bucky.”

You stilled mid-fold, hands hovering above your shin. The mat felt suddenly unstable beneath you.

Lifting your gaze slowly, you tried not to flinch visibly. “Is that… necessary?”

Steve tilted his head. “Why? Is there a problem?”

Sam raised a brow but said nothing, sensing the tension but clearly not sure what to make of it. You sat back on your heels, drawing your arms overhead in a stretch you didn’t need, using movement to mask your hesitation.

“No,” you said evenly, rising to your feet. “No problem.”

Across the room, Bucky had stilled, his jaw locked tight, a muscle ticking as he shot Steve a single, withering glance. He didn’t say a word, didn’t need to. The reluctance in his movements said enough as he pushed up from the bench, slow and stiff, like gravity was suddenly working against him.

This wasn’t training. This was theatre. A stage set under fluorescent lights and recycled air. And Steve? Still over by the weights with Sam, pretending to be engaged in some idle conversation? Their voices were hushed, but their eyes flicked over too often, too deliberately? This had been arranged, choreographed behind your back like some well-meaning intervention. You wondered who else knew, who had caught wind. Had Sam pieced it together? Had Yelena? Was this their way of ‘helping’?

Bucky stepped into place across from you, feet shoulder-width apart, arms loose at his sides. He shifted, rolling his shoulders in a slow motion. The right still caught slightly. He still hadn’t gone to physio, that was clear. Stubborn as ever. Just one more thing for you to worry over.

“Ready?” he asked at last. His voice was dry, flat. 

You swallowed the knot in your throat and gave a curt nod. “Yeah.”

The first few rounds were predictable. You struck low, swept a leg, and knocked him off balance. He grunted, hit the mat, and bounced back up without a word. Then it was your turn. He twisted past your arm, hooked your leg behind his, and took you down in one smooth motion. You landed hard, breath puffing out of your lungs in a curse.

The fourth time you clashed, your forearms locked, both of you panting, he finally spoke.

“You always fight this sloppy when you're pissed off?” he muttered.

You bared your teeth. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He pushed off with a sharp motion, shoving you back with more force than necessary. You staggered but caught yourself.

“You said we were done,” Bucky said, jaw clenched, circling you again. “Figured that meant you wouldn’t be sneaking glances at me every five seconds.”

A guttural laugh left your lips as you stepped in, aimed low and fast, but he blocked you easily. “I’m sorry, are you embarrassed, Barnes? Must be so embarrassing for you to have someone like me near you—”

“Don’t say that,” he snapped.

You hesitated just a second too long, and he used it, sweeping in, gripping your arm, twisting you toward the floor. But instead of letting the momentum carry, you pivoted mid-fall and slammed your elbow into his side, dragging him down with you. You both hit the mat in a tangle, limbs locked, breath heavy. Your chest pressed to his. His fingers curled tightly around your wrist. You could feel his heart hammering under your palm.

You shoved off him roughly and stood, pacing back toward the centre, sweat prickling down your spine, adrenaline and something uglier twisting in your gut.

“You really wanna do this?” you said, voice hoarse.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes flashing. “I don’t know. Do you?”

Your blood roared. 

Steve called out from the other side of the gym, something about keeping it light.

But it was too late.

You charged again.

No more feints. No more dancing around it. You drove into him with a fury you hadn’t realised had been coiled so tightly in your chest. Bucky blocked, returned, shoved—your bodies collided again and again, a flurry of jabs, kicks, twists, and takedowns. Your knuckles ached from where they connected with his forearms, your legs trembled from exertion. Neither of you held back anymore. This was the type of sparring that Nat was desperate to get out of you, messy, dirty plays that she praised.

He got a hit in against your ribs. You grunted and retaliated with a kick that swept his leg, sending him crashing to the mat. He growled, rolled, pulled you down with him, and suddenly you were grappling, arms locking, muscles burning.

Then he flipped you.

You hit the mat hard. Your breath left you in an abrupt wheeze.

His weight came down over you, solid, full-body pressure, his knee between your thighs to brace, his forearm across your collarbone pinning your shoulder. His hand gripped your wrist, and your other hand was caught somewhere beneath your own hip. The mat pressed into your spine. His face loomed above yours, his jaw clenched tight, and his breath fast and uneven.

You struggled.

At first, it was instinctual. A jerk of the hips. A twist of the arm. Trying to buck him off like you always had before. The sparring was routine, muscle memory, a thing you’d done with a dozen people a hundred times. But Bucky was heavier than you remembered. Stronger. His grip was too tight, his weight too much. Maybe you’d never quite realised how gentle he had been with you before, how soft and malleable he made himself when both of you were in bed.

Something primal and old stirred in the pit of your stomach. 

Your limbs started to go rigid. Your throat tightened. You blinked, but the edges of your vision were already going dark, tunnelling inward, compressing the world into a narrow box with no air. His weight pressed down on your hips, his knee solid between your thighs, your shoulders pinned in place. You couldn’t breathe. You tried sharp, gasping inhales, but it wasn’t working. The more you pulled in, the more the air seemed to thin.

Your body twitched beneath him, useless, trapped, every muscle locking up. You felt yourself whimper, but it barely escaped your throat. You bit down hard on your lip to stop it from turning into something worse.

You tried to scream, to yell his name—Bucky, stop, stop—but no words came out. Just pressure and panic and the unbearable rush of tears behind your eyes. They brimmed but didn’t fall. You refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now.

He didn’t move. Didn’t notice. He thought it was part of the fight. He thought you were still in it.

You tried to suck in a breath and choked on it.

You lifted your hand, every motion sluggish and jerky, and tapped three times on his forearm. 

Bucky froze.

His entire body went still like someone had hit a kill switch. The pressure lifted instantly as he pushed himself off, retreating back on his knees. His face was alarmed, eyes wide and scanning.

You sat up slowly, not looking at him, not looking at anything. Your hands were flat against the mat, supporting your shaking frame. Your lungs worked overtime, trying to stabilise, trying to ground yourself. Your face flushed hot, not just from exertion but also from shame.

“Hey…” Bucky reached a hand toward you, but you cowered before he could touch you.

You forced yourself to your feet, knees stiff, stars swimming across your vision. 

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just knelt there on the mat, his eyes locked on you, searching your face like he was trying to read between the lines, like the truth might be scrawled somewhere in the way your mouth trembled or how you blindly picked at your nails.

His expression had dropped into something taut and drawn, like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. His brain catching up with what the tap meant—what it truly meant.

“Shit,” he breathed.“I didn’t know. I—I didn’t see it.”

He looked like he might be sick. Like he wanted to reach for you but knew he couldn’t. Knew he shouldn’t. His weight shifted, knee lifting like he was going to get up, close the space between you, but you took half a step back before he could. That was enough. He stayed where he was.

You hated how badly you wanted to fall into him.

Your whole body screamed for it, for safety, for the press of arms you trusted around you, for the warmth of him. For the feeling of a steady heart under your cheek, a voice in your ear telling you you were okay, you were here, it was over.

But you didn’t move. You locked your arms around your middle instead. Drew in a breath so deep it scraped your ribs raw and shoved everything down.

Still, your eyes lingered on him for a beat too long. On his worry. His guilt. His panic. He had remembered. He had known what the signal meant, even after all this time, hadn’t argued, hadn’t questioned it and hadn’t made you explain.

And that—that meant something.

Slowly, with herculean effort, you rolled your shoulders back and let your face go blank as Steve and Sam approached. 

“What are you two doing?” Steve asked, brows drawn together. He didn’t sound accusatory, just cautious, like he was testing the temperature of a room already on fire. “I told you to spar, not kill each other—”

“I—” Bucky started, lifting his hands slightly, almost in surrender. His voice was steady, but there was a slight tremor beneath it. You heard it. He was trying to smooth it over, or maybe like the words had just slipped from that place inside him that wasn’t guarded. He ignored Steve, eyes firmly locked onto you. “You alright, doll?” 

He said it with such casualness. Casualness that indicated he didn't realise what had just slipped past his lips. It was instinct, probably. 

Still, it hit you like a slap.

You didn’t even get the chance to level him with a look of ‘well-you’ve-gone-and-done-it-now’ before Sam’s head whipped around, armed with an expression somewhere between bewilderment and horror.

“What did you just call her?” 

Bucky said nothing. His lips pressed into a thin line, and you swore you saw the slightest tinge of red creep up his neck. Steve exhaled through his nose, loud and irritated, dragging a hand down his face like he was already regretting whatever scheme he had been plotting. Whatever it had been, it was clear to you that Sam hadn’t been brought up to speed. 

“I’m fine,” you said, too quickly. 

You didn’t look at anyone, just grabbed your bag from the bench and turned, heading for the locker room without a word.

Behind you, silence lingered on the mat.

—

Tony’s penthouse glittered like a scene from a luxury magazine shoot, all sleek lighting, glass walls, and a sky full of stars pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Music thumped low and rich through the space, some jazzy, remixed classic that Tony swore gave the night ‘class’. Outside, New York burned electric, skyscrapers blinking like a million eyes. Inside, the air reeked of expensive cologne, champagne, and politics.

You stood by the bar, posture poised, gown clinging perfectly in all the ways it was meant to. The colour was deep and dark, with a silky fabric cascading down your body like liquid shadow, explicitly chosen to flatter, distract, and hide. Your hair was swept into a neat updo, not a strand out of place. Lipstick matched the shade of your nails, the polish partly to distract from the skin you had picked raw. Sleek, practised, controlled. You looked the part.

God, you hated looking the part.

But the board had insisted. Visibility. Cohesion. Unity. The Avengers, Agents, Consultants, Freelance, everybody needed to be seen tonight, in public, together, smiling. To show the sponsors, the donors, the shareholders or whoever the fuck had power that everything was fine. That the world was still being held together by its favourite, dysfunctional little family.

You sipped your drink and nodded when someone from marketing passed by and forced a tight-lipped smile when a UN delegate’s assistant asked for a photo—laughed, genuinely for a moment, when Yelena shoved a canapé into Kate’s mouth mid-sentence and nearly made her choke.

Thor had clearly been overindulging in full Asgardian regalia and a black bowtie hanging comically loose around his thick neck. He was halfway through recounting an epic battle tale to a group of mortified interns, sloshing golden liquid onto the white rug as he gestured too grandly, his booming laugh echoing off the glass.

You laughed with him. Or, rather, around him.

You weren’t drunk, hadn’t dared allow it. The buzz you wore tonight came from anxiety. You had perfected the art of looking like you were fine. Fine in heels. Fine in silence. Fine in a room full of people where the one person you couldn't stop thinking about was also pretending he was fine.

You were on your millionth fake laugh when Steve stepped up beside you.

“I come in peace,” he said quickly, hands raised, like he expected you to throw a punch.

You shot him a flat look and started to turn away. “Whatever it is, Rogers, I’m not in the mood—”

“Hey—” he cut in gently, lowering his voice. “Nat was looking for you. Said she wanted to talk. Something important. She’s out on the balcony.”

That made you pause.

You glanced at him, reading his expression, trying to discern if there was more to it. But Steve had always been a terrible liar. This wasn’t his idea. There was definitely something sketchy about it…but you’d bite.

“…Fine,” you muttered, setting your glass on the bar. “Thanks.”

You peeled yourself from the crowd's edge, careful not to make eye contact with anyone too important or drunk. The floor beneath you pulsed faintly with the bass of the music, the champagne-fueled laughter, the click of heels and the hum of fake conversation. 

Out of habit, your eyes scanned the room for him. You didn’t even mean to. It was muscle memory by now. A flicker of dark hair. Broad shoulders. The kind of presence that stood out, even when he was trying not to. But you didn’t see him.

Maybe he left. Perhaps he found a corner to vanish into, away from all this noise.

You dodged a passing executive with a knowing smile and a polite excuse, dipped past a photographer angling for candids, and spun gracefully on your heel to avoid getting cornered by a senator’s wife with a diamond necklace and a mile-long list of questions.

Finally, you reached the balcony doors and slipped through them.

The cool air of the balcony kissed your bare shoulders the moment the sliding door clicked shut behind you. You exhaled. Finally, quiet.

Except—

He was there.

Leaning on the glass railing, gazing out over the city, hands braced as if the skyline could offer answers.

He didn’t turn at first. Just stood there, tall and tense, framed by the hum of the city lights below. His suit fit too well, with sharp lines and immaculate tailoring, the black lapels catching faint glints of light. The tie was knotted tight against his throat like a collar, strangling something feral just beneath the surface, like dressing up a wild, wounded animal and calling it tame.

You knew how much he hated this, the attention, the stiffness, the shallow, gleaming pretence. He hated how the suits itched, how they never accommodated his arm, and how they made him feel on display. Something was jarring about seeing him like this. Clean-shaven, hair slicked back and perfectly parted. Like someone had tried to iron out all the edges and polish him into something smooth and forgettable, it didn’t work. It never did.

And then you saw it—the glove. Smooth black leather over his left hand. Hiding it.

Shame. Fear. Judgment. You knew what that glove meant, what it had always meant. Just another mask he was forced to hide behind, or maybe a mask he forced himself to hide behind. And even now, he felt ashamed among people who called him a hero, who toasted him with champagne and wanted him in photos. And maybe he was right to feel wary, not to get too comfortable around the puppeteers who pulled all the strings.

It broke your heart.

Your heels clicked softly across the balcony tile as you approached. Bucky turned at the sound, startled.

His eyes locked on yours.

You stopped a few paces away, your breath catching for just a second. His gaze darted to the door, then back to you.

“Let me guess,” you said dryly, arms folding over your chest, “Nat came to you and told you Steve was looking for you on the balcony?”

Bucky blinked. “How did you—?”

“Because Steve just came to me,” you said, arching a brow, “and told me Nat was looking for me on the balcony.”

He swore softly under his breath and looked away, exhaling like he’d been sucker-punched. The wind tugged at his jacket, and his hand ghosted near the balcony rail.

“I think we’ve been set up.” You hummed.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said quickly, already stepping back. “I can go—”

“No, it’s okay.” You cut him off. “We should talk.”

---

hello! thank you for reading, let me know your thoughts! i no longer have a taglist because it got too long and was reaching the tag limit. if you want to keep being notified of my updates please follow @artficlly-updates and turn on post notifications! <3

[pegging-satan]

a/n: Drabble. Not proofread. Forgive any spelling/grammar errors I wrote this… as research I promise I’m not horny hahahahahahahahaha I just needed to get this out of my system. I’m going to go to sleep now.

No tags we fuck around and find out like MEN

You never thought you were that kind of person, but ever since you got with him, you just constantly felt like a cat in heat. Can’t stop nuzzling him, can’t stop grinding on him, can’t stop being so damn horny around him,,,, and it pleases him to no end.

On days where you’re both either working from home or have a day off, you’re clinging to that man like a koala, good thing he’s so strong that you just feel like a breeze to him. He’s working or gaming at his desk and you’re on his lap face nuzzled into his neck as you desperately, pathetically hump his thigh, gasping and mewling at the sensation, or sitting under his desk, lazily sucking him off like you’re sucking on your favourite lollipop, as he pays no heed to you, but doesn’t stop you from getting off on him, or getting him off. He’s going to focus on finishing his work or his video game, and then he will fuck your nice and good like you deserve.

Your adorable cat-like mannerisms don’t get unnoticed by him. He thinks it’s oh, so precious, he thinks that if you could you’d be purring in his arms. So he does the only logical thing a cat-loving man would do: he gets you a cat ear headband, a collar with a leash, and a cat tail plug. They’re high-tech and expensive too, they can read your mood and react accordingly. He thinks it’s so adorable when you walk around the house like that.

The fluffy tail, those cute little ears that flatten against your head even he pats it, or hits that spot deep inside. The tail swishing side to side, which he grips gently as he thrusts languidly into you, while your eyes roll back, and your tongue hangs from your mouth, as he tugs at the leash pulling you back.

He then pushes your head into the pillows and begins thrusting harder, his self control crumbling, how can he hold back, when his little kitty is presenting herself to him so well, face down, ass up, beckoning him, begging for him…

Yes, good kitty he coos. He lets go of the leash, and fists your hair, pulling your head back, making those cat ears flutter and flatten against your head in ecstasy… he can never get enough of how your body reacts to him, and the sounds that you make… the sounds that you make drive him completely insane.

So insane that he doesn’t think twice before dumping his entire load into your warm, wet, gushy insides, as they flutter around his cock too, squeezing him for all he’s worth, and more. You want him to stay like that forever, it feels so good; so warm and so full, you’d never tire of this sensation.

And then he’d pull out, slowly, as he softens inside you, and sees his seed dripping from you so deliciously, he can’t help but collect some and smear it on you, so shiny, so juicy and plump. You look so tempting he can’t even help himself and before either of you can register what’s happening he’s between your legs lapping up both your release, because you taste so good and he takes care of himself he knows damn well he tastes good too. And together, between your legs, it tastes absolutely divine.

He doesn’t even care that you’re shaking and trembling like a leaf in a storm, he holds you down with his strong hands and keeps at it, it’s for his own pleasure at this point, his tongue licking and prodding, savouring your taste as it gushes out again and again, drenching the sheets, as well as his face. And he revels in it. He loves it so fucking much.

Zayne, Sylus, Caleb, Xavier, Keishin Ukai, Shidou, Sae, Karasu, Kaiser, Nanami, Higuruma, Toji, Satoru, Choso, Suna, Kuroo, Terushima, Erwin, Jean, Reiner

[fairestwriting]

Hi omg I just found your blog ahfbxbd

Could you do smthn (a little drabble or hcs🤷‍♀️) of Leona when his (pref. Fem) s/o is on their period? Since he respects women so much and likely chugs Respect Women Juice (was that cringy?😭 mb)

Could do savanaclaw in general if you wanted but thats up to you and stuff<3 whatever works best for you

Sorry my brains working overtime lmao

Anywho please take care of yourself and drink water and eat something!!<3<3

wah tysm for the nice words! i’m happy you’ve been enjoying my blog!! <3 i haven’t done scenarios/drabbles in a long time so i thought well why not…

also tbh. even if it’s an old meme it’s never cringy for me. every man shoul chug respect women juice like he does.

ೀ pairing: leona kingscholar x f!reader

ೀ word count: 1,396

“…So yeah, it should be better by tomorrow, I think.” You say, letting out a sigh as you press the pillow to your stomach, but not too hard— Leona’s eyes just remain on you for the whole thing, like he’s committing every detail to memory. “It’s always worse on specific days.”

