#so the chance of their baby having red hair is near impossible due to the red hair gene being super recessive

[kandavers]

i'm getting a lot of ratiorine/aventio stuff at my Tumblr feed and i do love them, however i dont know if i have the brain capacity to write them since they're both extremely smart hahaha

[nochuvalencia]

𝐁 𝐁 𝐇 𝐌 𝐌 - jjk

I was basically inspired by these ^^^ pics of jk bc wow hot hi

⚠️ ALSO QUICK DISCLAIMER :: this is my first fanfic on here so it might be terrible but enjoy anyway. ⚠️

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 :: reader x crimeboss!jk

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 :: bitch you better have his money.

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦 :: ABSOLUTE SMUTTY FILTH heh angst too ig

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 :: 11.9k

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 :: long haired tatted jk, that’s it, that’s the warning, uh kinda sketchy plot hsjsjsj, WOW ANGST ASF at the beginning tho, dub!con towards the middle don’t hurt me, fuck or die ig, gunplay????? yeah????? jks BLATANT OVERUSE of pet names, dacryphillia, major-ish character death, describing the injuries on a dead body, jk has a sir kink ig??? um excessive over exaggerated choking bc jks hands yum, explicit seggs, rough jk, he’s kinda mean, dom!jk, sub!reader, oral m&f receiving (facefucking on both ends), coochie sniff if you squint, coochie slaps if u squint too, spanking, OVERSTIMULATION, unprotected seggs, degradation, he calls her a bitch once idk, other bad names, praise too ig, jk gives an ultimatum, SLIGHT aftercare, he kinda like switches from flirty to murderous like a bunch of times it’s kinda weird, jk has an impossibly huge shlong obv, contemplating death, super mature themes, reader is a BIG fucking crybaby, overuse of the word fuck, corruption kink at the end if u squint super hard, also DUB!CON in case you didn’t see it, at this point I should just write what it doesn’t have

“If you’re not out of my house in 3.4 seconds, I'm dragging you out by the testicles” you uttered, your alarmingly calm voice laced with raw brutality as hot tears cascaded down your burning cheeks, your arm outstretched and pointed toward the blinding light of the hallway that contrasted with your dark bedroom. You said nothing more, with your eyes trained angrily at one of the four blank tan walls nearby, not possibly being able to bear speaking to or sparing a glance into the eyes of a cheating whore. The woman you had just caught him with scurried past you wearily, a terrified and confused glint in her eyes as she passed your frigid frame sans underwear, with her sparkly silver pumps dangling from her fingers and a wrinkly silver dress hanging limply from the clutches of her other hand. The man in question shuffled cautiously around the bed, clutching the exposed parts of his body and approaching you with extreme hesitation and outstretched hands, as if trying to calm the already blazing flames of your fury. He laid a cold, rough hand on your shoulder squeezing softly, a motion that once brought you comfort but only added the all consuming hatred that bubbled up inside you akin to ravenous bile filling up the pit of your belly. “Did you not hear what I said? Get out.” You spat, glossy eyes still pointed toward anything but him.

“____ please” he croaked, like the slimy frog he truly was, his voice dripping in false agony which only neared you closer to the brink of undoubtedly committing an act of extreme violence against that man. “Please baby it wasn’t-'' you blanked. He was about to make an excuse. A stupid, rediculous, horrible, completely false excuse which you had absolutely no patience to hear. So you snapped, harshly shrugging your shoulder and sending his arm flying back to his side. He stepped back, ceasing his incessant chatter as he stared at you, a surprised expression painting his “pained” features. He wasn’t accustomed to you acting like this, you were never one to raise your voice or act out in any sort of way so he stood there, eyes widened in dumbfounded silence and you took this chance, bending down, scooping up as much of his discarded clothing as you possibly could and throwing it in his face, your rage bubbling over into something much more carnal as you inhaled deeply through your nose.

“Shut the fuck up and leave!” He scrambled to catch as many clothes as he could and was taken aback by your abrupt outburst. He stood silent once again though this time, he was making the face he often made when forcing himself to cry. It was the face he made around his mother to get out of family responsibilities. The face he made around his friends when guilt tripping them into buying him drinks, and now he's using it for you. To guilt you into taking pity on his pathetic actions which merely was the catalyst for your unforgiving violence. In an instant you were behind him, heaving him out of the door with your bare hands, pushing with all your might, using the immense pain coursing through your limbs as motivation to drive his beefy frame further and further out of the bedroom, down the hallway, into the living room and closer to the door yelling “I said leave! Leave! Now!” Pushing harder and harder with every word you choked out. The tears began to flow faster, clouding and distorting your vision as your face contorted into an expression of pure anguish until finally, he was forced out of the open doorway and into the main hallway of your apartment building. You promptly slammed the door in his face and the only thought traveling though your mind was ‘thank god she left that door open’ because you wouldn’t have been able to force him through it otherwise.

You stood silently for a few seconds, back to the door, face still slick with tears as the cool wood on your back shook senselessly with every beat of his fist and muffled shout of his voice crying phrases like “____ open the fuking door!” , “this is my apartment too baby come on” and other variations of the sort. Your mind was empty while you remained there, letting the harsh reality sink in like the slowest molasses. You allowed that man, that pig, to take 10 years of your life. 10 years of your prime. 10 years that you'll never get back no matter how much you beg and plead for it. Come to think of it, you had shaped your entire life around him. His influence was there no matter how much you wished it wasn’t. His residue staining your life like the blackest ink of which you would never be able to rid yourself. At the surfacing of these thoughts, you’d finally broke down and cried, like ugly cried. Broken heaves and sobs escaped your throat until you felt like you were suffocating as you slid down the door, not caring if he heard your wails and whines of torment on the other side of the polished mahogany. You actually hoped he did hear, you wanted him to hear the anguish and grief he put you through. You wanted him to hear you cry out all of your attachment and love for him until there was none left, so he knows the tears flowing from your body hold all of the affection you harbor for him. All ten years of attraction flowing out in a gigantic tsunami of grief that can only end in a new start.

Your mind played through all the memories, and the small amount of good times you had with each other while you sobbed mercilessly, also coming to the realization that he never did anything for you. Ever since you were 14 you’d been changing everything about yourself for him, while he merely lived his life, dragging you along like a supportive little puppy and rewarding you with cheap token gifts and mediocre sex once in a blue moon.

He wanted to attend university in your hometown so you abandoned your dream school, which accepted you, to attend a closer college. He made the decision to study abroad, so you had to drop everything and move to Australia for him. He wanted to wait to have kids so you froze your fucking eggs for him. He got a great new job at a large company in Asia, so you dropped everything again and moved to South Korea. You learned Korean for him. You have the same friends as him. You even cut a few family members off because he was “uncomfy” around them. He wouldn’t even go down on you because it also made him ‘uncomfy’, which should’ve been a red flag from the start. You did all of this bullshit in the haze of love. The promise that he’d reciprocate all of it in affection and adoration, which he didn’t, and now you’re sitting in your living room bawling your brains out because you were too lovestruck to see the signs.

After sobbing hysterically for what seemed like hours, you’d sat limply in front of your door, slouching back onto it as if it were a plush armchair and staring blankly into space, your mind completely empty. Feeling overwhelmed and exhausted beyond belief, you leaned forward, groaning in anguish as your tired muscles cried out in distress after being immobile for more than four hours. Crawling over to the couch, you tiredly flung your nearly paralyzed body onto the soft cushions with a sigh, not even bothering to pull the fluffy throw blanket over your body as your entire frame began to steadily shut down. Before your eyes completely shut, you caught a glimpse of the clock perched on the wooden tv stand which read 11:11 and scoffing quietly as you thought to yourself, ‘I thought that was supposed to mean good luck’ and you gave in to the delicious expanse of slumber.

You were startled awake by the incessant pounding of your now ex-boyfriends fist on the door, again. For the past 4 days since you’d forced him out, he’d show up outside your door at the ass crack of dawn just banging on the door profusely, as if that would persuade you to open it an inch. He had a schedule, he’d come at 5am, before he went off to work, then at 12:30 on his lunch break, then again at 9:45 just to make you miserable before you went to bed. You’re actually surprised the neighbors haven’t complained to the landlords yet. You tossed the blanket off of your sticky body, kicking and thrashing wildly due to the annoyance caused by that nuisance.

You cried more times than you can count during these last 4 days, especially during the times he would attempt to win you over with sappy shit like “baby, you’re my everything, you’re all i’ve ever wanted”, the lyrics to one of your favorite songs or, “you’re my forever ____, you can’t just throw 10 years away babe” to which you cried about for 3 hours after he’d said it, after realizing that he actually wasted 10 fucking years of your life. Anger bubbled up in the pit of your stomach as you listened to the repetitive banging of his fist and at this point you had enough and came to the decision it was finally time to pack his shit. Stomping into the living room, you grabbed a necessary box of bags that sat on the coffee table in the center of the room, figuring you were ready to use it. With a final nod of your head, you marched into your shared bedroom and opened all of the cabinets and drawers that contained the plethora of his belongings and flinging them on the floor, grabbing the box of xl trash bags you’d snagged on your march in here and started tossing things in left and right, not caring about the brand name or the state of the fabric or anything for that matter. All you saw was red as your eyes welled up with tears for the first and probably not last time that day.

“I can’t do this” you sobbed out, voice hoarse as you fell to your knees, ignoring the rugburn that was soon to form on those areas as your shoulders shook with every harsh breath you took. You had been dreading this task. Dreading it only for its significance that once you packed all his things and tossed them out, your relationship would be truly over. You definitely didn’t want him back but this would be the first time you’ve been alone in 10+ years and you were not certain you were prepared for that let alone wanting it. Inhaling shakily, you sniffed, ridding your face of any moisture as you cleared your throat and walked back into the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of chardonnay from your anniversary that fell on the week prior and venturing back into the closet to resume your task. You weren’t much of a drinker but for this task, you’d need a bottle or two.

A few hours later, he’d finally went off to work and you sat in the doorway of the closet, drunkenly dressed in the wedding gown you were made to be wed in this summer still combing through all of his clothing and tossing them messily into a bag that laid open on the floor beside you. You took a swig from the bottle, hissing softly at the satisfying burn that seared it’s way down your throat and rubbing at your puffy eyes with the knuckle of your index finger. The closet was mostly bare, except for a rack with some of his clothes and one rack of semi-expensive clothing his cheap ass reluctantly purchased for you and you glanced around, catching a glimpse of some ugly floral fabric in the corner of the small space. Getting on your hands and knees you reached a limp hand out, taking hold of the horrendous fabric and dragging it out with a groan, eyes wide at the surprising heft of the object in your hand.

It was a pillowcase. A pillowcase full of something brick shaped. You raised an eyebrow quizzically before reaching into the bag and pulling out a fat stack of cash. Taking a sharp intake of breath you paused, staring blankly at the wrapped wad in your hand and cocking your head to the side. You peeked over into the bag after a few minutes, eyes popping out of your skull as they feasted on more huge stacks of money. It was Korean currency but there had to be at least 250k USD worth in the entire sack. You furrowed your brows, tossing the money back into the pillowcase forcefully as a tornado of thoughts whirled in your mind. Had he been saving behind your back? Was he planning on getting rich then eventually hanging you out to dry for some younger girl? How long has he had all of this? Where the fuck did it all come from?

You looked back at the money then back at the corner you found it in, squinting as you spotted some more ugly purple fabric. Crawling behind the clothing earnestly, you managed to fish out 4 more pillowcases full of money. You stifled a laugh, having never been in the presence of so much currency, you guessed it had to be more than 1 million dollars. You smiled for the first time in 4 days, lips curling up into a wide joy filled expression as you dumped all of the money onto the rugged floor of the closet. With all of the alcohol coursing through your veins, (almost a whole bottle) you didn’t hesitate to grab the biggest tote bag you own and stuff as much money as it could hold inside. You figured it was the least he could do after cheating on you.

He deserved to pay, and you obviously deserved a raise.

It was a full on shopping spree. After throwing all of his shit into bags, you tossed them outside your door and left with as much money as you could carry before he could come back on his lunch break. You even came back to get some more money, just to go out and spend it again. To say you splurged would be an understatement, you spent almost half of the money on clothes, shoes, a hair and makeup appointment, a manicure, a new car, and you even paid rent for six months after taking his name off the lease.

So here you were, struggling up the stairs as quick as you could, due to the fact that it was 9:30 and you were trying to avoid seeing him at his 9:45 visit. Your feet screamed in agony in your new jimmy choo pumps, because you’d been on them all day, and you had at least six shopping bags hanging from each arm, all full with an assortment of gaudy items such as shoe boxes, makeup products, and clothing. You had finally reached the door after a while, smiling at the absence of his bags which meant he took them and swiftly unlocked the door, clamoring in and tiredly dropping the bags in your hands. With a sigh, you locked the door, running a hand through your freshly styled hair as you rid your face of the designer sunglasses that shielded it. Kicking off your shoes, you hummed gratifyingly at the pleasurable feeling of bare feet and shuffled over to your couch, plopping down on the end cushion groggily.

A soft buzz in your back pocket caught your attention as you carefully fished out the new phone you purchased and unlocked it with your perfectly manicured fingers, raising an eyebrow quizzically as the texts rolled in, ‘i thought i blocked him’ you thought, preparing to do it a second time before a few texts caught your attention and you froze on the spot, chuckling heartlessly at his words.

+82 2 2263 5950 : whose car is in our parking spot?

+82 2 2263 5950 : did you already move on?

+82 2 2263 5950 : wow whore

You rolled your eyes, wondering where he attained the gaul to accuse you of a feat such as that. Calling you a whore as if that name isn’t suitable for himself. Even more so than you. You decided to text him back, feeding off of an unknown source of confidence as your fingers furiously tapped along the screen.

me : it’s my car asshole

me : bought it with the money u left me

me :thx baby <3

+82 2 2263 5950 : what money?

me : the money in the closet you didn’t bother telling me abt u dumb fuck

+82 2 2263 5950 : don’t use that money

me : why should i listen to you?

me : you aren’t my bf

+82 2 2263 5950 : no seriously ____ don’t use that money wtf is wrong with u

me : already did bye babe

You blocked him as quickly as you could, face burning with absolute anger as you tossed your phone on the cushion beside you. Who is he to tell you what you could or couldn’t do? You had come to the decision then and there that you wouldn't let him treat you like a child. He wasn’t your dad. Thanks to him you barely speak to your dad. The only thought going through your mind at the time was ‘fuck him.’ Before you could delve into your thoughts any further, it started. His incessant pounding on the door. Again. Although, this time it was much more frantic, desperate. He was much louder with his pathetic pleas and whines, crying out “please don’t use that money!”, “Listen to me god damn it!”, “___ open the fucking door now!” But you stood your ground, ignoring him once again as you did for the past few days.

Just to escape the racket of his wails of desperation, you retreated to your room, slipping on one of his expensive balenciaga sweatshirts you kept for yourself and climbing into the cool blankets, burying yourself under the plush fabric and folding your pillow over your ears. You knew this would be the longest night of your life..

And you were correct, It was the longest night of your life. He never truly got the memo that you would not be coming out to communicate with him so he finally left at around 1:30 in the morning. You had slept horribly, tossing and turning as the aftermath of his cries and pleads left a print on your mind and tormented you at all hours of the night, you didn’t manage to get any real sleep until around eight and woke up a mere five hours later in a state of confusion. It was well past noon and yet it was silent, you had woken up of your own volition, not because of some crazy man outside of your apartment screaming like a banshee. In due time, you had come to the conclusion that he had finally given up and gone about his day without banging on his ex-girlfriend's apartment door like an idiot at all hours of the day.

This theory was almost set in your mind until you heard a knock. Groaning violently, you stared up at your ceiling, eyebrows furrowed as you erased that theory from the whiteboard in your cortex. Fully prepared to ignore the person at the door, you rolled over to your side until another knock was heard. This wasn’t him. This couldn’t be him. The knocks were way too soft, they lacked an element of urgency, desperation. They were simply just way too calm. So, you sat up, swinging your legs over and reluctantly standing up, before making your way into the living room to be greeted with another knock and a smooth male voice calling out. “Miss ___ ___?”

You glanced wearily though your peep hole to be met with a tall male, dressed in a blue and white uniform. “Looks like a cop. He called the fucking cops on me, shit.” you whispered to yourself, voice small as you held onto the door handle. Figuring it’d be worse to make him wait, you opened the door, being met with the warm, dimpled smile, of the decorated individual. “Yes, i”m ____” you respond, shoving your hands into the pockets of your sweatshirt and looking everywhere but him, which probably seems more suspicious than anything but you were too riddled with anxiety to care. The officer clutched a navy blue manilla folder in his hand and opened it promptly in order to sift through its contents.

“Hi, i’m officer Kim.” he breathed out, calmly bowing and resuming his apparent spiel, “do you know this man?” he pondered, raising an eyebrow quizzically as he pulled a photo from his folder with calloused fingers and lifted it, spinning it around to face you. Your eyes widened slightly upon being shown a picture of your ex and you nodded hesitantly.

“He’s my ex boyfriend- well ex fiance I guess.” you responded, voice barely audible as your mind raced faster than the speed of sound. You asked yourself what he could’ve done that was bad enough for the police to show up at your door. Maybe you had been too harsh on him and he had gotten into one to many bar fights, maybe he robbed a bank at gunpoint, maybe he stole some old lady’s car and filled it with off brand mayonnaise before he returned it. All your questions- all your thoughts stopped as Officer Kim responded, running a tired hand through his hair.

“He passed, earlier today.” he paused, giving you time to digest things and you froze, staring at his face blankly as your mind processed what you had just been told and you hummed questioningly, your throat becoming tight with realization. “It happened around five this morning,” he paused again as you stood in complete silence. Sure you hated him but you’d never wish death upon another person, especially him. You hate him now but you were in love with him once too. You hate him now but, he was the closest person in your life. He was all of your firsts, your fiance, your best friend. You thought you wouldn’t be able to get all of that back because of the breakup but now you truly can never get any of it back, because he’s dead. Then, you started to cry, for the hundredth time this week but this one was different. You weren’t crying because you missed him, or wanted him to come back like all the other times, as horrible as it sounds. You were crying because you felt bad. Because of his short life that was ripped from him by the unforgiving hand of death. You weren’t crying because of him, you were crying for him. A hand on your shoulder interrupted your sobs and you wiped your face, glancing up at the culprit with glassy eyes. “I’m so sorry for your loss...” he paused, giving you a few moments to breathe as he rubbed your shoulder comfortingly before speaking again, “but we have an idea of who did it, it would be helpful if you just came down to the station with me for some questioning.” he asked softly as the shaking sobs and whimpers that came from your body slowed to a halt and you nodded.

“Yeah, uh. Let me just go get dressed.” You muttered, smiling up at him softly and shuffling back to your room to prepare. The longest night of your life was about to turn into the longest day.

And you were correct again as you stood in front of your apartment door after the absolute, and I cannot stress this enough, longest day of your life. Your ex was murdered, brutally, and they made sure to go over all of the gory details with you while you were at the precinct, they even took you to see his body, which made you cry because it was mangled almost beyond recognition and you were horrified. Apparently, he had been tortured for hours, which explained all the bruises, gashes, and burn marks on his body, strangled, thus the huge ring shaped mark around his neck, and dumped into a river, which made his body all pruny and wrinkled. You had spent 10 long hours at the police precinct and it was now nearing midnight as you fished your keys from your pocket in order to unlock the door. Inserting your key, you jiggle it around in the lock for a minute before realizing it was already unlocked initially. Figuring you had left it unlocked accidentally in your depressed haze, you pushed your way into your apartment and locked it promptly, pressing your forehead into the cool wood of the door. You sighed softly, relaxing only for a minute as you absorbed your surroundings before freezing as you heard the rhythmic tapping of someone's foot.

“Long day huh?” the voice was deep, one you hadn’t heard before as you remained facing the door, your grip of the handle tightening until your knuckles turned white. He spoke again, “you must be ____.” he murmured softly, sending a terrified shudder down your spine. “I’ve been wanting to meet you but he said you were off limits. You know, he talks about you a lot-...” he stopped himself as if realizing something, “well talked, I mean.” the man mused, an ominous chuckle flowing from his mouth.

“Who are you?” you rasped, attempting to conceal any cowardice but blinking your eyes harshly as your voice broke. You vaguely hoped this was one of your ex’s friends coming to visit, at an odd hour of the night, sitting ominously in the dark of your apartment waiting for you to come home just to say hi but the chances of that actuality was very slim.

“None of your business” the man retorted, a smirk evident in his ominous tone. “Now, let’s get down to business little dove,” you furrowed your brows at the nickname. You had never been called a nickname, especially by a man who randomly just snuck into your apartment one night. Your ex only ever called you baby or babe so little dove was different for you. It seemed endearing in the worst type of way. “I want the rest of my money.” he paused, “I found half of it in a closet here, and he said you might know where the rest is.” he paused again, only this time a sound is heard, a metal rattling of some sort that ricochets off of the walls of the apartment like a stray jumping bean in a pill case. Then it hits you, he has a gun, and he just shook it as if he intends to use it. . “Don’t make me ask again sweetheart.” Your eyes widen and well up as your head falls down, knowing you're going to die today and you take a deep breath, telling yourself you’d be ready for whatever happens so you decide, if you’re gonna die, you should at least know the name of the man that’s gonna kill you so you scrape together every last drop of confidence you can muster and ask once more.

“I said, w-who are yo-” you choked out, in an attempt to hold onto the last shred of your dignity as you blinked back the tears threatening to fall from your glassy eyes. However, your small shred of confidence is promptly ripped from your grasp as the man cuts you off mid sentence, slamming his gun down onto a hard surface with a loud clatter. You jolt, crying out softly as the tears you’d been holding back with all your might fall onto the ground before you.

“I said none of your fucking business bitch where’s my fucking money.” he spat, his sinister tone draing a choked sob from your thoat as you realized, you wouldn’t be getting anything you wanted today. “Answer me” he said, alarmingly calm as the sound of him cocking his gun travels directly to your mind.

“I spent it” you muttered between your soft hiccups and stiffened slightly upon hearing a heavy footstep approach you, then another footstep, and another, and another until they cease, and you can feel the man's warm breath raising the hair on the back of your neck. All your readiness for whatever happens and willingness to die flies out of the window as you lean your head on the door once more, taking a shaky breath as you begin to plead, aware of how pathetic you sound and part of the reason why you have such a strong urge to cry harder. “Please don’t kill me” you whined desperately as you feel the cold metal of the gun barrel resting on your shoulder.

“Relax little dove” he whispered, his lips brushing the back of your ear and sending a chill rushing through the entire expanse of your body. “Just find a way to pay me back and we’re even,” he continued calmly, his raspy voice reverberating in your eardrums as you think through what he just said carefully. You gasp and sniffle, shaking your head softly and lifting it slowly from the wooden door frame.

“I-” you stopped, taking a deep breath and preparing yourself as much as you could for his response then opened your mouth to continue. “I don’t have that kind of money” you whispered hesitantly, shutting your eyes tightly, allowing nothing to escape but the numerous tears that fell to the ground in anticipation of his actions. There was an eerie silence as he contemplated your words before he abruptly turned away, lifting the gun from your shoulder and holstering it in the waistband of his jeans, causing you to let out a wavering breath you’d been holding that entire time. His hand traveled back up, taking refuge on your left shoulder as the other hand made its way up your right arm, the warmth setting your skin aflame and sending a shockwave of warmth coursing through your body.