“Looks like it.” Finally showing any sort of reaction, Leona frowns slightly. “And you’re planning on just going to class anyway?”

“Well, I can’t miss an entire week every month, can I?” You huff out a quiet laugh, but he doesn’t seem to really share the sentiment. An alarmed feeling flashes on his eyes, slightly widening, and your laughter increases by the tiniest bit. “Oh my god, Leona, I’m fine. You’re looking at me like I told you I got stabbed.”

“You were *talking* like you got stabbed a few minutes ago.” He points out, glancing behind him towards the kitchen door. There’s the whistle of the kettle, finally— “I’ll get that.” He mutters before you can finish using up the small bits of strength you’d been conserving to get up.

“Do you even know how to fill a hot water bottle?” Naturally, you ask him. Leona’s ears go flat against the top of his head as he rolls his eyes.

“Come on, Herbivore. I wasn’t raised in a barn.” He snarks at you. You raise your eyebrow, unconvinced, and he huffs. “You know I have cousins, right?”

“And you were the one filling those up for them?” You reply with another question, and he clicks his tongue, just making his way to the kitchen without a word.

His footsteps feel almost noisy, contrasting with the silence that the entire dorm building is submerged into. Grim was somewhere in there, in his bedroom, but you’d already told him to keep it down when you had a headache earlier.

He tried to be sassy at first, but quickly changed his tune— There are maybe certain traits of guys that transcend species, you think.

”Ow, fuck—“ You hear Leona’s hushed swear from the kitchen, and it gets a small laugh from you.

“Careful!” You call after him, the hint of the smile staying on your face. He doesn’t respond to it, but you can kind of imagine the look on his face.

…It’s a few more moments of aimlessly staring off into space until he’s coming back. The hot water bottle makes its characteristic sloshing noises with every step of his.

Right now, that basically sounds like the first notes of Heaven’s choir as the gates open for you. He holds the bottle by its neck with one hand, like he’s afraid of the heat radiating from it.

“You can just hand it over.” You tell him, and just now you notice he’s setting down a glass of water on the coffee table in the meantime.

“Aren’t you supposed to cover that up with something?” He asks, and you blink, confused for a second. “The bottle, Herbivore. This thing’s hot.”

“Oh, it can go on top of the blanket.”

“You sure that’s enough?”

“Yup. Just hand it over.”

He hesitates a little, but the bottle is with you soon enough. You exhale, sighing in relief as you feel the warmth against your body, slowly seeping through the rubber and getting its hands into the tightly wound painful spots on your abdomen.

Leona watches closely. You can see his eyes moving in small steps, following what little movement you make. He sits on the couch, right where your feet would be if you hadn’t curled up on yourself like that.

“Do you believe I know how to make those things yet?” A bit to your surprise, he’s the one to break the silence, a tiny smirk pulling at the corner of his lip. You hum thoughtfully, hand resting on top of the hot water bottle like you’re grading it.

“Hm. Yeah, it’s not bad.” You shrug, shifting to get more comfortable. A surge of pain spikes through from the movement, making you wince, but the reward that comes later is enough. “Did you actually make them for your cousins?”

You ask the question absentmindedly as you pick up your phone, not planning to do anything in particular. He pauses. The silence tells you enough.

“…That’s what I thought.” You say with a smirk, mostly to yourself, and he makes an annoyed grunt.

“Oh, give me some credit. You said I did fine.” He complains, and your smile widens a little. “Is there anything else you need, or do I just get to be your footrest now?”

“Footrest is okay.” You snicker, looking up from the screen to see a spark of amusement on his face. Finally, you think, he was really looking so serious before. It’s almost funny to compare. “You’re gonna stay? I thought you had practice later.”

“I have practice whenever I feel like having practice.” Of course you do, you think as he shrugs. “We don’t have anything coming up anyway. I got more important things to do now.”

“Like being a footrest for your girlfriend.” You poke fun at him a little. The reaction you get is smaller than you expect.

“Yes, Herbivore. I’m booked for the whole afternoon.” He replies without missing a beat. You’re still kind of curled up, even though you’re laying more on your back now, but just to make the point, you let your legs shift a little, poking at his thigh. “I’m guessing those pain meds kicked in.”

“Oh, yeah. Thankfully.” You say, looking back at the screen, and Leona hums.

“…Do they actually take all of the pain away?”

“Not always, but it’s working pretty well now.”

At that, he frowns again. “And you’re saying you’ll just take those and go to class tomorrow.”

“…Yeah?”

Silence. Leona just kind of stares. You can kind of see the gears turning behind his eyes. It’s established this was his first time filling a hot water bottle, yeah, but you kind of wonder if it’s his first time helping someone with… anything period-related at all.

“Skipping is an option, you know.”

“Ugh, don’t tempt me. My attendance’s gonna go to hell.”

“You know I can just get that sorted out for you, right…” He replies in kind of a murmur.

…You said it like a joke, but he didn’t return that part of the gesture at all.

“What?” He asks, and you notice it’s been a few seconds since you started actually considering the pros and cons of skipping tomorrow’s classes.

It’s a little funny, how flustered he suddenly looks. And he only gives you that look *right now,* when you’re giving him that oh, I’m surprised you can be that nice look.

“Stop looking at me like that.” He mumbles, averting his eyes. “Just take the day off. No way you’re getting anything done if you feel like you’re getting ‘punched in the stomach’ for the whole day.”

…You’d used those exact words to describe your situation a few minutes ago, it reminds you. And he definitely wasn’t wrong, but…

“What about my notes, though…?” You protest, but your soul can’t be quite in it. It’s right at this moment that you feel your guts twist again, even through the muffling of the water bottle and the pills…

“I’ll pay Ashengrotto off to get you copies or something. Are you convinced enough now?” He responds without missing a beat. Your eyes widen a little at how eager it sounds. “C’mon, Herbivore. I know you’re stubborn, but it can’t be that bad of a deal.”

“Well, what if I’m also in pain the day after tomorrow? Would you pay for that too?” …You’re kind of just pushing back for the sake of it. It’s just how you talk to each other. You get a feeling Leona can sense that, especially when he gives you a smile

“I’ll make it a damn monthly subscription service if it means you’ll stay put when you’re in pain.” Again, he doesn’t miss a single beat.

You’re tempted to push back, but well…

It definitely sounded like a good idea, right now— And when you do agree to it, Leona gives you this grateful smile, you don’t think you’ve ever seen it on his face before.

And you smile back, getting the feeling this week definitely wouldn’t be as miserable as you expected it to,

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[kissandtellus]

Hello :3 I hope you feel better soon! I have a request for you though. Could you maybe write a needy Caleb listening in on MC while she's playing alone in the next room? You could throw some panty sniffing in there, lots of talk about fantasies caleb has please. Hope to see it soon <3

Misunderstanding

Synopsis: A hot summer day turns into an even hotter misunderstanding.

Warnings: Caleb being a freak, eavesdropping, the panty snatcher strikes again, self-pleasing, imagination.

Caleb hated any barriers that separated him from Y/n. That wasn’t just walls she had built up after his ‘death’, it also involved the very REAL wall separating their bedrooms. No matter how much he begged and pleaded with her- “Pipsqueak, we can just share my room. The bed is so much better for your back, I know Hunting wears you out”-she refused.

So now he lays in the master bedroom of his Penthouse, trying to ignore how utterly humid it is today. His P.T had ran long, and it involved running out in the muggy, humid heat of the training ground.

The A.C on full blast was doing little to calm his sweating. He’d stripped his shirt an hour ago, hell -bent on catching a nap before he took Y/n to that new bakery that opened down the street.

But the walls were thin. In this multi-coin Penthouse the walls were still like fucking paper. He could hear the soft sound of her record player. It was churning some light, pop and preppy music he could barely make out the words too.

It didn’t bother him, it brought him comfort that his Pipsqueak was safe and sound.

What DIDN’T bring him comfort, was the shuffling noises of blankets being shuffled around and then the lowest, softest buzzing.

Caleb thought that maybe his exhaustion had gotten the better of him.

Then the soft noises quickly overrode the music. Caleb sits up in his bed and eagerly presses his ear to the wall. Lo and behold, those pretty noises are real.

Caleb knows he should tear himself away from the wall. He should blast some of his workout playlist and try to sleep. But he can’t, he can’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

The draw to his bedside table is pulled open so hard he’s afraid he might break it off the hinges. He pulls out the photo of Y/n he keeps in his drawer. It’s an innocent photo in the frame, the photo from his graduation where she’s planting a kiss on his cheek.

But as he pulls back the metal bits and the back of the frame falls out, a pair of lacy purple thongs fall into his lap. He’d stolen these from the laundry weeks ago. Y/n had never questioned him about it, it was too embarrassing. Why would she?

Caleb pushed down his grey sweats. He was never a fan of wearing boxers beneath them while at home. And he also felt a thrill when he caught his little Pipsqueak staring at his flaccid cock bouncing against his thigh.

But now here he was, face shoved in the crotch of the thong, hand gripping his cock. Y/n’s moans grew needier, not exactly louder. His protective instincts surged a bit, hearing her all whiny and gasping.

He should be helping her, he should be the one coaxing those sweet noises from her mouth. He hastily picked up the discarded photo, thong resting against his face. His pink tongue even darted out to try and get even a taste of what her sweet nectar would taste like.

His eyes flickered over the photo. The way her skirt was raised just a bit, the way her arms were around his neck.

Y/n’s groans came louder through the wall. It was clear she was trying to muffle them by how strained she sounded. Caleb was in no better shape. His thumb swiped the prickle pre over the head. Fuck, his hand could never match up with how warm and tight she must feel.

Caleb imagined the lips that were pressed against his cheek in that picture, to be around his aching length.

He dropped the photo and leaned his head back against the headboard. He focused on the noises, shaping up a pretty picture in his mind.

How she would feel, how she would whine when he first took her innocence ‘Oh Gege, mm-so big ‘in deep!’!

Caleb was like a mad dog, his free hand now pushing the fabric against his nose and drooling mouth. His cock twitched and strained in his palm. He was going to blow his load at the image alone.

“Caleb? This massager I got from the store is really good on my back! I know you told me about the bed being hard but-“

Caleb’s orgasm should’ve came to a screeching halt as soon as his bedroom door opened. Oh but he couldn’t stop the milky white ropes from shooting up his chest and leaking onto his toned belly. Y/n stood in his door way with a rolling back massager, eyes wide with something he hoped wasn’t horror or disgust.

In that moment, he really wish he’d actually blown up.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Doing Time 9

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Sunday mornings are usually those where you wake up restless. It’s the day you work on chores. Yet when you rouse, you only want to sink back into the bed. You could spend all day in the faded afterglow. 

You roll onto your side and squeak. Your thighs are tender. Every bit of you is sensitive to the point of twitching. Even just the touch of the duvet is too much. 

Yet the man who made you feel this way is gone. Your chest tweaks. Is he gone? Was this all just a twisted plot by him? That would make your life so much easier. If this could just be a fantasy, 

“Sweetheart,” Steve’s drawl makes you tense. 

You lift your head and look at the door. He fills the frame easily. He’s in a pair of grey boxers and nothing else. His muscle-forged shoulders are round and firm, his middle thick and padded too. You can see all the strength you felt the night before. 

You sit up and hug the top of the blanket. You look around. “What time is it?” 

“Take your time,” he assures. “I was just looking in on you.” 

“Oh,” you rub your neck. “I-- I should--” you search for anything to cover yourself. “Get up.” 

You turn your legs over the side of the bed and keep the duvet up. He hums. “You don’t gotta.” 

“I do. I have to get the laundry. The dishes. And groceries--” 

“Laundry’s folded, waiting in a basket. I did the dishes. And we can grab groceries later.” 

You blink at him, “huh? No, you didn’t--” 

“You know, being locked up, the little things, they’re almost fun these days. I don’t got some guard glaring at me or barking at me for standing the wrong way,” he chuckles and crosses the room. “Besides, you don’t need to worry about all that. We got a road trip.” 

“A road...trip?” You echo. 

He sits next to you and caresses your bare shoulder, “mhmm. As much as I’d like to stay in bed all day.” 

You squeeze the blanket tighter and blush. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Going to see your brother. Like mom said we should.” 

“What?” You wince. “No, I’ll go. You don’t have to--” 

“I don’t have to. I want to. We’re together now.” 

You gulp and lean away from him. You stand up and brush by him. You take your robe off the dresser and open it. Before you can pull it on, there’s a tug on the other end. 

“Why’re you running?” He yanks until you face him. 

“I’m not,” you angle it in front of your body as best as you can. 

“You’re hiding--” 

“I’m cold--” 

“You could’ve stayed under the blankets--” 

“Steve,” you tug until he lets go. You wrap yourself up. The robe smells like him too. “You shouldn’t... come yet. It’s just Vaughn, he can be...” 

“A brat. Oh I know it. It’s why you’re lucky I was there to watch over him. But what about now?” 

You search his face. “You don’t think...” 

“I’m just saying. I was in there. He wasn’t making any friends.” 

“Steve,” you gasp. 

“I can’t lie to you, baby.” He puts his hands on your arms. “Not ever. Your brother needs a heavy boot to keep him in place. I might not be inside but I still got connects on the inside. And he needs to see that I still got his back so he stays in line. Make sure he gets out one day. I’d like our kids to know their uncle--” 

You choke. Kids? That’s not an argument for today. Hopefully, it never truly comes to a head. 

“I didn’t... I don’t have an appointment,” you say. 

“I do. Special request for a family meeting. The two of us.” 

“What? He’s not—He's not going to like that.” 

“He’s going to like what I’m tell him too,” Steve’s voice deepens and he brings a hand to your chin. “He should like whatever makes his sister happy. Especially after all you’ve done for him. And if he isn’t, well, then, I guess he’s on his own.” 

“It’s just—he's—he's just very--” 

“He needs to grow up. You go out there and see him and he doesn’t appreciate that. Well he’s going to start or he’s not going to see you anymore. You got a life to live here. With me.” He pets your cheek with his knuckles. “And I spent enough of mine behind bars. I’m not waiting any longer.” 

He steps closer and leans it, drawing you to him. You don’t stop him. You know better. He kisses you as you close your eyes, hiding the anxiety brewing in your heart. You have a bad feeling about this. 

💙

You’ve only ever gone to the prison alone. Being with Steve feels strange for several reasons. He keeps your hand in his as you step inside the visitors’ entrance and approach the front desk with its thick plexiglass windows. 

He lets you go to take out his wallet. You glance around as you sense the gazes of several guards. Even out of his prison garb, they must recognise him. As ever, his blond and silver hair is tidily combed and parted. He wears a blue-grey short-sleeve button up and a pair of grey slacks. The sleeves are tight around his biceps and a gold watch flashes on his wrist. 

You take out your ID and hand it over with his. You swelter in the judgment of the errant eyes around you. What must they think? You show up here with a former inmate... He might have been acquitted on appeal but how much do they know about that? 

“Step over on the x’s,” the woman directs. “Officers will search you and escort you in.” 

You follow her instructions. The officers sweep over you quickly but you notice the extra attention they give to Steve. He chuckles. 

“Miss me?” He asks. 

One of the officers clucks. 

“Outside’s treating you well,” the one feeling him up turns his wrist to admire the watch. 

“Well, you know, I got a good bag for the settlement. False convictions are a cash grab,” Steve scoff, “low pay for time done, though.” 

The officer huffs with a hint of doubt. 

“Alright, go in,” he points down the hall. “They’ll get you seated.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Steve salutes him and reaches for you. “Come on, sweetheart.” 

You let him drag you down the hall to the visitors’ room. Another officer greets you and checks his clipboard. He takes you to a spot at the desk with two seats and two receivers. The chair on the other side of the transparent barrier is empty. 

You fidget as you wait, staring at the white seat across from you. What will Vaughn think? What will he do? The last question worries you most. 

“Damn, I’m just thinking about the days it was me over there,” Steve chuckles and puts his hand on the back of your chair. “We’re you this nervous then? I could never tell.” 

You shrug. 

“I can tell you now. I counted down the days. I’d be on my cell bed, sat all pretty and patient for you, ‘til they sent one of these bozos to get me,” he sighs and slaps his thigh. “I can’t hardly believe I’m sitting right next to you now.” 

He plays with your sleeve. He leans over and kisses your other shoulder. You shiver and twine your fingers together tightly in your lap. 

You wince as a door shuts with a muffled thunk. You sit up as you sense the approach on the other side. Vaughn drags his feet between two guards and stops behind the chair. He snorts. 

You can’t hear through the glass as his face twists. He tenses and the guards struggle with him. You stare at him as his eyes scour you venomously, then flick over Steve. His lip curls and he tries to shake off the guards. They finally get him to sit. 

Steve clicks his tongue and sits forward, bend one arm over the table. He chuckles as he picks up the receiver. Vaughn crosses his arms and squares his jaw defiantly. You hesitate but lift your receiver too. 

Steve points through the glass. Vaughn sneers. Steve leans forward and taps the glass. Your brother rolls his eyes then reaches for the phone. The guards cautiously back off. 

“What the fuck is this--” 

“You watch your mouth,” Steve warns. “We came all this way. The first thing you can start with is thanking your sister for being here and telling her how much you love her.” 

“Fuck off, pal.” 

Steve laughs. A dark rumble that unsettles you. You’ve never heard that from him. He gets an edge now and again, the kind that makes you nervous, but this is something more dangerous. 

“I’m giving you another chance to show some respect,” Steve warns. “So clean up the language and thank your sister.” 

“You fucking him?” Vaughn sets his sight on you. 

“Vaughn, please, settle down.” You plead 

“Huh? Is that it? How the fuck did that happen? I mean--” He snarls against the phone. “I love you, sis, but I got nothing but this for a slut.” 

He swallows and spits at the glass. Steve bristles and squeezes the receiver tight. You look over as his knuckles turn white. He leans forward. 

“Last fucking chance. Apologise--” 

“Fuck you, dude. You’re out. You got nothing in here. You run shit. So I’ma say what I want to my sister and you’re going to sit there like an old decrepit man and choke--” 

“You’re walking the line,” Steve is terrifying calm. 

“Me? Me?! You’re fucking my sister--” 

“I’m gonna marry your sister. I’m a man. Unlike you.” Steve insists. 

“Marry?!” Vaughn erupts.  

He stands and gnashes his teeth. He slams the receiver against the glass. You drop yours and sit back as he hammers at the barrier until the phone breaks in his hands. The guards grab him and drag him off away from the table. 

Steve is unfazed. He watches the tantrum. You stare at the pieces of the broken receiver as the cable hangs limply. Vaughn kicks and writhes as he’s wrestled to the door. 

Steve hangs up the phone. “Ungrateful.” 

“Steve, you should’ve let me speak--” 

“And what? Let him call you a slut?” 

“I could’ve talked to him. You didn’t let me--” 

“I’m not letting anyone disrespect my woman,” he stands up. “Not even your brother. You understand me?” 

“Steve, I understand, but he’s my family--” 

“You don’t get it sweetheart,” he takes your hand and tugs you up. “You need me. You don’t take care of yourself like you should. You let them walk right over you. Well, that’s not happening anymore.” 

You get up and sniff. “I’ll come back on my own. I’ll talk to him--” 

“You’re not coming back. He can deal with consequences.” 

“Steve.” 

He squeezes your hand. You quiet. He doesn’t let up as he drags you from the room. You pass the guards with your head down. He doesn’t stop at the front desk as he marches you out. 

Finally, he stops. Right by his car. He puts his hand on the passenger door and faces you. 

“Get one more thing, doll. You don’t argue with me like that. Especially in front of other men.” 

Your mouth falls open, “I wasn’t--” 

“You were,” he puts his other hand on his hip. “I’d do anything for you but I need you to meet me halfway, got it? We’re a unit so you stand by me. Your brother wants to act like a child, so let him mope like one. He spit in your face and you’re going to take it? Nah. Not my woman.” 

“He’s upset--” 

“You’re too soft. I love that about you but it’s no good,” he tuts. He stands straight and opens the passenger door. “Come on. We got business to take care of.” 

You get in, hiding your confusion and chagrin. You knew it would go about as well as it did. So did Steve. He's not stupid. And he’s not telling you everything, not like he said he would. This business... what exactly is that? 

You would ask but you’re not sure you’d get an answer. Knowing won’t do anything to change whatever he has planned. Just like you can’t do much to stop all those big dreams of his; wife, kids... you’re caught in the whirlwind of his lost years. 

[rafsmusicalnotes]

A Good Night with Rafayel

Rafayel from Love and Deepspace. Short Drabble. 

about ~695 words

Premise: Rafayel's thoughts late at night when you're asleep next to him. MC/Reader is gender neutral.

Rafayel hummed to himself, eyes closed and feeling your weight beside him; he hummed a melody of an old Lemurian lullaby. You slept soundly by his side and held an Artsy Birb plushie in your embrace. Y'all had won it earlier today at the arcade. A smile washes over his face as he recalls how happy you were insistently poking at him to get it, and how even happier you were when he won it. 

“For once you catch something!”

“Hey, what is that supposed to mean?”

The mischievous glint in your eyes as you dodged the question, and distracted him with the sudden warmth of your embrace. It had filled his chest with a heavy, overwhelming feeling like a wide warm tide pool. 

He opens his eyes when he’s sure you’re sleeping– which he can tell by your slowed, steady breathing. That’s when he moves himself to hover over you, holding himself up by his forearms, placed beside both sides of your head. He lifts one hand to place two fingers to your neck and holds his breath to focus on your pulse. He knows you’re alive. He knows you’re okay. He knows you’re going to be fine tomorrow as you were today. 

Yet he checks anyway. Then, he slowly glides his hand upwards and hovers his thumb under your nose to feel your breathing. After a few moments, he goes back to laying beside you. He does this routinely. Not everyday but every once in a while. 

“Sometimes I worry you’re a figment of my imagination.” 

He mentally exhausts himself often when he’s with or without you although he definitely prefers the stronger assurance when you're near him. 

Away from you, he worries that maybe you've been killed when you’re on long expeditions for work. Or maybe you've forgotten him again, and finding someone else. When he’s with you, he pleads for your affection directly or with subtle manners, but hates the moment’s impermanence. He loves your intimacy with him. He loves that he's the only one that can hold you like he is now. The only one that gets to rub his face against your chest. The only one to kiss you throughout the day. He loves when you touch him at all anywhere. When you poke at his abs or when you put a collar on him. Even when you hit him because of a poor joke he made. It’s when you’re away that hurts the most. That burns more than when you’re here with him. Because anywhere you’ve touched before becomes painful, ghostly reminders that you’re not here now. He knows he’s needy. He knows very well he’s selfish with you, but he can’t help chase the addictive delight that comes with successfully stealing your time. 

Like right now, he has you in his bed, in his house, and he’s absolutely overjoyed to have you so close, but he stares at the Birb in your embrace. How it’s definitely suffocating against your chest and hearing your heartbeat. He furrows his brows and pouts, reaching over to flick at the Birb to release some of the animosity in his chest towards that damn plush. A part of him wants to tug it out of your arms, and wrap your arms around himself until he’s suffocated against you. But, he'd hate to accidentally wake you up for something that petty. So instead, he wraps an arm around your waist with one arm and shifts closer to you until your back is to his chest. If he can’t be in your arms and feel your love, then may he keep you warm and never feel doubt with his love. 

He carefully nuzzles his nose against your head and takes a deep breath, letting his mind let go of any heavy thoughts he had before. You’re in his embrace right now, in his house, on his bed, right in front of him. And as long as he’s alive, your safety will always be his priority. He lifts a hand to cup over one of yours, and gives a gentle squeeze. He savors it all. Every bit about you, even when you’re doing nothing but resting.

Author's Note: My first post on Tumblr! Please be kind! I've had this cooking for awhile. I've enjoyed rereading it on my own many times. Honestly, I've been trying to get into writing more, but I'm not very creative, so if you guys have any ideas for me, that'd be awesome (if you like my writing ofc)

I think my next piece might be about Rafayel comforting you about physical insecurities, maybe? Like stretch marks, cellulite, etc. Tried bathing suits for the summer and the lighting in changing rooms gotta be the most humbling thing ever....

[gyubakeries]

HtBDaSTGYM presents: Method 1 - Love Potions

test subjects: kim mingyu x f!reader

word count: 2.9k

contents: college au , friends to lovers , love potions , lowkey witchcraft , verkwan cameo , cookies as a plot device , crack treated seriously , this is just Silly , the slightest bit of angst , inspired by descendants 1

verification: Trust Me Bro

sources: thank you serena ( @gotta-winwin ) and ally ( @lovetaroandtaemin ) for helping me finish this fic with your motivation + inspiration 🩷

series masterlist

seungkwan, focused on his assignment due in four hours, startles in his seat when you plop down onto the chair next to him, a guttural groan leaving your lips. he’s pretty sure the librarian shoots a dirty glance in your direction, followed by passive aggressive motions towards the bold ‘keep quiet’ sign in the library.

“what did kim mingyu do this time?” seungkwan sighs, voice dropping to a whisper. you slam your head on the table, immediately cursing and rubbing your forehead at the impact.

“he’s being too nice,” you whine. “it would be so much easier if he was a mean asshole who wasn’t the literal human embodiment of a golden retriever!”

“so this is wh​​at first world problems sound like,” seungkwan mutters. he then puts his pen down to turn his body and face your figure, currently slumped over the table in defeat. “look, if his existence bothers you that much, stop being around him!”

“it’s not a bother,” you click your tongue. “it’s annoying because i like him so much and can’t do anything about it.”

“why not?”

“seungkwan, have you looked at me?” you deadpan. “mingyu is way out of my league. there’s no way he’d like someone like me.”

“then make him like you,” seungkwan shrugs.

“and how do you suggest i do that, genius?” you roll your eyes and scoff.

seungkwan simply smiles in response and clasps his hands together. you only have a few moments to feel extremely terrified before seungkwan says, “let dr. boo teach you how to.”

“this feels like a scam.”

“please don’t hurt my ego.”

“.... alright.”

—

for seungkwan’s ‘masterclass’, he drags you out of the library, assignment forgotten, and into his dorm room. his roommate, hansol, doesn’t even spare a glance at seungkwan’s strange antics, as if he’s seen this play out multiple times before.

seungkwan takes you into his room and instructs you to sit down in the middle of his bed.

“okay, enlighten me,” you look up at seungkwan expectantly.

“the most fool-proof method of getting your crush to like you back, pause for dramatic effect,”seungkwan mutters under his breath before continuing, “is by making a love potion.”

there’s silence for a few moments, only to be interrupted by hansol loudly munching on chips while leaning against the doorframe. you raise an eyebrow at him, and all he says is, “watching seungkwan be delusional is my favorite hobby.”

“i’m not being delusional!” seungkwan argues. “my methods are tried and tested.”

“yeah, right,” you snicker. “who exactly has tested your methods?”

“i have!” seungkwan says with pride. “the love potion is real. ask hansol.”

“hey man, don’t turn this on me,” hansol raises his arms in defense. “i haven’t been given any potion.”

“remember that one week when you begged me to bake you cookies every day?” seungkwan hums. “what do you think was in those?”

“no way,” hansol’s eyes are wide with surprise. “i just thought your grandmother passed down some killer cookie recipe.”

“she did,” seungkwan nods, facing you. “that’s where i got my love potion recipe from. does it sound legit enough?”

“not even close,” you shake your head. “but i’m desperate, so teach me.”

“i’ll be glad to,” seungkwan chirps, and you momentarily think to yourself, what have i gotten myself into?

—

“hey, y/n! good morning!” the familiar voice makes you whip your head back, butterflies going crazy in your stomach as mingyu walks up to you. he looks effortlessly handsome in a simple hoodie and jeans as he comes to a stop next to your locker, canines peeking through when he smiles.

“how was your weekend?” he asks, and you pray to every divine presence watching that you aren’t a blushing mess.

“oh, it was fine,” you reply. “just trying out new things.”

“like what?” mingyu asks, and somehow, the ever-present twinkle in his eye seems even brighter. you wrack your brain to come up with any answer that won’t give away exactly what you’ve been doing over the weekend.

“a new recipe,” you finally reply. “you know, the tiktok recipes are becoming too interesting not to try.”

“but i thought you said you were terrible at cooking?” mingyu’s eyebrows furrow, and you mentally kick yourself for your flimsy lie. making seungkwan’s love potion-infused cookies hadn’t been easy, given your lack of basic cooking skills, but you had managed to scrape together a batch of cookies that were edible, not burnt, and baked all the way through.

“i had some help,” you smile. hoping that you sounded convincing enough.

“so, what’d you make?” mingyu asks, and you nearly sigh with relief. you had been thinking of ways to bring up the cookies in conversation, but thankfully, mingyu did all the work himself.

“i made some cookies,” you reply, and mingyu’s eyes light up.

“please tell me they’re choco chip,” he gasps, squealing when you nod in confirmation.

“would you wanna…. try them?” you offer hesitantly, not knowing just how much you could ask of mingyu before he got suspicious. fortunately for you, mingyu was like a giant dog whose tail starts wagging the instant he hears anything about food.

“yes! i’d love to try some,” he nods eagerly, and you couldn’t be any quicker in pulling out the box of cookies from your bag. mingyu watches closely as you open the lid, the smell of warm, fresh cookies filling the air. he doesn’t hesitate to reach into the box and grab a cookie, immediately taking a huge bite out of it.

you watch with bated breath as mingyu chews on the cookie, humming with satisfaction as his eyebrows scrunch together.

“y/n, these are heavenly,” mingyu groans. “do you mind if i take another one?”

you remember seungkwan’s instructions from earlier that week. the more cookies he eats, the stronger the effect of the potion is.

“of course! take as many as you want,” you grin, holding the box out for mingyu. he takes the box from your hands and reaches in for another one. you only watch (with heart-eyes) as mingyu finishes three cookies within five minutes.

“these are seriously so good,” mingyu sighs, closing the lid on the box. “do you think i could take the rest of these home?”

seungkwan’s voice speaks up from a corner of your brain. ‘the potion will work in your favor only if you are the first person mingyu sees after eating the cookies. you can’t let him have it anywhere else, or he’ll be in love with someone else.’

“no!” you reply, wincing at how loud your voice sounded. “i mean, i was saving some for myself too….”

you hate how quickly mingyu’s smile fades, shoulders drooping instantly as he hands the box back to you. “i see,” he says, looking dejected. “you can have these back.”

“i could make you some more!” you offer, trying to bring back the smile you loved seeing. “you can come over this weekend, and i can make you some more cookies, if you’d like.”

“really?” mingyu asks. “i won’t be too much of a bother?”

“you’re never a bother to me,” you say, and you hope that mingyu can tell that you really meant the words.

“awesome! i’ll see you on saturday,” mingyu grins. “i have to get to class now, but text me what time works for you, yeah?”

you frown. seungkwan had mentioned that the potion takes a couple of minutes to work, but mingyu’s behaviour was still normal.

“sure! but, uh, do you have anything you want to tell me?” you question, wringing your hands together with nervousness. mingyu stays silent for a while, his eyes locked onto yours, and for a second, you think that the potion really has worked, but the only answer that leaves his lips is: “great cookies! you’ve underestimated your cooking skills.”

as mingyu walks away to get to his class, it’s your turn to feel dejected as you think, why on earth did the cookies not work?

—

“something probably went wrong in the baking process,” seungkwan assures you over the phone, later that week, two hours before mingyu was scheduled to come over to your apartment.

“you told me your recipe was easy! what could’ve gone wrong?” you throw your hands up, frustrated.

“maybe ask yourself that,” seungkwan rolls his eyes. “my recipe is perfect, maybe consider that you did something wrong?”

you sigh. you did end up doing something wrong with five batches of cookies before the last batch had turned out good, so it wasn’t too unbelievable of a proposition.

“fine, then at least tell me what i should do now,” you plead. “this is probably my last chance to make this work, and i can’t screw it up.”

“don’t worry, i’ve got you,” seungkwan comforts you. “get the ingredients ready, i’ll guide you through every step.”

an hour later, the cookies were baking away in the oven as seungkwan busied himself with doing karaoke in his room, and you cleaned up the kitchen. the bottles of ‘magical’ ingredients seungkwan had given you, labelled unicorn vanilla essence, fairy chocolate chips, and pixie cocoa powder, were now empty, so you sweep them into the trash. the names did sound a little sketchy, but you’d rather stay silent than question seungkwan’s credibility.

“are you sure it’s gonna work this time?” you ask seungkwan, and he shoots you a glare before moving to pause his music.

“y/n, there’s absolutely nothing that could go wrong,” seungkwan says. “i guided you through the entire thing. now, just trust the process and let the magic do its thing.”

“okay, got it,” you nod. just then, the oven timer rings, and you hurry to grab your mittens to take the tray out of the oven. you carry the tray over to the cooling rack on your kitchen counter, the smell of cookies wafting through your apartment, when your doorbell rings.

“wait here, kwan, i’ll go check who’s at the door,” you tell your friend before hanging up and heading over to the front door, mittens still on your hands. you open the door, and then your jaw drops.

“mingyu?”

“hi!” mingyu chirps. he looks good; good enough to make your brain short-circuit when he smiles at you. you’re so caught up in your thoughts that it takes you a while to realize that he’s also holding out a bouquet of flowers for you.

“you didn’t have to—”

“i wanted to,” mingyu cuts you off. “you’re making me cookies, and i felt bad for showing up empty-handed, so i got you these flowers. you said you liked tulips, right?”

you blush instantly, smiling bashfully as you take the bouquet of tulips from mingyu. “i love them, thank you. please, come in.”

mingyu trails behind you as you lead him into the apartment. you mentally kick yourself when you see a blanket strewn haphazardly over the couch, immediately going over to fold it to make your living room look more presentable. “excuse the mess, i wasn’t expecting you for…. another hour.”

it’s mingyu’s turn to look flustered as he scratches the back of his neck. “i’m sorry for showing up this early— i was excited to meet you.” when he sees your eyes go wide at his words, he quickly adds on, “and the cookies. i was really excited to meet the cookies and eat you! oh. i mean—“

“it’s alright!” you cut him off, saving him the awkwardness. “why don’t you take a seat? i’ll bring the cookies out.”

mingyu merely nods, his cheeks just as red as you imagine yours to be.

he’s probably just embarrassed, because there’s no way he likes me. the love potion didn’t even work on him! you grapple with your reasoning for some more time before settling on a version that made sense. a version that, unfortunately, didn’t involve mingyu feeling the same way you did.

ignoring the urge to cry, you head into the kitchen to pile the fresh cookies onto a plate. while you’re focused on arranging them in a pretty way, you fail to realize when mingyu enters the kitchen.

“they smell so good,” mingyu says, right next to your ear, and you can’t help but startle. mingyu smiles sheepishly, moving away from you to keep a comfortable distance between both of you.

“sorry, i keep surprising you,” mingyu apologises. “i only came into the kitchen to see if you needed any help.”

“don’t worry, you’re good,” you assure him quickly. you don’t even care about the sudden jumpscares mingyu has been giving you, not when the excitement and nervousness rising from your love potion-cookies overwhelms every other feeling.

not being able to hold back any longer, you grab the plate of cookies from the counter and slide them over to mingyu. “you can make it up to me by having these cookies.”

mingyu’s smile becomes even brighter, something you never thought was possible, as he reaches for a cookie. he doesn’t even hesitate to bite into it, and for a moment, you feel guilty for feeding him a potion without his knowledge.

“they’re even better today!” mingyu’s gasp of contentment interrupts your thoughts. “they’re fresh, warm, and the perfect amount of chewy,” he continues, raving on and on about how the ‘sea salt enhances the chocolate perfectly’ like some cookie connoisseur.

on a normal day, your chest would be swelling with pride at how mingyu, a die-hard foodie, complimented your food, but you had the love potion to worry about.

impatient and curious, you make your first mistake by blurting out: “is it working?”

at the confused expression mingyu shoots you, you can only bite your tongue at the wrong choice of words.

and then, your second mistake:

“i meant, i—uh, used some new ingredients for these cookies,” you quickly add to cover up your lie. “i just wanted to check if they were able to—”

“—make the love potion you put in these cookies?” mingyu raises an eyebrow, and your jaw drops. your heart is soon to follow when you see mingyu’s smile morph into something upset and betrayed.

“how did—how did you know?” you ask, wringing your hands together.

“y/n, there’s literally an instruction booklet in front of you that says, ‘love potion-cookies,’” mingyu sighs. “it’s pretty obvious.”

horrified, you stare at the recipe laid out in front of you. there was no way you could save yourself now. so, you decide to own up to your actions.

“mingyu, look—”

“i knew your plan,” mingyu stops you. “i knew it the day you first gave me the cookies.”

“h-how?”