“There is another way you could pay me back.” his velvet voice rasped, stressing the word ‘another’ in a way that you immediately understood his insinuation and you took a sharp intake of air, bracing yourself for what he was about to say next. But he didn’t say anything for a moment, letting his hands do the talking for him as he gripped your arms softly, using his hands to spin you around and face him. You whirled around, yelping in surprise but stopping when you were met with the most exquisite, carnivorous brown eyes you had ever seen in your life that were accompanied by full pink lips and a tousled bunch of fluffy black hair you just wanted to run your hands through. Even in the darkness of night, the moonlight streaming through the kitchen window illuminated the room enough for you to trail your eyes down his face and get a vivid idea of what he’d look like with illumination.

Yummy as fuck.

Your eyes began to wander down to his exposed collarbone and before they could travel any lower, his fingers roughly grabbed your chin, forcing your gaze upward until you met his borderline cannibalistic gaze, which crushed you into nothing. He cocked his head to the side, a mischievous glint in his eyes as the corner of his lips turn upward slightly. “He was always bragging about you… saying,” he speaks, his sultry tone lulling you into a state of compliance as he spoke, “you’re such a good fuck,” he continues, placing his left hand gently on your waist and stepping even closer, if that’s possible, his soft breath hitting your face with every word as he speaks. “Your sweet little cunt is so tight” he glances down at your lips, running his thumb over your bottom lip “your mouth feels like heaven” he pauses again, running his hand down to hold the side of your neck softly to which you gasp “maybe i’d like a demonstration little dove.” he smiles, a twisted horrifying smile that snaps you out of his seductive trance and back to reality as your eyes widen and you pull yourself quickly out of his hold, running over to the couch and bracing yourself on it.

“No” you cry out, out of breath for some reason as you swallow thickly and shake your head. “No, I'll find a way to pay you back, I promise.” you plead, praying he wasn’t going to kill you on the spot and that he hadn’t noticed your blatant ogling. He probably did but at this point you didn’t care, you just wanted him gone.

“Whatever you say sweetheart” he replied, emitting a dark chuckle “call me if you change your mind, my number’s in your phone” he opened the front door and you glanced back at him, noticing the way his all black attire contrasts with his tan skin, and most of all, you notice the full sleeve of tattoos that ran down his right arm. Heat crawled up to your face as you realized you were gawking again and you nodded in response, feeling unable to form the words to respond with. He only uttered the words “you have a week.” before the door slammed and you were left alone in the dark.

You ran your fingers along the side of your neck where the aftermath of his touch lingered like a searing residue. No one had ever touched you like that, especially your ex. He was the man that took your virginity and was the man there for every time after so you’d become accustomed to his textbook missionary vanilla sex that left you touch starved and unfinished every. single. time. But you’d finish yourself off each time, feeling bad because you thought he was trying his hardest and truly didn’t understand how to please women. But as time went on, you realized he didn’t care about your pleasure and too enveloped in his own release to ever worry about your needs, but were too deep in love with him to care.

Your thoughts were interrupted when your phone went off to signal a text and upon picking it up there were two text messages from an unknown number that sent a shiver down your spine which read.

+82 2 5284 8735 : don’t try to run

+82 2 5284 8735 : we’ll hunt you down little dove

“Can’t you just take the shit back?” You questioned frantically, clutching the phone by your head until your knuckles turned white, rolling your eyes tiredly when you got no response. “They hung up, great” you deadpanned, plopping onto the couch you had been pacing in front of. It has been 6 days since the man showed up and you were running out of time and hadn’t slept in two days, your mind running frantically with the thought of him coming back to see you nearly empty handed. Well, not exactly empty handed. You had managed to get 253k of the whopping +400k dollars you had spent of his money and after not being able to return the car, manicure, hair appointment, rent, and a bunch of clothes and shoes, you were manic. Some might even say a bit crazy. Many of the stores and the dealership knew you by name because of the amount of times you called them. You dropped your phone into your lap, burying your face in your hands and wishing someone was here to console you through this but the only person you knew even remotely enough to offer any consolation was your ex. You wish he was alive so you could punch that bitch in the face and ask him what kind of shit he got himself into because the man that paid you a visit was most definitely not from corporate.

You sat for a silent minute deliberating if you should text the mystery man and take him up on his offer. You had asked yourself, is it really worth your life? Were you really going to die because you didn’t want to sleep with the hot guy you stole money from? The answer at first was yes because you still had your pride intact then but now, you had been starting to second guess your confidence in getting all the money back. After all, the deadline is tomorrow. You still had your hesitations, the only man who has ever seen you in such a lewd nature was your ex. You didn’t know if you were ready for sex with another person, even if he was the hottest man you’d ever seen. But, against your better nature, you convinced yourself that your ex was gone and this was bound to happen sooner or later, so why not sooner?

You grabbed your phone in earnest before anything inside you could convince you to stop and unlocked it, opening the messages for his number and typing out your text, hitting send before any sort of regret had the chance to sink in.

me : i’ll take your offer

me : this is ____ btw

You placed your phone down on the couch cushions beside you and chewed nervously on the not so fresh manicure that was still on your nails. To your surprise, his reply came in quickly and you frantically reached for your phone as the dings came rolling in.

+82 2 5284 8735 : i know who you are

+82 2 5284 8735 : i'll be there in 20

+82 2 5284 8735 : be ready sweetheart

Your heart thumped restlessly as you shot up from your seat shouting “twenty minutes?!” and you cried out nervously. You hadn’t even seen his face in good lighting and you didn't know his name so you’d basically be fucking a complete stranger which scared you enough as it is but the fact that that stranger held you at gunpoint merely a week prior is what scared you shitless.

In the limited time that he gave you, you decided to freshen up a bit so you hopped in the shower. Your first shower in a few days after your psychotic state worsened. Humming in bliss, you relished in the feeling of the scalding water flowing over your skin as you took your time washing , shaving, and singing, in an attempt to rid yourself of the horrendous nerves that overtook your senses. After reluctantly stepping out of the steamy oasis, you’d decided on a white lingerie set you had gotten yourself for christmas but never got to wear for anyone because your significant other was always “working” or too tired/busy to take the time of day for you. Pairing the set with a matching white silk robe and not bothering to wear any shoes because you’re in your own house, you slicked your lips in a thick coat of gloss and applied some mascara and eyeliner to your tired eyes just to spruce up a bit. You figured, if you put effort into your appearance, then maybe he’d spare your life after the sex. You stared at yourself in the mirror, tying your robe, smacking your glossed lips together and ogling your appearance before a soft knocking was heard from the living room. “He’s here” you told yourself with a deep shaky breath as you vacated the bathroom and slowly ventured toward the door.

You stood silently before the front door, contemplating whether this was a mistake or if it was too late to turn back. As much as you hated to admit, there was no logical solution to your problem that was in compliance with any standing laws. Heck, what you were doing was probably illegal in everywhere but Las Vegas so you had no other choice than to twist the handle, open the door and stare up at the most alluring man you had ever laid eyes on. You ran your eyes all over his body, studying him, his features, his gorgeous eyes, impeccable nose, plush lips, smooth hair, and strong arms that lead to a presumed strong chest hidden under his plain white tee. He noticed you blatantly checking him out to which he placed a finger on your chin, lifting your face up so your eyes met and making you watch as he rolled his bottom lip into his mouth, sucking on it for a moment. Oh how you wished that was your lip.

“You ready little dove?” he asked, his tone seductive and smooth like chocolate as he walked closer to you, closing the door behind him and backing you up until you stood patiently before the couch staring up at him, a wistful glint in your eyes as you nodded. He reached up, using a finger to push your robe off of your right shoulder and cocking his head quizzically. “All dressed up just for me?” he pondered, his eyes trained on the white lace peeking out from under the robe. You nodded, to which he gripped your chin roughly, furrowing his eyebrows at your response. “Use your words sweetheart” he warned, loosening his grip so you could speak in affirmation.

“Yes…” your voice trailed off, thinking of what to call him, as you still didn’t know his name, so you addressed him as you would any man you didn’t know, “yes, sir. I dressed up just for you” you concluded, your voice barely greater than a whisper as the corners of his lips turned up. He let out an animalistic growl at the name you gave for him, obviously satisfied and moved his hand from your chin to grip the back of your neck promptly.

“It’s Jungkook, but sir will do nicely” he basically growled before latching onto your lips with carnal aggressiveness. You whined heartily into his mouth as his tongue slipped deftly into yours and intertwined with yours, causing your mind to fall into a haze as he coiled his arm around your waist, bringing your body flush against his toned frame. You reached up with shaky hands, fumbling with his shirt, eager to get it off of him and gaze upon the expanse of his abdomen. His lips detached for a moment, giving you the chance to pull his shirt over his head, which he gladly obliged and lifted his hands over his head, swiftly resuming their positions when his shirt formed a pile on the floor beside you. You leaned back in, attempting to capture his lips in another phenomenal kiss but he pulled back, leaving you to chase him and whine when you ultimately lose, to which he laughs mischievously, taking his hands off of your body and toying with the silk tie on the front of your robe.

“How do you want it baby?” he pondered, the new nickname sending shivers down your spine as you glanced at him quizzically, as if asking what he meant. He chuckled softly, tugging at the ribbon and opening your robe as he brought his hands up, carefully sliding it down your arms and bending down so his face was level with your collarbone. He placed a gentle kiss there, leaving fire in the wake of his lips as he spoke, his breath cooling the seared flesh, “would you like me to be gentle?” he asked leaving more hot kisses along the expanse of your shoulder and neck, drawing salacious sounds from your parted lips as he brought his hand up to rest at the base of your neck. “Or…” he paused, sliding his hand up and increasing the intensity of his grip on your throat, restricting the blood flow to your brain as your mind became hazy and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. “Do you want me to be rough?” he continued, lifting his head to watch your face as he loosened his grip. “It’s your choice little dove.”

You were elated, ecstatic and a little disappointed when he loosened his grip on your neck. Your ex was always into sex that lindered toward the vanilla side, as mentioned before, so he would never think to try anything like choking, which always intrigued you just a little bit. You wished you would have experienced other styles of love before you met him but you didn't, and this was your chance to try them out now. Your fingers travelled up, lightly grazing over that hand that was tightly wrapped around your neck. Whining quietly you rolled your bottom lip between your teeth, biting it softly as your other hand came up and wrapped around Jungkook’s forearm.

“I wanna try it rough” you mumbled, eyes closing as you relished in the hazy feeling this restriction gave you which only heightened as he tightened his grip.

“Perfect.” he groaned out almost inaudibly as he pulled your face to his, colliding your lips in the roughest, most passion filled kiss you’d ever experienced. He devoured your mouth with gluttonous amusement, his grip on your airway never wavering for a moment as he tongued you down, his carnal need prevalent and present in the thick air of the room. You reached up, completing a task you’d been wanting to do for days, tangling your hand in the messy black mass that fell upon his head, and relishing in the soft feeling of his waves. Then he detached from your lips and moved away, forcing your hands to fall from his hair and onto his broad shoulders, which, while pleasurable to touch, didn’t even come close to frolicking your fingers through his locks. He moved his hand from your neck to your shoulder, to which you whined with a small pout, missing the new contact as he chuckled at your eagerness. He stared at your lips, before leaning down and capturing your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down on it voraciously before he spoke. “Do you want me to put this slutty little mouth of yours to use little dove?” he asked, pulling back as if waiting for an answer, to which you obliged.

“Yes sir” You answered quite honestly in fact, as you felt all your hesitation and weariness about this task slip away. “Please put my mouth to use.” you pleaded, staring up at him, a wanton expression on your soft features.

“You’re so good for me .” he whispered, his soft breath fanning your face as you nodded in agreement, “such an obedient little dove, hmm?” he asked, to which you nodded once again, a bit more frantically this time as you awaited his cue. He used the hand on your shoulder to abruptly push you down with a small yelp so you were seated on the black leather couch behind you, the colder leather contrasting the burning lust in your entire body as you looked up at him. “Get to work slut.” Your eyes widened at the name. Maybe it was supposed to be an insult or he just liked calling you that but you couldn’t help the gargantuan wave of slick that coated your panties at the moment.

You looked down, a bit above eye level with his crotch as you reached up to palm him through his faded blue jeans. His scent was tantalizing, musky, and you couldn't get enough as you stared up at him through your eyelashes, your lips slightly parted as you gazed in awe. He gave you a warning glance, as if scolding you for teasing him for this long and you unzipped his pants. He held out his hand, as if to stop you before reaching behind his pants and pulling his gun from the back of his jeans. Your eyes widened, gaze now trained on the firearm in his hand, a horrified expression on your face as you ceased all actions. Which he noticed, peering down at you, a horrifying smile etched on his godlike features as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Relax darling, I won’t kill you,” he purred, reaching down and weaving the fingers of his free hand into the roots of your hair, grabbing and pulling back roughly so you have no other choice but to meet his dark eyes. “We’re only just getting started.” he lowered the gun, pressing the muzzle into the underside of your jaw, the cold metal like ice against your scalding skin. However, you felt no need to cry, felt no need to fear for your life even as this gun was pressed to your neck, aimed to kill, because you knew he wouldn’t do it. Through the dark facade and ominous gaze in his eyes there was something else that made you trust his inability to kill you. You realized you were enjoying the thrill, the excitement of putting your life in his hands. So, you did what any crazy bitch would do in this situation, you breathed out deeply, relaxing your shoulders and slouching yourself down to push your neck further onto the tip of the gun with a mischievous smile. Jungkook stared down at you in awe, running his tongue on the inside of his cheek and taking his gun off of your neck before tossing it over to the end of the couch behind you.

Resuming your actions with a shaky breath, you tugged his pants down until they fell to his ankles and placed your hands on the sides of his underwear clad hips. You might’ve been inexperienced in his style of fucking but you sure knew how to give a good blowjob, so you got to work, placing open mouthed kisses to his clothed appendage. You looked up at him once more seeing the lust clouded haze that filled his deep brown eyes. After a bit of teasing, you hooked your fingers in the waistband of his underwear, pulling it down in a seductively slow manner as you allowed his needy cock to spring free, and you stared up at it with a gasp.

It was huge.

You didn’t really know what qualifies as huge because the only dick you’ve ever had was around 6 inches on a good day but this alluring appendage swinging before your face had to be at least 9 inches long and you wondered how the fuck you were going to fit it all in your mouth let alone your pussy, which was already aching for it. Your mouth involuntarily opened wider in anticipation of his delicious dick inside and you grabbed the base, with two hands, drawing a hiss from the man that stood over you as he kicked off his shoes and the rest of the clothing that pooled around his feet. You licked teasingly up the sides of his dick, stopping at the tip to swirl your tongue around it, and catching some salty precum when you did. You glanced up at him and he looked absolutely furious in the best sort of way. Frustrated to the max as you teased him mercilessly, only spending meere fleeting moments at the spots which needed the most attention.

Then he snapped, taking you by surprise and using his hand that was still tangled in your hair to hold you still while he shoved his cock in your mouth. You tried to gasp but it merely came out as a small strangled whimper that was cut off as his length reached that back of your throat. You moved your hands to the sides of his hips once again, bracing yourself as he slowly pulled his member out of your mouth, most likely winding up for another thrust. He propelled his hips forward once again, stuffing not nearly all of his cock into your mouth, as his tip grazed the back of your throat. The feeling of him completely filling your mouth had you livid, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you moaned, the vibrations reverberating onto his appendage which drew a salacious moan from his plush parted pink lips.

“Fuck, your mouth feels like heaven.” he moaned out, then he started to fuck your face, tears pooling in your eyes while his dick basically hit the back of your throat with every harsh stroke of his hips as he gripped on your hair tighter. After one particularly hard thrust, he held his length down your throat as tears rolled down your cheeks and you gagged around him. He took his cock out of your mouth, to which you gasped, swallowing the spit that pooled in your mouth with an aroused groan.

“Tastes so good.” you mumbled, not possibly being able to get enough as he shoved his cock back into your mouth and fucked your throat relentlessly. The tension building in you was too much to bear and your need to cum only heightened as his actions resumed. You arched your back slightly, pushing your clothed clit into the black leather cushions of the couch as you gyrated into it slowly, praying he wouldn’t notice and would be too invested in fucking your throat to realize.

You were wrong. He noticed immediately.

He halted all movements, taking his cock from your throat and grabbing your neck harshly, to which you gasped, whimpering as he pulled you up to stand in front of him, cock slapping the front of your body as you stared at his face in anticipation of his actions. You could imagine what you looked like right now swollen glossy lips, and tear stains running down your face because you didn’t bother to wear your waterproof mascara. You never needed it any other time so you figured why would you need it now. Oh how wrong you were.

“Dirty little dove, trying to get off on the couch because you want me that bad?” he rasped, nearing closer to your face with each word and you nodded frantically, basically begging him to do something, anything. “Words” he barked, drawing a cry from your lips as you thought of what to say.

“I want your cock, please sir.” you begged, before he groaned hungrily and captured your lips in a ravenous kiss, taking you by surprise. No one had ever kissed you after they’d fucked your throat before so why would he do it. You didn’t dwell on that thought for too long before melting into his touch and wrapping your arms around his neck. Jungkook took his free hand, trailing it around your body to unclasp the back of your bra, your eyes going wide at the skillful ease of his fingers. He snatched the white lace clothing off of your frame, tossing it to the other side of the room and reaching back up to cup one of your soft breasts in his hand, flicking the nipple with his index finger and making you sigh satisfactorily into his mouth. He leaned forward, taking you with him as he lowered both of you back onto the couch, settling himself between your newly opened legs and never breaking the kiss. He unlatched his hand from your neck, trailing it down your body as the other hand continued to knead your breast skillfully. His burning touch slowly ventured further and further down your abdomen until he reached the band of your panties and abruptly tore the thin while lace from your body to your dismay and discarding it on the floor beside him. You whined sadly, as those had been your favorite pair of underwear but barely had any sort of time to grieve as you felt two rough fingers dip into the wetness of your slit, trailing them up and stopping right over the spot you needed him to be at, pulling a moan from your still swollen lips.

He began kissing a trail down your body, stopping for a mere moment to suck on the pert bud of your free breast before resuming his path of destruction. He moved his hands to settle on the inner sides of your thighs, spreading them apart and sighing as he got a glimpse of the treasure between them. Your eyes widened upon realizing his destination as you scooched away, holding a handful of his tousled black hair in an attempt to grab his attention.

“I-…” you paused, chewing on your bottom lip and thinking of how to word your statement. “i’ve never asked anyone to do that for me before, so y- you don’t have to do it.” you stuttered wearily as the nerves set in. No one’s face had ever been remotely close to your womanhood and the thought of it sent a chill down your spine as you released his hair from your grasp. You wondered what it would even be like. He glanced up at you, eyes dilated as he chuckled, a dark chuckle that made you shiver as he tightened his grip on your thighs, yanking you closer to his face and taking a deep drag of your scent once you were close enough.

“Oh baby I want to” he basically moaned out, licking his lips and glancing down at your glistening slit, the corners of his lips turning up in a hungry smile. You raised an eyebrow, asking yourself ‘why the fuck would he want to do that?’, and ‘isn’t this for my pleasure?’, but all your concerns were answered once he spoke again. “I can’t wait to make you writhe on my tongue little dove” he muttered, causing your cheeks to burn with the intensity of a thousand suns as he talked into your soaking entrance. “... make you beg and cry without even using my cock.” he continued, releasing your left thigh from his grip as he placed a hand on your pubic mound, lowering his thumb and slowly beginning to circle your clit eliciting a loud wail from you. “You think, if I had the power to turn you into a messy little whore all for me just by using my mouth, I wouldn’t use it at any chance I could?” He asked and you whined, nodding as your hips stuttered up in desperate need of more friction. “It’s all about power baby, and I have it all here” he groaned, watching you clench pathetic around nothing.

Then, he finally gave you what you wanted. His hand resumed its grip on your thigh, forcing it away from the other as his thumb was swiftly replaced by his warm tongue licking up and down your wet sex. You moaned, placing your shaky hands on the mounds of your chest, toying with your nipples just to add to the pleasurable sensations he was creating with his tongue. This feeling was unlike any ecstasy you had ever felt and you never wanted it to stop. His tongue slipped deftly into your soaked entrance twisting and turning skillfully as you keened loudly. His warm wet appendage swirling around your wet cavern was the best feeling in the entire world and you knew if he continued ravaging you at this pace, you’d cum in no time. But, you needed this release. You needed to let go of all this pent up sexual frustration you didn’t even know you harbored. You needed to experience your first orgasm in months, if not years, that wasn’t self inflicted and you hoped and prayed with all your heart that it would come soon.

He switched his focus,, moving his tongue up to play with your aching clit and slipping two fingers into your formerly empty hole with a deep groan that reverberated through your core like a powerful vibrator which only intensified your moans and cries of pleasure. You looked down on yourself to see the delicious sight of him devouring your cunt ruthlessly, the sight alone almost tipping you over the edge as you brought your hands up, covering your eyes while you neared completion.

“Jungkook you’re gonna make me cum.” you called out, an exasperated cry leaving your lips when your impending orgasm was painfully ripped away from you as all his motion stopped. You uncovered your eyes, about to stare down when your body jolted, a harsh sting being felt directly on your clit, sending a wave of warmth barreling through your entire body. Then you understood, he slapped you, and you peered down at him, your eyes glassy due to the orgasm that was ripped from your grasp.

“Who? said you can cum.” he deadpanned menacingly, staring up at you through hooded eyes as you leaned your head back tiredly, realizing the error in your words and prepared to beg, just like he said you would.

“Sir” you cried, holding your arms limply over your head as you continued to plead. “Sir please, please make me cum.” you begged mercilessly, a tear of relief sliding down your cheek as he resumed his assault on your core, attacking at a steady pace and retrieving the all too familiar knot that formed in the pit of your stomach. You reached up, grabbing the edge of the couch with an iron grip, your knuckles turning white as your hips began circling on his face, your clit rubbing against his tongue with every movement and venturing you closer to your sweet release.”Please don’t stop sir, oh my god” you whined loudly, fucking his face relentlessly as you chased your high, nearing it more and more with each thrust of your hips until he finally pushed you off the brink of ecstasy, a scream leaving your lips as Jungkook continued his unrelenting attack on your pained pussy.

You rode out your high, writhing and panting before him, his pace never faltering, his fingers never slowing, his tongue never relenting and it soon became too much. The euphoric delirium quickly turned into madness as you barreled down the path into overstimulation. You wailed pathetically, thrashing under his hold as the pleasurable pain consumed your body and you could barely form a coherent sentence but you persevered, scraping all the coherent thoughts you could muster and turning them into tangible words that sat on the tip of your tongue, ready to be spoken. “Sir please, it's too much!” you cried to which Jungkook finally let up, slowing his pace to a halt and sitting back.

“Oh my god that was so fucking hot” he growled before sucking on his glossy fingers and cleaning around his mouth with his skilled tongue as he gazed amusedly upon your exhausted body. But he was nowhere near done with you. This fact made apparent when he stood and wrapped an arm around your hip, lifting your limp body and turning you over with ease, positioning you so your face was pressed into the now warm couch cushion and your ass was raised high into the air before him. His eyes rolled at the view of your swollen cunt bent over for him and he gave it a light smack, eliciting a pained, but tired yelp from you as he chuckled muttering “you’re going to drive me crazy little dove.” under his breath.

He crouched down, coming face to lips with your abused cunt as he wrapped his arms around your bent bottom, lacing his fingers together as they rested at the arch of your back and dragging his nose up the tortured path of your slit, drawing whines and cries of overstimulation from your wiggling frame as you tried to get away from the punishing menace that was his face. “No, please. I can't take anymore, it's too much.” You whimpered, your voice muffled as you leaned your face into the couch tiredly to which he obliged, reluctantly, as he stood, grabbing his neglected dick in hand and pointing it toward your pink entrance.