“people have used it on me many times,” mingyu admits, sounding annoyed. “what sucked was that i used to fall ‘in love’ with them momentarily. even though it’d wear off in a few hours, it wasn’t the best feeling.”

“but how could you tell that—that my cookies had the potion?” you ask him, wondering why on earth mingyu would agree to eat cookies laced with potential magic ingredients.

“i’ll be honest, seungkwan’s recipe is a bit different, so i couldn’t tell at first. i only recognized the flavor of unicorn vanilla essence after the second cookie, and i knew.” mingyu reveals.

“but why didn’t it work on you?” you’re more frustrated than confused. if you did everything right both times, why hadn’t it worked on mingyu? “is it really so impossible for us to be together that not even borderline witchcraft can help me?”

“y/n—”

“this was my last resort, because i was so tired of pining after you for months and still being seen as a friend by you—”

“listen to me—”

“maybe i was never destined to even find love, because whose luck is this bad—” this time your rant is cut off by mingyu’s hands cupping your face and his lips meeting yours.

for approximately three seconds, your body freezes. you wish you could move, kiss him back, do something, but you can’t be blamed for taking a few extra seconds to process that you’re being kissed by someone you’ve liked for almost two years.

when your brain finally starts working again, you lean in closer to mingyu, placing your hands on his shoulders for some leverage as you balance on your toes to kiss him back properly.

mingyu is the first to pull away, and he even leaves a soft peck on the tip of your nose. his hands move from your face to your waist, and you allow yourself to be hugged close to him.

“the potion doesn’t work on me because i already like you back,” mingyu explains, and a heavy weight lifts off your chest. “i was too scared to confess to you, so i was kinda glad that you tried to make some move.”

“wait, so— how long have you felt this way?” you question, feeling like an idiot who can’t stop smiling.

“ever since we got paired up in the cooking contest at the college fair,” mingyu chuckles, and your eyes widen at that memory.

“oh god. that’s so embarrassing,” you complain, leaning forward to rest your head on mingyu’s chest and hide your face from him.

“hey, seeing you cry before you got to cutting the onions was hilarious!” mingyu adds on in a teasing tone, and you playfully punch his arm.

“it stung my eyes real bad! you had to be there to know,” you defend yourself, to which mingyu replies, “i was there. it really wasn’t that bad.”

“are you trying to get me to lose feelings for you right after i confessed?” you pout, and mingyu simply laughs before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“okay, let’s never bring that day up again,” he says, and you nod in agreement.

“do you think you could make me some more cookies, though? like, at least once a week.”

“are you insane? i’m never going near an oven ever again. you are the chef in this relationship.”

“it was worth a try, i guess.”

fill this form to be added to the taglist <3

head to the masterlist for more!

ask in the comments of this post to be added to the series taglist!

main taglist: @lecheugo @min-imum @sousydive @livelaughloveseventeen @unlikelysublimekryptonite

@theidontknowmehn @shinwonderful @wonuwrites @hearts4hee @t-102

@gyuguys @grapejuicelh @aaa-sia @cixrosie @baseball-dokyeom

@4shypotato @rafayellegalwife @gyuhao365 @flickhurstyles @bibblemiluvr

@valvoria @moonyxhcbi @minwonwoozi @brownbunnyb @chanranghaeys

@ceelesss @callmemadhatter @iris65 @junplusone @fulltimedrunk

@minwonwoozi @callis-corner @choco-scoups @rem-mp3 @supi-wupi

@spookykryptonitegardener @dreamingofpcy @leigh-darling @eumpappasmom @arianna-r13

@gyusaeri @honeybear-taetae @dcrlingyou @bobagukks @jades-archive

@twixxxpie @wooingmandy @metanoianlove @ybimoon @mikauraur

[dantes-jacket]

I could have lost you

Dante x fem reader

Author notes: request #6! Friends with benefits to lovers, angst, fluff, smut… so if you’re under 18 and interact with this I’m blocking you lol so don’t try. I LOVE THIS SM IM A SUCKER FOR THIS TROPE. This is my first time writing smut, so don’t make fun of it

You’re so close, right there. Bliss is basically reaching out to you. You’re so close to euphoria. So close… so so so close, all you can do is beg at this point.

“Dante- uhhhh please,” you sob into the pillow.

Dante keeps slamming into you from behind, “Please what?” You can tell he’s enjoying your fucked out state. He always does when he gets you like this.

“I- I…” you can’t even get words out anymore. You’re in and out constantly just waiting for the pressure in your core to snap and let you be free.

Dante wraps an arm around your waist and easily pulls you against his back. He lowers his head to whisper in your ear, “What have I fucked you stupid?”

You clench into him tighter and let out a loud pitched moan. Just from your reaction Dante felt himself get harder, if that was even possible. “Come on, ask like the good girl you are and I’ll give it to you.”

“Dante please make me come.” You choke out with tears streaming down your face.

“Now how can I say no to that?” He starts to thrust even harder into you. Your moans and sobs edging him on even more. He can feel you on the edge to.

He sneaks his free hand down to your clit and starts rubbing it. Putting just the right amount of pressure to have you scream just how he likes it.

You scream loudly enough that the dead has heard you. You’re so so so so so close, “Dante pleaseeeeee. I’m going to come.”

He groans deeply in your ear, “Go ahead princess, I’m right behind you.”

That finally makes you snap into a full bliss. Dante feels you slack but holds tightly onto you while he chases his high not that he has to do it for much longer.

In your blissed state you turn your head to find him, “Dante cum in me please,” You beg him.

He thrusts even harder into you, “Well how can I deny such a request from my girl?” After a couple more thrusts and your pleas he empties inside of you. He rides his high until the both of you are spent.

Still holding onto you he pull out and falls onto his bed with you in his arms. The two of you slowly catch your breath and come back from cloud nine.

Dante can still feel you breathing heavily so he watches you careful to make sure you’re okay. The last thing he needs to know is that you got hurt because of him. He watches your breath start to even out and you come back down. “You back down on earth with me baby?”

“Yeah…” you slowly breathe out, “That was incredible as always Dante.”

You feel his smirk radiating off of him, “Oh I know.” His hand on your waist starts to wander.

You grab his hand and mumble, “Showoff.”

He just laughs and lets you hold his hand. You start playing with his fingers and go silent. Dante doesn’t think anything of it because he just thinks you’re trying to still ground yourself. He did push you quite a lot today. Making you come at least four times.

“Dante?”

“Hm?”

“Can I tell you something?” You nervously question while playing with his fingers still.

“You can tell me anything, you know that.” He gently spoke while kissing your neck.

You take a second to gather your thoughts. This can break everything you and Dante have built up these past couple months. You still remember how this situation came to be.

You and Dante were eating at his beloved diner one night after he came back from a mission. You two were catching up and the waitress comes over placing a strawberry sundae in front of him. She winks and says “It’s on the house,” then skips off to behind the counter again.

“Wow you never not have a girls attention do you?”

Dante rolls his eyes, “Whatever. I’m actually going through a dry spell right now.”

Your eyes widen, “Seriously, you of all people? The guy that has women all over him no matter where we go.”

“I’m in my thirties now,” he scratches his jaw before he continues, “Hookups with people in the places I frequent is only going to cause me trouble down the line and that’s the last thing I want. Especially if it means I can’t have this sundae anymore.”

“Oh… well that makes sense.”

Dante just nods while grabbing a spoon to dig into the sundae. He pauses though then gets out of his seat and walks to the counter. You see him talking to another worker and the worker walking towards the back. After about thirty seconds the worker comes back with a spoon in hand and hands it to Dante. Oh his spoon must have been dirty. That girl is really adding negative points to her try and get with Dante game.

Dante makes his way back and sits down. He reaches over the table you two are sitting at and hands you the spoon he just got, “Here let’s share.”

He pushes the sundae in the middle of the table so you both can dig in. He starts off first with a big bite. You’re hesitant to join in because he loves these so much and you want him to enjoy it. Sensing your hesitation he pushes the sundae more towards you, “I’d enjoy it more if we share it.”

You relent and dig into the sundae. Since the two of you are eating it, it’s gone relatively fast. The both of you organize your dirty dishes then get up to leave. Dante stops and pays before leaving then leads you back to your place.

The walk is silent until you speak up, “Dante are you really in a dry spell?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Guess I’m still just shocked.”

Dante just nods and keeps walking. The silence is back for another minute until he stops in front of you making you run into him.

“Ow Dante-“

“Would you want to help me?”

You’re confused by his question, help him with what? “What do you need help with?”

“My dry spell. Would you help me?”

Your eyes widen once again tonight, he wants you to help? Oh he probably just means find him a date. That thought makes you itch with jealously but you can’t do much about it. He’s definitely hasn’t never seen you more than a close friend.

“I can find you a date if that’s what you want-“

Dante is swift to cut you off, “No I want your help.”

You blink wildly at him, “My help?”

“Yeah you already know my schedule and what my life is like. It means we can do an arrangement easier than me meeting someone new. Any time one of us is wanting to blow off some steam, we can go to each other.”

You nod along as he describes his idea. It is very enticing and you want to easily agree. Especially because this is probably the only way you can have him. “So what do you think?”

You act like you’re taking at least some time to retain and think about what he said but you already know your answer. “Sounds good to me.”

“Alright perfect!” He smiles down at you. He quickly deadpans and speaks up, “One thing though, no catching feelings. I’m not doing relationships.”

Oh if he only knew you already broke that rule a long time ago. But you have to go along with it and play it off that you don’t already have feelings for him. “Yeah I get it. You’re crazy life and all,” you laugh but not a true one.

If he realizes it he doesn’t say anything. He just grabs your hand and starts leading you a different way, “Dante where are going?”

He looks over his shoulder and smirks, “Back to my place, I need to satiate a hunger I have inside of me.”

Ah back when everything was less complicated. Those were the days. You realized you’ve been staling and keeping him waiting. You know you’ll probably be regretting this choice later but you have to voice it now or it’s only going to get worse.

“Dante, I love you.”

You feel him stiffen and rip his hand out of yours. You knew it. He jumps back and off the bed like you’re a fire that scorched him. You sit up but keep your back to him.

Dante says your name sternly, “That’s the one thing I told you not to do.”

“I know.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“I know.” You slowly get up and gather your clothes. You quickly put them on. You finally turn to look at him and he is positively fuming.

“This is done. Don’t come back.”

You feel the tears forming in your eyes. You get that the agreement is done but he doesn’t want to see you at all? He doesn’t want you to come back? He’s just throwing this all away because of your feelings.

You bite your lip and hang your head, “Okay if that’s what you want. Goodbye Dante, I had fun. Not just this part but everything we’ve done together.”

You don’t let him respond before you’re rushing out of his room and out of Devil May Cry. You’re at the end of the street before you turn and look around. You see the sign glowing brightly as if it’s laughing at you. You turn back around and whisper, “Goodbye.”

A selfish part of you believes that he didn’t mean the “don’t come back part.” So you tried to call him and he obviously ignored you and have picked up. He really meant it. After everything, it’s gone and lost just like that. The wind seems to have just swept everything away in a nasty tornado leaving you with nothing now.

You go on with your life, slowly and sadly. You wake up, go to work, come back home and cry yourself to sleep. That’s basically has been your schedule for the past couple weeks.

You miss his goofy smile, his cockiness, his soft white hair, his deep laugh, the warmth he radiated, you just miss him. You want him back. But you can’t. The universe is against you.

That’s all you can think about while walking back to your apartment. You had to stay late at work today to fix something your coworker messed up so poorly. It ended up taking you hours to finish now you’re walking at 9 p.m. You hate this, walking alone at night scares you.

You also feel like you have eyes on you and being followed. You’re really creeped out. You try to rush more that’s when you hear a weird noise from the shadows. You stop and look around, you look around but don’t see anything.

At the next alley way you see a pay phone. You have an idea if not sure it’s not going to work. You decide to try it anyway.

You walk to the pay phone and put in some coins you had in your purse. You dial the one number you know that can help.

Obviously since you’re not calling on your number you hear his voice, “Devil May Cry.”

“Dante! Please don’t hang up. I know you said that I can’t come back but something is wrong.”

He hears the fear in your voice and sits straight up. He knows he’s been a dick. He never should have told you not to come back. He never should have reacted the way he did. You didn’t deserve it.

He doesn’t know why he reacted that way. He loves you too but he just thinks he can’t offer you much. He wants to spoil you but it’s hard for him to do that. He wants to give you peace and security and that’s some of the last things he can offer.

“Hey take a deep breath and tell me what’s wrong,” he instructs you.

You take a deep breath and continue, “I feel like something is following me. I feel eyes on me and I heard a creepy noise. I don’t know what to do. I’m still kinda far from my house.”

“What are you doing out so late?”

“Stuck at work late so I’m just going home now.”

“Okay where are you?”

“I’m by the grocery store-“ you then scream and drop the phone to the ground.

Dante yells your name but you don’t answer. He slams the phone down and grabs his trusty ivory and ebony then rebellion and runs out of the old place he’s grown to call home.

The grocery store is only about a block away from Devil May Cry. He runs faster than he ever has before. The fear and scared tone you had makes knots tie in his stomach. He needs to get to you. He needs to save you the apologize for everything. He needs you back in his life.

He hears a sick growl noise and he turns to that direction. He sees a big demon holding you in the air by your neck with a tight grip. All he sees is red.

Dante explodes forwards and slashes the demons arm that is holding you. You start to fall but he is quick to turn on his heel and catch you.

You cough frantically trying to get air back into your lungs. Once you’re normally breathing or as best you can you realize the warmth surrounding you. It’s Dante.

You turn to look at his face. He’s looking at the demon who stumbled back letting out a cry at its arm being cut off. He looks scary. Even more mad than that night.

“Dante…” you whisper and beg it’s not your imagination playing one last cruel joke on you before you die.

He looks over at you and see his mood shift to relief and joy. “Hey you’re okay. I’m right here, I’ll take care of it.”

He gently then sets you on the ground, “Stay right here okay?” Giving you a light smile.

You just stare at him. He’s here, he’s really here. He came to help you. You lightly smile back at him, “I’ll stay right here.”

“Atta girl.” He stands up then turns around to face the demon. He gets another explosive boost and goes to cut the demon in quick succession. He’s not letting this thing get a single hit in or movement. He’s dictating this fight and will make this thing suffer for thinking it can ever harm you.

Watching Dante fight isn’t new to you. But this one he seems a lot more aggressive. It’s like he’s trying to send a message, but you’re not sure what he’s trying to say. All you know he is dead serious on making it suffer.

Dante has cut this demon to oblivion but made sure to injure it a lot to have it know all the pain. He wants to do more. He wants to burn it. Toy with it. Make it regret ever stepping foot into this world. Make it beg for it to stop. He had so many ideas but you’re here.

He doesn’t want to show you that violence and frankly you don’t need to see it. You’re probably still scared and unsettled from this whole attack. Dante then cuts its head off and lets it fall to the ground. He stands over it with a deathly glare. He walks over to the demon head and bends down, “Let this be a message to other demons. If ever one of you try to touch her again I’ll personally wipe the existence of your kind.”

Dante is so focused on the demon he didn’t hear you come up behind him. You place a hand on his shoulder, “Dante?”

He quickly stands up and gives you his undivided attention. He breathes heavily while looking at you. He slowly steps forward and reaches one arm out that goes to the back of your head. Your then pulled into his chest.

You feel him shudder, “You’re okay, you’re okay.” He mumbles and repeats to himself.

You feel him shaking. Was he really that worried? The entire time you’ve known Dante, he has quite literally faced hell and a plethora of other things but has never been this shaken up.

You run your arm up and down his back, “I’m okay all thanks to you.” You lay your head on his chest and hear his heart racing. “Thank you for coming.”

He hugs you tighter and places his forehead on the top of your head, “I’ll always come running to you.”

“I know.” He felt you stiffen and that only makes his heart break more.

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

“NO YOU DONT!” He yells. “No you don’t. I know you don’t, you’re shocked that I’m even here. You didn’t think I’d come after not talking to you for weeks. I felt how you stiffened and try to play it off. You don’t believe me and I hate myself for it.” He softly spoke now doing a complete 180 in the matter of seconds.

“Is it bad that a part of me knew you’d come? Even after everything I knew you would help me the second I needed it.”

“You- you hold too much faith in me.” His voice cracked. “Way more than you should.”

You pull back a little bit from the hug so you can look at him. You stare into those beautiful bright blue eyes, “People often put faith in the people they love. You should know that better than anyone.”

Dante breaks at your confession and quickly presses his forehead to yours, “I’m so sorry. I don’t get why I did it. I hate myself so much for kicking you out and not talking to you. I’m so fucking sorry. I never meant for that to happen.”

His voice cracks again showing every inch of sadness in him, “I craved to hear those three words from you. For so long I wished that I’d get to hear that from you. But I blew it because I got scared. I want you to be mine more than anything. It’s hard for me though. I have an extremely fucked up life and I’d only make yours equally as fucked up. You don’t deserve that. You deserve to be spoiled and given everything you want. I can’t do that, I’m broke and messed up. I can’t give you what you want at the end of the day and it pisses me off so much.”

You press your forehead a little bit harder to his to try and calm him. He’s obviously running on strong emotions and adrenaline right now. You want him to take a breath. You want that tension in his brow to fade away.

“Dante, what if all I want is you? What you’ve given me is way more than enough. You may be broke but you still never let me pay for dinners. You still buy me birthday presents. You still treat me in every way you can. I can’t count the amount of times you’ve helped me. Whether it’d be a demon problem, walking me home after work, or just reaching something on a high shelf. You’re always there and always make sure you are. You’re so present that it feels like you’re always with me even when we aren’t together. So Dante, I don’t care you are broke, that you are fucked up or that there’s going to be challenges that follow while being with you.”

Now your voice cracks and you reach for his hands. You squeeze them tightly and confess again, “I just want you because I love you.”

Dante squeezes your hands back but then drops them and grabs your face. He pulls you into a bruising kiss. He is quick to slide his tongue into your mouth and claim dominance. You don’t fight back because you know he needs to control this. He needs to do this. His words aren’t enough to him. He’s a man that relies a lot on actions so he needs to make his message clear this way too.

You feel his hands stray from your face and make their way to your waist. He squeezes them tightly then pulls you closer to him so you two are chest to chest again. His thumbs brush at the hem of your shirt. When he realizes you aren’t stopping him he slides his hands up your shirt.

He brings them up to your ribs and brushes against them. His hands don’t stray any further. It’s like he’s holding himself back.

As much as you don’t want to you break the kiss. Dante tries to follow your lips but you place your hands on his chest and hold him back a bit. “Dante can we go back home now?”

Home. You called his place home. The messy place filled with weapons and different demonic things is a place you call home. The place he always is. His place. He lights up like a kid that just got candy. “Yeah let’s go home baby.”

Dante is quick to lead you back to Devil May Cry. Keeping up with his long strides is hard. He’s really a man on a mission walking back. He’s obviously eager to have you back. You grin to yourself but lost in your thought you nearly trip.

You’re caught by two arms, “Whoops, am I going too fast?”

“Keeping up with your long legs is hard.”

“That’s not the only thing that’s hard.”

You flush at his comment and look away, “Well maybe I can do something about it.”

You starts dragging you again, “I plan on doing something about it together.”

You two get back to Devil May Cry and he slams open the door but closes it just as quickly. He slams you against the door then goes to ravish your lips. It’s messy, hot and aggressive. He doesn’t give you two a moment to catch your breath at all.

He reaches his hands down to the back of your thighs and quickly unattached himself from your lips. “Jump baby.” He then reconnects his lips back to yours and continues to messy make out.

You jump up and he wraps your legs around his waist and starts to walk to his bedroom. He kicks open the door and proceeds to his bed. He squeezes your butt before laying you down gently on the bed. This entire time his lips have not disconnected from yours. It’s like he fears if he stops you’re not going to be here.

The kiss continues for a bit longer until he breaks apart and hovers over you. He’s breathing heavily then asks “Can I please make love to you?”

Running your hands up and down his chest you smile, “Of course.”

He leans down and presses a light kiss to your lips. It’s just a quick loving peck nothing compared to the heavy kiss you just shared. “Can you get undressed for me baby?”

You nod and he stands up. He strips his clothes while you take off yours. You two finish at the same time and just stare at each other. “Come here Dante.”

He comes back over and gently pushes you down. He climbs in bed and hovers over you. Dante kisses your cheek, then your jaw and down to your neck. Once he gets to your neck he freezes for a second but continues to kiss it. You rub it off to him just figuring out how he wants to do the foreplay.

He kisses all around your neck instead of going down like he normally does, again you just ignore it. You feel him start to go lower and get to your chest. He takes one nipple into his mouth while his hand massages and plays with the other one.

The stimulation makes you moan and latch onto his hair. You rut your hips up trying to get some friction down there too. In your actions you feel Dante’s hard length. You try to shimmy and line yourself with his dick so you can grind onto it.

Dante stops your movement with the hand that is free. He holds your waist down and pops his mouth off of your nipple. “Slow down pretty girl, we have all the time in the world.”

“Dante pleaseeeee,” you whine.

“Okay okay I hear you.” The hand that was massaging your boob slowly slides down to where you want him the most. He doesn’t even really need to feel you to know you’re extremely wet.

He runs his finger up and down your slit to feel you absolutely soaked. He groans and moves his head to lay between your head and shoulder, “You’re soaked, is this all for me?”

Before you can answer he shoves two fingers into your hole and that makes you scream. His fingers move in quickly not giving you a break to form your response. “Come on baby I asked a question. If you answer I’ll give you a reward.”

You breathe heavily and try to speak a full sentence but it comes out broken. “Yes….. all yours- always all yours.”

He smirks, “There’s a good girl.” He then adds another finger and presses his thumb against your clit rubbing it. His words and actions sends you over the edge and has you coming all over his hand.

“Keep going sweetheart.” He guides you through your high and watches you come undone. God did he miss this, how did he ever push you away?

The overstimulation is getting to you so you push his hand away weakly trying to get him to stop. “Don’t push me away, I gotta prep you more.”

“No! I want you now, please please please,” you beg.

“Ugh you know I can’t say no to you.” He pulls his fingers out of you and grabs his length. He rubs your slick all over him dick then lines it up at your entrance. Dante hovers above you and look deep into your eyes, “Ready my baby?”

“Yes please just put it in-“ before you even finish the air is knocked out of you because he slammed himself into you.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head while moan loudly again. He doesn’t wait for you before he’s pounding into you. He falls into a steady rhythm with your moans being music to his ears.

You tilt your head back and arch your back off the bed. This leaves your neck to the open and Dante’s rhythm falters. He comes close to a stop and brings his hand up to your neck.

He lightly takes his hand and rubs the back of his fingers along your neck, “Does- does it hurt?”

You focus your blurry vision on him, “Does what hurt?”

“Your neck… it’s all bruised.”

That’s news to you. It doesn’t hurt at all. It only hurt in the moment. It doesn’t hurt to move and it doesn’t hurt when he has touched it. “No it doesn’t. Didn’t even know it was bruised.”

He clenched his teeth and buried his head into your neck again. He starts to pick up his rhythm again and kisses around your neck again.

“This is” *thrust* “all my fault” *thrust* “you’re hurt” *thrust* “because of me” *thrust* “and my stupid choices” *thrust* “you could have died” *thrust* “all because of me.”

You try to pull his head out of your neck but he won’t budge. He’s resisting it so hard. You can tell he doesn’t want to face you. But you have to look at him, you need to.

“It’s all my fault,” he whimpers.

“Dante it’s fine-“

“No it’s not! Stop defending this.” He pulls his head out of your neck and you see the tears streaming down his face, “I COULD HAVE LOST YOU!”

You’ve lost all air in your lungs, your heart is breaking looking at him. You can’t even form words to respond. You reach your hands up to his cheeks and start wiping his tears, “Dante let’s stop-“

“No please don’t. No no no no. I need to feel you please baby. Please don’t make me stop.” He sobs.

Not having the heart to decline him you let him continue. “Shhh baby shhh. It’s okay, keep going. I’m so close.”

Dante who has miraculously hasn’t faulted in his pace during this whole thing picks up speed. His hand runs back down to your clit, “I’m close too baby, let go. Let me feel you please.”

After a couple more thrusts and stimulation from him rubbing your clit you’re sent over the edge. Dante watches you fall into bliss once again, just from watching you it sends him over the edge. He groans while releasing himself into you.

He feels you so much in so many ways and it keeps him grounded. You’re here, right now with him. You’re in his bed under him. You closest you can physically be. It makes him happy. He finally has you back but he hasn’t done one thing.

He finishes thrusting after you two hit your peaks. He gently pulls out but stays hovers above you. He watches you focus your sights onto him. He smiles and brushes some hair out of your face.

“I love you,” he confidently says.

You beam up at him and place your hands on his cheeks once again. “I love you too Dante.”

He leans down and presses a loving kiss to your lips. A kiss that last seconds felt like it lasted hours. This is definitely your favorite kiss you two have shared.

Dante leans back and looks down at you. You’re really here and with him. He is so happy and content. He’s gotten everything he’s wanted and he doesn’t know what divine being to thank, but he won’t ever stop thanking it.

@psychesparrow

[ilguna]

☼ the connection web (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you didn't stand a chance, finnick knew that as soon as you were reaped for the 74th games. it was a punishment directed at him for disobeying. little did he know, that wasn't the only trick snow had up his sleeve.

warnings; swearing, death mention, weapon use, psychological torture (jabberjays), death by birds in description, mention of prostitution.

wc; 5.7k

notes; this was a very specific request. this is a little sister fic, please see the request -> HERE. before deciding to continue. ignore the tags, i did to make sure my fic gets out like usual.

--

Finnick numbly watches as his allies peer into the jungle, checking to see if they can tell what hour it is. They don’t dare to pass the treeline, bending in awkward positions to see past the trees that block their view. He doesn’t bother to join them, just keeps an eye on the beach to make sure the Careers don’t come back.

“Well, it must be monkey hour. And I don’t see any of them in there.” Peeta says, turning to look at Katniss. “I’m going to try to tap a tree.”

Finnick shakes his head, he can’t let Peeta go in. He’s already barely functioning after yesterday’s fiasco with the force field. The last thing he needs is a mutt to attack and for Peeta to step in and get himself killed.

“No, it’s my turn.” Finnick says. 

Besides, if Enobaria and Brutus are out here, it’ll be easier to fight them if he’s not worrying about Peeta. He may have teamed up with the Careers briefly last year, but he was never really an ally of theirs. He can’t fight Brutus and Enobaria the way Finnick can. Although, he will give some credit to Peeta, because he was building up his muscles in the months leading up to the Quell.

“I’ll at least watch your back.” Peeta offers.

“Katniss can do that.” Johanna says, sharing a look with Finnick. She gets it. “We need you to make another map. The other washed away.” She reaches up to pull a large leaf off a tree, handing it over to him.

He’d much rather take Katniss, anyway. She’s the one that figured out what the spile was and she’s an excellent hunter. If anyone or anything comes running at them, she’ll be the first to spot it. 

Katniss looks between Peeta and and Finnick for a moment, gauging the situation on her own. She must decide it’s nothing to worry about, because she ends up giving Peeta a shrug, then turns to Finnick. He leads her about fifteen yards into the jungle before he finds a good tree. Using the awl Mags owned, he starts stabbing at the bark, digging a hole. 

It’s uncomfortably quiet out here, usually there’s some sort of noise with the birds and the bugs. They must’ve been startled when Finnick started to drill into the tree. He glances at Katniss out of the corner of his eye, making sure she’s keeping watch, and she is. 

She’s staring off into the green, an arrow readied on her bow.

Finnick flicks out a large piece of bark, watching it disappear in the grass. He sticks his pinky into the hole, confirming it’s big enough to fit the spile, before looking back at her. “Katniss, got that spile?”

Katniss yanks the spile from her belt, vine still hanging on. He’s barely grabbing the metal tube when a scream cuts through the air. His hand freezes, Katniss’s head whips in the direction it came from. The spile slips from her fingers, Finnick barely catches it in his hand, and watches her take off like a bat out of hell.

“Katniss—!” Finnick reaches out to grab her, but she’s gone.

He struggles to get up to his feet, following after her trail. He watches for swinging branches and ferns, anything that might give away what direction she’s run off in. She’s faster than Finnick thought, but that might be because she doesn’t care. She’s ripping through vines and branches as if they don’t exist.

“Prim!” She cries. “Prim!” A scream pierces the air, one that belongs to her little sister. “Prim!”

Finnick’s lost Katniss now, he’s just following the sound of her voice at this point. He sucks in deep breaths of hot, humid air, ignoring the stinging in his muscles. He can’t blame Katniss for her reaction. He would run after his sister, too, if she were in the trees.

“Prim!” Katniss shouts again.

Finnick can see where she’s gone through a wall of green. He ducks through the hole she’s created and comes to a slow jog in the clearing she’s been brought to. Her head is tilted back to observe the tree above, there’s a piece of moss in her hand that she uses to clean an arrow.

“Katniss?” He asks, heaving breaths.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” She turns to him. “I thought I heard my sister but—”

A scream. Her scream cuts Katniss off. The blood washes from Finnick’s face, the same way it had when he heard her scream for the first time in the arena. His eyes widen, mouth opening. As if drawn by a magnet, his feet start to move without a thought behind it, going to her.

“Finnick, wait!” Is all Finnick hears before he’s gone.

She’s alive, Finnick thinks, as he barrels himself further into the jungle, my baby sister is here. 

It’s his turn to create an unmistakable path that Katniss would have to be blind in order to miss. He elbows vines and ducks under branches and trips over snarls of roots hidden in the grass. They barely slow him down, and even though he’s traveling uphill, he seems to gain momentum the further he goes.

“(Y/n)!” Finnick calls. “(Y/n), I’m coming!”

I’ll save you this time, Finnick will make sure of it. He’ll take her into his arms and get her far from here. It’s been so long since he last saw her. He might squeeze her to death before she even gets a word out.

“Finnick!” Her voice calls back.

He’s here, he’s made it. He stops by the giant tree, throwing his head back as he circles the trunk, trying to catch his breath, observing the places he could climb. He’s never had to scale a tree before, but he will if he has to. He’ll get her down. 

“(Y/n)!” He shouts. “(Y/n)!”

Katniss has finally caught up with him, looking over his state. There’s so many questions on her tongue that she wishes she could ask him, but she can’t. Not now. Not while he’s screaming her past ally’s name up the tree. Which she would climb if the limbs didn’t start about twenty feet up.

She chooses an adjacent tree to get up to the bird’s height, using her arrow to shoot it down. She slides back to the ground to join Finnick, who has the bird in his hand, staring down at it. There’s gears turning, lips turned downward. 

The Capitol has successfully tricked him into thinking they had his sister alive. They’ve taken her away from him a second time, and using a jabberjay might as well have been a shot to his heart. The Gamemakers knew what they were doing when they decided to plant this mutt here.

“It’s all right, Finnick. It’s just a jabberjay. They’re playing a trick on us.” She tells him. “It’s not real. It’s not your… (Y/n).”

“No, it’s not (Y/n).” He agrees. “But the voice was hers. Jabberjays mimic what they hear. Where did they get those screams, Katniss?”

He knows they must’ve recorded his sister’s final moments last year. He wonders if Katniss recognizes the screams. She was there, after all. She was helpless to the situation. His sister was always going to die, Coriolanus Snow waited until the final six to eliminate her.

Katniss pales. “Oh, Finnick, you don’t think they…”

“Yes. I do. That’s exactly what I think.”

Katniss slowly sinks to the ground, fingers gripping at the grass. Finnick stares at her, not knowing what to say. Another bird interrupts the silence, this time belonging to a man. Katniss jerks in response, eyes wild and ready to run again, but Finnick is able to grab her arm this time.

“No. It’s not him.” Finnick has a tough hand on her, dragging her downhill, back to the beach so they can escape this nightmare before it gets any worse. “We’re getting out of here!” Katniss is struggling against him. “It’s not him, Katniss! It’s a mutt!” Finnick shouts at her. “Come on!”

It takes her several moments to register what Finnick is telling her. When she gets it, she stops fighting, and the two of them lightly jog down the hill, which is easier to navigate. It isn’t long before they find Johanna and Peeta standing at the treeline, palms in their direction, mouthing words at them.

Katniss and Finnick run directly into the transparent wall, and they’re thrown back several feet. There’s a wetness that spreads across Finnick’s lips, fingers tentatively touching the sensitive area, finding blood on his skin. His nose is gushing blood from the impact. Katniss cradles a shoulder in her hand. 

Finnick watches as Beetee shakes his head on the other side, telling them there’s no way to escape out of the wedge during the next hour. Peeta and Johanna swing their weapons at the wall, but nothing makes a dent. Katniss places a hand on it and follows it several feet in both directions, and comes to the conclusion it’s going to be like that in every direction.

Finnick mops at the blood on his face with his undershirt, pinching the bridge of his nose in hopes it’ll stop the bleeding. Peeta and Katniss press their hands against the wall on each side, trying to stay connected. She can’t understand a word Peeta’s trying to tell her, though.

The moment of peace is interrupted when the screaming starts again. One by one, the birds begin to arrive, perching on trees and looking down at them. An orchestrated attack, made to drive them crazy. All it takes is a scream from Annie, his beloved girlfriend back home, before he’s hunching over on the ground, clamping his hands over his ears, using his entire force to block it out.

He hates Coriolanus Snow, possibly now more than ever. At this rate, the old fucker has it coming for him. He won’t even know what hit him when this arena’s blown to pieces. When he realizes his Head Gamemaker has been planning an attack against him since the day he was elected for the position.

Katniss Everdeen is going to save them—the thousands of children that could’ve been reaped for hundreds of years to come. Whether she likes it or not, she started something, she began to stir trouble when she volunteered for her sister. When she laid those flowers out for that girl from Eleven, Rue. When she put Finnick’s sister out of her misery.

He can never scrub the image of her gurgling her own blood, eyes wide and vacant as she stared into the sky. Her lips were moving, it could’ve been her reciting her favorite line from a tragic sea song that Finnick begged her to stop singing. Or it could’ve been her pleading for Finnick, for her older brother, to come and save her before it was too late.

He couldn’t save her. All he could do was watch in tears as the Gamemakers dragged on the seconds of her death, instructions from Coriolanus, himself. Katniss wouldn’t allow it to happen, though. One arrow through the murder of crows and his sister was gone, no longer suffering.

Finnick knew Coriolanus Snow was right when he said that Finnick would come to regret saying no to him. It was the Seventy-Third Hunger Games, and Finnick was just trying to get through the year, it’d already been rough leading up to his departure, and the Capitol hadn’t made it any easier. 

At the fifth late night visit denial, Finnick had been called into Coriolanus’s mansion, like he’d done many times before. Coriolanus wanted to know why Finnick was being so combative, and he got his answer. Finnick was tired of being a prostitute for the Capitol, he had other things to worry about.

His sister was getting older, she’d just recently become eligible for the Games. He wanted to be in a better mental state to take care of her. Annie was having relapses in her progress, and it’d be easier to convince her that he loves her if she didn’t see the bruises on his body when he came home every year.

He wanted to be done, permanently. And it would start that year.

Coriolanus made a face at him, lips turning upward in a knowing smile. “You will regret saying no to me, Mister Odair. You may go.”

After the meeting, Finnick was terrified of what would happen to his sister. The first time he said no to the president, he’d slaughtered his parents. The only reason why he spared his younger sister was so that he’d be able to use her as leverage in the future, if needed.

When he came home that year, he was sure she’d be dead when he entered the home, but she was fine. Still the same ray of sunshine she’d always been, and she couldn’t understand why Finnick held her so tight that night. He didn’t want to scare her into thinking something would come, because there was no telling when it’d happen.

The next year went as it normally did. There were no freak accidents that came close to stealing her from him. She went to school with her friends as she always did, she fished on a boat with him, she baked sweets with Mags, she made flower crowns with Annie in the village.

Finnick thought he was in the clear. In fact, he forgot all about the threat, until the morning of the Seventy-Fourth reaping. Finnick had a hushed conversation with Mags, telling her how worried he was for his sister. She was fourteen now. The same age he’d been when he was reaped. Who’s to say she won’t suffer the same fate?

Mags must have genuinely believed nothing would happen to (Y/n), because she told him that if Snow wanted to punish Finnick, he would have done it already. It’d been almost a year to the day when he said no. There’s a chance Snow had moved on to more important problems. He punishes with a quick hand.

Well, that wasn’t the case when it came to (Y/n). 

Finnick had a front row viewing of the reaping, as it was tradition for the victors to sit on the stage where it took place. He watched as the escort pulled the girls name from the bowl, adjusted herself in front of the microphone, and paused for a couple seconds, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

She then cleared her throat, trying to regain the confidence she’d lost, “The female tribute for the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games is (Y/n) Odair.”