“I can’t wait to stretch your pretty little pussy ____.” he purred and you moaned at the sound of your name slipping off of his tongue like the creamiest butter. He dragged his tip along your swollen clit, abusing it again for what seemed like the millionth time that day as he covered his girth in your slick, a guttural groan emitting from the back of his throat. Then, abruptly, he sunk into your slippery cavern, barely all the way in but you’d never felt so full in your entire life as he pushed forward slowly, filling you up and providing you with the most delicious stretch you’d ever felt. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you whined, a desperate whine that you could barely register was your own voice as he pushed his length completely inside of you, his head falling back and your name, rolling off of his tongue once again.

After barely giving you time to adjust to his alarming size, he reeled his hips back before slamming into you again, and again, and again, over and over again until he was fucking you at an unrelenting speed you barely knew was possible to achieve. Suffering from the overwhelming pleasure he forced you to endure, you shut your eyes tight, crying out in strangled indulgence as you grasped onto the fluffy throw blanket strewn lazily over the couch in front of you. You relished in the sting of his girth, staring ahead blankly with glassy eyes as he rammed into you with a punishing speed and black mascara filled tears streamed down your cheeks.

You knew you were about to cum soon, again, only due to the all too familiar feeling accumulating in the pit of your belly. Jungkook reached down, placing a hand on your shoulder blade and pressing your chest further into the couch while he drilled into you, moaning and cursing at the feeling of you flexing deliciously around his cock. He felt you were close, so he moved his hand, snaking it around your waist and trailing his other hand to assume its position around your neck, hoisting you up so your back was arched against his abdomen and you had no choice but to stare up at him as he talked down on you, never slowing the snapping of his hips for a wavering moment.

“You’ve never been fucked this good have you?” he teased through clenched teeth as he leaned down, sucking and marking all over the expanse of your neck with grunts and growls of pleasure. You were way too fucked out to even think about the words to form a coherent sentence, barely being able to form whimpered versions of ‘mhm’ after he questioned you but he was having none of that. He unraveled his hand from your waist, tightening his grip on your throat and landing a hard slap to your left asscheek, drawing a shrill shriek from the depths of your throat as he warned in your ear. “Words little dove” he slapped you again, “how many times do I have to fucking warn you.” he concluded, landing another harsh smack to your abused flesh as you whimpered.

“You’re the best I’ve ever had, I’m such a slut for you sir.” You sobbed out, “please let me cum, please fuck” you whined, drawing out your words and you reached back, tangling both hands in his unruly mop of hair as he split you open, moaning directly in your ear which in itself, was a thing that could make you cum on the spot.

“Cum then.” He said obviously, as if it was the most simple response, only it was this simple command that shoved you off the precipice of ecstasy for a second time. The feeling that bloomed deep in your stomach soon blossomed into a full blown orgasm that racked through your body quickly, leaving nothing but white hot pleasure in its wake as your legs trembled viciously, with one last loud cry of Jungkook’s name. But, he still did not falter, his pace quickening as he neared his own climax, the speed both too much and not nearly enough at the same time. You reached back, attempting to push him and escape the all consuming pleasure torturing your body like a blazing fire but your hands were caught quickly by Jungkook’s hands which crossed them tightly and held them behind your back, resuming his attack.

You shook your head, letting it hang as your tears fell freely onto the couch before you, his moans and groans of ecstasy increasing in volume and frequency as he neared his own climax, his hips faltering in their pace for the first time in a while as he worked to his own release. In what seemed like an instant, he released the most beautiful, salacious, strangled moan you had ever heard, pulling himself out of your soaked cunt, and painting the surface of your ass with his white hot ropes of cum. He finally let you go after a moment, watching as you fell limply to the couch, laying face down, panting exhaustively, your arms still crossed limply behind your back as he smirked down at your fucked out frame. He left you alone for just a bit, coming back but a few moments later before you felt the sore skin of your asscheeks being wiped off with what felt like a warm hand towel. You were relieved he had the respect to clean his mess, it made you respect him just a little bit more as a person but you were way too tired to dwell on the subject any longer.

“You did so good for me little dove” he cooed, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it as he placed a sweet chaste kiss on your lower back, caressing his hand up the side of your body. A simple touch that lacked any sort of sexual aspects, it felt comforting and you sighed, leaning further into the soft couch as you heard him begin to put his clothing on. You felt a pang of distress, seeing as you were more of a fuck and cuddle kind of girl, but you really hadn’t expected him to stay so why’d you feel the need to ask him to. Pushing the feeling deep inside your gut, you sighed deeply as he walked in front of you to bend forward and grab his gun that laid discarded on the opposite side of your couch, also grabbing the throw blanket beside it and tossing it over your naked frame before thinking about something. “So,” he started, tucking his gun in the back of his pants and humming, “I’m thinking that was worth about, hmm 50k” he started. You vaguely understood what he was saying and knew you’d flip out once you were conscious enough to truly comprehend his words. “I’ll keep in touch.” He said, pulling his shirt down and smiling deviously at you as you uttered a hoarse ‘huh?’ To which he answered simply, “if I wanna come collect some more money” and he spun on his heels, opening your door and sauntering out of the threshold.

When he got into the hallway, Jungkook burst into a wide smile, satisfied with the encounter he made today. He entered this agreement fully prepared to either fuck you once and take the money you’d earned back or just fuck you and kill you, but once he’d had a taste, he was insatiable. You were flawless, your compliance was impeccable. The way you obeyed him, begged for him, the way you tasted, the way you felt, the way you looked. There was no way he could ever get enough and is probably the reason he kept overstimulating you like a frat boy with a bruised ego. There was no way he was gonna just let go of an absolute gem like you, so he made his excuse, a plan. Everytime you fuck him, you pay back a portion of the money. He was so tempted to tell you this session was only worth $100 just as an excuse to come back over and over and over until he had his fill, but he kept his composure, giving you hope that you’d ever be free of his grasp. Jungkook for once was extremely ecstatic, elated, excited to ruin you even more than he already had and he was dead set on making you want him just as much as he craved you no matter what it took. Though he was pretty sure you already did.

[hangovercurse]

Last Night ii// Better Sober

After a show, you and Kells finally get around to the things you wanted to do sober.

Request: “I loved the new fic ‘Last Night’, any chance you’d write a second part where they sleep together sober-ish? If so could you write reader on top riding kells in it?””I just read “last night” (colson) and now I need a smut of their first time after the hangover omg pls 🥺”

Colson X Reader

Warnings: Smut (18+), cursing

A/N: Sorry this took so long *_*

Word Count: 2577

part i

Slim and Baze were never going to let you live this down. Once you and Colson had finally built up the strength to stand up, you quickly packed the rest of your things and got on your band’s bus, ignoring the snickers coming from the older men.

“Are you sure you don’t want to ride with us, Y/N? Keep the party going?” Slim asked, jokingly. You sent them a glare as you handed your suitcase to your bus manager, who was in the process of loading everything onto the bus.

“I will end both of you.” You grumbled, walking towards the stairs to board your bus.

Baze laughed, “we’re only joking. We all knew it’d happen eventually.” His dramatic smile combined with your pounding headache and nausea made for a very annoyed Y/N.

“I will say this once, and then never again. Either of you bring this shit up again, I’ll kill you.” You jabbed two fingers towards them. “Now I’m going to take a nap in my bed, on my bus.”

You walked up the stairs, your bandmates giving you puzzled looks as Slim called “love you too, kid!” You threw yourself into your bunk, not even bothering an explanation to your bandmates, the only thing on your mind was sleep.

Not 2 minutes after you’d closed the curtain to shield you from the outside world did it open again. You were laying on your side, back to the curtain to be as comfortable as possible. When the light from the hallway flooded into your bunk, you pretended to be asleep, hoping whoever it was would just go away.

You had no such luck, as seconds later the mystery person was climbing into your bunk, lying beside you. Curious, you turned to see who it was, though you could make an assumption. Finding the sleepy face of none other than Colson Baker, you smiled, turning to lay facing him.

“Your bus is quieter than mine.” He mumbled, wrapping his arms around you, and pulling you closer to him. “And I like sleeping with you better than sleeping alone.”

You shifted so that he could lay further away from the edge, resting your head on his shoulder, and laying an arm across his stomach. “I don’t mind.” You whispered, eyes closing slowly, “But as soon as we leave this bunk, we’re gonna have a million questions.”

Colson shrugged sleepily, moving your head with his motion. He mumbled something that sounded vaguely like “eh, fuck em” but you were already slipping away from consciousness.

The show you played that next night was arguably one of your best, probably due to the fact that Colson was watching you from the side of the stage the entire time. You tried to keep yourself from glancing over at him every few minutes, but between the adrenaline from the show, the smirk on his face, and the fact that you were wearing his shirt made that impossible.

You were sure fans would notice the familiar “Lace Up” shirt, but Colson claimed he “didn’t give a fuck” and he wanted to watch you play while wearing his clothes. You had no problem with it, enjoying the fact that he wanted everyone to know that you were his.

Once your set had finished and you’d thanked the audience, you ran off stage, your concert high rushing through your veins. Colson was getting ready to go on stage, so you figured you’d let him be until after the show.

As you and your drummer walked towards the greenroom, bouncing off each other’s energies, you were snatched away by a set of tattooed hands. “I’m borrowing her for a second.”

You giggled as Colson pulled you behind a cluster of cases, lips finding yours immediately. Your hands wrapped around his neck, pulling you up closer to him. “God you are so fuckin’ hot” he mumbled against your lips.

“Don’t you have a show to go do?” You asked, a smirk on your lips.

He rolled his eyes and kissed you again. “You’re gonna watch, right?”

You chuckle lightly, “of course I’m watching. I was gonna go freshen up a little bit because I am soaked in sweat though.” As you spoke his lips travelled to your jawline, kissing up towards your ear. “You’re gonna be late if you don’t stop.” You told him, leaning your head to give him better access to your skin.

“We’ll finish this later.” Though the words came out in a whisper, there was clear dominance in his voice, making you smirk slyly. He moved away from you, hands lingering on your waist. “Keep that shirt on” he mouthed to you as he joined his band, putting his ears in.

You gave him a thumbs up, walking towards your dressing room to clean up as much as possible. The shirt you were wearing was drenched in sweat, but Kells had demanded you keep it on, much to your dismay.

Every time Colson looked side stage, you were standing there, watching him perform. You couldn’t see it, but the hungry look in your eyes had more of an effect on him than playing the set did. All he was thinking about anytime he found your eyes was dragging you to the hotel and fucking the life out of you.

And that’s pretty much the situation you found yourselves in, making out in the backseat of an uber on your way to the hotel. You barely made it through the lobby and into the elevator without his lips on yours, almost too intoxicated by them to care.

When you finally did get to the hotel room, Colson’s lips latched onto yours, pressing you up against the door. You moaned lightly as his teeth grazed over your bottom lip, the sound bringing a smirk to his face.

“Every time I looked over and saw you watching me, all I could think about was fucking you in this goddamn shirt.” When he spoke, his voice came out dark and dangerous, sending chills through your body. His hands moved underneath the shirt you were wearing, cupping your boobs as he reattached your lips.

You gasped as his cold hands made contact with your nipples, massaging them gently. “No bra?” He asked against your mouth, smirking.

“Figured it would make this a little easier.” You said before kissing him again. He hummed approval and continued to fondle your tits. The hands you had placed around his neck pulled lightly at the hair near his neck from pleasure.

His hands moved down your waist until they reached your ass, squeezing the skin through your shorts. He pulled you towards the bed, lips still locked on yours. Taking some initiative, you pushed him down onto the bed, pulling your shorts down to expose your underwear.

Colson threw his shirt off, exposing his infamous tattooed torso. You reached for the hem of the shirt you were wearing, but Colson stopped you. “Keep it on. I wanna think about this every time I see that fucking shirt.”

You let out a slight laugh, “the fucking shirt.” Colson rolled his eyes, pulling you by the elastic of your panties towards him. His hands went to your thighs, pulling them so that you were sitting on his lap, one knee on either side of his torso.

“You’re really lame, you know that?” He asked as you rested your arms on his shoulders. You bit your lip and nodded, pressing your hips further into his lap. His hands ran up the sides of your thighs and to your waist, pausing briefly to squeeze your ass. “It’s kinda hot though.” He mumbled, guiding your hips to roll onto his.

You leaned in, pressing your lips against his in a needy, passionate kiss. You continued to grind against his clothed hips, hands moving to run up and down his abdomen, taking in the muscle under your fingers.

Colson finally got impatient and pulled away from your kiss, gently moving you off of him and standing up. You gave him a confused frown, wondering if you’d done something wrong. Your silent question was answered when he pulled down his pants, leaving him in only his boxers.

The outline of his length through the thin material almost had you drooling. The wetness that had been between your legs since you’d put on his shirt made a reappearance. He turned around and shuffled through his bag, pulling out a foil packet and tossing it on the bedside drawers. “So we don’t forget.” He smiled, hands moving around your waist. His lips met yours briefly, but you had decided you wanted something else. You pulled away, pressing kisses to his jaw instead, travelling down to his neck.

The man chuckled as you took control, your lips finding their way to his collarbone and sucking on the skin between his tattoos, hoping to leave a mark. You continued your trek down his body, stopping just above his waistband to lick the three red X’s that lay on his skin. He threw his head back, “you are going to be the death of me.”

You looked up at him with a hum of agreement, your fingers grasping the waistband of his underwear and pulling them down to expose his hard member. He took in a sharp breath as you lightly stroked his length with your fingertips. Your tongue slipped out from between your teeth to lightly lick his tip, swirling around it. Colson’s grasped your hair, forcing you to look up to him, “don’t be a fucking tease.”

His voice was forceful, demanding. You obeyed willingly, wrapping your lips around his shaft, sucking gently. You heard the man let out a quiet moan of pleasure, encouraging you to take more of him into your mouth. What you couldn’t fit you jerked with your hand, Colson’s hand wrapping tighter into your hair as you did so.

You picked up your pace, eyes flicking up to take in his look of pleasure every so often. His moans were a music to your ears, the thrusts of his hips a work of art. “You feel so good, baby,” his husky voice flooded the room, “touch yourself for me.”

Using the hand that wasn’t pumping his cock to trail down to your panties, you moved them to the side and swiped across your slit. You hummed around his member, his hips jerking into you. “I bet you’re fucking soaked, aren’t you?”

You hummed again in agreement, one finger dipping into your heat, slowly spreading yourself out. Colson yanked your head back, making you look up at him again. “Use your words.”

“So wet for you.” You moaned, adding a second finger into yourself. Colson smirked at your confession, guiding your lips back onto his cock. Your pumps got faster, as did your sucking. The hand on your head pushed you further onto his length, speeding up your pace.

When you felt yourself nearing your release, Colson pulled your head off his member, cradling your face in his hands. He pulled you up lightly, your fingers removing themselves from you. He took your hand and guided it to his lips, sucking your juices off your fingers.

You reached over to the table, grabbing the condom. Your hands moved up Colson’s chest, exploring the skin. He leaned in and pressed a deep kiss to your lips, hands grabbing your waist and pulling you closer to him. You let him pull your underwear down your legs and took advantage of his momentary distraction.

As soon as he stood back up, you turned the two of you around, pushing him down onto the bed. “Oh hell no.” He said, sitting up to try and pull you onto the bed with him.

You gave him puppy dog eyes, toying with the condom wrapper in your hand. “What’s wrong, intimidated by a girl being on top?”

He chuckled, “you think you’re so tough, huh?” You nodded, moving to kneel at the foot of the bed, crawling up his body. “Don’t complain when you get tired.” He leaned back, arms resting behind his head to show he wasn’t going to help you.

“I think you’re scared of not being in control.” You whispered, landing in the position you had been working towards.

Colson scoffed, “I can still be in control from here.” You raised an eyebrow at him, hand reaching out to stroke his length. He tried to bite down his groans, but you knew they were there.

You rolled the condom onto his member, taking in the sight of him below you. “You were saying?” You shifted so that your body hovered above him, lining him up to your entrance. Slowly, you sank down onto him, both of you letting out synchronous moans of pleasure.

His hands moved to your thighs, rubbing up and down the skin. You allowed yourself to adjust before pushing yourself up with your knees and then sinking back down onto his cock. His grip tightened as you moved, trying not to guide you.

You sprawled your hands on his chest, watching his expression as you rode him. You swiveled your hips every once in a while, just to hear his moans. “Fuck.” He growled when you began to move faster, his length filling you up.

Colson’s grasp on your thighs began to lead you up and down, his hips thrusting to meet yours. He was right about one thing; he could still be in control from underneath you. You let out a whine every time he hit the right spot inside of you, your sounds filling the room.

“Fuck baby, you look so good,” he moaned out, looking up to you with your head thrown back and eyes closed in pleasure. “Getting fucked in my T-shirt. Want everyone to know you’re mine.”

You smirked at his words, “I’m all yours,” you whined out, the movement of your hips getting sloppier. One of his hands moved to your clit, rubbing circles onto the bundle of nerves. “Ah, fuck.” You moaned, hips bucking onto his further.

After a few more pumps you were at the edge of bliss, so close to falling off. You could tell Colson was close, his thrusts getting sloppy and his tip twitching inside of you. “You gonna cum, baby?” He whispered; eyes shut in pleasure. You hummed out a response, too indulged in the pleasure that you were so close to.

“Mm, cum around my cock, baby.” His fingers on your clit picked up pace, sending you diving over the cliff and into a pool of euphoria. Electricity spread through your body as your high washed over you. Colson continued thrusting into you, his orgasm following yours. You rode them out together, breaths heavy.

Once his thrusts slowed to a stop you lifted yourself off of his member and fell down beside him. He turned onto his side, eyes wandering your body. “You’re so beautiful.” His voice was breathy and tired, but one of the best sounds you’d ever hear.

You looked up to him, a small smile playing on your face. “Shut up.” You giggled, pushing him back down onto his back. He chuckled, standing up to dispose of the condom before climbing back onto the bed next to you, this time pulling you into his arms. His back leaned against the headboard, arm wrapped around you, with your head laying on his chest.

“Better sober?” You asked with a small chuckle.

“Better sober.”

[amor-immortalem]

Friends (With Benefits)

Minors DNI

A/N: Fair warning this is a mammonxoc smut-not a very good one but its a smut nonetheless- because its just that kinda day... It’s not the first one I’ve written but it’s the first one I’ve ever posted that hasn’t been part of a role play so... yeah. Do with that info what you will...

I'm not participating in kinktober but since its that time of year I figured eh why the hell not. Now, if you excuse me. I need some water.

Also I’m doing that 48hr post+ protest so any comments questions or concerns will be heard on the 4th.

Warning(s)?: unprotected sex, oral sex (Female receiving) size kink (if you squint)

Gods she needed to get off. She’d been down here on the exchange programme for about six months at this point and yeah, Asmodeus made it a point to make sure she had plenty of quality toys at her disposal for the year, but it just wasn’t as satisfying as the real thing. Not to mention, she never had a moment’s peace in this god-forsaken house to begin with. It was common place for Arella to come home to Mammon or one of his brothers making themselves at home here in her room or just barging in whenever they felt like it- no better way to kill the mood than getting walked in on by one of her housemates.

In fact, that’s the case today. Arella had come home a little earlier than the others due to them being stuck for a student council meeting for the express purpose of having some privacy and time to relieve her frustrations without risking the chance that one of those pesky demons would interrupt her. Of course, that wasn’t the case for her as waiting on her bed was the Avatar of Greed himself scrolling through his phone like it was no big deal- dressed in only a pair of grey sweat pants because of course he would be.

It was a nice view though. Despite Mammon’s frustrating hot-’n-cold attitude sometimes, he always is pleasing to look at and now in her desire-addled mind, Arella finds herself scanning over his form as her eyes drift lower and lower until...

“Ya gonna just stand there or...?” Mammon calls, not looking away from the screen of his phone.

Her face flushes at the notion that he’s caught her eyeing him up like a piece a meat. “Why’re you in here, Mammon? Surely, you have better things to do since you’re always so busy.”

“Well yeah, naturally, I’ve always got shit ta do but I said we were gonna do movie night after school today so...”

“Can you give me a few hours, please? I... have to take care of something.” Arella sighs when the demon makes no effort to leave but rather shifts a little to the point that the material of his pants leaves astoundingly little to the imagination.

She audibly swallows, trying so hard not to stare. Arella has to look away, her face an impossibly bright shade of red as her mind starts to wander into the gutter. She could always order him away with the pact but she always did hate using it unnecessarily. It’s not until she sees the smirk on his face that she knows he’s fucking with her.

“What’s so important that I can’t be here, huh?” Mammon drops his phone on the bed beside him.

“That smirk on your face tells me you know exactly why.” The human glares at him.

“Yeah ‘n that’s why ‘m not goin’,” The Avatar of Greed laughs, “Yer jus’ gonna have to suffer, Princess.”

“You are absolutely horrible, you know that?” Arella sighs in frustration. “C’mon, Mammon, just go, please. Unlike you, who has the luxury of going out to find a partner when you need to get laid, I can’t for risk that they’ll eat me afterwards so I have to take care of myself when it comes to that.”

“You could always just ask me to help ya...” The demon suggests. “Ever heard of the term ‘friends with benefits’?”

“Huh- Wha- I – Of course, I’ve heard of the term!” She crosses her arms as she huffs. “But friends with benefits only works when both parties don’t run the risk of catching feelings. And you strike me as the type who does.”

“What? No. Couldn’t be me.” The demon rolls his eyes as he looks away, “’sides you’d be doin’ me a favor too and ya can’t tell me that yer not even a little curious about what I’m like in bed. I heard ya this morning. Moanin’ my name and beggin’ me for more.” A smug smirk paints itself on his face as he gets up, approaching her, walking her back until she’s trapped between him and the wall. “Well? Ya got your chance with The Great Mammon now... ya gonna take it or blow it?”

Arella bites her lip as she mulls it over. It wasn’t like he was wrong. She did fantasize about him more than she should for someone who she considers a friend. “Fuck it,” she murmurs as she surges forward to capture his lips in a heated kiss as she pushes him back towards her bed.

If the need wasn’t so urgent, she’d take her time with Mammon, but honestly, going for six months without any chance for release when she was used to being able to have it whenever only made her more desperate to find it now. Her hands traveled all along the demon’s body as she straddled his hips. She let out a soft moan as he shoved his tongue in her mouth and he rolled them over, grinding his hips against hers. He broke their kiss only to trail them down to her neck where he nibbled and sucked little love bites into the delicate skin on her neck.

Arella’s fingers carded through his snowy hair as she panted, head tilting to the side as he moved, his hands coming up work on unbuttoning her unform shirt, tossing it to the side once it was off. He wasn’t so gentle with her bra, choosing to rip it off and toss it away as if the article of clothing had offended him somehow.

“Mammon!” she gasped as she watched it go.

“What? Ya got a hundred more where that came from. If it’s that big a deal I’ll by ya a new one.” the greedy demon growls as he trails his lips down her chest, taking one of her nipples into his mouth and sucking as his fingers pinched and rolled the other one. Every once and a while he would lightly nip at her before circling it with his tongue. Arella would only tug at his hair impatiently signaling him to get on with it as he chuckled. “Here, get these wet for me.”

He prods her lips with his fingers and she takes them in her mouth, sucking and swirling her tongue around them as he pushed them in further to the point that she was nearly gagging on them as he works on ridding her of her skirt and panties. As they slid down her legs, he pressed open-mouthed kisses to her inner thighs, withdrawing his fingers from her mouth and tracing them down her stomach. He let his warm breath tease for a bit as she tried to rock her hips to spur him to action.