The crowd went silent, no one moved, they didn’t want to give away his sister. Maybe she’d be able to blend into the crowd if she stayed still enough, but Mags had bought her this beautiful blue dress that could only be bought by the wealthy. She was picked out of the fourteen section in seconds, the Peacekeepers coming down on her.

Finnick’s hands gripped the bottom of his seat, leaning forward to look at Mags, shaking his head. This was his worst nightmare come true. The last thing he wanted was for his baby sister to suffer the same fate he did in the arena, much less the Capitol.

She made her way up to the stage gracefully, minding the manners she’d perfected, thanks to Mags. She stood by the escort, back to Finnick, staring off at her peers. Finnick crossed his fingers, hoping, praying, someone would come to her rescue. Fourteen is too young to have your innocence stolen.

The boy that was reaped was some seventeen year-old, he didn’t hear his name. He was too focused on the escort, begging her to ask for volunteers, to continue with the customs. And she did, you could hear the wind whistling from how quiet it was. No one dared to speak.

At that moment, she’d turned to look at Finnick, lips parted, absolutely terrified, tears welling up in her eyes. It took everything in him not to get to his feet and demand a volunteer. To remind the district the tragedy of his parents just years after he’d won his own Games.

They would let them take his sister too?

The mayor completed the speech, he watched his sister shake hands with the boy that would go to the Capitol with her, and then they were whisked away into the Justice Building. Finnick jumped at the escort, hands on her arms, shaking her, asking her what she knew, if it was rigged.

He had to be pulled away by Peacekeepers, sent to the nearest car to be brought to the train. He wouldn’t be allowed to see her, and neither would Mags since they were her mentors. He’s sure Annie would’ve tried to stop by, if (Y/n)’s name being drawn hadn’t sent her into a meltdown. 

Finnick knew he was in trouble when she got to the train. How red and puffy her eyes already were from crying in the Justice Building. He hugged her, held her, consoled her as long as he could. This punishment would be the death of him, and possibly her, too. 

He tried to keep her close, savoring every last moment he had with her. He knew the interview would creep up on him before he knew it, and that would be his final night with her. They’d watched a recap of the reaping together, where Finnick’s heart sank further and further with every tribute that came on screen.

The Career pack would be impossible for her to take on by herself. But there was a young girl from Eleven—Rue—that had been reaped, and he had a small shimmer of hope she’d be able to make friends out of her. He couldn’t make sense of the volunteer from Twelve, if that would make any difference in the Games at all. 

It would.

The week in the Capitol was hell. Finnick did all he could to encourage his sister to seize every opportunity. He tried to remind her the Games are hers if she can manage it. He’s never seen by Snow again, but he knew it was a matter of time before they came face to face again.

(Y/n) did her best telling Finnick what she observed in the Training Center and what it could mean for her future. Rue didn’t really seem interested in her at the beginning, still they were able to make friends out of each other by the end. His sister scored a solid seven, which was better than what Finnick thought she could get. It was only because of the rigorous amount of training he’s put her through these past couple of years that allowed her to score so high. 

Finnick hated every moment of the interview process. From arguing with her stylist about what was appropriate for her age to sending her off to talk to Caesar. She was so polite, though. She held her hands in her lap, she gave Caesar this dazzling smile that reflected Finnick’s. She answered every question with an edge to keep them guessing.

“You really are Finnick Odair’s sister, aren’t you?” Caesar had remarked at one point.

“I am not him and he is not me.” She answered, which is something Finnick surely would’ve said if the roles were reversed.

In their final hour together, Finnick tucked her into bed. He reminded her she was loved and she was a fighter when she wanted to be. She had training, she knew what to do in tough situations, all she had to do was remember. Remember what she’d been taught. Remember it’s first nature.

When he returned to the living room, Coriolanus Snow was there, a classic teacup in his hand. “I warned you that you’d regret your choices.”

“I’m not going back on anything.” Finnick dug his heels in. He was already in deep, what else could the president do? “She’s already reaped, there’s nothing worse that can happen.”

“Are you sure about that?” Snow challenged.

The start of the Games were smooth. She ran from the Cornucopia, stopped about a mile away and scaled a tree. She waited until the bloodbath cannons had sounded, gave it another hour, and then went back to gather any supplies she wanted. The Careers had cleared out by then, beginning their hunt.

It wasn’t long before (Y/n) came across a pond, and since it was a perfect place to set up base, she did. She stayed for several days, drinking water, eating the food in her backpack, scoping the pond out for any fish that may be inside. It was a perfect situation for her. If she could find a steady source of food, she could hide out the Games like many other victors had. 

One of the days, while she’d been sitting out by the pond, observing the water patterns, the volunteer from District Twelve had stumbled in. His sister froze, afraid to move, as she watched the girl collapse face first into the mud, unmoving. (Y/n)’s eyes darted around, slowly raising herself from the ground to go back into hiding, not sure if the girl was dead or not. Or if she had someone with her.

Twelve’s fingers had dipped into the mud, swirling. His sister made the decision to flee while she could, until the other tribute brought themselves up, crawling through the mud, stopping just at the water's edge. His sister had enough sense not to move, waiting for the girl to get distracted before she did.

She held onto that spear like her life depended on it, knuckles turning pale. She must’ve moved just enough to set off the girl from Twelve, because her eyes landed on his sister, who’d been caught in the middle of trying to back away. They stared at each other, trying to decide if a fight was worth it or not. 

Maybe his sister could get away and hide, after all, the girl from Twelve was clearly exhausted. But (Y/n) didn’t want to run, Finnick knew that. She was hungry, she hadn’t had a real meal since she left the Capitol, and she’d never had to go more than a few hours without eating. The hunger was getting to her. And the girl from Twelve had a belt full of rabbits.

“I’ll trade you water for the rabbit.” She said to the girl.

Twelve’s eyes narrowed, looking his sister over. He knew exactly what was going through her head. Why would she trade for water when it’s right in front of her? It wasn’t until his sister had readjusted the spear in her hand, did the girl from twelve realize she didn’t have a lot of choices.

“Sure.” She’d agreed.

In an instant, his sister dropped her bag to the ground, pulling out a plastic bottle full of water. “It’s clean.” She told the girl. “Help yourself.”

She tossed the water over to the girl from Twelve, watching her slowly take it in. She scored an Eleven. (Y/n) must’ve been full of curiosity on how she was able to do that. After all, Finnick was always saying the Twelve tributes are notorious for scoring low.

(Y/n) made her way over to the girl, taking her empty plastic bottle and filling it with pond water, purifying it, and setting it aside. That way, if her new friend was still thirsty, she’d be able to grab and drink the next one. However, she must’ve been satisfied with the first gallon, sitting back, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

“I’m (Y/n).” She told her, hold her hands out for her bottle back.

“Katniss.” Katniss said, passing over the empty container. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. My brother’s always telling me I need to take chances in order to advance.” She looked at the rabbit, bottom lip sucked in her mouth.

“Oh, right.” Katniss said, digging through her back. She unfolded a square of plastic to reveal cooked meat, ready to go. She picked a piece off, popping it in her mouth, showing his sister that it was safe to eat. “Here, take all of it. I can cook more later.”

“Thank you.” His sister murmured.

She took her time pulling apart the meat, one bite every minute, trying to savor the taste. When she was done, she packed up her water and her gear into the backpack, and got to her feet.

“Where are you going?” Katniss asked.

“To find somewhere to stay for the night. It was nice meeting you.”

“You could stay with me.” Katniss offered, shaking her head. “You don’t have to be out there alone.”

“I’ll be okay.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

She left, traveling several miles away to put some distance between her and Katniss, possibly afraid she wasn’t as friendly as she seemed. His sister found another bush to crawl under, using the backpack as a pillow, not entirely interested in the Fallen when it played.

She was woken in the middle of the night by the wall of fire, an event started by the Gamemakers to push the tributes together. She was fast, gathering her belongings and taking off. While she was never touched by the fire, the smoke infiltrated her lungs, coating her throat.

By the time she made it to the lake, she was barely hanging on. She took several gulps of her water, trying to get rid of the thick feeling. After, she dove into the lake, heading for a cave she spotted. It wasn’t long after when Katniss showed up, too. She didn’t see his sister, though, she was more focused on the burn on her leg.

(Y/n) spent too long deliberating whether or not she should reveal herself. By the time she started to move, the Careers came and they had their eyes on Katniss. So, she kept quiet, let them chase her off. When she knew the coast was clear, she waded out of the water, going right back into the woods.

She was in the trees for maybe a half hour before she ran across the little girl from Eleven, Rue. They didn’t seem threatened by each other. In fact, they stopped to have a conversation about Katniss. Where she was, where she might’ve gone. Rue told (Y/n) that she was going to scope out the local area to see if she could find Katniss.

His sister let Rue go, while she found a cozy place to stay to wait. About a hour later, Rue came back, told his sister there was a tracker jacker nest above Katniss and that she’d stay with her until the situation clears. Rue told (Y/n) that it’ll probably end with the nest being dropped, so his sister should probably find another place to stay.

They went their different ways, and a couple days later, they managed to find each other again. Katniss had just come out of her hallucination when they stumbled across paths. The three of them agreed to a temporary alliance, since the count was beginning to get low.

Rue healed Katniss’s stings, his sister shared the fish she’d caught, Katniss offered the balm to help the burns from the fire. It turned out to be helpful, there was a benefit for all three of them.

It started going downhill when Katniss decided she wanted to blow up the Career’s pile of food. Rue told her what it looked like, Katniss drew up a plan, his sister agreed to aid. They agreed to rendezvous after it was done, and they split up again. 

The fires Rue lit drew the Careers away from their stockpile. (Y/n) watched the woods to make sure they didn’t return too quickly. Katniss shot at a bag of apples that triggered the sensitive explosives. Katniss was able to find his sister first, and together they went to go find Rue, but it was too late.

Rue died, and Katniss made sure she was seen as a child in her final moments. She looked peaceful lying beneath the willow, the flowers tucked in her hair, the bouquet between her fingers. 

In less than three hours, his sister would have the same fate. 

Katniss had split from her briefly, going to hunt for more food to support the two of them. It was clear Katniss was struggling with the death of their young ally, so (Y/n) let her go. Katniss didn’t make it very far before she heard the screams, of bloody murder, of pure agony.

He remembers what it was like standing in the Betting Room, surrounded by sponsors that had been buying him for years, up until his recent refusal to continue. The way his name, clear as day, pierced the air as (Y/n) cried for him to save her. As the birds took chunks of skin from her body, throwing their heads back to swallow before going in again.

By the time Katniss came back to base, a bird had already nosedived at his sister’s throat, taking away any chance of her living through the attack. Her skin turned red from the blood, lips coated in the thick stuff as she mouthed something. Maybe that song he was saying earlier, maybe telling Finnick it wasn’t his fault, maybe begging Katniss to get it over with.

Katniss ended her suffering. All it took was one arrow. 

“Finnick?” A muffled voice says. “Finnick!”

A hand on his body makes him swing, slapping them off. He jerks in their direction, expecting to see Katniss, but Johanna’s standing there, axe in her hand. There’s a solemn look on her face, lips pressed together. She knows what he heard. 

He gets to his feet, muscles sore from being tense for so long. The two of them walk back out to the beach, where Peeta, Katniss and Beetee are sitting together. Finnick picks a place to sit in the sand, staring off at the water, his mind full of Annie and (Y/n).

“Katniss, Prim isn’t dead. How could they kill Prim? We’re almost down to the final eight of us. And what happens then?” Peeta asks Katniss.

“Seven more of us die.” Katniss deadpans.

“No, back home. What happens when they reach the final eight tributes in the Games?” He asks her, lifting her chin. “What happens? At the final eight?”

She pauses for a moment. “At the final eight? They interview your family and friends back home.”

“That’s right.” Peeta nods. “They interview your family and friends. And can they do that if they’ve killed them all?”

“No?”

“No. That's how we know Prim’s alive. She’ll be the first one they interview, won’t she?” He asks her. “First Prim. Then your mother. Your cousin, Gale. Madge.” He continues. “It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we’re the only ones who can be hurt by it. We’re the ones in the Games. Not them.”

“You really believe that?” She asks him.

“I really do.” Peeta says.

“Do you believe it, Finnick?” Katniss turns to look at him.

He’s staring at Peeta, weighing the possibilities. He could be right, (Y/n) is dead, she’s been dead for over a year now. But then they switched to Annie, who’s still alive back home.

“It could be true. I don’t know.” He says. “Could they do that, Beetee? Take someone’s regular voice and make it…”

“Oh, yes. It’s not even that difficult, Finnick. Our children learn a similar technique in school.” Beetee says.

“Of course Peeta’s right. The whole country adores Katniss’s little sister. If they really killed her like this, they’d probably have an uprising on their hands.” Johanna tilts her head down at Katniss. “Don’t want that, do they?” She throws her head back to shout, “Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn’t want anything like that!”

She looks back down at Katniss and Finnick, rolling her eyes. “I’m getting water.”

Katniss grabs at her. “Don’t go in there. The birds—”

“They can’t hurt me. I’m not like the rest of you. There’s no one left I love.” Johanna says, freeing her hand. She returns a minute later with a shell of water, which she offers to Katniss. 

The group splits up after this, with Johanna going to collect arrows, Beetee messing with his wire, and Finnick drags his feet out to the water. Katniss doesn’t move from Peeta’s arms for a long time, but when she does, she heads straight for Finnick. 

“Finnick.” She murmurs, he turns to look at her, eyes tired. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” He says, but doesn’t fully move to face her. 

She wades into the water, going to stand beside him, back facing the beach. She watches the rocky waves, hovering her hand just above the surface. “You called for (Y/n).” Katniss says, looking at him. “How do you know her?”

Finnick was afraid this moment would come. He knew Katniss hadn’t put two and two together yet, because she likely would’ve brought it up a while ago. Possibly during the Tribute Parade when he approached her privately. She must not have paid attention to the last name when it was announced, or listened when Caesar called her his sister.

“(Y/n), the (Y/n) during your Games last year. She’s my sister.” Finnick tells her, watching the color drain from Katniss’s face. Her mouth opens, and then snaps shut, eyes falling to the water in front of her. “It’s okay you didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry.” Katniss says. “I never would have left her—either of them—if I knew what was coming.”

“She was always going to die.” Finnick tells her, shaking his head. “There was nothing you could do to stop it.” He nudges her, making her at him. “You made it so she wouldn’t suffer. Thank you.”

Katniss shrugs. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Mags and I, we were doing this all for her.” 

Katniss’s face twists. “I don’t understand.”

“You will.” Finnick tells her, because by midnight, it’ll all be clear. “Thank you for being her ally while you could.”

[ichorai]

chiropterology — tied up.

drabble synopsis ; alfred, the only person in the manor who knows how to tie a tie, goes on vacation. warnings ; none!

series masterlist.

“Car comes in half an hour,” said Bruce. “More than enough time to get everyone ready and out the door.”

“You grossly underestimate how long it takes Steph to do her skincare routine,” you said, chuckling at Bruce’s concerned glance up the stairs, where Steph’s room was. “Don’t worry—I forced her out of bed early so she should be ready to go in ten or so minutes.”

“Thank you. And Alfred said we wouldn’t be able to manage while he’s away! Pah! Shows what he knows.” Bruce patted your shoulders from behind, looking all too satisfied with himself before he began admiring your reflection in the vanity mirror. “You look amazing, by the way.”

You smiled at him. “It’s not every day I get to go to a wedding party! I love watching the people I love fall in love. I can’t wait for the kids to start getting married… Dick certainly isn’t too young for it now…”

The thought made Bruce blanch. “That’s terrifying. Dick was a little boy in his Robin uniform just yesterday…”

“Don’t start reminiscing too hard, old man,” you teased, scrunching your nose at his reflection. “You’ll get nostalgia-wrinkles.”

Bruce prodded at his face, leaning closer to the mirror. “Is that a thing?”

As you started styling your hair into something decently presentable, you heard Damian’s voice echo behind you. “Father? Can you help us?”

You turned to see Damian and Duke both awkwardly standing by the doorway, loose ties in hand. 

“We can’t remember how to do it without Alfred,” winced Duke.

Bruce shot up to his feet, a determined edge to his voice. “Yes. Yes, of course, I can help you!” Just from his tone, you could tell he was overcompensating. In all your years married to Bruce, you couldn’t recall a single time he tied his own tie.

Bruce kneeled in front of Damian, looping the fabric about his neck. “Okay, I think this bit goes—under… then over and through… and there!” 

The result was a lopsided, uneven bow. Bruce blinked at his handiwork in confusion. 

Damian looked at his reflection, unimpressed. He tugged at the knot, which was far too tight for his comfort. “I don’t think it should look like that.”

“Hm. I must’ve sworn that was how Alfred did mine… let me try it on myself.” Bruce fetched a tie from the closet and tried twisting the knot himself. It, miraculously, managed to look even worse than the wrangled mess he left on Damian.

Duke glanced at his watch. “Maybe it’s time to call Alfred?”

Bruce shook his head vehemently. “No! There’s no need. He deserves some proper rest on his vacation.” 

All three boys turned to you expectantly. You froze with the brush mid-way through your hair. You may have a doctoral degree and countless scientific accreditations to your name, but tying ties was simply out of your expertise—though you wouldn’t be caught dead admitting that to your kids. You had an all-knowing reputation to keep up, after all.

“You know what?” You abandoned your brush on the table and stood up. “How much time do we have?”

“Er… twenty minutes,” said Duke.

“Great! I think I can get one of my little cake robots recalibrated to tie ties in fifteen-or-so minutes. Shouldn’t take too long.”

Damian frowned, watching you head to the door, intent on getting down to your lab. “Would it not be easier if you just tied it for me?” You blinked down at the boy, who then heaved a massive sigh. “Please?”

“Hah! I’m glad you remembered your manners, but no.” You pinched his cheek fondly and then swept out of the room, ignoring Bruce’s complaints that once you went into the lab, it was very hard to get you out. 

Duke tried to tie the knot again, but ended up nearly strangling himself. “What now?” he said, sounding completely defeated.

With your abrupt absence, Bruce was then forced to call the one person he really didn’t enjoy calling. 

“An alert from Gotham?” said Clark from the Watchtower, immediately pressing the answer button. It wasn’t often that Bruce called, so this must’ve been serious. “Batman? Are you okay—what’s going on?”

“Superman. Perfect. How do you tie a tie?”

There was some rustling commotion and the sound of distress on the call. 

“Wh—what’s going on? Is someone hurt?” Clark’s brows furrowed.

In actuality, it was Damian smacking Duke’s fussing hands from trying to tighten the boy’s tie.

“I don’t have much time,” Bruce gruffed. “Do you know how to or not?”

Clark tilted his head much akin to a lost puppy. “Doesn’t Alfred know?”

“Alfred isn’t here!”

“Ooh, okay. Well, when I do it, I have the long bit go around and then under and through the loop. Easy.”

Bruce, carefully following Clark’s instructions, still managed to get it sticking out in two different directions, which he was mostly sure ties weren’t supposed to do. “It’s inside out. Don’t you do this every day for work?”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Clark sassed. “We’ll figure this out, just listen to my instructions!”

Five minutes later, Barry and Hal had both come in, each trying to give Bruce their own long-winded and, frankly, wrong advice. Bruce half-suspected that Barry was lying on purpose to mess with him. Both Damian and Duke had given up, taking to lying on your bed and staring at the ceiling.

“The car is going to be here any minute,” Bruce said, brows knitting together. Forget the nostalgia-wrinkles, he was going to age a decade in the next ten minutes with the amount of pressure he was under.

“I know we can get this! Just give us one more shot—Hal, open up the diagram again!” Clark exclaimed, equally distressed.

Two and a half minutes later, Diana strode into the room, watching the men bicker with an amused frown. “I don’t understand. Why don’t you just not wear the ties? I mean, what are they going to do? Kick the richest man in Gotham out of the party?”

There was a long silence. Bruce cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed. “Right. Well, good job, everyone. Batman out.”

Once in the car (ten minutes late), you glanced at the boys, noting that they all changed into crisp dress shirts that looked much better without ties than with them. “Don’t you all look smart! What happened to the ties?”

Bruce crossed his arms, grumbling. “There was a change of plan.”

Damian looked to you curiously. “Did you get the tie machine calibrated?”

It was now your turn to grumble. “It kept saying it wasn’t sure how to tie a cake. Turns out my cake robots aren’t as adaptable as I thought.”

Duke stifled a laugh, and Damian looked back and forth between his parents in disappointment. “I hope Alfred never has a vacation ever again.”

“Damian!”

[touchtheinvisiblestars]

Good Reason

He’d promised.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, your arms wrapped around your knees, you stared at the empty space where Joel's boots were supposed to be. The ones he’d sworn he wouldn’t put on today.

“Just a supply run,” you’d said last night. “Let someone else do it for once. Please.”

And he’d nodded. Kissed your forehead. Wrapped you in that heavy, safe hold of his and said, “I won’t go. You got my word.”

But the bed was cold this morning. No Joel. Just an empty space beside you and boots that hadn’t moved.

Tommy was the one who slipped up. Muttered something about Joel heading out toward the east ridge because they needed someone who could handle the terrain. You didn’t even wait for him to finish before turning and walking out.

Now, you stood by the stables, watching as figures appeared over the hill. Rage bloomed in your chest, sharp and unforgiving.

He looked relieved when he saw you. That faded the second he saw your face.

You didn’t speak until he was close enough to hear the crack in your voice.

“You promised.”

Joel pulled his horse to a stop. His jaw tightened, eyes flicking over your expression like he was assessing a wound. “I had to.”

You laughed bitterly. “You had to?”

“There was a breach,” he said, voice low. “Scouts got pinned. Kid got taken. They needed someone who knew the terrain.”

“So send someone else!” You gestured vaguely toward Jackson behind you. “You’re not the only one who can shoot a rifle or ride a damn horse.”

Joel swung down, a wince betraying the stiffness in his side. He’d taken a hit—minor, you hoped, but enough to make your stomach turn. “I wasn’t gonna let a teenager die out there just because I made a promise in a warm bed.”

You flinched.

Joel’s voice softened. “I meant it when I said I wouldn’t go unless I had to. But I ain’t the kinda man who stays behind when someone’s kid is out there scared and alone.”

The words made sense. They really did. But your anger wasn’t about logic—it was about fear.

“Do you know what it felt like to wake up and find you gone? I thought—I thought maybe you just chose not to come back.”

His face crumpled, only slightly. Joel wasn’t the dramatic type. His regret was quiet. Heavy.

“I ain’t ever choosing to leave you,” he said, stepping closer. “But I can’t always stay. Not if it means someone else loses what I’ve got.”

Your breath caught. You hated how much sense that made.

You didn’t say anything as he reached out, gently brushing a thumb over your cheek. His hand smelled like leather and gunpowder and pine. There was a cut across his knuckle.

“I’ll break a hundred promises to keep you safe,” he said. “But I’ll break a thousand more if it means saving some kid.”

You swallowed hard, chest aching.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.”

You looked away. “You still should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want you to stop me,” he said simply. “And you would’ve tried.”

You would have. God, you would’ve.

You leaned into his touch anyway. Let him hold your jaw with one hand and your waist with the other, even though you hadn’t forgiven him yet.

It wasn’t about perfect promises. It was about who he was. And Joel Miller didn’t make easy choices. He made the ones that left scars.

“I’m sleeping on the couch then?” he asked quietly.

You huffed. “You’re lucky if I let you in the house tonight.”

He smiled then, barely—but it was real.

[ceturyboytoy]

wip!

(evil) scientist dad who would burn the world to the ground for his trans son. his little ray of sunshine. his boy is the only thing in the universe that matters besides global domination.

he takes very special interest when his son comes out as a boy. he immediately begins synthesizing his own formula of testosterone, one with very fast acting and amplified effects. the doctor gets a sick pleasure from sticking his boy for the first time to administer his concoction.

he studies his baby closely, jotting down notes and dates with every little change. he insists that his precious little test subject stays by his side at all times to make sure he doesn’t miss a thing. when his voice cracks, dad is there running his fingers over his soft throat. when he start growing body hair, there’s dad slowly inspecting every inch of his little body. and finally when the kid starts going into heat and cant help rubbing his tiny thighs together, he knows it’s time for his favorite test.

“dad needs to make sure his strong boy is healthy, right? i’m a doctor, sweetheart, this is completely normal for me. now just try and relax.” but the boy was squirming like the stirrups were burning him, his legs spread wide and showing off his wet puffy boycunt.

“daaaad, please. please- why is this happening? it’s too much…” poor boy’s head was swimming with so many thoughts, all about his genius daddy. his big callused hands, those piercing analytical eyes, that strong but steady voice worming its way down to the little boy’s core.

“well,” he begins in his casual doctor voice, “your libido is getting much stronger, which is what we want to see, baby boy.” he’s got his hands on the kids knees just to gently keep them open as he looks down at the leaking wet mess on his table. he’s so proud of his son, growing up so fast but always a daddy’s boy. “now, sweetie, daddy’s going to touch your penis. my little man has grown, huh?”

two gloved fingers now fold back the hood on the boy’s clit, which seems to have grown a full inch over night. doctor dad makes a note. “3.175 centimeters. that’s great, son.”

“nngh daddy… please. please.” his boy is not paying attention to what he’s saying at all, but the doctor continues nonetheless.

“and… how does it feel when i do this?” daddy starts flicking his thumb over the swollen tdick. it gets a shriek out of the kid, jerking his body at the red hot sensation. “interesting. seems it’s more effective than I theorized.” and he continues with his ‘treatment’ until his little angel is cumming so hard he can’t see straight. the mad man notes the time it took to achieve orgasm via clitoral stimulus and smiles to himself. cold. clinical. even while his cock is hard and straining in his dress slacks.

[angie-likes-to-art]

Like a Hero

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader Summary: "Help me I’m being hit on at a bar please be my fake boyfriend for a second" Word Count: 1779 Warnings: unwanted advances (not from Peter), alcohol mention (characters are of age), bit of angst A/N: I have ideas for a part 2 of this if anyone is interested heheh

Masterlist

“C’mon babe, lemme get you a drink,” the man standing next to you at the bar insisted with slightly slurred words as he leaned in closer.

“I already told you, I have a boyfriend,” you lied through your teeth and turned away from him on your barstool. You didn’t care if he believed you or not, you just hoped he would back off. When your roommate convinced you to come to some shitty campus bar, you thought she’d actually hang out with you instead of leaving you alone at the bar. You considered leaving as you had no interest in hooking up with some dude who’d leave you high and dry and ditch you in the morning, but the other half of you wanted to make sure your roommate stayed safe. You didn’t know her too well as the two of you just got settled into the new dorm and were preparing for the upcoming semester, but you’d hope she’d do the same for you; girl code and all.

“And here you are, sitting alone,” you turned back around to see him giving you a cocky look, you know you didn’t have to prove anything to him but being neglected by your roommate, the overzealous expression he wore, and the alcohol in your system made you see red.

“And here you are, continuing to hit on someone in a relationship and not taking a hint to back off,” you exploded at him, slamming the drink you were nursing on the bartop and turning away again before whipping back, “and not that it’s any of your business, but he is here,” you regretted the words as they left your mouth, knowing you were actively digging yourself a grave.

“Oh, I’d love to meet him,” he leaned in once again, you knew he was enjoying this and was waiting to see you fumble, and you wanted so badly to wipe that smirk off his face. You quickly tried to form a plan or an excusable defense in your head, while he crossed his arms over his chest, seemingly getting off on your misfortune. You were about to give up when a tall brunette in an olive green jacket caught your eye, you recognized him from the photography class you took a while back, you remember him mostly keeping to himself, occasionally piping up during critique and actually giving really good advice. Shit, what was his name?

“Baby, there you are, I was just about to look for you,” you place a hand on his shoulder to get his attention and give him a quick pleading look to say please go with me on this.

“Sorry, the line for the bathroom was crazy, apparently some dudes started a fight in there,” he responded, giving you a quick nod of understanding while stepping closer and between you and the other guy, whose face fell in dejection.

“We should dance,” you suggested, running your hands across your “boyfriend’s” chest, trying to sell the relationship thing without pushing it too far and making him uncomfortable, “I’m being hit on by creeps over here,” you complained pointedly at the man still watching the interaction.

“Well, um,” he cleared his throat and swallowed harshly, making you back off a bit to calm his nerves but he rested his hands on your waist and kept you in place, “well, we can’t have that,” he pulled you in closer before grabbing your hands and leading you away from the bar. Your stomach erupted in butterflies and your mind went dizzy making you forget about the creep that started this and willingly followed you wherever he took you. You came back to your scenes when he stopped and turned back to you with a concerned look.

“I’m sorry about that, the dude wouldn’t drop it and I just wanted to get away from him,” you admitted, keeping your eyes trained on where your hands were still intertwined.

“No, no, it's fine, I just-” he started before being interrupted by your drunk roommate hanging off of an equally wasted guy.

“Oh, he’s cute,” you were sure that was supposed to be a whisper, “I just wanted to tell you, we're headed out,” she blew you an overdramatic kiss before making her way back to your dorm. 

“Do you-” “Um, I-” you spoke at the same time and noticed a tinge of pink on his cheeks.

“Go ahead,” he encouraged while running a hand through his perfectly messy hair.

“Do you wanna get out of here? Go somewhere quieter?” you suggested, worrying into your bottom lip.

“Yeah,” he smiled down at you, “yeah I’d like that,”

“Just not my place,” you referred to your roommate stumbling out of the building, you made a note in your head to text her later tonight to make sure she’s safe.

“That’s fair, I think there's a pizza place that stays open pretty late near here,” he checked the time on his phone, a little past midnight. You nodded as he took your hand again and led you to the door, you can tell he was visibly more relaxed once the cool night air hit his face. 

“It’s like a 10 minute walk this way, if that’s okay?” he suggested, gesturing the way toward campus. 

“Yeah, I live that way anyway,” you think about reaching for his hand again, but the sober part of your brain reminds you that you don’t actually know this guy, you don’t even remember his name, “were you there with anyone?” you start to conduct an investigation.

“Yeah, my buddy, Harry had just left before you grabbed me, he was mad that they didn’t have some top shelf liquor or something,” he laughed at the recollection, “I was heading out too.”

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t take you away from your girlfriend or anything,” you’d like to think you were being subtle, but you were definitely not sober enough to not be totally obvious with your questioning.

“Nope, no girlfriend, besides you now,” he joked, which made your cheeks heat up, “I’m Peter, by the way.” Ohhh that was his name, he definitely knew you were interrogating him now.

You told him your name too, and surprisingly he remembered your face from the photo class. He told you that he’s a photojournalism major, you shared yours as well and talked about how school was going for both of you. You learned that he was living in Queens with his aunt and commuting to Manhattan for classes, he told you that he plans on moving in with Harry eventually but doesn’t really want to live in whatever bougie penthouse Harry wants to buy. (His friend Harry is apparently super wealthy.) You told him that you were living in the dorms since you were lucky enough to get a hefty scholarship to Empire State University that promised housing so you didn’t have to rent an apartment in Manhattan.

Once you got to the pizza place, it was pretty packed with a bunch of other college students hungry from a night out, luckily they got your slices out to you pretty fast.

“I got it, for saving me,” you lightly swatted Peter’s hands away when he tried to pay for the slices. “You're my hero, like Spider-Man or something,” you joked, hoping to flatter him, but when you looked back at him, after handing the cashier your card, you were just met with wide eyes and his bright red face.

“Heh, it was nothing like that, it was no problem,” he laughed nervously, brushing you off, “I was just trying to find someone to buy me pizza.” He joked back and you couldn’t help but chuckle too, half because it was funny and half that you were glad you didn’t embarrass him too much with the hero comment. 

“Let’s sit outside, it's hot in here.” Peter leads you outside with his free hand on the small of your back. You both sat on the curb and ate your pizza, you didn’t realize how hungry you were until you took the first bite, no wonder this place was packed, greasy pizza really hits the spot after a long night. 

Once you were both done scarfing down your food, Peter grabbed your empty paper plate from you and set them to the side. You giggled when he turned back and you saw a smear of pizza sauce on the side of his mouth. 

“What?” he laughed back, “Do I have something on my face?” He wiped the wrong side of his face with his hand.

“Yeah, come here,” you scooted closer to him, and swiped your thumb across his cheek to clean the sauce up, when you look up from his mouth to his eyes, he’s looking at yours. Before he can shy away, you give him a sweet smile. “Thank you again.” 

“Anytime,” he smiled back, that smile must have had a gravitational pull because you were leaning in as soon as it spread across his face.

Suddenly he sat up at attention, and that smile dropped from his face, like he had heard something.

“You okay?” you were genuinely concerned, you thought you were picking up good signals. You had significantly sobered up from the walk and the pizza and weren't nearly as buzzed as you were an hour ago, but maybe your judgement was still a bit skewed.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright,” He didn’t sound all that convinced, “I just, I have to go.” He stands up abruptly, but still offers a hand to help you up. You hesitantly take it and let him pull you up.

“Are you sure?” You try to search his face for anything that says he was uncomfortable, or you crossed a boundary, anything to explain the sudden shift.

“Yeah, I am so sorry to leave like this,” Peter looks you in the eyes, and you can see he means it, “I’m really, really sorry, I just have to go,” he pulls his wallet from his pocket and hands you a twenty dollar bill, “Here, for a taxi, please get home safe.” 

Before you can respond or even nod, he runs off to the alley next to the pizza place, leaving you standing on the curb confused and alone. Only left with the bill he stuffed into your hand and the replayed, hurried apologies he was giving you, contrasting the easy laughter and connection you felt just moments before. With a sigh, you crumpled the bill and turned toward the street, away from the warm glow of the pizza place and chatter of people winding down for the night that seemed to mock how suddenly cold you felt.

[taeswifeisikram]

Chapter 2 - We meet again

Y/N POV

What does he mean by ‘handle it..?’ whatever he’s probably just joking with me. “No sir please let me take you out to coffee someday!” He responds “We’ll see about that. I have to go see you soon pretty girl.” I feel my heart skip a beat when the compliment leaves his mouth. He quickly shuffles past my body, leaving me with widened eyes and an open mouth. “Wait I didn’t get your name or number!!”and just like that he’s gone.

I finally make it home after a long day of running around doing countless errands. The smell of freshly baked pasta enters my nostrils as I travel past my living room straight to the kitchen. My mother’s voice speaks out to me “Y/N, come say hello to our guest!” A guest? No one told me we would have company. I would’ve dressed better for the occasion as I’m still in my blue washed jeans, and a black tight fitting long sleeve.

I slowly step over to the dining room. My eyes lurking until they finally meet with the familiar dark seductive eyes from earlier. He had beautiful unmarked tan skin. He wore a wore a black full suit with the first two buttons of his white button up undone, exposing a gold chain laid onto his neck.

His body turns to me scanning me up and down with a smirk placed on his face. The same man from earlier was now sitting right next to my sister, and directly across from both my parents. Okay now what the hell was going on. With a small smile I slowly step over and take a seat at the head of the dining table. “Y/N don’t be rude greet him.” my mother says as she gestures to the handsome man.

I flash my best fake smile “I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.”

That same familiar raspy voices calls back out to me, “Likewise, my names Kim Taehyung.” He reaches his hand out to me, indicating a hand shake. His hands are warm, soft, calloused as I can tell he works. He shakes my hand but then keeps it there for almost 10 seconds just staring into my eyes. I clench my thighs as his stare intimidates me.

Unfortunately, our eye contact is cut short as my father lets out a cough breaking the silence. “You see Y/N, Mr. Kim here will be marrying your sister Melissa. He’s 29, owns his own business and is perfect for your sister.” This cannot be real. This breathtaking man is marrying MY SISTER? My older sister Melissa who is now 27, used to be my best friend, we were inseparable. That was until she started seeing everything as a competition. This included grades, sports, praise, even our parents love. The more approval I got the more and more she resented me.

I never thought badly of her though she was my sister how could I. She never tells me anything including that she was planning on getting MARRIED. Melissa finally speaks out “Yes, the weddings in July and me and Tae-bear are just thrilled!” My face immediately cringes at the pet name. Seriously Tae-bear?

“That’s great, how did you and Mr. Kim meet?” I can’t help but question out of curiosity. I mean seriously where did this all come from. My father remarks “Taehyung is a business partner of mine and he was already looking for a wife, I recommend Melissa and they already look like a great couple.”

“Yes, they do,” I lie straight through my teeth. Of course I wanted to be happy for my sister but the thought of her marrying a guy she first, barley even knows. Second he doesn’t even look too pleased to be marrying her. My mind blocks out all the chatter in the background as I zone out on Taehyung. His side profile so sharp, high defined cheekbones, and damn that chiseled jaw.