“Impatient, ain’t ya, Baby?” He chuckled, “Just hold still, you’ll get what ya want.”

“If you’d stop teasing, maybe I would,” she pouts, just wanting to feel him where she needed it most.

“As you wish, Princess.” The demon smirks as he spreads her open and licks a stripe from her opening to her clit and she could almost cry at how good it feels when he starts to gently suckle on the sensitive nub.

“Fuuuck, yes, right there,” She gasps at the feeling of his mouth on her and the prodding of one of his long fingers at her opening followed soon by a second. “Don’t stop...”

Her head tips back as she lets a pleasured sigh fall from her mouth, her hand coming down to knot itself in Mammon’s fleecy white hair to push him closer, drawing a moan from the demon. He has her dangerously close to the edge of oblivion without having even done much of anything.

“I’m so close, Baby, keep going.” she rocks her hips to match pace of his fingers before he pulls them away only to replace them with his tongue and she lets out a frantic cry as she feels the wet muscle work its way against her walls while his thumb rubbed tight circles around her clit.

“Don’t hold back. Let me have it.” He growls out as he returns to his ministrations and she absolutely loses it, body going tense as she lets out a strangled moan and she clenches around his tongue as she cries out his name.

The demon cleans her up as he helps her ride out her high before pulling away, making a show of licking his lips as he crawls his way back up her body. He leans down for another kiss and Arella moans at how she can taste herself on his lips and tongue. She used her knee to brush against his crotch listening to the beautiful groan he lets out at the sensation.

“Get those off,” The human says in reference to his sweat pants that now have a large stain of pre covering the front. “You need more or are you good to go right away?”

“Nah, I’m good.” He pushes himself up on his knees and slowly rids himself of his sweat pants allowing his cock to spring up, slapping against his belly.

Her jaw drops at the sight of him. She knew he was big- but damn. He absolutely would tear her apart if they we’re careful- and are those piercings? She can feel her mouth start to water as she looks up at him to see the predatory look in his eyes that were now a shining gold.

“That shut ya up real fast, didn’t it?” He chuckled as he lined himself up. “You ready or do you need a minute?”

“No, I’m fine.” A determined look crossed her eyes. “I’m more than ready.”

“Got a safe word?”

“Just use the traffic light system.” She hooks a leg over his hips to bring him closer. “I want this.”

The stretch she feels as Mammon enters her is as delicious as it is painful even with him taking breaks to let her adjust. Once he’s fully seated, he keeps still as she takes a moment to savor it. With a nod from her, he begins to rock his hips gently, upping his pace as he draws more moans and gasps and the occasional whine from his human. Soon he’s pounding into her as he slips into his demon form.

Her hands are at his back, digging into the skin near the base of his wings and scratching angry red lines down his back. She’s so tight around him that it’s intoxicating to the demon as he lets out a growl. He can feel her next climax is imminent by the way her walls are clenching and gripping him and the breathy pitchy cries of his name- by the way her eyes are nearly rolled back into her head as he pulls her legs up over his hips to hit deeper. The pleasure is overwhelming as his piercings drag along her walls and she cums for the second time that afternoon.

He slows his pace in consideration of the human but he never stops all together. As she starts to squirm from the overstimulation, Mammon holds her still.

“What’s your color, Baby?”

“Green,” Arella looks up at him and pulls him back down by the horns for a tongue filled kiss as he picks his pace back up.

She ran her fingers against the curls of his horns as the demon goes back to biting and sucking on her neck as the only sounds that could be heard were the sounds of their moans, growls, and gasps and the sound of skin slapping against skin. “More! I need more, Mammon. Please.” She has tears slipping down her cheeks from the overstimulation. “It's so good... you’re so big...”

He growls as he hoists her legs up over his shoulders, nearly folding her in half as he thrust into her at a near animalistic pace hitting the deepest part of her as she cried for him. He was getting close to his release as he grasped her hand in his.

“Almost there... so close... Just keep squeezin’ me like that.”

“Me too!” Arella threw her head back, “Fuck, I’m so close. Cum inside.”

“Yer playin’ with fire, Princess. Ya really want that from me?”

“Yes! Yes!” Her grip on his hand tightened as she threw her head back. “Fill me up.”

He groaned as he felt her walls tighten once more as she hit her last release. “Shit... haah... fuck. I’m cumming!” Mammon buries his face in her neck as his thrusts falter. His cock twitches as he fills her with his seed until she’s overflowing with a mixture of their fluids.

They ride out their highs together, letting out soft groans and gasps as the demon pulls her legs down from his shoulders. They stare at each other as they try to catch their breath, wide-eyed, sweaty messes before bursting into a fit a laughter.

“I can’t believe we did that,” He sighs as he leans his forehead against hers.

“That was... amazing...” She sighs, “Best sex I’ve had ever had... I don’t know about you but I need a nap after we shower and change the sheets.”

“Yeah, I second that...” Mammon groans as he pulls out and rolls out of bed. “I’ll start the water; you just pull the sheets off.”

Arella only gave him a thumbs up as she sat up, feeling considerably better than she had before she’d gotten home from school.

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

Find more on my masterlist

[ridiculously-over-obsessed]

please could you try 13. Dancing? thanks!!

Of course!! 🥰💖

(13) Dancing - Bechloe

Beca Mitchell hated clubs. They were always too loud and full of very drunk people with no concept of boundries or the fact that Beca didn't do people.

So why was Beca in a club this Saturday night? Well that might have something to do with the girl with flame red hair and impossibly blue eyes that had flashed the latter at her whilst pouting, and Beca had caved as she always had. Now it was 2am on a Saturday and Beca was a little bit drunk, but not drunk enough to take the sting out of actually being here. Chloe hadn't just dragged her to any club, oh no. Chloe had dragged her to a gay club that seemed to exclusively play cheesy hits from decades ago, and Beca was trying to figure out how on earth she had ended up here.

It didn't help that she was in a gay club with the woman that she had a huge crush on either. Because this was a socially acceptable place for overly-affectionate Chloe (and by that token overly-affectionate drunk Chloe) to hold her hand, or stroke her cheek, or stand just a little too close to her to be able to talk to her without being drowned out by the loud music. Beca swore Chloe did it just to wind her up, because there was absolutely no way that Chloe liked her back. She was so far out of her league it was unreal, Chloe just liked to make her blush and squirm a little.

"Becaaaa!" Chloe drawled as she pushed her way through the crowd of people surrounding them to the spot near the wall that Beca had glued herself to all night, hating the idea of being in the middle of the crowd, holding two shot glasses in one hand and two bottles of beer in another.

Usually this sort of activity was reserved for a Bellas night out, but Chloe had insisted on it just being her and Beca tonight, a co-captains bonding night. Beca didn't understand why they couldn't just have gone for dinner or something, why they had to be here instead of back at the Bella house with a movie, somewhere they could have a conversation without having to scream at each other.

"Have this..." Chloe grinned, handing Beca one of the shot glasses as Beca groaned softly, "And then you can have this!" She waved the beer bottle a little as Beca smirked at her. Drunk Chloe was adorable.

"Shots? Really?" Beca raised her eyebrow, "Since when has that ever been a good idea?"

"C'mon Becs." There was that damn pout again... "It'll be funnnn... please? For me?"

Beca sighed dramatically as she grabbed the shot glass and quickly downed it, grimacing as the tequila burnt her throat. Chloe beamed widely before downing her own shot, her look of triumph and elation only increasing as she heard the song that had begun to play.

"No." Beca shook her head pointedly. She knew that look. Chloe wanted to dance, and there was no way, in any universe, with any amount of alcohol in her system, that Beca would dance to Girls Aloud.

"Yes." Chloe had a wicked glint in her eyes as she took Beca's hand, spinning her until her back was to her front.

Beca blushed furiously as the hand that was in hers now rested on her waist, Chloe pressed right up against her as her hips swayed in time to the music and her breath tickled Beca's ear as she sang along in a far more sultry way than perhaps the song called for.

"Your eyes, tell me how you want me, I can feel it in your heart beat, I know you like what you see."

Beca's brain seemed to short-circuit because this was Chloe getting hot and heavy against her, her hot breath in her ear as she whisper sang a song to her about getting someone to take their chance.

"Hold me, I'll give you all that you need. Wrap your love around me. You're so excited, I can feel you getting hotter, oh baby!"

Beca swallowed hard against the groan rising in her throat as she felt her body take on a mind of its own. It pressed back into Chloe, hips grinding into hers as her inhibitions fell away (and only in part due to the tequila). One of Beca's hands snaked back to rest on the back of Chloe's neck, her head falling back a little to rest on her shoulder. Beca's eyes were shut, too afraid that if she opened her eyes she'd fine that this was all just an incredible dream, content to just soak in the feeling of Chloe that wrapped around her.

"I'll take you down, I'll take you down. Where no one's ever gone before. And if you want more, if you want more, more, more..."

Chloe's thumb traced the waistband of Beca's jeans as her lips moved so close to her ear that Beca could feel her smirking. God Chloe knew exactly what she was doing... she had always know what she was doing... Beca was such a dumbass...

"Then, jump for my love! Jump in and feel my touch. Jump, if you want to taste my kisses in the night then jump, jump for my love."

By the time the chorus had begun Beca had stopped paying attention, turning in Chloe's arms and pressing her against the wall behind them. Her lips found Chloe's and the kiss exchanged was hot and messy and desperate, a year's worth of pretending that she wasn't hopelessly falling for her best friend tumbling out into an intense and clumsy act. Chloe's hands snaked into her hair as her beer now went discarded, her only priority getting Beca as close to her as possible as Beca's tongue slid into her mouth.

Beca couldn't quite believe she was actually kissing Chloe, or that Chloe was kissing her back like this. If she was sober, Beca would be mortified at just how sloppy and desperate this kiss was; her first kiss with Chloe was a desperate, hot and drunken grope in a bar with a Girls Aloud song blasting around them. But Beca didn't care, because in that moment, as her hands cupped Chloe's ass and pulled her closer still, squeezing it gently as she felt Chloe groan a little into her mouth, she was kissing Chloe Beale and Beca had a feeling that their night was going to stop there.

[anenbylittlepotato]

Hi I like your writing.

Could you do a request , where the brothers and undatebles (platonic luke) are supporting a mc who is adding a new healthy habit. (Like exercising, balance diet or more time for self care).

Thank you

Hi and thank you! I can certainly do your request! 😁

Demon Bros and Side Dateables with MC Starting a Healthy Habit

Lucifer

When you first arrived in the Devildom, he noticed that you lived a pretty unhealthy lifestyle.

At first, he couldn't care less. You're just some human that'll be gone in a year.

But as he starts to get closer to you, he starts to become very frustrated with how little you seem to care about your own well-being. He continuously tries to get you to start more healthy habits but it never sticks.

So when you come up to him and tell him about a healthy habit that you're going to actually going to try and stick to, he is beyond ecstatic.

But, of course, the prideful bastard can't let that show, now can he?

But he does give a soft smile and tell you how proud he is of you for doing so.

He's definitely gonna reward you for this. Perhaps he'll take you out on the date of your choice to celebrate?

Mammon

Honestly, when you first arrived, he barely noticed your unhealthy habits.

He didn't particularly care. Hey, his job was to protect you from stuff in the Devildom. If you were harming yourself with your unhealthy habits, then that's none of his business.

But as he gets closer to you, he gradually gets more and more annoyed by it. Come on, can't you take better care of yourself???

I mean- not that he's... Worried about you or anything. Haha, what are you talking about? No way!

But anyway, when you tell him you're starting a healthy habit, he is HYPED. HELL yeah, you're FINALLY taking better care of yourself!

Without thinking, he gives you a BIG hug. He's too excited to think about it for a few moments but when what he did does finally register, his face turns red as he immediately pulls away.

That hug meant nothing! I- I mean it's not like he actually cares about you, haha, what? Just forget that ever happened please. And- HEY DON'T LOOK AT HIM LIKE THAT, HE REALLY MEANS IT. Uh huh, sure you do, bud

Leviathan

Honestly, you see him so little at the beginning because he's in his room that he never has a chance to notice your unhealthy habits.

And even if he did he probably wouldn't care because you're just some dumb human lmao why should he?

Plus, it's not like he doesn't have his own fair share of unhealthy habits. Like staying in his room all day, and staying up way too late playing video games and watching anime, and eating tons of junk food. So yeah. Not the healthiest himself.

But over time he gets more and more worried about your well-being. I mean, sure, he has unhealthy habits too, but he's just a gross, yucky otaku and you're... Well... You.

But he never says anything about it because that would be hypocritical of him. Plus, who would conceivably want a yucky otaku worrying about them?

But when you tell him that you're gonna start a healthy habit he's pretty excited for you! He gives a smile and tells you he's proud of you. But he's also a little jealous... He wishes he had the sort of strength that it takes to do something like that...!

But when you tell him he'll praise you by sending you a few gifts in one of the video games you guys play together! And if you give him a little push, you might just inspire him to start a healthy habit himself!

Satan

He did notice how unhealthy your habits were pretty quickly.

But honestly, he didn't pay much attention to it at first. Why should he care? It's your life.

But as he gets closer to you, he gets a lot more concerned about it. He sat down with you a few times to talk about it, but he never seemed to be able to get you to do anything. That definitely pissed him off a little and he gradually got more and more frustrated about it over time.

So you can probably guess that he was really really excited about it when you told him you were starting a healthy habit. It's about time! He immediately smiles and tells you he's happy for you.

He'll take you to his favorite cat cafe to celebrate. And he lets you order whatever you want, too.

Asmodeus

He definitely notices your unhealthy habits pretty quickly.

And, while he still doesn't really care that much, he definitely cares a little more than most of his brothers. But he really just whines at you a few times about how they're bad for your skin and hair.

But he definitely starts to care more as time goes on. MC, please, why don't you follow his self-care routine, you really need to take better care of yourself! Please, he wants you to be happy and healthy!

So it's safe to say that when you tell him you're starting a healthy habit, he is ecstatic. Yes! Finally! You go, baby! He'll give you a big hug while telling you how proud he is. And he'll absolutely do everything he can to help you with this healthy habit too!

And after you tell him, he'll give you a nice spa day to celebrate. You deserve it, sweetheart!

Beelzebub

Honestly, he pays so little attention to you at the beginning that he never actually notices your unhealthy habits

Seriously, he doesn't notice them at all until he starts getting quite a bit closer to you.

And when he does finally notice, he gets pretty concerned for you. MC, are you okay? You should take better care of yourself. Come on, come eat some healthy foods with him. And you can start working out with him. Though, you should probably do a routine that's easier than his...

So when you come and tell him you're starting a healthy habit? He's so so so happy! He gives that big ol' puppy dog grin and tells you how happy he is for you. Please he's so precious

He'll definitely wanna take you to get food with him. All you can eat buffet. Unless your healthy habit is a diet. Then he'll get food anyway and just feel really, really bad for you.

Belphegor

Haha he's in the attic when you first arrive lmao

He's ain't see shit to even be able to notice let alone care.

But he does notice once he's out of the attic. And since he gets close to you pretty quickly after being freed due to the whole Lilith thing, he gets pretty concerned about it. But of course, the little shit pretends he doesn't even notice. Or care. But he does. Lying little asshole...

But he is pretty happy when you tell him about your healthy habit. He gives you a little smile when you tell him about it. That's great, MC. He's too lazy for something like that.

Anyway, come take a nap with him, he's tired. What, no, it's not to celebrate, you're just a good nap buddy.

Diavolo

He doesn't see you quite as often as the brothers, so it takes him a lot longer to notice but he does notice your unhealthy habits eventually.

And Diavolo's generally a pretty caring guy so he's definitely pretty concerned from the get-go. Especially since your his exchange student! He wants you to be happy and healthy!

But he gets more and more concerned about it as he gets closer to you. He tries to talk to you about it many times, but you never seem convinced. MC, please just take care of yourself... :(

So when you tell him you're starting a healthy habit, he practically jumps for joy. He picks you up and gives you a big bear hug. Diavolo, you're gonna crush them-

He absolutely takes you out to celebrate. Probably to Ristorante Six. Though, of course, if you're on a diet he won't let you order anything outside of it.

Barbatos

He has his future vision so he knows you have unhealthy habits almost immediately.

But, he also knows that you'll eventually start more healthy habits due to his future vision, so isn't exactly too concerned about it at first. Though he doesn't which healthy habits you'll get, as he also sees many possibilities.

Though, as you get closer to him, he gets more concerned about it. He can't help it. He cares about you too much. And he occasionally fears you might end up in the single possible future he saw where you don't develop any healthy habits.

But then one day you come and tell him about your healthy habit and his fears are eased once more. He gives you a soft smile and tells you he's proud of you.

He'll reward you by making you some tea and making you some sweets (that fit your diet if you have one)

Simeon

He doesn't really see as much as the brothers either, but he sees you more than Diavolo, so he notices your unhealthy habits a bit faster than he does.

He's an angel and he cares very much about others, so he's pretty worried right away and tries to talk to you about it once or twice.

But he definitely gets more concerned about it as you get closer to him and starts trying to gently chide you into starting more healthy habits. Please, he's concerned for your well-being and wants to see you healthier. Can you do that for him, MC?

So when you tell him that you're starting a healthy habit, he's very excited. Good job, MC, he knew you could do it! He's very happy for you.

To celebrate, he'll make you some tasty Celestial Realm food (that fits your diet if that's your healthy habit)

Solomon

Honestly, he doesn't see you that much at the beginning and when he does, he's certainly not paying any sort of attention to your habits.

And when he does, he doesn't really care all that much. Or so you think. Honestly, he's so hard to read most of the time that it's near impossible to tell. But you're pretty sure he doesn't care.

But he does start to care a little more as you get closer to him. He probably brings it up once or twice idly in a conversation but he never seriously tries to talk to you about it. Though he does keeps a close eye on you, trying to figure out an easy way to motivate you to take better care of yourself.

But then one day you come and tell him that you're starting a healthy habit. Huh, he didn't have to do anything. Interesting. He just gives you his signature smile and nods, telling you he's happy for you. He's still really hard to read tho-

He'll try to cook for you to celebrate, but uhhhh... Well, you know... Maybe you should find some excuse not to eat that. I mean, it was such a thoughtful idea and you don't wanna be rude, but you also don't wanna be poisoned.

Luke

In the beginning, he honestly doesn't notice your unhealthy habits until Simeon points them out to him.

But when he does, he's pretty concerned for you, even though he tried not to let it show.

But when you get close to him, he starts to see you as a sibling and he gets even more worried. MC, please, you're starting to freak the child out by not taking care of yourself, he wants you to be healthy! You're such an amazing friend and he doesn't want anything bad to happen to you! He tries to talk to you about it multiple times.

So when you go and tell him that you're starting a healthy habit, he jumps up and down with excitement. Yes!! Finally, you're taking better care of yourself!! He's so excited for you!!! Good job, MC!!

He'll probably bake something for you! If you're on a diet, he'll try his best to make sure it follows it. He wants to celebrate! He's really happy for you, MC!

==

Hoogh, that took longer to write than it should have. Sorry about that, guys.

[camthesolemnone]

*crashes through door*

HI I HAVE ANOTHER ONE!!

Ok. Soulmate AU!! it's the one with the red string connecting you to your soul mate by your pinkie. Make up some rules for it if you need to!! I like to do the thing where the string gets tighter/looser as they move closer and farther from their s/o.

Ok, goodnight, I love you, bye!

*mwah*

*passes out just outside door*

Whoops accidentally made Zhanna older than Heavy in this one. Well I mean, maybe she is, but I've always written Mikhail as the oldest child in his family. Anyway, enjoy!

Wide eyes full of tears and flushed cheeks was what Mama came across upon turning to face who was tugging at her shawl. Little Zhanna, no more than five, was highly concerned about her baby brother.

"Mama! Misha’s finger is blue!"

Fearing that her son had developed gangrene from the cold brought on by the heavy storm outside, the distressed mother turned away from her soup pot and made haste towards the living room.

"Zhanna! Go get your father!" She instructed, entering the space, and the small girl nodded rapidly as she dashed off to where Papa was doing laundry.

Mama approached her child. The infant was situated in the center of the carpet, tiny hands shaking and eyes also leaking. Mikhail couldn't form words yet. He could only helplessly wail as he became light-headed; he had lost all feeling in his pinkie finger.

Mama kneeled down near him, and Zhanna and Papa appeared a second later.

"What is going on! Is moy syn alright?" The older man cried.

Mama took the boy’s hands in her own and examined them closely. As Zhanna had announced, his left pinkie was a light shade a blue. At the base of Mikhail’s finger was a small red string, fastened so tightly that it constricted the blood flow. The Russian mother breathed a sigh of relief.

“There is nothing to fear, he has simply acquired his soulstring,” Mama explained, standing up and giving her family a reassuring nod.

Papa let out his own held breath at the fortunate news, but Zhanna simply stared at her parents in confusion.

“Mama, what is a soulstring?”

Her father reached out to grasp her mother’s hand, and the two of them smiled down at their daughter.

“Young Zhanna, a soulstring is leetle red string around your pinkie that connects you to your soulmate: the person you are destined to fall in love with. Some people’s thread appears immediately after birth, but for others, it can take several years before their special partner is chosen,” Mama revealed.

Papa added on, motioning to Mikhail in the process.

“The tighter the string is, the farther you are away from your soulmate. Seeing as your brother’s is strong enough to cut off circulation, there is good chance his soulmate does not live in this country.”

Zhanna glanced over at the thread on Mikhail’s finger and then back to her parents, crossing her arms.

“What happens to the string when you find your ‘soulmate?’“ Zhanna inquired.

Papa crouched down to ruffle his daughter’s hair while Mama picked up Mikhail and left the room to resume dinner.

“Once you meet fated love, the string falls off for good,” he explained.

The small girl beamed and ran a hand through her black hair.

“Chudesno! I can’t wait to get my soulstring!”

.

Mikhail had given up on his chances of ever finding his love or feeling his finger again.

Forty seven years had passed since the red string initially appeared on his pinkie, and not once had he ever felt it loosen up. He felt hopeless and silently wondered most days if the higher beings had made a mistake. Maybe he truly wasn’t attached to anyone and they had tied the thread just to spite him. Instead, the Russian decided to spend his time taking care of his family.

His father had long since passed and Yana and Bronislava had run off with their soulmates, but at least Mikhail could still provide for his mother and Zhanna.

An ad in the newspaper intrigued him one morning: a mercenary job in America offering thousands. The giant immediately took to calling the company, known as Mann Co., and asked for a position. Not only would he be able to make enough money to provide a comfortable life for Mama and his sister, he was delighted at the opportunity to wield guns against evil men with no consequence. Moving away from the Russian blizzards would also prove to be a positive change.

Within two months of his interview, the new Heavy Weapons Specialist was landing down in New Mexico. A few days were spent getting used to his new surroundings and signing paperwork, but eventually, the bus came by his hotel to take him to the Reliable Excavation Demolition base. 

While lounging in the tough leather seat, Heavy glanced at the surrounding seats and took notice of two other men sitting in the back. They both wore red and yellow bands on their arms, indicating they were some of Mikhail’s new teammates. Preferring not to spend a year with a group of people who disliked him, the Russian moved to the back of the bus to make a good first impression.

“Privet, I am Heavy Weapons Guy,” he began.

The two men looked up from their respective pieces of literature. The younger of the two lazily held and flipped a baseball magazine with one hand. The other man, taller and masked, was gripping a thick, plain-covered novel.

“Yo! I heard that our Heavy was supposed to be, well, you know, heavy, but damn you’re fa--OWW!” The Bostonian shouted, being met with a swift slap from the man sitting beside him.

“Please ignore Scout here. This rotten bunny doesn’t seem to have any manners.”

“Go to hell, you French bastard!” Scout shot back.

The insults continued and Heavy found himself silently slinking back into his seat. He had the strength to snap both of them like toothpicks if he so desired, but it was better not to end his career before it started.

Along the ride, the bus stopped several times to pick up the rest of the RED team. First came their pyromaniac and engineer, then the sniper and soldier. The demolition’s expert came by himself and the final stop was saved for a relatively young woman in a purple dress.

“Er, hello, everyone. I am Miss Pauling, your boss’s secretary. I’m scheduled to give you guys a tour around the base and to break down your jobs. Raise your hand if you have any questions and please, try to cooperate with one another,” the woman sighed.

Dell, the shortest man on the team with a yellow hardhat, raised his hand.

“Yes, Engineer?” Miss Pauling prompted.

“Isn’t there supposed to be one more fella here with us?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Miss Pauling glanced toward the ceiling briefly as if she were really pondering the answer before turning to Engineer.

“Medic’s flight got delayed due to a massive snowstorm in Berlin. He should be here tomorrow at the earliest.”

It was impossible to notice the difference just by looking at it, but Mikhail nearly jerked forward when he felt it. Was he really going insane in his desperation? Had the string really just loosened? It most certainly had, he had felt the pressure ease up ever so slightly, but something in the back of his mind that told him it was just his imagination. The giant shook his head and groaned, barely able to pay attention to anything else Miss Pauling said.

His mind became a battlefield of longing versus absurdity. The thread had suffocated him during his prime. There was no possible explanation as to why his soulmate would be appearing now of all times. By forty seven, Mikhail was overweight, balding, had several scars from his time in Siberia, and was rated ugly by every woman he had attempted to romance. He couldn’t think of a single reason as to why his love would find him attractive now, and it deepened the eternal hole in his heart.

But Heavy held onto the faintest thread of hope. Maybe, just maybe, his suffering was about to come to an end. He would meet with the woman or man fate had binded him to, and he could finally be happy.

That night, Mikhail stared at his bedroom ceiling wide awake. Once their team’s doctor arrived in New Mexico, he would know for certain what destiny had in store for him.

.

Ludwig’s attempt at getting some shut eye on the flight failed. He couldn’t fall asleep even if he wanted to, for his pinkie was regaining its color. Somehow, this job as a battlefield medic that he had selected out of the blue was leading his soul to its missing half.

“It’s only a matter of time,” he murmured to himself, eyes more hopeful than the day he earned his doctorate’s degree.

.

Heavy awoke to the sound of loud yelling and banging on his door.

“Attention! You will be dressed and be stationed in the recreational room for role call in five minutes! That is an order!” Soldier commanded.

The softer, more compassionate voice of Miss Pauling sighed and spoke through the door.

“I’m sorry Heavy. I couldn’t say anything to convince him not to come with me to wake you guys up. Just settle down in the rec room in a few minutes, okay?”

Mikhail groaned, both from a lack of sleep and the sudden wake-up call. He complied, however, adorning his red, short sleeved shirt, his bulletproof vest, the bandolier for his minigun, pants, a belt, and a pair of sturdy combat boots.

When the heavy weapon’s specialist arrived in the rec room, it was absolute chaos. Spy had moved on from insulting Scout to bickering with Sniper, Demoman was already sloshing around a bottle of alcohol, Scout had stolen Engineer’s hardhat and was taunting him with it, and Soldier was shouting at a terrified looking Pyro.

“RED Team! Enough! It’s only the first day and you’re already at each other’s throats!” Miss Pauling stomped, placing her hands on her hips.

Some the the mercenaries, including Heavy, faced towards their higher-up while the others continued to do their own thing.

“Now look, your first battle will begin as soon as Medic arrives. I’m heading over to the airport to pick him up, so I advise you all check over your equipment,” her words more of a command than a suggestion.

Heavy’s eyes widened. He felt it again. 

He decided in that moment that polishing Sascha could wait.

Before Miss Pauling could leave the room, the large man scurried over to her and placed a massive hand on her shoulder to grab her attention.

“Yes, Heavy? Do you need something?” She asked plainly.

Mikhail nodded, his cheeks slightly flushed.

“Da, I want to come to airport with you, if you do not mind. I promise not to cause any problems.”

Pauling raised an eyebrow.

“Pozhaluysta, Miss,” the Russian begged, rubbing his forever blue pinkie with his other hand.

Miss Pauling opened her mouth to speak, but her words died on her lips when she noticed the tiny gesture. Instead, she gave him a short nod of understanding and proceeded out of the building.

.

In the car, Heavy’s leg bounced. His breathing was deep, and his whole body seemed to sweat with fear and anticipation. With every inch the vehicle moved, he could feel the burden on his finger lighten up. This wasn’t just some illusion or dream, it was really happening. After forty seven years of waiting, he was about to meet the love of his life.

Miss Pauling took note of his anxiousness, but didn’t say anything during the trip, giving Mikhail plenty of time to ask himself a million questions. What would his lover look like? Would they be a man or a woman? Would they have a heart of gold, or a rotten core that sought to make the Russian miserable at every turn?

Finally, the airport was in sight. Mikhail could hardly withstand the separation between himself and his soulmate. He wanted, needed to find his other half. He needed to shower them with all of the affection he had been waiting so long to administer. He needed to hear their voice and inhale their scent and feel their body against his own.

Miss Pauling nearly tripped over her high heels trying to catch up with the eager Russian. She had seem some truly heartwarming instances of soulmates meeting over the years, but never before in her life had she seen someone so desperate to unite with their fated love.

.

He had to hold onto a railing as he stepped out of the plane to avoid passing out. 

Ludwig had always experienced air-sickness while flying, but more than that, his hand was trembling. The string that had plagued his right hand for decades was loose, looser than it had ever been before. The doctor was overwhelmed; he wanted to throw up and cry tears of happiness at the same time. This was his moment, his soulmate was waiting for him.

As he stood near the loading gate, the thread loosened further, and it signaled that his soon-to-be lover was getting closer, closer.

Unable to withhold his excitement, Medic dashed across the airport. He got caught up in several crowds and passed right by the luggage pickup, but none of that mattered. He was following his heart’s call now; he let the slackening of his bindings guide his every step.

.

“Heavy! Please slow down!” Miss Pauling yelled, but the giant had blocked her out a long time ago.

There was only one voice he was willing to let in now. He pushed past a group of adults with the tiniest apology as he charged up the stairs. If he were anywhere else, he would have most likely been stared at and thrown out by security. In the chaos of the airport, everyone assumed he was simply running to reunite with a loved one.

An opening in the crowds.

Everything went silent.

The world slowed down.

Mikhail spotted him, his soulmate across the grand building. He was more handsome than he could have ever imagined, and although he didn’t know it yet, Ludwig also firmly believed that he had just encountered an angel.

The soulstring unraveled and landed on the ground.

All remaining distance between them was covered in a second. The force of the impact sent them to the ground, but neither of them cared. Arms wrapped around strong bodies, tears spilled out of adoring eyes, and lips whispered the pledges of love they had so desperately longed to hear.

At last, Mikhail and Ludwig were home.

[tcm]

Just Give Her the Spotlight - The Marvelous Mrs. Miller By Constance Cherise

In 1987 at the age of 64, legendary tap dancer Ann Miller performed “Shakin’ the Blues Away” on the television special Happy 100th Birthday, Hollywood. In 1988, Miller performed a medley from the nine-year running production “Sugar Babies” on the Palladium stage along with Mickey Rooney, and in 1989 she performed the tap dance routine from 42ND STREET (‘33) for the Disney-MGM Studios Theme Park Grand Opening television special.

While recently watching these productions, I feared that I was going to witness a frail elderly woman, who was still convinced she “had it,” either embarrass or hurt herself. Thankfully, my future 64-year-old self is encouraged to say I was utterly wrong.

I watched each performance with unblinking eyes, in complete shock and jaw-dropping disbelief. Generally, mature performers are surrounded by dancers and ornamentation as distraction, while the older dancer waves their arms and kick their feet a time or two then get whisked off stage. Not so with Ann Miller. It’s true, a bevy of tap dancers joins her, but they are only for Broadway effect. She owns every performance, complete with her rapid-fire footwork and powerful Broadway belt (and when I state the term “belt,” I do not mean she sang well for her age, I mean “where did that voice come from Ethel Merman belt”). Miller claimed she never had to practice vocalizing, that her power came naturally. I suppose being used to many stars that were dubbed, I never questioned whether Miller’s voice was actually being used during her performances. I was too busy dissecting her dazzling costumes, lavish sets and trying to figure out how she could possibly execute gun-machine taps and appear as if her feet did not leave the ground.

Houston-born Johnnie Lucille Collier (her father anticipated a boy) aka Ann Miller was enrolled in dance school from the age of six. And, after confronting her philandering father who was caught red-handed with a nude woman in his bed, Miller and her mother of Cherokee descent, Clara, moved to California.

The naturally adept Miller eventually won a contest where she appeared for two weeks at the Orpheum Theatre. At 13 years old while performing at a supper club, Miller was discovered by talent scout Benny Rubin and comedienne Lucille Ball, who suggested she test with RKO. Required to prove her age, Miller enlisted her father, a criminal lawyer whose clients included Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker (yes, that Bonnie and Clyde), to provide a false birth certificate stating she was 18 years old. As she began quite young in films, her mother Clara was her constant companion and protector, a memory that Miller would speak fondly of. The two remained close until Clara’s passing. Miller worked for multiple studios including RKO, Columbia and MGM, toured with major Broadway productions and had numerous television appearances.

Her debut was an uncredited role in ANNE OF GREEN GABLES (‘34). She performed on Broadway at age 16, and after a two-year stint she returned to Hollywood. She mainly appeared in B films until she auditioned for MGM’s EASTER PARADE (‘48), where she performed the entertaining number “Shaking the Blues Away.” In an interview with Robert Osborne, Miller admits to performing the number in a brace, due to her former husband’s physical abuse where in a drunken rage, he threw her down a flight of stairs breaking her back. Miller, who was nine months pregnant at the time, gave birth to her daughter, who tragically survived for only a few days.

A believer in the metaphysical, Miller wrote a book, Tapping Into the Force, about what she concluded were her psychic gifts. She would recall during the opening night of “Sugar Babies” in New York while standing alongside Rooney: "In the middle of the number, I felt this force hit me! It almost knocked the breath out of me. All of a sudden I started singing like I'd never sung before!” When returning backstage, her earring, which was securely fastened, fell from her ear landing near a piece of scenery with the letters “J-U-D.” Miller stated, “This inner voice I have said...Ann it's me, Judy!” In explaining her supernatural experience to Rooney, Miller revealed to Rooney, "Judy was on the stage with us tonight,” to which Rooney replied…“I know it.”

Big hair jokes aside, there really is something absolutely adorable about Miller that is hard to place your finger on. Beams of light still seemed to emanate from her face in her elder years. Not only was she the consummate professional, exuberant and entertaining with the mind of a steel trap, she was an essential keeper of the flame of all things Golden Age.

Her performances in KISS ME KATE (‘53), EASTER PARADE (‘48), LOVELY TO LOOK AT (‘52) and HIT THE DECK (‘55) were showstoppers, and those are only from her MGM years. Even her Stan Freberg directed Great American Soup commercial was one-minute and three-seconds of camp genius. If you are a musical fan and have not seen this commercial, stop reading now and look it up...don’t worry, I’ll wait. The way she rips her apron off to reveal her glittering costume as if she has been desperately awaiting this chance for her entire life, the overwhelming expression of sheer unadulterated rapture on her face, how she tosses her top hat with dynamic gusto, performing her signature twirls returning to the set of the kitchen— there is even a touch of Busby Berkeley for good measure. It simply could not be more gloriously MGM-musical perfect.

“It’s funny I never studied a lot of acting, I just thought acting was being me!”-Ann Miller

Usually, I have no issue detailing my favorite performances, however, with Miller I simply cannot. Each performance is consistently perfect and sure-footed with precise accuracy—it's almost impossible to choose one over another. Although she was not a Hollywood leading lady, she was showbiz through and through. Miller did, however, state in a 1990 interview with Bob Thomas, “Sugar Babies gave me the stardom that my soul kind of yearned for.'' If you watch her in interviews and her performances, you will find there is no line of delineation. Miller was a willing, fully assembled readymade pre-packaged star born for the spotlight. From her earliest performance to her last, one thing is resoundingly true—Ann Miller was not created for Tinseltown, Tinseltown was created for Ann Miller.

[orderoftheavengers]

Wanda’s Vision 

A Mysterious Package

As if losing her true love wasn’t cruel enough, Wanda Maximoff can’t even burry him. Instead, the chunks of Vision’s broken stone body are being studied in the Alchemy Department in the Ministry of Magic, as if he’s nothing more than a crumbled statue. Fighting back tears, she picks up her scarlet broom, and heads back to Hogwarts. Since helping to save the universe again, she’s been granted the chance to return and finish her schooling, But the Ravenclaw Commonroom feels empty without is Chimera Prefect.

Wanda should be in class, but instead she drifts up to her empty dorm. There, she finds a tall, tombstone-shaped package standing in front of her blue canopy bed, covered in brown paper. Tied to it is a simple, unsigned note: Enjoy!

Curiously, she takes off the wrapping, to find a tall mirror with an elegant golden frame. The curved top of the frame is engraved with the words:  erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi

Wanda’s eyes drift down to the glass. Instead of her reflection, she sees static, like on an old Muggle TV set. Then, the static clears, to a black-and-white sitcom. The Mirror of Erised broadcasts “WandaVision,” where she sees herself and Vision living an ideal life, in a setting reminiscent of the vintage Muggle sitcoms Wanda and Pietro used to watch with their parents.

The tears finally come. In her grief, Wanda slams her fist into the glass.

A normal witch or wizard could probably not damage the Mirror of Erised, but Wanda Maximoff is no ordinary witch.

Her grief turns to shock when her fist breaks through the glass, and a hurricane-like wind begins sucking her and everything around her into the mirror…

Breakfast

Next thing they know, Wanda and Vision are in their black-and-white Commonroom, getting ready for class. They don their robes, and get their chrome-covered wands and school bags. They head for the Great Hall for breakfast, accompanied by a laugh track. Once there, they have trouble finding the Ravenclaw table, due to the fact that all of the scarves, ties and tablecloths are in grayscale.

“Well, I don’t think it’s either of those,” Vision muses, gazing at two tables locked in a violent magical food fight. The Gryffindors and Slytherins are all Greasers; their black, leather, studded robes bearing large patches of lions or snakes depending on their “gang.”

The next table they look at is filled with beatniks, sharing poetry about peace and unity. “I think that’s Hufflepuff,” Wanda says, noting the badger in the middle of the table playing bongos.

The last table is full of nerds in bowties and horn-rimmed glasses. Figuring this is their stop, Wanda and vision have a seat and begin their breakfast. They’re almost immediately interrupted by the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Agatha Harkness. Wanda is clearly her teacher’s pet, and Agatha says she can’t wait to see what Wanda is capable of on the test later today. "Is my best student gonna Ace this exam, or is that a stupid question?" Professor Harkness gives an irritating "gossipy neighbor" sort of laugh. "Remember, we're doing Patronuses!" Agatha takes out her wand and says with a smile, "Expecto Señor Scratchy! ...Oh, bowtruckles and doxies...Scratchy sit!" Agatha excuses herself, to chase her silvery rabbit Patronus, which is now wreaking havoc across the table.   Wanda smiles and nods, secretly trying to remember this exam she hasn’t studied for.

To make matters worse, the school’s Head Girl and Boy, Victoire Weasley and Teddy Lupin, have decided to join Ravenclaw for breakfast. They ask Wanda and Vision where they’re from, when they began dating, and so forth, with the pair unable to answer.

“What year are you?” Teddy presses on, adjusting his cute wolf-themed sweater. “Are you Purebloods or Muggleborn?  Did you transfer from another school?”

“Any mixed heritage?” Victoire adds.

Wanda and Vision are saved from having to answer when Teddy starts to choke on a werewolf hairball; Vision saves him, using his phasing powers. The frightening moment passes, and suddenly breakfast is over.

“Oh, look at that, it’s time for the game already!” Teddy declares. “Come on!”

Very confused, Wanda and Vision follow the crowd out of the Great Hall and outside, across the gray grass, to…

The Quidditch Pitch

As they near the Quidditch field, the roar of screaming girls makes it nearly impossible to hear each other speak.  Wanda gets out her wand to attempt an ear-plug charm, and notices it looks different than before; instead of that slick chrome covering, her wand now is covered in psychedelic flowers.

When they find their seats, they notice that many of the girls have beehive hairdos, and many people’s cloaks have claps shaped like peace symbols and Yin-Yangs. Vision and Wanda move through the Hufflepuff box, where Teddy Lupin and his comrades have apparently traded their barrettes and scarves for beads and hippie hair. Next, they find a box full of nerds, that they hope is Ravenclaw; with everything still in grayscale, the only way to be sure is to look for an eagle crest somewhere. Vision and Wanda have a seat next to a friendly new girl with a beehive hair, introducing herself as “Geraldine.”

“To be honest I don’t know if I’m in the right box either,” Geraldine reassures Wanda.

“What House are you?” Wanda asks conversationally.

Geraldine’s face falls. “I…don’t know.”

The conversation is cut short when Madam Hootch, dressed like Ed Sullivan, announces the start of the game. The Gryffindor players all have moptops, and quip each other while during the game in thick Liverpool accents. The Slytherins are a bit rougher looking. Slytherin Seeker Albus Severus Potter comments about blowing up Moaning Myrtle’s toilet, and Scorpius Malfoy boasts about snorting his father’s ashes.

The Golden Snitch, for some reason, keeps flying past Wanda and Vision’s part of the stands. And something about the Snitch looks out of place. Wanda finally stops it in midair with her telekenesis, and summons it towards her for a better look. The Golden Snitch really is gold—it’s in color!—and there’s a red symbol on it: a sword, circled by two lions and a huge elegant "G."

“I think they need that!” Geraldine quickly snatches the Snitch from Wanda and expertly chucks it back into the field, as if pitching a baseball.

The Quidditch field is starting to look different. The Quidditch balls and hoops are morphing into colorful, psychedelic cartoons. As if trying to compete with the trippy animation, Al Potter takes out his wand and starts levitating furniture, toilets and animals from the castle to come flying into the crowd. This prompts the Gryffindors to make more awful puns at each other, while trying to retrieve the Golden Snitch from Ringo's nose.

“How is anyone getting through this sober?” Professor Harkness laments over the chaos.

Wanda excuses herself and makes for one of the restrooms in the Quidditch stadium. The toilets have all been blown up by Al Potter, but she doesn’t need to “go,” she just needs to think. In the restroom, she is confronted by queen bee Dominique Weasley, who seems to be implying that Wanda is guilty of something.

“I mean you no harm,” Wanda insists.

“I don’t believe you,” the young part-Veela replies, matching Wanda’s intense stare.

That’s when both girls are interrupted by a muffled voice, apparently coming from the mirror.

Superimposed over their reflections, Wanda can just barely make out the ghostly image of a young man, and hear his distant voice calling, “Wanda, who is doing this to you?”

The eerie message repeats, and Wanda’s anxiety rises, until the glass mirror suddenly shatters, startling her and Dominique. Dominique suffers a cut to her hand, getting some crimson blood on her Gryffindor scarf.

“Gosh,” Dominique says chipperly, as if their intense conversation never happened, “At least blood stains don’t show up as much against Gryffindor colors!”

The girls return to the bleachers, to find that the game has finished. It’s unclear who won, as both teams seem to be celebrating the game in their own way.  The Gryffindors give a cute, uniformed bow, while the Slytherins enthusiastically smash their broom sticks on the ground.

By the time the crowd is leaving the stadium, everything is now in color. Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley have their long hippie hair flowing in bright mind green and shimmering Veela gold respectively. The flowers on Wanda’s wand are now bright shades of red and orange. But the biggest shock of all comes when she and Vision return to the Ravenclaw common room, and realize that Wanda is four months pregnant!

The moment is interrupted by a noise from outside the Commonroom. Peering into the hall, Wanda and Vision see a cloaked figure emerge from a secret passageway behind a gargoyle (shaped like a Blue Meanie). The figure turns around, and Wanda sees that sword symbol once again, on the back of his cloak.

“No,” she mutters, and with a flick of her hands, literally rewinds time.

“Congratulations!”

…says Madame Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing. “You’re having a healthy baby.”

Vision stammers, “But isn’t this happening a little…fast?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, only Muggles stigmatize teen parents. Us wizards still live like it’s the Middle Ages, remember.”

Wanda tries delicately, “The baby having some Phoenix or Chimera heritage wouldn’t be affecting anything, would it?”

“I don’t think so. But you can check the school library for more information if you like.”

The soon-to-be teen parents decide to do just that.

Wanda and Vision enter the library to find themselves now dressed like Scooby Doo characters under their school robes, which have the cut of droop-sleeved Disco gowns.

Geraldine strides in, sporting a fro, with her Gryffindor necktie tied around her head like a scarf. Teddy Lupin and Victoire sit nearby, sporting a mint-green afro and a silverly shag respectively. Lysander and Lorcan Scammander are putting up a sign on the library wall, protesting the pollution of the Forbidden Forest. From the open window, one can see that a new Quidditch game is already afoot; the Gyffindors and Slytherins, in House-colored disco suits, violently toss flying disco balls at each other, while talking like Nick Fury.

No one besides Wanda and Vision seems to notice anything amiss. That is, until Wanda suddenly goes into labor, in the middle of the “P” isle.

Vision runs to get Madame Pomfrey, while Geraldine delivers the baby. Vision returns with the nurse just too late to see his son’s birth. This is remedied a moment later when Wanda goes into labor again! They end up with two healthy baby boys. Wanda and Vision decide to go the Weasley route, and give them simple names: Tommy and Billy.

Geraldine helps Wanda turn the trunk at the end of her dorm bed into a cradle for the twins.

“I’m a twin,” Wanda remembers. “I had a brother, named Pietro.”

Geraldine then adds slowly, “He was killed by Ultron.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Wanda looks at her friend again, suddenly suspicious and angry. She notices suddenly that the patch on Geraldine’s robes does not depict the usual Gryffindor icon, but instead, that suspicious sword symbol. Ignoring Geraldine’s stammering pleas, Wanda sends the Gryffindor flying through the stone wall, out of the Ravenclaw commonroom.

Geraldine flies backwards down the hall, until she smashes through another stone wall.

She crashes through the wooden wall of the Quidditch pitch.

And finally, she crashes through a massive wall of glass, with a shattering sound that echoes eerily.

“Geraldine” lands on the wet grass. She pushes herself up, as Ministry wizards and witches gather around her. It is dusk, and they’re in the middle of an empty clearing in the woods. Not too far off, the Mirror of Erised magically repairs its own shattered glass.

Monica Rambeau sees the Mirror of Erised standing alone in the empty field, and it all starts coming back to her...

Here’s What Really Happened

...Monica Rambeau’s mother, Maria Rambeau, founded the Sword of Gryffindor: a division within the Ministry of Magic, tasked with threats by non-human magical beings. Monica, a recent graduate of Hogwarts, had just begun an apprenticeship under her mother, when she (Monica) was turned to ash by Thanos’s Dusting Curse.  After she “Blipped” back, and learned her mother had died in the summer she’d been gone, Monica needed work to keep her mind off of her shock and grief.