He was devishly handsome.

I zone out of my thoughts when a voice calls out to me. “So how old are you Ms. Y/N?” That same deep voice questions me. “You can just call me Y/N, and im 19.” I say confidently. “I’m surprised.” he says calmly with a sense of hidden meaning behind his words. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I respond with sass. “Well, you seem more mature for your age, that’s all.” I nod and return back to eating the pasta sitting in front of me. Suddenly a strong knee brushes against mine. The friction of the clothes rubbing against each other, made me think about how it would feel without the layers blocking our bodies. This causes me to choke on the pasta and cough visiciously. I try to call out for some water but it causes me to choke even more. Immediately Taehyung rushes to my side wrapping his muscular arms around my small waist, slightly above my belly button. His chest pressed against my back. “Stay calm, let me help.” He demands. He presses into me, thrusting upward into my stomach. In one swift motion I manage to cough out the pasta. He loosens his arms around me, but he stays pressed against me. His tall build almost hovering over me, his thighs meeting my behind, I can almost feel his imprint through his pants. I look over my shoulder, “T-Thank you so much.” He saved my life. “No need glad I could help.” “Oh my goodness honey are you okay?” My mother questions in worry. “Yeah I’m fine mom, thanks to Mr. Kim.” “She was probably faking it, that attention seeker.” My clearly jealous sister rolls her eyes. “You can let go now.” I ask of the tall man. He leans down meeting his lips to my ear, “You sure you want that sweetheart.” Before I can respond he lets go and takes his seat next to my sister with a stank look on her face. “Well I’m heading back up to my room,” I announce. My parents dismiss me with goodbyes and I turn to Taehyung and Melissa. “I guess I’ll see you soon Mr. Kim” “Yes, very soon,” he reprimands with that same darn smirk. Exiting myself from the room I go up the stairs to my only happy place. My room. I change into a sleep set of silk pajama shorts and a silk tank top. I chill on my bed for about an hour until I hav ego get up and use the bathroom. I quietly step out of my room as the house sounds awfully silent. I guess Mr. Kim went home. I travel down the corridor until ONCE AGAIN I bump into something or should I say someone. Seriously how could a girl be so clumsy. I look up and apologize, “I am so sorry I was not watching where I was— oh Mr. Kim its you again.” “This gives me deja vu of earlier don’t you think.” His places his hand against the wall right by my head almost leaning on top of me. “Yeah, haha you’ve saved me quite a lot today.” I lean closer into his bodies as we fit like a puzzle piece. “I can think of some ways on how you can repay me.” He grins. “Yeah l-like what?” He places his hand under my chin lifting my head to be at level with his. He whispers out,“You’ll find out soon Gongjunim.” (Princess) Hearing him speak a language foreign to me gave me butterflies as I felt a heat washing over my body. His face comes closer to mine remaining intense eye contact. I don’t even think to look away from his gaze. Just as our noses are about to touch the sound of footsteps coming our way interrupt. He lets go leaning back acting like nothing was going on. “I guess we’ll continue this another time Gongjunim.” He brushes past against me starting to walk towards the oncoming footsteps. I turn around facing his back “Wait! What does that mean?” “Once again you’ll find out soon.” He disappears into the dark hallway. I finally make my way to the bathroom. “God did he have to be so mysterious all the time” I say to myself. I’m now left hot, aroused, and bothered with no one to fulfill my desires with. If only Mr. kim- what am I thinking he’s 10 years older than you, not to mention ENGAGED to your sister.

2 hours later, 11 pm

Taehyung POv She looked so vulnerable under my touch. I will have her and I’ll make sure of it. No matter what, no one will get it my way. I walk past a slightly ajar room, I peek in and see her perfect body in that sleep set. The silk cloth clings to her body. Tan skin unmarked and flawless. I can’t wait to for her to be under me screaming my name…

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

On Good Behaviour 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: after release, you try to get on the right track but your new boss isn’t much help. (ex-con reader)

Characters: Loki

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You drag the wet cloth along your cunt. You clean away the residue of the lube that coated the condom and grimace at yourself in the mirror. You shake your head and toss the cloth into the small basket in the corner. You grab a dry one to soak up the moisture between your thighs. 

You’re disgusted with yourself. Him as well. You sigh and stand straight. 

You drop the cloth and fix your blouse. You rinse off your hands and try to smooth the wrinkles creased into your skirt. It’s only three in the afternoon; not quite the end of the day. 

You open the bathroom door and march out. You’re surprised and not to find him still sprawled over the foldout mattress. You grab your phone to confirm the time. Just after three. 

“Sir,” you cross your arms and step back to face him. “I recall you have an appointment at four--” 

“Cancel it and come back to bed,” he insists. 

You stare at him. He runs his hand down his naked torso and hums. You look at the wall. 

“You wanted that report done--” 

“Am I asking you for it now?” He turns onto his side and his green eyes flare. “You are being defiant.” 

“No, sir, I’m doing my job--” 

“I told you to come back here,” he taps the mattress. 

You stare at him. His coily black hair is messy and tangle around his hand as he holds his head up. He flattens his palm to the thin mattress and rubs it. 

“Take all that off and come here,” he demands. 

You put your phone down. He’s not much different than the guards or even some of the inmates in prison. It’s a power struggle. Like them, he just wants confirmation that he’s the one with control. The fact that he is who he is, makes it all the more pathetic. 

You undress. As you do, your mind strays. It isn’t hard to guess why he’s doing this. Not after meeting his family.  He has an inferiority complex which you suspect is attached to his aforementioned brother. You have your own issues; too many siblings, a shitty mom, a steady stream of ‘father figures’. Even so, you can’t relate much to what he’s doing, though you can guess at his flawed reasoning. 

As you shove down your skirt, completely exposed, he purrs and strokes himself. You hold back a cringe. You repress a sigh as you approach and grab another condom. He catches your hip as you put your knee on the bed. 

“No need to rush,” he assures you. 

You stiffen and say nothing. He’s invaded your home, your body, your entire life; you just want him out as soon as possible.  

He drags his hand up your side and cups your tit. He sits up as he continues fondling you, watching his thumb as it circles your nipple. He brings his other hand up and moves you closer. You don’t resist. 

He pushes your tits together and buries his face in them. He growls and nips at the bulging flesh. He wiggles his head around and kisses along your skin. He drops one hand down to tickle your stomach. You shudder and tighten your fist around the condom. 

He urges you closer as he clasps onto your hip. You lift your leg over his and straddle him on your knees. You reach down to pump him as he plays with your chest. It’s all mechanical to you. Just a part of the job. You’re ticking off another box on the list. 

You pull back and tear open the condom. You push it onto him and he sits back, his stomach muscles clenching as he watches you sheath him in the rubber. His nails dig into the bed and his hisses out a breath. 

You grip him firmly and position yourself over him. You lower yourself gently. You’re thankful for the pre-lubed condom; you’re dry. You grunt as you take all of him. His hands go to your hips and he holds you down. 

He groans as his thumbs trace along the top of your pelvis. His eyes scour up and down your body. He squeezes and rocks you against him. You exhale and let him guide your motion. 

He’s slow and deliberate. He focuses on the joint of your bodies, watching how you glide up and down his length. He shoves you down suddenly and tilts your pelvis so your clit rubs against him. The spark of delight startles you. 

You latch onto his forearms as he keeps your moving. He snarls and leans forward. He nips at your chest again. You stare above his dark hair. He nuzzles and teethes at your tits, teasing you as he drones out. 

“Darling,” he slithers. “Mmm, you... are very capable.” 

He leans back and twists his arms free of your grasps. He takes your hands and puts them on his chest. He smirks at you as his hands falls down to the bed. 

“Go on.” 

Your eyes meet for a split second. You lower your lashes and brace his chest. You roll your hips. He croaks and twitches. He tilts his head back. 

“Oh, yes,” he taunts. “A woman like you... so naughty.” 

You bite your lip to hold back your frustration. ‘A woman like you’... What kind of man does that make him?” 

“Hm, you’ve had some practice, haven’t you? Is this how you got through it? Get an extra dessert at meal time--” 

You pull your hand back without thinking, jaw locking, and you curl your fingers to a fist. You still, arm cocked, ready to bash his face in. You glare at him and he snickers. 

“We both know you won’t,” he reaches and pushes your hand down. Your arm slackens and falls. You deflate. “Remember who and what you are.” 

He grabs your sides and hauls you up with him. He puts you on your back as he gets to his knees, staying inside of you as you hit the mattress. He adjusts himself and frames your throat, tightening his grip as he snarls down at you. 

He thrusts deep. Your insides constrict and you tense. He does it again. And again. Each time is cruel and sharp. Each time, his hold on you tightens. You gasp for air as he fucks you until the metal frame whines. 

You grab his wrists. Your eyes well and your head throb. He slams into you, over and over, his grunts deep and furious. His tempo builds until the whole world seems to quake around you. 

He finishes in a flurry. He peels his hands away from your neck and plants them on either side of your head. He holds himself up as he hammers into you. You close your eyes and wait for it to end. 

When it does, he collapses onto you, breathless. You throb around him. His sweaty skin sticks to yours and his weight paralyses you. You stare at the ceiling. 

You could be mad. You could blame it on a thousand different things. What good would that do? You made yourself a criminal. You made yourself vulnerable. 

It will end. He will get bored. That’s how you got by. You waited it out. Bullies always lose interest. 

💼

You wait in line at the coffee shop. It’s early. You’re exhausted. Well, you were tired for years. No one sleep good on a prison cot. 

You step up and order the usual cortado. Nothing for yourself. As you shuffle along the counter to wait for the coffee, a twinge makes you wince. You hate that you can still feel him. You’re trying to ignore it. 

You thank the barista as she slides over the cup. You take a lid for it and set off. You get to the office; it’s unlocked. 

You enter and find Mr. Laufeyson say behind your desk. He greets you with a taunting grin. You hoped that yesterday would end it. That once he had his little victory, he’d let you be. You put the coffee down and face him over the desk. 

“Sir.” 

His cheek dimples. He stares at you. You don’t flinch. 

“You’re early,” he drawls. 

So is he. That fact isn’t lost on you. 

“We’ve time.” 

His feet are set wide. He turns the chair slightly and unbuckles his belt. You don’t react. 

“Sir, I didn’t get to wrap my work up yesterday--” 

“After,” he reaches into his pants. “Just a quick one.” 

You blink. What is wrong with him? 

He nods to the desk. There’s a condom waiting. You choke back your reticence. You drop your bag and grab it. 

You step in front of him as he pulls himself out. You slide the condom on and he sighs. You turn your back to him. You tug up your skirt and push your panties aside. 

You reach between your legs as you hover over his lap. He shoves you down by your hips. You grunt and keep a hold of the desk. 

“Mm, yes, just as I recall,” he leans back. “Darling, you take me very well.” He runs his hand up and down your back. “And you obey remarkably. I would say you are nearly reformed.” 

You rock your hips as you keep a grip on the desk. You use it for leverage as he traces lines up and down the back of your blouse. You tilt faster and faster. He leans forward and wraps his arms around you. He gropes your chest through your blouse and rests his chin on your shoulder. 

“Yes, darling--” 

A sudden knock makes him cough. Shit. He pauses and listens. The knock comes again. 

“Hullo, anyone in?” Dina’s voice wafts through the door. 

Your eyes snap wide and you elbow Laufeyson off of you. He untangles his arms and stand, the condom coming off inside of you. Shit. You don’t have time. 

You pull your skirt down and tidy your blouse. You scurry away from the desk as he stands, his buckle clinking loudly. You go to the door and look at him. He tucks his shirt in and sends you an agitated gaze. He gestures for you to open the door. 

You pull it back on the hinges, “oh, Dina, hi.” 

“Hello, dear. Checking in. Is Mr. Laufeyson--” 

“Good morning,” Mr. Laufeyson crosses the office lithely, “we were only going over opening tasks.” He offers his hand. She shakes it.  

“I’m so sorry for interrupting.” 

“Not at all. She is still adjusting, so we are diligent in reviewing,” he explains. You back away from them. 

“Oh, yes, sometimes it can be very much work. When they’re locked up, they have routine, but once they’re out...” she clucks. “Well that’s why I’m here.” 

“You are very thorough at your job,” he says. “It is early, are you in the mind for a coffee?” 

“At that place downstairs? I passed it and thought it smelled wonderful,” she trills. 

“My treat,” he insists. “I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have about her performance.” 

“Oh my, Mr. Laufeyson, thank you,” she preens and tugs at her over-styled ringlets. 

“Loki suits me well enough,” he insists. “Let us be off.” 

She spins and struts out, a notable sway in her hips. You stand behind the desk. Laufeyson lingers at the door and peeks back at you. His cheek twitches. 

“You will wait for me and we will continue going over your tasks for the day,” he says. 

“Yes, sir,” you answer as you tap your fingers on the desk. 

He nods and leaves, snapping the door shut behind him. You exhale and grimace. You bend your knees and reach between your legs. You pull the condom out of your cunt and flick it into the bin. Ugh, he’s so gross. 

You drop into the chair and stare at the black screen. It’s a good thing he got in out of there. She’s got an eye for detail. She’d be able to see the coffee you got him or the fact that you hadn’t even got set up for the day. 

You almost think you should just tell her. You’re not stupid. She wouldn’t help you, she would blame you. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing to go back to prison. At least there, you know where you belong. 

No, because then he wins. 

You tap the power button and let the laptop boot. You pull your bag closer and unzip the top. You put your phone beside the mousepad and take out your water bottle. 

As you get the inbox open, your cell buzzes. You flinch and snatch it up, turning it to silent. The message waiting for you is from him. You can’t catch a break. 

‘Darling, you’ve left me undone.’ 

You curl your lip. You can’t tell if he’s reprimanding you or trying to be coy. Either way, you’re repulsed. 

You don’t respond. How can you? The puke emoji seems fitting but foolish. 

Another message brightens the screen before you can put the phone down. ‘I was awake all night. Thinking of you on me.’ 

You furrow your nose. What the fuck? 

‘Did you feel empty without me?’ 

You snort. You put the phone down and throw your hand up in silent confusion. No. He doesn’t think that you enjoyed it, does he? He doesn’t think this is more than you playing along. He can’t. How could he think that you want him? 

The phone lights up once more. 

‘I need you badly. It hurts. You will be ready for me upon my return.’ 

Sure, ready but not wanting. 

[ision]

KNITTING WORKSHOP MEET CUTE ( >﹏<;。)

ft jaemin

☆¸¸ .•*★.

It was three minutes past twelve and you were late. Only by a few minutes, but late nonetheless. Pushing open a door, you felt every set of eyes on you. “Come on in, honey, we’ve barely started,” the instructor said with warm smile. The woman stood at the front of the room, with greyed hair and a granny-square crochet cardigan (the irony!), beckoned you to the last open seat in the room, and you obliged with an apologetic smile and a slight nod.

Sitting down promptly, you slung your bag over the back of your chair and listened eagerly. “Thank you all for coming, this is a beginners' class so please don’t worry too much! Instruction packs are on each of your desks, and I’m here to help,” the instructor watched on expectantly with a smile.

Opening your folder, the instructions seemed easy enough: you’d hopefully make something that would somewhat resemble a bunny rabbit made of fuzzy yarn. However, you failed to consider that written instructions weren’t exactly your preferred method of learning. And, your first obstacle was trying to figure out which hand to use for what action and trying to coordinate both at the same time.

With the exception of a few high school textiles classes, this was your first proper knitting foray into knitting. The knots kept unravelling, and were so uneven a nagging voice in your head pleaded you to keep starting over. Even the first, starter knot took a few tries to be comfortable and sturdy. It didn’t help that your hands were starting to slightly tremble from the unusual level of coordination and focus required. You were dropping stitches, that you only managed to notice after you had finished a row of knitting, having to start the row all over again. All this was probably making you go cross-eyed too.

The person next to you must have gotten tired of the 10th sigh that came out of your mouth: “first-time shakes?” Turning to your left, you were met with a boy with a smile as if he was holding back a laugh. Were his eyes just naturally that twinkly, was it the lighting in this room, or was he teasing you for being so awfully uncoordinated? “It’s that obvious, huh,” you winced, “I can’t seem to get a good grip on the sticks.” He could’ve laughed at you, and you think you saw his smile perk up, if that was even possible. But thankfully, him choosing to cover your embarrassing tell of inexperience was something you’d come to realise only after the class.

“Hold the needles like this,” the boy turned his wrists, brought his fingers further along the needles and knitted seamlessly. “You won’t drop as many and have to repeat."

“Thanks,” you smiled at the boy.

“No worries, I’m Jaemin.”

“You’ve done this before?” You asked - Jaemin turned a bit bashful now, shyly bending his head a little to avoid eye contact. The momentary coyness didn’t last for that long, though. “My grandma taught me when I was young, I’m just starting to get back into knitting so I’m not very good.” Despite his admission, the belly of his baby pink rabbit was starting to take shape now and you were very envious at his neat work.

“Oh, that’s really nice!” You looked up from the rabbit and met Jaemin’s eye. He held eye contact for a few beats, brows furrowed as he thought. “Can I, if it’s okay, show you?” He held out his palm. Nodding in response, you watched as he held your hands still, Jaemin twisting your knitting needles and winding your yarn himself, accidentally brushing his fingers against yours.

You jumped at the jolt shocking you from the touch. “Sorry,” Jaemin looks up to smile sheepishly at you, “must’ve been my metal needles.”

“It’s ok,” you replied. “Thank you,” to be honest, you weren’t sure what he had just done, everything was just so difficult to focus on, and it didn’t help that hand-eye coordination wasn’t coming to you strongly today. But, your confusion must’ve been thinly veiled. Jaemin boy shook his head slightly with a small laugh. “It’s your first time, don’t worry, it took me weeks to figure out how to even hold the needles properly.” His eyes twinkled in reply — maybe his eyes were just like that.

“Thank you Jaemin… Are you coming next week? I think I’ll be needing some more help after this lesson, if you wouldn’t mind?” You offered sheepishly as you heard your heartbeat in your ears, waiting for the dark-haired boy’s response. Jaemin tilted his head looking at you, brushing the hair that got into his eyes away, “give me your phone.” A sound of confusion left you involuntarily at the surprise demand, at which he sighed jubilantly, “how else would I be able to reach you again? Can’t rely on fate that much.”

Rummaging through your bag, you leafed out your phone and watched as the boy tapped away, happy you even stumbled across the class’ advertising flyer.