Her new mission concerned Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which had seemingly vanished overnight—along with the lake, the Quidditch pitch, and even Hagrid’s hut. All that was left was the Mirror of Erised, standing alone in the empty field. And the Mirror seemed to be malfunctioning. Its gold frame was replaced with a chrome and neon 1950s juke-box aesthetic. It’s iconic message now glowed above the glass in the form of a cursive neon sign. All the Ministry workers strongly desired to see where Hogwarts had gone; but all anyone could see in the Mirror was static.

Jimmy Woo (a former Hufflepuff Prefect now with the Ministry) gave Monica a rundown of the situation. “The Ministry’s so desperate, they’re even bringing in a Muggle, to see if one of their ‘TV microwaves’ or something might be interfering with the Mirror’s magic.”

Dr. Darcy Lewis, one of the few Muggles allowed to not only know about the wizarding world, but work with it, finally arrived. Most of the Ministry folk scoffed at the Muggle. But after a quick examination, Darcy had an answer.

“Looks like someone or something has turned your Magic Mirror into an old TV set.”

The project’s supervisor, Director Blandonius Genericus Phucknugget, snorted. “Codswallop and hippogriff dung.  Your Muggle technology doesn’t work in areas like this, where there’s high concentrations of magic!”

“Wrong,” Darcy said, drumming her fingers on the Mirror’s neon frame. “Electricity doen’t work around magic. But you guys make cars and motorcycles fly with magic all the time. You even use cameras, for Treebeard's sake! So this TV-mirror isn’t plugged into anything, but it’s still running, probably on magic. If someone can enchant me a pair of old rabbit-ear antennae, I can probably get this show broadcasting for ya. And if one of you magic dudes can conjure me up some coffee, that’d be cool too.”

Director Phucknugget begrudgingly adhered Darcy’s request. A retired Arthur Weasley was happy to donate some parts from his Muggle collections to the cause. Within the hour, everyone was watching what seemed to be an old Muggle sitcom play out in the glass… set at Hogwarts! Jimmy and Monica soon determined that, somehow, the castle and all of its inhabitants had become trapped inside the Mirror of Erised. Since Wanda Maximoff and Vision Banner-Stark were the stars, and Vision was supposed to be dead, it stood to reason that they had something to do with it.

Monica then made a bold, and arguably stupid, move. She blasted the glass with different powerful spells, until she managed to put a crack in it…and ended up getting sucked into the show.

While Jimmy, Darcy, and the others watched Monica join the main cast, the frame around the Mirror began to change. The jukebox aesthetic was soon replaced by a psychedelic pop art motif, resembling something you’d see on an old CD cover, or a “Yellow Submarine” poster. Monica, Jimmy and Darcy tried different ways to get in touch with Wanda. They tried sending an enchanted Golden Snitch into the Mirror, containing Mad-Eye Moody’s old eye, to survey the situation. Jimmy tried a mirror-enchanting spell, to send Wanda a message. But nothing seemed to work.

By midafternoon, the frame had changed again to a banded ‘70s border with rounded edges, it’s top lettering now spelled out like the opening credits of an “exploitation movie.” And the show was now in color. Soon after that, Monica Rambeau came crashing back through the glass, knocking Darcy, Jimmy and Phucknugget into the grass.

It has all come back to her now.

Lying on the grass in her Disco robes, Monica breaths, “It’s Wanda! It’s all Wanda!”

Care of Magical Creatures

The sky above the Quidditch Pitch is the color of Floo Powder, tuned to a dead fireplace. The frame around the Mirror of Erised is clunky robotic junk, smattered with flickering neon. The castle halls have become a glittery labyrinth, and echo with David Bowie music. Goblins from Gringotts are discussing business with Headmistress McGonnagall, demanding a baby as payment if they don't get their gold.

Billy and Tommy are old enough to start their first year at Hogwarts, even as their parents are still finishing up year Five. The boys adopt a cute three-headed Cerberus puppet (yes, puppet--The "Dark Crystal" kind) that they name Sparky. Everyone now has frizzy ‘80s hair, and wizard robes now have built-in shoulder pads.  Professor Harkness continues to give Wanda top marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts, where students practice wizard duels in 80s workout gear.

Wanda finally “breaks the fourth wall” again, albeit less literally this time. Excusing herself from her family, she goes to the restroom, and looks directly into the mirror, at the Ministry wizards outside. For a few moments, they talk as if there is only glass between them.

“Is this yours” Wanda says, tossing the Golden Snitch back through the glass.

Catching the Snitch, Monica begs Wanda to listen to reason. But it’s no use.

Meanwhile Vision, is getting suspicious. He manages to free Lysander Scammander from Wanda’s control. The hysterical first-year frets that he hasn’t received an owl from his parents in what seems like ages, and that having Wanda in his head all the time is painful.

But just as Vision confronts Wanda, they get a surprising visitor: Pietro Maximoff! …or is it? Something seems off, but Wanda wants to believe it’s true.

Defense Against the Dark Arts

For their Midterm Exam in Defense Against the Dark Arts, everyone suits up. Vision dresses like a Mexican wrestler, while Wanda dons a red leotard under a red cloak and tiara.  Billy and Tommy are advancing in their magic classes with alarming speed. Pietro suspiciously looks, sounds and acts very little like the brother Wanda remembers. But how many other male part-Veelas can be out there?

Back in the real world, Monica, Jimmy and Darcy clash with Director Genericus Phucknugget. The three are eventually taken off of the project for not being big enough assholes, so they set out to break some rules. Darcy “hacks” into Phucknugget’s “files,” by which we mean, she swapped his Pensieve out with a chamber pot when he wasn’t looking. Around a camp fire in the Forbidden Forest, the trio examine the memories that their shady boss didn’t want them to see.  Turns out, he doesn’t have anyone’s best interests in mind, bar his own quest power.

Monica wants to try re-entering the Mirror, but there’s another problem.  

“You’ve gone through that class twice,” Darcy warns. “Your body is cursing with the magic of a Flaga.”

“How do you know about the Flagae?” Jimmy asks.  

“Muggles can read books too you know.” Darcy produces a copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scammander.

Flagae are spirits that live inside magic mirrors, often acting as familiars for witches like Snow white’s evil stepmother. Darcy theorizes Wanda and Vision’s “Mirror children,” Billy and Tommy, may in fact by Flagae. And Monica is turning into one too. If she makes a full transformation, she might never be able to leave the glass again.

But Monica stands her ground. “I won’t stop until I help Wanda.”

Back in the Mirror, Vision investigates the edges of Hogwarts' grounds. He finds both the Forbidden Forest and the train platform inaccessible, blocked by a wall of shimmering magic glass.

Outside, the Ministry wizards see Vision begin to emerge from the Mirror. He pushes painfully, with his hands pressed against the frame, but some force is holding him back. Vision himself begins to shatter, as if he’s made of glass. Darcy, who has tried sneaking back onto the project, yells at someone to help him, as a Ministry Auror holds her back.

Billy, a Legilimens like his mother, senses his father’s distress and alerts her. To save her husband, Wanda creates a powerful wind to pulling Vision back into the Mirror…and takes most of the Ministry witches and wizards with him.

Modern wizards

When the winds die down, nearly all of the Ministry wizards are now inside the Mirror, and have been recast as House Elves, Leprechauns, and decorative Cupids.  Darcy is recast as a bespeckled House Elf in a blue bellhop’s uniform.

Wanda and Vision give interviews about their ongoing life problems, to no one in particular.  Vision finds Darcy, and restores her memories and human body, though she keeps the silly suit. Darcy fills Vision in on his life before the Mirror. Yet still, he can’t remember any of it. They ponder the possibility of a Memory Charm, or the simple resurrection amnesia that often plagues newborn vampires.

Monica and Jimmy remain safe outside the Mirror of Erised, but Monica is now adamant that there’s no other way to reach Wanda and stop their evil boss.

This third push through the magic glass makes Monica feel like she's shattering. All around her are the voices of her dead mother, and her absent “Aunt Carol”—Monica’s “Erised.” The temptation to just let herself melt into the glass and give up on reality is strong. But Monica is stronger. Monica finally emerges into Erised-Hogwarts, a new being. Her eyes glowing a spectrum of colors, Monica is now like a person jacked into the Matrix; the laws of physics in the world of the Mirror no longer apply to her.

It was Agatha All Along!

It’s supper time, but Billy and Tommy still aren’t back from Defense Against the Dark Arts. Wanda heads to the classroom, to find Agatha, stroking the silvery fur of her apparently corporal Patronus.

“Where are my children?” Wanda demands.

But when she attempts magic, she fails.

“Highest marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but an F in Ancient Runes!” Agatha taunts. “Only the witch who casts the runes can use her magic in the area. Every first year should know that!”

Agatha then forces Wanda to join her in entering a Pensieve, filled with all of Wanda’s worst memories. Yes, Wanda is now inside a Pensieve, while inside the Mirror of Erised. Agatha wants to know what makes Wanda’s magic tick, so she can harness it for herself.

Wanda sees her entire life play out. She and Pietro are children, living in their magically-hidden hole-in-the-wall apartment in Sokovia. Their father tries to make a living by magically burning vintage Muggle sitcoms into wizarding photos and paintings, that will play out the episodes, which he sells to wizard and witches that are Muggle enthusiasts. Then their home is destroyed, and their parents are killed.

Wanda sees herself in the dungeons of Durmstrang, approaching the glowing cauldron, and listening to her instructors tell her how to enter the experiment. She dips into the glowing cauldron like a bathtub, with the Mind Stone shining from the bottom like a light in a jacuzzi, clutching her phoenix-feather wand. There's an explosion of light, as she and her wand are fused together. And the premonition she sees of herself, as one of the most powerful witches alive... “There’s an entire Prophecy about you, in the Department of Ministries. Well, not anymore,” Agatha smirks, showing Wanda the ancient book she (Agatha) has stolen from the Ministry of Magic. "You're the Scarlet Witch!" She sees everything, from the death of her brother to the death of her lover. Finally, she sees and remembers how she ended up inside the Mirror of Erised, accidently sucking the entire castle in and casting a memory charm on everyone, including herself. And how from her emotions and memories, she accidently created a Flaga, in the form of her dead lover, Vision.

Wanda now realizes what she must do. It will be agony for her; but she cannot continue to imprison and torment her peers, just to keep her fantasy in the Mirror of Erised alive. And Agatha must be stopped.

The Darkest of Magic

The two witches start to duke it out in the sky above Hogwarts Castle, in a wandless witch's duel. Both conjure their Patronuses, straight from their hands. Señor Scratchy goes "Watership Down" on Wanda's firefinch, which retaliates in Hitchcock fashion. The corrupt Ministry wizard and his cronies make a bad situation worse, when they send their own twisted creation into the Mirror—the real body of Vision, now an unpainted white gargoyle, bent only on destroying its counterpart inside. But Erised-Vision knows that the best way to distract himself has always been philosophy, so he wins over his alter-ego with a lecture on the Ship of Theseus, some musings about the workings of Time Turners, and the parallels between Nargles and imaginary numbers.

Monica frees “Pietro” from the Imperius curse that Agatha has paced on him, and watches the Polyjuice Potion she forced him to drink wear off. Turns out, he’s just a Muggle named Ralph Boner.

Everything is going to chaos inside the Mirror of Erised (except for the two Visions, who are having a quiet discussion about the reliability of Divination, in midair in the Library). Wanda uses her recent lesson in Ancient Runes to incapacitate Agatha, and then dives into the older witch’s mind...

...Agatha is centuries old. Haling from the Salem Witch’s Institute, she was shunned by her Coven, and even her own mother, for “studying the Darkest of Magic.” Agatha then unleashed a Killing Curse on all of them. Once the heinous crime was done, Agatha’s Horcrux was made. She plucked the pendant off of her mother’s body, and pined it to her own cloak.

Agatha is brought back to the present, just in time to see Wanda’s firefinch devour Señor Scratchy. The scarlet magic shooting from Wanda’s hand briefly flashes bright green.

Goodbyes

Hogwarts has been restored. Everyone is free from the Mirror, save three people: Vision, Billy, and Tommy. Agatha lies dead on the grass outside the Mirror of Erised—or at least, her human body does.  Using her powerful Scarlet Magic, Wanda fuses the pendant Horcrux into the golden frame of the Mirror of Erised, trapping what’s left of Agatha. From now on, Agatha can only exist in the role of other people’s fantasies, when they look into the Mirror. “No one will ever bother you here,” Wanda assures her enemy, through the glass.

Oblivious, the fraction left of Agatha’s soul smiles from behind the glass, in her 1950s getup. “Fabulous! See you in class, Sugar!”

Wanda apologizes to Monica, and all of her peers from Hogwarts, while Director Phucknugget is hauled off to Azkaban by the Dementors.

Headmistress McGonnagall assures Wanda that she is still welcome at Hogwarts, provided more precautions are taken with her powers. But Wanda chooses to leave the school.  Before leaving the castle, Wanda pays her family one last visit.  The Mirror of Erised stands in a large empty room. Separated by glass, Wanda tearfully bids goodbye to Vision, Billy and Tommy.

“Thank you for choosing me to be your mom,” she tells the boys, before they go to bed.

“Wanda,” Vision presses against the glass. “Darcy called me a ‘Flaga.’ Am I a ghost? Or just a fantasy?”

“You’re a spirit I created,” Wanda finally admits out loud. “You are my memories, and my pain. But most of all, you’re my love.”

For a moment they are able to kiss, as if the glass isn’t there. Then Wanda leaves the room, and doesn’t look back.  

Epilogue

Monica is still mostly Human, but like Wanda, she is now a hybrid—in her case, part Flaga. And it turns out, there is a battle being fought in the Mirror Realm, and Monica can help.

Wanda, meanwhile, creates herself a cabin in the woods, where she studies that Prophecy book—out of body. She is interrupted by the voice of one of her sons, calling from every mirror in the house, “Mom…!”

AN: An AU of an AU! Bloody hell.

This was a nightmare, both to "draw" and write, even with most of the work "cut out" for me. But worth it.

Because life is short, the images in this picture were largely traced, or straight up pasted clipart.

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Thirty Three

Crack. 

They ignored the sound and continued their descent back to the flat. 

Today they closed the shop early. Neither had the mind to work, minds too occupied with other matters. Those more pressing than selling Skiving Snack Boxes and love potions. 

In hindsight closing early might’ve not been the smartest move considering now they had nothing to do but worry. 

They knew the raid was happening, probably at that very moment, but of course, they weren’t permitted to go. Only Charlie and Bill were granted that mercy. Some rubbish about how the twins were still too young, despite all they’ve done recently. 

They were the ones who got the bloody apparition point. 

No matter, George suggested they take a stroll down to Fortescues for a bite to eat. They recently added sandwiches to the menu and George figured the two could use the fresh air. 

Diagon Alley wasn’t really like anywhere in the Wizarding World as of late. It was the one place, save for Hogwarts, that most wizards and witches felt thoroughly protected. With all the constant hustle and bustle, a supporter of the Dark Lord would be mad to try anything, it would be near impossible to not have any witnesses. 

“Oh hello there Mr. Weasley! Lovely seeing you here, my son can’t get enough of your shop.” Fred heard a familiar voice say to George who was some meters behind him. 

George stopped to speak to the man, “good to see you too Mr. Kettleburn. Dewey is surely one of our best…” 

Fred let their voices float away and he continued on the path back to Wheeze’s. He was hungry as a Hippogriff. 

It wasn’t until George was out of sight and the shop was right in front of him did he realize his twin brother was hoarding the bag of food. 

“Shite.” He groaned to himself, turning around. 

This time however, Fred decided to take a shortcut he knew, a few alleyways between shops. George was never fond of the route, saying it was ‘creepy’, but he wasn’t here at the moment. 

Whistling to himself he turned down a darkened stone lined path. Unable to see, he casted a quick lumos, igniting the tip of his wand. 

As the end lit up the narrow pathway he spotted something a little ways down. At first, he paid no mind, but as he leered closer he realized this something was no something at all, but a someone. 

He then concluded whoever they are, is simply sloshed and passed out, or is someone from Knockturn Alley looking for a place to hangout for the night. 

But no matter how much he told himself this, something about the form felt so… familiar. 

“Lumos Maxima.” He whispered. 

Crouching down next to the body, he moved some of their dirty matted hair. Fred almost pulled his hand away at the sight of blood sticking to him, but continued nonetheless. 

He stuck his wand closer to their face. It took him a few moments to put it together, but he nearly toppled at the sight. 

“Shite. Fuck. Fuck. Shite.” He cursed to himself standing up abruptly. 

Closing his eyes Weasley did his best to produce a patronus despite his shaking hands and whirling mind. 

And by some miracle he does. 

“Between Gambol & Japes and Magical Menageries, hurry!” He said to the wispy magpie as it fluttered away. 

Taking a shaking breath, he dropped back onto his knees and began to inspect her further. She was cold to the touch. Fred soon realizes that she’s not wearing anything, but you wouldn’t know at first glance. Her body is splattered in bruises, marred with cuts, and smeared in blood. 

Instantly, he shrugged off his dragon skin jacket, not giving a shite how expensive it was, and draped it over her. 

“Come on, wake up, please wake up.” He whispers like a mad man, tears stinging his eyes, “open your eyes, alright? You’ll see Ron, Harry, Ginny. Come on.” He begged. 

“Fred!” He heard a voice call from behind him. 

He turned his head to meet George who ran over and observed the scene. 

“Merlin. Fuck. Is that…” It's like he couldn’t believe it. 

All Fred could do was nod. 

The twin dropped to his knees next to his brother, “shite. Hermione.” He cried out. 

George’s hand began to rove around her until he found the side of her neck. The pulse was faint, but it was there. 

Fred heard him sigh in relief and turned to him, “what do we do?” He was shaking his head frantically. 

George shrugged off his own jacket and placed it atop the one already on her, knowing she could use the warmth. 

“We need to go to Mungo’s now.” He said. 

Fred started wiping his hands excessively on his trousers, wanting to get rid of the red on them, “yes. Yes. You’re right. Yeah.” He muttered. Then he turned to his brother, “Georgie I don’t think I can disapparte, fuck, my hands are shaking so much.” 

“It’s okay.” He assured, “I’ll do it, you side along. Hold her tight. Alright?” George’s voice was now nothing but a quiver. 

“We need to tell someone. Send a patronus.” Fred said, now sensing his twin's fear. 

The other nodded and began wielding his wand, until Fred stopped him. “Not to Bill or Charlie. If-if they're still there it could blow their cover and hers. Dad should be with the others waiting for news.” 

Suddenly, a horrible thought came to George, “fuck, what if- what if this is a set up? What if they’re coming.” He began shaking. 

“Just cast the patronus and we’ll get out of here. She’ll be safe at Mungo’s.” Fred said quickly, still trying to figure out the best way to go about picking her up, not wanting to hurt her worse. 

“St. Mungo’s now. Can’t explain in case this is intercepted.” George told the white wispy animal before it disappeared into the night. 

“Merlin, she weighs nothing.” Fred almost whimpered as he settled the witch in his arms. 

George felt a tear stream his face, “just give me a second to focus.” He pleaded. 

His brother nodded in understanding and turned his attention to the witch, “you’re gonna be alright Hermione. You’re gonna be fine. You can’t die. Our baby brother needs you. Harry needs you. We need you too. The whole wizarding world does.” He cries into her hair. 

The words falling past Fred’s lips seemed to ignite something in George. They needed Hermione, the people they love need Hermione. Hell, he thinks if they want to win this war, Wizarding Britain needs her too. So he’ll be damned if she gets taken away from any of them. 

“I’m ready.” He said, grasping tightly onto the pair of them. 

Fred responded by wrapping an arm around his brother while pushing Hermione further into him, holding onto her much like a parent to a sleeping toddler. 

George began turning, pouring all his focus into his movements. 

Destination. Destination. Deliberation. 

Crack. 

They were gone. 

... 

As they landed, they stumbled but wouldn’t let her fall. It was a miracle no one was splinched. Or maybe Hermione was. They wouldn’t be able to tell. 

Rushing through the doors of St.Mungo’s they were meant by the chaos of the waiting room. However, they both ignored it, pushing past the injured people and toward the welcome desk. 

“Help! Somebody, we need help!” Fred cried out in the midst of the crowd. 

No one came. 

“Please help!” George now called. 

A nurse looking at a cliff board huffed, “sir you’re going to-“ then she stopped to look up at them.

At the sight of Hermione, the woman paled. A nurse at a hospital, who's probably seen everything, paled at the sight. 

Merlin this was bad. 

She instantly conjured a stretcher, “quick put her down!” The old woman yelled as the twins did as she said. “Martin! I need you to page Healer Padmore now! Or Jamison! Anyone!”

A small man in blue robes nodded and ran in the other direction as the nurse began floating Hermione away. 

“Where are you taking her?” George questioned. 

“She needs to be tended to immediately!” The woman said without turning, “you two stay put!” She commanded before running off. 

As they watch Hermione be carted away the pair both share the same thought. How the hell did Hermione get to Diagon Alley? What if they were coming? 

Then it dawns on them. 

There’s a war brewing. 

Nowhere is really safe anymore. 

...

Arthur Weasley ran into St.Mungo’s eyes scanning the mass of witches and wizards for a pair of twin redheads. 

Having no luck of spotting them amongst the people, he ran to the welcome desk. 

“Can I help you sir?” A kind young woman asked. 

“Yes, yes, I’m looking for my sons. They’re twins. Red hair.” 

She seems to ponder on it until realization strikes her face, “oh yes, I remember them. Last I saw they were going down the corridor leading to the East Wing. Leads to the Spell Damage ward.” She informed. 

Arthur smiled out of gratitude more than anything else, “thank you. Thank you so much.” And with that he was off. 

He didn’t spot Fred and George until some ways into the wing for Spell Damaged patients. They were sitting in a row of uncomfortable looking empty chairs. 

“Boys!” He called as his shoes squeaked against the floor. 

At the sight of their fathers face the twins jumped up, instantly engulfing their dad in a hug. At his touch they melted, weeping into his shoulder. 

“It’s alright. Everything’s alright now.” Arthur whispered. 

Fred pulled away and wiped at his eyes, “but it’s not dad.” He said croakily. 

The older man's cocked brow silently asked for more. 

George decided to fill in, sniffling as he spoke, “you should’ve seen her. She didn’t even look like herself. Merlin the blood-“ he choked. 

“Hey, it’s okay, you got her here. That’s what matters.” He reminds tentatively squeezing his son's shoulder. 

“What happened at the raid?” Fred whispered. 

Arthur shook his head at the memory. “I got a patronus from Charlie saying that when they showed up everyone cleared from the manor, but Hermione wasn’t there. They said they’d be back soon, I came by to make sure it was really you two with Hermione before I told anyone. Just your Mum knows.” He explained. 

They nodded in understanding, you could never be too sure these days. 

“I should go back to the Burrow, they’ll be back any minute now, they’ll need to be briefed. Everyone will have to be. I’ll send your mother in my place.” 

“Thank you Dad.” George breathed. 

He gave them a proud smile, “no need. Thank you to the two of you, you’ve made me so proud today. You’ve done a brilliant and brave thing.” Mr. Weasley said a little misty eyed. 

They embraced their father one more time before he slowly started walking away, until he abruptly turned. 

“What’s up dad?” Fred asked curiously. 

“You two don’t have any idea how she got there do you? Was there anyone around? Anything?” He asked in a hushed desperate whisper. 

Briefly the twins exchanged a look before Fred pulled something out of his pocket. It was a long dark wooden thing. Delicately carved designs into its handle. 

“You don’t think-“ Arthur began in disbelief. 

George shrugged, “we don’t know. I mean it’s possible right? Can you check at the Ministry?” 

It took him a moment but Mr.Weasley nodded at the idea, “yes. Yes, I’ll be sure to ask Kingsley. Any idea whose wand it is?” 

They both shook their heads. 

“Alright. I’ll figure it out. I’ll be back soon enough.” He promised his sons. 

“Dad, wait.” Fred stopped. 

“Yes?” 

“You’ve gotta tell him- Ronnie.” He gulped. 

“Of course.” Arthur agreed, “I’ll have Minerva alert them.” He had promised Ron to keep him involved after all. 

“No you don’t understand. The sight of her, it’s gonna break his heart. He’ll blame himself.” Fred admits in a broken whisper. 

His dad could sense the anguish in both boys' eyes and stepped forward one last time, “then we’ll have to hope she pulls through. She’ll help him as much as he’ll help her.” 

With that he walked away before offering his sons a small smile. 

It isn’t until Arthur was out of sight until the twins even spoke. 

“They love each other.” George says like it just now dawned on him, “she loves him back, just as much.” It’s not a question. 

“Yeah Georgie.” Fred whispers, “yeah, she does.”

[flatfootmonster]

Remember This

Bum wanted to move. His left foot itched where part of his skin was still damp underneath a too big sock that didn’t belong to him. He wanted to drink the coke in front of him. He wanted to cry. All those things were impossible; he was barely able to remember to breathe. Someone had been shouting that—to breathe in and out—after everything had changed; gone black and then bright, gone quiet and then loud.

They’d just been on their way to Nana’s, him and mum and dad, just like they usually did because it was Friday today. Was it still Friday? And when would everything go back to normal? What did he have to do to make it right? But there was no one to ask even if he could talk.

“Listen,” said the big man, dressed in his plain white uniform—all clean except for a smear of something red on the sleeve. He was shorter than Bum's dad, his hair wasn’t as dark, and his face was rounder—so was his body. This man wasn’t Bum’s dad. When would he see him again? “I’m gonna go and talk to the other nurse next door. Do you remember Nurse Clay? The one who brought the snacks? I’ll be back in a few minutes. Sit tight and try and drink something. And, erm… just let me know if you want to go to the toilet next time—if you can.”

He stared at Bum, a deep furrow in his brow, and Bum stared back, not quite understanding why he was being spoken to or what was being said. Nothing made sense, not this place, or the people here, and not the noises everyone and everything made. Words vibrated in the air and became a constant buzz. If he thought about it too much and tried to decipher the sounds, the screams would come. He didn’t want to hear her make those sounds. Right now that was all he could remember of her—his mum.

With a sigh, the man left through the door. It was held open by a thick wedge of folded paper. The bench Bum sat on was hard, his fingers strained in a death grip as if he were instead on a rollercoaster. But he had no control over his body. Bum wasn’t even sure if he had a body anymore or if anything was real. The only other thing in the small too bright room was a table where an open coke and apple sat. The table had one short leg. It wobbled whenever anyone leant on it.

“He’s not talking. He’s not even nodding or—I don’t know. It’s like he switched off.” The first man's voice was still sounding, but it was in the next room now, muffled by walls but not entirely restrained.

“I called next of kin, but it may take a while for her to get here at this time of night.” There was a second buzz to accompany the first. It was higher in pitch but made just as little sense to Bum as the other.

“It’s a mess. A goddamn mess.”

“I haven’t seen anything like it. Not round here. It’s just not right. Two of them. Who’s gonna explain to them where their mummy and daddy are?”

“One’s too young, thank god—no dad though. It happened near their house, that’s what Tan said. They all came out to gossip with the police—the neighbours. There’s no one to call for him, no family anyway. Doesn’t that break your heart? Too young to understand but he’ll never remember his mum, never have any real family...”

There was a pause in the buzzing. Bum’s blood was throbbing in his ears. He was going to explode.

“Did you speak to the EMTs?”

“I didn’t get a chance. I was with a patient when they came in.”

“They said she reeked of booze—the mum of that little one. They think she was drunk.”

“Drink driving? That’s a damn shame. Do we know his name?”

“Not yet. Just the quiet one: Yoon Bum. Poor thing. He’s barely breathing, can’t say a word. I don’t even think he’s blinking. It’s a miracle they came out without a scratch.”

“One’s going to give himself brain damage from all the screaming he’s doing, and the other is deaf and mute—and their parents are dead. Not sure I’d call it a miracle.” There was a long sigh. “I just want to go home.”

“Me too. I need to hug my kids.”

Another door opened, and a low wail oozed along the white-walled corridor, it didn’t sound the same as the screams Bum had been trying to silence and forget. Footsteps tapped their way across vinyl before a third buzz joined the din.

“Did anyone get milk yet? I don’t know what else to do. He won’t stop.” This one was panicked: edgy, high, shrill. Bum didn’t like it. It made the bench shake, and his teeth were chattering because of it.

“Tan went for some. I don’t know where he is now. That was, what, maybe five minutes ago?” A non-committal hum was added to the statement-question hybrid in vague corroboration.

“I’ll go look for him—you guys can check on the baby. I’ve done enough.”

Whatever protests the first and second voices offered didn’t stop the marching footsteps, tapping an impatient path across vinyl again. They quieted until another door banged shut, somewhere far away from where Bum sat in his windowless room with his warming can of coke. The pop-pop-popping of the bubbles bursting against tin was slowing. It would be flat soon—dead. Had the pop-pop-popping in his mum and dad stopped?

“Maybe if we leave him for a few minutes he’ll go to sleep. Babies cry themselves to sleep anyway, don’t they?”

“You’re the one with kids. What do I know about babies?”

“Do you want coffee? I’m gonna go call the wife.”

The crying was all that was left now. It was quieter, muffled by the boundary the door set, but Bum could still hear it. It was slowing too, getting lower. It was pathetic and begged and tired. Was the baby’s pop-pop-popping stopping?

Bum’s lungs jump-started. That was how they worked now; they’d stop for a long time before remembering what their job was. Bum drew sharp, cool air into his chest before he attempted to move the body he was sure still attached itself to his thoughts. In a jerky motion, Bum slid off the bench. His eyes were dry as he stared at the door to the next room along the corridor. Footfalls had disappeared, nothing moved. There was just a low erratic hum like the one remaining buzz was trying to soothe itself. Wiping his clammy palms down the borrowed shorts, Bum tried in vain to still the vibrations that jostled his atoms around. His hands shook, and his feet were numb. He didn’t even register the damp patch that made cloth cling to his thigh.

Bum made a stop-start path across small islands that were made up entirely of vinyl squares, one foot inching forward before it was joined by the other. If he stood outside of those imaginary landmasses, he’d fall into oblivion—he was sure of it. The room was cramped and, at the same time, vast as an ocean. But the wailing pulled him on. They were so sad, the cries. They were so full of sorrow it was surprising the baby hadn’t drowned in it all. Bum understood it better than he did the buzzing the big people made.

A lull settled just as he reached the door. Maybe the pop-pop-popping had stopped? There was no handle, so his sparse body weight became the tool, cracking the tall, heavy door open far easier than Bum imagined was possible. He slipped inside. It was another cell—just as bright and hard as the other. The only difference was a car seat, sat on the floor with the baby still strapped inside.

He had his eyes squeezed closed, and his face was an angry red—wet with tears and snot. Then the moaned wail picked up strength once more. There was an acrid smell to the room. He’d probably cried and thrown up everything that was in his tummy until all that came out was stomach lining—Bum had done that once when he’d gotten ill. His mum had held him and washed him and made everything OK. The front of the babies zipped up onesie was stained and damp. Who was going to clean the baby up?

Bum wanted to hate him. There was some recollection, a bone-deep understanding, that the fault of all this—the screams, the hard bench, the vomit and piss, the warm coke—was due to this baby's mum. That thing inside burned; it wanted a reason or direction, but it wasn’t strong enough. It didn’t singe his skin or catch fire to his consciousness, and it didn’t outweigh the hurt in the cries that only Bum could feel—feel in dark chambers in his heart, only just discovered tonight.

He stood and stared at the baby with no name. As his heart hammered in his chest, Bum became aware of the mess he’d made on himself. The damp patch was smaller than the first time when he’d wet himself in his own trousers. Perhaps he should go, slip back out and sit and wait on his own. But, as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, the wail stilled. There was a quiet that no buzzing or screaming dared encroach upon, the baby’s eyes were open and focussed on Bum. His tiny trapped chest rose and fell quickly beneath the straps that held him prisoner. The breaths fell in time with Bum’s heartbeat; his pop-pop-popping was fine, just like Bum’s.

The baby thrust out his hand, and stubby fingers peeked out the end of a grubby sleeve. He babbled something while a snot bubble burst under one porcelain perfect nostril. The fingers wriggled impatiently, drawing attention to the red on his cuff—just like the uniform of the big man. A baby shouldn’t have blood on them. It just wasn’t right—it wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Bum lurched forward as his feet stole back their gait, islands and oceans forgotten while his own fingers stretched out, answering where his lips were unable. The baby's grip was strong as it grabbed at Bum’s index finger, pulling it towards his chest and compelling the owner of that finger to crouch or else fall flat on his face.

A stuttered shush broke free. “It’s OK. We’re OK,” he said. The baby babbled again before he grasped Bum’s shirt, trying to haul himself out of the seat. “OK, OK, let me try—” It always looked so hard when his mum or dad tried to do this. His fingers trembled while he probed at the button sitting at the centre of the baby’s chest, easing it this way and that before a catch came free and the straps loosened. There was no hesitation once the restraints were gone, the baby pulled himself up onto his saviour. Bum had always been smaller and thinner than most of his friends, and this baby was big, heavier than Bum could hold—almost as long as Bum was tall already. His balance waned then he fell backwards. The impact of the floor against his backside was softened by arms wrapping around him like vines eager for support and fingers digging into him like roots desperate for nourishment.

For a moment, Bum sat where he’d fallen as bemusement kept him stuck in amber. He’d never known someone could be needful for him—it was always him in need of his parents or his Nana. And he still had her—his Nana. If he’d lost everything else there was that, there were his memories, too. But this baby did not have that—any of it. All he had was the heart that drummed against Bum’s chest; all he had was himself.

A small cream blanket was left in the car seat, padding where the baby had laid. The smudge of dirt and single leaf clinging to it meant it was the cleanest thing in the room after the sterile walls. And behind the car seat was a folded coat—judging by the size, it belonged to the baby. Shuffling over to the bench, where it housed a dark cove, Bum one-handedly set out a makeshift cot within the safety of the shadow and away from the bright, white exposure. There he eased himself and the baby down, head resting on the rolled-up coat and the blanket brought up to cover them both. Chubby legs and arms wriggled, pushing and pulling, as the baby crawled upwards until his head was just beneath Bum’s chin. Then he lay still, his breaths deepening, his muscles finally at ease.

Beneath the smell of the hospital, urine, and stomach acid, there was something else. Bum could sense it as soft, dark hair tickled his nose. It was sweet and safe, and it was peaceful and human—reminding him of something that had detached itself when the cars collided. Turning towards the wall, Bum brought his knees up, curling around the baby and holding on as tightly as he was being held. An aimless tune stirred before it came to fruition, hummed quietly down onto the crown of the baby’s head—like Bum’s mum used to when he couldn’t sleep.

A yawn forced his jaw wide. The baby was already sleeping and Bum remembered something else that was human: fatigue. Warmth replaced the hardness, trauma waivered beneath the weight of desperately needed dreams—full of the past and impossibilities, words came without sense. “We’re going to be OK,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “You can remember me. Remember me, OK? Remember this.”

Note: this was/is a time stamp from an AU I’m writing, although I don’t know if it fits better as a prologue considering it’s how things become altered and we have a different set of issues to play with.

[eevee-of-rivia]

My perfect Bastard

Summary:  John left you many years ago but, one day, you find him in front of your door searching for you.

Pairing: John Constantine x OFC

Word count: 1,5k

Warning: SMUT

A/N: This fan fiction is dedicated to a friend of mine since the last period was not one of the best for her. I hope you like it and I hope I helped you and made you smile at least a little. Liv was standing in front of the window, a cup of hot chocolate in her hands, watching the rain fall on the ground, with the sweet ticking that always managed to calm her down. It had been three years since John had disappeared without ever calling her back or giving her a sign that he was still alive. That day Liv did not give it so much weight, by then she was used to waking up alone in bed, but after a few days she had always received a call from the man or, in any case, even a simple message. But that time it was different, no calls or messages arrived. The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months turned into years as her hope of seeing him slowly disappeared. The girl was awakened from her thoughts when she heard someone knocking at the door. A little irritated she placed the cup, still full, on the table heading towards the door. "I'm coming! No need to keep knocking!" exclaimed the girl irritated by the noise caused by the punches that repeatedly slammed against the wooden surface. It was only when she opened the door that her expression changed from irritated to astonished, and her face suddenly paled as if a ghost had appeared in front of her. John Constantine, the man she loved and now hated with all of her heart, was there, in front of her, soaking wet and was looking at her seriously. His eyes were filled with something she had never seen in John before: Sadness? No. Maybe happiness? Impossible. Liv, no matter how hard she tried, could not decipher the expression on the face of the man standing before her and who, after a few seconds, pressed his lips on those of the girl taking her face in his hands.

The girl was amazed by the man’s gesture towards her but immediately regained control of her emotions by placing both hands on John’s chest pushing him away abruptly.

Constantine was amazed by Liv’s actions but did not even have time to ask for explanations that the girl began to speak. "What the fuck do you want, Constantine?!" she said, filling the last word with hate. "I’m not your little toy anymore that you can use whenever you want and then throw away after you find something better." the girl exclaimed firmly trying to reach the cell phone, which she had left on the table near the cup, to call the police and report the 'intrusion’ by the man. Liv couldn’t get her cell phone as John grabbed her wrist. The girl tried to free herself from his grip but he ended up only tightening his grip even more. "Fuck Liv! Stop fidgeting and let me talk!" The man in front of her loosened the grip and looked at the girl who, while massaging her wrist, looked at him with a cold expression and a ruthless look. With a simple nod, Liv let him know that she was listening. "Listen I know I’ve been missing for some time but I’ve had my reasons," he said, looking into her eyes approaching her figure. The girl did not lose her composure and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "And those reasons would have stopped you from even making a fucking phone call?" John did not know what to answer, so he simply remained silent looking at the girl in the eyes. Eyes in which, at that moment, he saw only hatred and contempt for him but, to his surprise, the man also found love and concern for him. Liv didn’t want to show it, but she was happy that John was alive and came back to her. Shaking her head the girl snorted, irritated. She wanted to throw him out of the house so she could finally be done with him forever and forget this chapter of her life that had made her suffer but that had also given her moments of happiness that she would never forget. The man approached Liv, with a firm and decisive step, making her back until she crashed into the kitchen counter remaining blocked. John took her hips with both hands and approached his lips to the girl’s but without kissing her. The two remained like this for a while until Liv pressed her lips against John’s. The man held the girl to himself and began to caress her hips by making bellows come out of her mouth.   "J-John.." Liv tried to protest but was interrupted when Constantine began kneading her breasts, putting one hand under her shirt. A grin appeared on the man’s lips when he felt Liv’s nipples harden due to his attentions. "I see you missed me" the man whispered in her ear and then moved his hand from her breast to her wet cunt. Pressing two fingers on her wet knickers the man started to rub her cunt. It was not long before John, putting his hand inside her knickers, began to rub her clit with the thumb and then penetrated it with two fingers. Liv put her hands on the man’s shoulders and squeezed his jacket between her fists. "You are so wet for me," the man said, taking his two fingers to his mouth and licking her juices. Taking her by the hips the man sat the girl on the kitchen counter and then lowered her pants and knickers. John looked at the girl’s face for a few seconds, as if to ask her permission, and was pleasantly surprised when he saw the redness on her cheeks and desire in her eyes. Smiling maliciously, Constantine began to tease her clit with his tongue. Liv moved her hand in front of her mouth to block the moans that were coming out when John suddenly got up and took both her wrists with one hand and looked at her seriously. "Don’t cover your mouth baby girl, I want to hear you beg and cry for me." And, at the end of the sentence, the man went back to licking her cunt making her whimper under his attention after freeing her wrists. The girl ran a hand through the man’s short hair approaching his face to her core. "Please John.." Constantine, with a smirk on his lips, broke away from her and then kissed her passionately by making their tongues dance before picking her up and carrying her to the bedroom. The man had Liv laid on the bed and then towered over her by placing himself between her legs and starting to take off her shirt and bra. "Put your wrists on your head and stay still. If you’ll be a good girl I will fuck you like a bad one" John said with a firm tone before taking her chin between his index finger and his thumb forcing her to look him in the eye. The only thing Liv did was nod ,observing every movement of the man in front of her who was getting out of bed and then starting to undress. When Constantine came back to the bed, all he had was his tie, which he used to tie Liv’s wrists together. John looked at the girl for a few seconds before taking her hips and turning her around, causing her chest to push against the mattress. The man pressed a hand on the girl’s shoulders forcing her into that position while, with the other hand, lined up his cock with Liv’s wet cunt. With a strong movement Constantine pushed himself into her cunt, staying still for a while , giving to Liv the chance to get used to his thickness. It was only when the girl began to moan that John decided to start moving. The thrusts that, at the beginning, were slow and precise, aimed each time to hit her cervix and its G-point, became faster and more rough with the passing of time and with the increase of their excitement. When John felt her cunt tightening around his cock he decided to press his chest against Liv’s back trusting deeper in her making her cum. It didn’t take long before Constantine also came ,filling her cunt with his seed. Exhausted, the two lay on the bed while John hugged Liv from behind,  his manhood still inside her. The girl was exhausted but happy to have seen the man she loves even if aware that, when she woke up, she would find, for the umpteenth time, the empty bed. Turning in that hug the girl pressed herself against Constantine’s chest closing her eyes and falling asleep quickly as the man stroked her hair giving her a kiss on the forehead before falling asleep too. The next morning when Liv woke up she couldn’t believe her eyes: John was still there, embracing her, with an arm holding her waist, sleeping deeply. The girl smiled gently caressing John’s cheek and then whispered, on her lover’s lips, an "I love you". The girl went back to sleep after a few minutes, lulled by John's hug and the knowledge that the fact that he remained with her was his way to tell her that he loved her.

↪️  ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ↩️ Hi everyone! This is probably the only time i will write for Constantine sorry. I hope you liked it and I’m sorry if the smut part isn’s awesome but I’m still learning how to write smut. Feedback are really appreciated!

[kihaku-gato]

AVTUALLY do you have a like guide on your OCs? Like quick and dirty who are they, why are they, what’s their universe etc etc. you seen yo have so much on them and how they fit in their world but i never really got a grasp on them and i want to know, well, everything

The quick and dirty… mildly challenging but not impossible, I’ll try to boil it all to bare essentials right here.

The World- Hoep

Not including AUs and Miscellaneous little stories/worlds there’s really only one fleshed out world for a good chunk of my OCs, which are in the “Hoepian universe” aka. the planet known as Hoep.

There’s a lot of details/lore for said world but here’s the short of it;

Fantasy setting, everyone’s a dragon. Almost everyone sticks to their human form cause most peoples’ dragon forms are… too smol. The monsters that caused humans before dragons to go extinct are still trying to do the whole planetwide extinction thing, some peeps try to stop it.

 Terra

Badass aloof athletic. Tournament fighter is her hobby but Mana Tech (or “magic scientist/craftsman” for lack of a better descriptor) is her career choice. Her battle style has a bit of a disciplined martial artist or military style to it. She is of a race of (literally) venomous/poisonous dragons, but does a bit to distance herself from any culture attached to that side of her, due to biological family abuse from an early age (well that and the whole “her father is a murderer and war criminal” detail), right to the point that she uses fire magic rather than poison or venom.

Due to the rough start she was a crybaby as a child, but after being adopted by a travelling fighter tournament champion, she started to make efforts on her own accord to be tougher and more like her adoptive mother. Though her mother did influence her badass aloof persona, I like to believe that Terra herself would’ve put her own pressure on herself to be tougher even w/o that influence.

This and that and she’s a little awkward socially. I’ve headcanoned her as Autistic but its one of those things I go on/off on.

She pays her bills partially through Mana Tech commissions (aka. commissions for enchanted clothes, armor, or weapons) as well as occasionally from the few tournaments she competes in.

 Kayla

Bubbly innocent lowkey powerhouse. Very bouncy and girly, a bit of romantic. She is last of her Clan of Monster Slayers (fyi there were three different Monster Slayer Clans that got wiped out). By instinct she is a good monster slayer to the point she took the job of monster bounty hunter to try to get by in her nomadic wanderings all the while not even training herself much to actually do said jobs.

She’s not really book smart, but definitely is attuned to emotions and intuition.

She holds up a very innocent rambunctious maiden kind of personality around people despite that violent career- it’s not so much as lie as much as it’s just the fact she wants to desperately hold onto her dream to be anything but a warrior. Settling down with a s/o, maybe starting a family, that’s what she would love to one day do so.

A bit of a powerful tank; half of it is all that hefty muscle hidden under the fat, the other half of it is her magical power being huge as well. Hard to beat being able to summon a lightning storm with enough build up.

She grows a crush on Terra when they initially meet. Rose-tinted glasses at the time saw Terra as a knight in shining armor.

  Demauria

Third image I had to include cause FRICK Shiro fanarts of Demauria are fucking gorgeous I die

Ice cold smol angry ball of rage. Despite being the shortest of the main roster, she’s actually slightly older than Kayla (some of it is genetic, but also some of it is that bad nutrition and improper magic usage stunted her body a little bit).

Like Kayla, is the last of her monster slaying clan. If that wasn’t bad enough though, Demauria lost family twice; her Clan, but then also her adoptive family as well (which got slaughtered by monsters). Between that and being raised in isolation (desolate arctic wilderness) she has a really bad time managing her emotions, which tend to then all lead to a response of becoming very angry as her emotions get out of hand. I could very easily see people calling her a tsundere (I even jokingly call her that) but it’s not a perfect label for how she is.

Her use of Ice Magic is both from her Clan and from being taught by her late adoptive father.

The one OC to be stubborn about preferring punk/goth aesthetic and very little else. If she wasn’t dealing with the mess she has to deal with (both in herself and the world itself) I would believe she’d be one to delve into Hoep’s history; both reading and studying the world’s roots.

While I’m not proofreading most of this ramble, upon nearing posting this I realized I should probably also explain wtf is with the pink haired vs the red haired with freckles versions of Demauria; like how Gaara (from Naruto) covers his body in a layer of sand for protection, Demauria does the same but with ice which is what causes the bluer hues and the hidden freckles.

 Riivar

Tall Travelling flirtatious entertainer. She’s ex-royalty from another kingdom (daughter to the King of Kennara). She severed her already rocky connection to her royal roots and took career choice of stage entertainer (a jack of many trades; singing, dancing, magical fire light shows, dramas, she dabbles in whatever she feels like having fun in) and struck huge fame. She’s also just is famous for being great with ladies in bed but shhhhh that’s not important.

In stark contrast to her royal roots she’s chill and very free-spirited and is much about having the freedom to do what you want to do in life.

 Harriet

Airheaded ship captain. Despite not being the smartest (she’s “sea smart” and has a lowkey theatre-kid mind but otherwise-), strongest, or prettiest, she makes up scrappy tomboyish charisma. Even in AUs she tends to attract a bit of a loyal crew that can move almost like an extension of herself.

Due to being the magnetic center of attention she can feel very ruffled/threatened when that attention she soaks in gets yanked away from her by someone else accidentally or otherwise (this is often the origin of a lot of Harriet’s animosity towards Terra both in canon and in AUs).

Like Terra, I lowkey headcanon Harriet to be autistic as well (funny for me, their Autistic creator to be so wishy washy on declaring it canon but that’s just how it is).

She was raised in a big family (lots of brothers), and was taught under the wing of a Retired-crimeboss who leads/directs her town’s Tournament Arena. Said ex-crimeboss trained her in “tournament legal” fighting methods but also taught her how to be illegal/dirty/underhanded methods where it be necessary for survival at sea. Before going to sea in her dream to be a seafaring ship captain she fought up the local tournament to become the tournament Champion to get her mentor’s blessing. Harriet had a random encounter with Riivar near Harriet’s “leaving of the nest” which both awoke Harriet’s adoration for women (“oh shit I’m bi”) and her idolization of Riivar to the point that she clumsily tries to mirror Riivar’s flirtatious mannerisms if she’s trying to woo a lady.

Though she holds herself to be graceful (her ability to ballerina spin for her water-magic attacks would fool anyone to believing that) she has a bit of a fumble-klutz streak in odd moments; the missing tooth in her smile was from tripping headfirst into the ship deck after a successful brawl against a rivaling ship crew at sea where she didn’t even acquire a scratch during said brawl (most AUs find similar ways to cause her to get a lost tooth in her grin).

You’d think her shipcrew would be a band of pirates but that’s mildly off the mark despite the well-matched aesthetic; she does not seek to steal, so she gets her ship’s maintenance paid by a blend of discovered sunken treasure/artifacts (some which she keeps for shiny keepsies) and the odd cargo/trade delivery to various places.

 Anne

Shy gentle beefcake. Same boat as Kayla and Dema in that she is the last of her respective monster slaying Clan (while Kayla was a kid and Dema was a baby when that happened to them, Anne had it happen to her in her tweens). In the fleeing for her destroyed home she eventually ended up in the great deserts where she was adopted by one of the nomadic desert dragon clans. Being lava magic (the magic her bloodclan specialized in) is similar to earth magic she quickly learned of the earth/stone golem techniques from said desert clan. While she’s capable of using lava magic she often uses earth magic first till the lava magic “warms up”. At some point she ran off to try to avenge/reclaim the town of her lost Clan from the monsters and left quite a mark on said monsters (not w/o getting scarred up physically and mentally herself though).

After that encounter rather than delve further on the monsterhunter role or return to the desert clan, she wandered around confusion of what she should do only to somehow end up in Harriet’s crew in a chance encounter. Before meeting Harriet she was getting money by a mix of selling baked pastries and shiny gems/minerals she prospected with her earth magic.

I’m still bouncing around on a lot of her motives and personality (the first conception of her she was a bit of a battle hungry warrior- not anymore, she softer now) but for the moment she’s pretty quiet and shy despite being so big and strong; she’d rather have a calmer life and embrace a more feminine style in how she holds herself, but she too busy having Destiny/Responsibility of being a monster slayer breathing down her neck despite not wanting to involve herself in those things.

 I’m not entirely sure if that’s a good down and dirty of the main OC 6 but I hope it is. I’d mention a lot of my other OCs (Hoepian or otherwise) for their sum ups but most of them are short story characters or support characters at best, or just pretty faces with little personality at worst.

[tirednotflirting]

does it ever drive you crazy, just how fast the night changes?

baby’s first au whaaaaaat? 

special thank you to @clumsyclifford​ for linking the prompt list i got this idea from! this was the prompt (it was a whole slew of celebrity AUs: “wait, you’re supposed to be DEAD and i just recognized you at the grocery store, turns out you just didn’t want to be a celebrity anymore” au. bella is also writing one from this list and it’s one of my most favorite lashton things i have ever read, highly recommend, 10/10, i could yell about hello, hello for ages omg

also here is the ao3 link if that’s your preferred way to read :)  

There are few things that bring Luke as much joy as his Friday night (well, Saturday morning, really) grocery trips.

He had started working the night shift at the nurses’ desk at the children’s hospital about a year prior after graduating. He had found the job through the friend of a friend of a friend who was a nurse herself and mentioned the job needed filling fast. Luke had never really considered the idea of a night job but ultimately the work wasn’t all too bad. He made coffee every couple of hours (he made an effort to never let the pot empty which got him lots of smiles from the nurses) and every once in awhile Lina, the 6 year old cancer patient whose room was just around the corner from the brightly colored desk, would wander out to ask him to check for monsters under her bed and to be tucked back in. It was pretty simple (and heartwarming) work.

However, staying up through the night for 5 nights a week made it damn near impossible to be awake during the day on his weekends off. Luckily enough for Luke, he had friends like Michael who tended to play video games all night despite working through the day (he stopped questioning how he managed it a long time ago) and his favorite grocery store was a 24 hour location.

The first time Luke had come to do his shop at around 2am, he had felt a little spooked by the parking lot and eerie silence in between Top 40 songs that played over the intercom in the store. But he soon grew to find the general atmosphere pretty calming and he made friends with the nighttime stocker (a guy named Calum who also never saw himself doing nighttime work but here they were) and it became something he really looked forward to on his Saturday (very early) mornings.

He arrives at the store just a bit after 1am. He just finished ‘a late breakfast’ (he still always finds himself giggling at the concept of eating meals at opposite points in the day as everyone else despite the obvious logic to the schedule) and has a list tucked into the pocket of his sweats. It’s a little chilly out so he grabs the first sweater he sees on the backseat - a blue cardigan - since he knows they also keep the store pretty cool in the night to make sure everybody stays awake through their shift.

As he grabs one of the smaller carts as he heads into the store, he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket. He pulls out his list first and drops it into the baby seat of the cart and then grabs his phone. Luke’s faced with the wild selfie Michael set for his profile picture and he rolls his eyes as clicks the icon to answer the call.

“What’s up, Mikey?” he answers as he starts pushing the cart in the direction of the produce section. 

“You at the store yet?” Luke can hear the clicking of the buttons on the controller in Michael’s hands.

“Yeah, just got in. You need anything?”

Michael then rambles off a short list that Luke jots down into his notes app since he doesn’t have a pen or anything with him. He assures his friend he’ll come drop off the odd collection of snacks and things (“They have to be the dinosaur shaped ones. I swear Luke they do taste better.”) once he finished up his shop of real groceries.

Luke wanders around the produce, picking out what fruits and veggies he wants to have around for the week. He takes his time finding the apples without the bruises, bananas that will be the perfect amount of ripe by midweek, some leafy bunches for the salad he’s been assigned to bring for the breakroom potluck on Tuesday. He’s checking out some strawberries that he thinks might be nice to toss into the mix too when a human sized figure appears in the corner of his vision.

It’s a man around his size (in similar cozy clothes) facing away from him. He’s got hair the opposite color to Luke’s bleached blonde. His messy black curls are pulled back into a tiny bun that mirrors Luke’s own. The other man is broad and has a tattoo of a bird across the back of his neck, just barely visible above the collar of a faded blue sweatshirt. The tattoo is one that seems oddly familiar to Luke, as though it belongs to someone he knows. The man begins to wander off toward the bakery section of the store though and Luke shrugs off the recognition, figuring it might be someone he’s seen around a waiting room in the hospital at some point. He settles on some strawberries and starts pushing his cart in the direction of the deli and meats.

As he stares at the different packages of chicken and breakfast sausages, he can’t help but think back on the man he saw though. There was something achingly familiar about him, and more than just the tattoo. He can’t shake the thought for some reason and finds himself jumping in surprise when he feels his phone buzz once again in his pocket. 

He doesn’t even have to look to the screen to know that it’s Michael calling again to add something to his list. In fact, he happens to even know the items that his friend failed to mention the first time he called. Luke presses the accept button and lifts the phone to his ear.

“Froot Loops and the character shaped fruit snacks?”

“The superhero ones, if they have them please!”

*

Luke continues around the store, grabbing all the bits from his list (and Michael’s 12 year old boy list) and eventually lands in the dairy section. He grabs the yogurt he’s been mixing granola into for breakfast lately and some butter for the cookies his mom sent him a recipe for. Only thing left in terms of food is cereal milk and coffee milk (2% and oat, respectively, of course). When he looks up from the list to make his way over to the fridges containing the plethora of milks, he is faced once again with the familiar stranger. 

Except this time, as he catches just the briefest glimpse of the man’s face, of his hazel eyes and strong jawline, he realizes this isn’t a stranger. Very much not a stranger. It’s Ashton Irwin, the host of at least three of those reality dating shows he forces Michael to watch with him on the weekends since he can’t watch them when they air live on Monday and Tuesdays. 

Or, well, he was the host of all of those shows until about two months ago.

Because Ashton Irwin has been dead for two months due to a freak heart attack while on vacation on some remote island.

Luke glances away from him for a moment in a panic. Has he completely lost it? Have the late nights finally gotten to him and he’s starting to actually see things that don’t exist? Was Calum right all along and the store really is haunted? (Though it's a little lost on him why a star TV host would want to haunt a grocery store. And not even a good one like that Whole Foods in Downtown.)

Then he realizes that perhaps he was just wrong. (Though now that he thinks about it, he very much remembers liking an Instagram picture of that tattoo on Ashton Irwin’s account a couple years back.) He’s far enough down the aisle from him that he can chance a look at the man without being caught. So, slowly, Luke turns again just slightly to look toward him.

It’s the hair that left him not immediately making the recognition. His hair has been dyed black, a stark contrast to his signature dark red but definitely a change that likely doesn’t draw as much attention. The sweatshirt he’s paired with black skinny jeans is pretty baggy and it’s a damn shame because Luke knows he has the arms of a god.

(Something Luke knows from the tabloid covers he glances at from time to time at the pharmacy and the summer version of the show that Ashton hosted, of course. He most definitely has never searched up his name + ‘biceps’ before. Never.)

But despite the obvious attempt to match the look and aesthetic of ‘2am grocery shopper’ he's still very unmistakably Ashton Irwin.

As Luke grapples with this new knowledge that apparently this person he thought was dead is not dead and also apparently goes to the same grocery as him, he fails to notice that Ashton has turned to face him and that he is still staring at him in shock. 

Very quickly, Ashton’s face comes to mirror Luke’s expression and he’s rushing toward the blonde in a state of terror. 

“Please don’t say anything,” he gasped in a hushed voice. The accent similar to his own that Luke has grown used to hearing on his TV sticks out some in his panicked words.

“How? I - uh? Are you,” Luke trips over every syllable that comes out of his mouth as he attempts to let his brain wrap around the situation. “Are you a ghost?”

The feared look of the black haired man actually fades some as he lets a quiet giggle escape (a very cute giggle, if Luke is being honest). “I’m, uh, not a ghost. No. Though I guess that does kind of accurately explain what I’m trying to be.”

Now Luke is even more confused. Based on the statement, he obviously wasn’t making up all of the tabloid stories he had seen about Ashton dying but something isn’t adding up to the present moment. “I don't-”

“Listen, if you’re going to go tell the press, can you at least give me like,” he glances down at his phone screen displaying the time. “2 hours to get back out to my friend’s place where I’ve been hiding?”

It’s now Luke’s turn to laugh. “You do realize if I go to some paparazzi or something and tell them I saw deceased Ashton Irwin wandering around my grocery store trying to decide between hazelnut and cashew milk they would just laugh in my face, right?”

The statement causes Ashton to look down at his hands to the milks in his hands. He sighs down at the cartons before tossing both of them in the cart. “Guess you’re not really wrong.”

“Is someone pulling some kind of long-winded, over the top prank on me right now? Am I being punk’d?” Luke asks, his head tilting some in a way that would normally have Michael making fun of him for the child-like behavior. “Because I know for a fact that I am not worth that much effort.”

The questions have Ashton smiling a bit again and Luke suddenly finds himself wanting to say increasingly dumb things so long as it’ll keep the hazel-eyed man smiling. “No, no. Not at all. I just,” his smile falters some, leaving his lips still turned up but his eyes drop some. “I started to get a little sick of the world and the world started getting a bit sick of me, I think.” Luke wonders if Ashton knew just how heavy his words feel.

He scoffs then, as if hearing Luke’s silent question. “Wow, sorry that was really dramatic,” Ashton shakes his head a bit before continuing. “Hi, I’m Ashton.”

Luke looks down to the tanned arm being stretched out toward him. He lifts a hand from his shopping cart and wraps it around Ashton’s. “I’m Luke.”

Ashton brightens again as he shakes his hand. “Well, Luke, you’re the first person other than my current landlord of sorts that I’ve come across since literally dying in the eyes of the media. So I guess I owe you an explanation? Since it seems like you’re familiar with that media viewpoint?”

Ashton moves to start pushing his cart in the direction of another area of the store but peers over his shoulder and gestures with his head to follow him. Luke quickly reaches into the fridge on his left to grab the rest of his dairy before catching up to him. “Well, you really don’t owe me anything. I don’t know you beyond what I see of you on my TV screen,” Luke wonders then if maybe he should have played it a bit cooler and not told the cute, presumed dead TV star that he watches his shows. “But I am a bit confused by whatever is going on and would like to hear anything you’re willing to share.”

“Cute and polite,” Ashton muses, avoiding Luke’s eye as he continues forward toward the packaged food aisles. “You’re already checking boxes, Luke.”

Some kind of intelligible noise falls from Luke’s lips as he feels a blush rush up to his cheeks because he’s flirting with him. Ashton only laughs and starts his story.

“Well Luke, you seem to be aware of what I did for a living up until about 2 months ago. I’ve been doing this job for like, about 5 years and before every new season of anything, there’s all these big network and programming meetings about production and filming and such. And every single time, I get hounded by our ratings people because I apparently don’t do enough to instigate and promote drama. Like my contract was getting threatened like three times a year because rather than trying to make peoples’ lives miserable, I just want to help them fall in love.

“And so at this particular meeting, about two and half months ago, just before the ‘accident’,” he punctuates the word with air quotations. “I got the boot. Ratings from the previous season were down by 3% and all of the uppers decided it was because of my congeniality and not the fact that the guy they chose for the season was a complete dick.

“So that night I have to host the red carpet stuff for an awards show. And I’m talking with all these glittery people who also do TV work and it suddenly hits me, harder than it ever has before, that every single person I’m speaking to would never even bother to smile in my direction if they didn’t know who I was. If I was just a plain old guy, the kind of guy I was back in school before I signed on to the shows, they probably wouldn’t pay me a single bit of kindness. So I decided, right then, as I was talking to some Grey’s Anatomy actor, that I wanted to get out.”

He turns into the chip aisle then, and Luke follows close behind. “You decided you wanted to step away from television and your first idea was to fake your own death?”

Ashton laughs as he reaches for a couple tubes of Pringles. “It was more than that,” he starts as he tosses the tubes into the cart. “I wanted to escape celebrity all together, not just the world of television. A friend from back home that I would trust with my life had this cabin kinda out in the middle of nowhere in this forest and he only ever uses it for like, two weeks in the summer and said I could camp out there until I find a way to get back to Australia undetected to live at the house I bought over there a few years ago. My manager helped with all the media stories and such. And two months later, here we are.”

“That’s insane,” Luke shakes his head as he speaks, reaching for his own tube of Pringles as he realizes it's been quite awhile since he got his hand stuck in a Pringle tube so why not?

“The journey is a bit wild, I will agree, Luke, but the life I’m living right now is much more enjoyable than faking it every damn day.”

Luke shakes his head (and ignores the fluttery feeling he keeps getting when Ashton says his name). “No, I mean it’s insane that I am somehow the first person that’s caught you.”

Ashton’s brows perk up at the statement. “Oh yeah no, I’m also pretty surprised by that. Figured I would have had to pay off a lot of people by now to keep them quiet.”

They’ve both pushed their carts up toward the self check out how and start scanning away at their items. Luke looks up halfway through his cart and catches Calum giving him a look from a little ways away. He’s got a suggestive look on his face. But thankfully it's one that reads much more as “ohhh Luke is talking to a boy” rather than “ohhh there’s a celebrity in my store”. Plus Luke knows Calum wouldn’t be the type to go rushing to media people to out the presence of dead celebrities in his grocery store at 2am so he chooses to subtly flip him off before reaching for the next item in his basket.

They’re both about done scanning and bagging up their groceries when Luke starts to realize he really...doesn’t want this little bit of time he’s spent with Ashton to end yet. And given his lack of normal human interaction during daylight hours as of recently, he’s a bit out of practice on the whole asking someone to extend a conversation beyond the grocery store aisles. He drops his bags back into his cart to roll back out to his car and as he watches Ashton perform the same action the words just sort of leap from his mouth. “Hey do you, uh, have anywhere to be right now?”

Ashton gently places a bag containing some produce into his cart before turning to Luke, a teasing smirk resting on his lips. “Luke, it’s 2am and I’m presumed dead to everyone but about 4 people,” he catches that Luke still looks somewhat nervous (something he would later reflect on to tell him just how damn cute it was) and continues. “So I’ve got just about all the time in the world.”

“Want to come to mine for lunch? We could make something and watch a show or keep chatting or something?” he asks, tentatively. 

He watches as Ashton’s face shifts a bit, obviously confused by some part of what Luke’s just said. “Why would you ask if I’m free now if you were wanting to make lunch plans?”

Luke realizes his request requires some explanation for people that live during normal human hours. “Oh, because I have lunch at about 3am. Because I work nights. So right now feels like,” he pauses a moment, trying to decide and calculate what time this would have been for him before taking his job. “It feels like about 11am-ish for me right now. So close to lunch time.”

They’re out in the parking lot now and Ashton just stops for a moment beside Luke in the middle of the lot and looks up at him for a moment, a smile spreading across his face, his dimples, ones that Luke had grown used to seeing on his TV screens over the last few years, increasingly deepen. “Lunch sounds nice.”

* 

Ashton follows Luke back to his apartment (and to the brief stop he makes at Michael’s where he ignores the comments about the man parked in the car behind his) and they park in the garage, carrying their groceries in their arms up to his unit. They each deposit their cold and frozen items into Luke’s fridge and he pours them each a glass of water as Ashton takes a seat at his kitchen counter. Luke sips from his glass as he watches Ashton glance around his kitchen and living room.

“I try to keep it cozy,” Luke explains as he reaches into a cabinet for a couple pots and pans. He migrates over to his sink to fill a pot with water to boil. “Needed it when I first started the working at night thing and I needed to find a way to force myself to sleep when the sun was up. Gonna make some pasta and chicken thing, that cool?”

Ashton smiles warmly from his place at the counter. “Sounds lovely. You mind if I use that?” he points to the opposite corner of the space where a black Keurig machine sits. “I don’t often do this whole living like normal in the night thing.”

Luke laughs at the comment on being nocturnal. “Go for it.” 

He turns back to the pan of chicken, chopping it up and moving it around some before turning to a different burner and tossing in a few things to make a garlic sauce. He can make maybe two things that qualify as meals rather than just large portioned snacks so he’s opted for one of those since he so rarely has company. 

“What do you do then that’s got you up all through the night?” Ashton asks as he opens the cabinet above the coffee machine pulling down a bright yellow mug. The color suits him, Luke thinks. “You work in tech support or something?”

“Thankfully very far off from that,” Luke starts with a giggle. “I’m absolute garbage with computers. I work the nurses’ desk for the recovery wing at one of the children’s hospitals. It’s a lot of checking and distributing charts, ordering things for the nurses, talking to parents when they want more logistical updates on their child’s care there. Sometimes I get to help entertain the kids who get to go out and about. Yesterday I let them request songs to play for awhile and then we had show and tell.”

“God, you’re like something out of some cheesy movie, huh?”

Luke turns to see Ashton smiling up at him, his arms crossed at his chest as he leans against the counter to face him, the coffee machine whirring to life behind him. Luke bites at his cheek to avoid an entirely too large smile to spread across his face though he knows he can’t help the blush painting it’s way across his nose and cheeks. “It’s a good job. Even worth the whole graveyard shift situation.”

Ashton grimaces at the end of Luke’s reply. “Night shoots used to kick my ass. There is nothing in the world more terrifying than slightly drunk women in hot pink crying over some complete asshole rejecting them after a cocktail party at 2am.”

“Was there anything about it that you liked, though?” Luke asks after he turns down the heat to let the sauce simmer for a bit. He watches Ashton stir some milk into his mug that he retrieved from the fridge.

“Of course,” Ashton answers quickly, in a tone that projects honesty rather than just being used to answering the question. “I got to travel to places I would have never made it to otherwise, meet people that I considered heroes growing up, provide for myself and my family. And for a while that’s why I just dealt with the bull shit. But I started to realize I was working my ass off for all of that good stuff I was getting. That I didn’t have to deal with things in exchange for those things that were mine because of my work.”

Luke isn’t quite sure what to respond to that. Because he’s right, the logic is obvious and sound on all of it. As he’s trying to formulate a response though, Ashton cuts in again. “Though I guess maybe that’s a pretty privileged logic I-”

“No, don’t,” Luke cuts him off. “You shouldn’t justify the unfair parts of your job like that. You shouldn’t have to sacrifice your own values about the way people should be interacting with one another for the sake of drama for good TV ratings. You don’t owe anything to anyone who doesn’t actually give a shit about you as a person. I’ve known you for like two hours and it already just baffles me why someone wouldn’t want to know who you are behind the stage makeup and scripted lines.”

He watches as Ashton lifts the mug to his lips, pink cheeks peeking out from each side (he wonders if the change in color comes from the heat of the mug or the words he’s just said). He lowers the mug and his lips lift into a lazy smile. “See now I’m starting to wonder if I’m actually dead. Your kindness is angelic.”

Luke hasn’t a single clue how to respond to that so he gives the hazel-eyed man a small smile before returning to his saucepan. Ashton shifts the conversation then, asking Luke more about his job before telling him about the gardening he’s taken up since being stuck out in the middle of nowhere on his own. He shows Luke pictures of his herb garden and points out each one as he names it. As he starts putting food into bowls, Luke offhandedly mentions how he’s always wanted to grow lavender but tending to plants when you sleep through the sunshine makes gardening difficult. He drops a fork into a bowl and when he turns to hand it to Ashton, Luke watches as he hits the “Add to Cart” option on an Amazon page for lavender seeds. His heart does some kind of funny rhythm as butterflies burst in his chest. Their eyes meet as Ashton locks his phone and looks up to him. 

“Pretend you didn’t see that, I want it to be a surprise,” Ashton whispers between the two of them, his right eye winking up at Luke as he accepts the bowl.

“So this is going to be happening again then?” Luke muses as he grabs his own bowl and walks toward the living room. Ashton follows behind him. “I should plan for future early morning lunches with a dead celebrity?”

“I know it comes with some amount of risk for both of us but,” Ashton looks down toward his feet, scratching at the back of his neck as he tries to come up with the right way to phrase things. Luke turns to face him as he hears the hesitation in his voice. “I really want to see you again. This has been nice. And not just because you’re the first person I’ve spoken to other than my mother in two months. I...want to know you, Luke.”

Luke smiles tiredly, feelings the earliness of the hour in a way that he hasn’t in quite some time. He watches as Ashton’s fingers fidget with a string hanging from the end of his sweatshirt, obviously nervous about what he’s just admitted to the man he’s only just really met, still. Luke reaches forward for his hand, tangling their fingers together as he squeezes his palm against Ashton’s. It feels nice to be close to someone like this. It’s something he didn’t realize he was missing out on while only really living in the night.

“I think you’re worth the risk, Ashton.”

He watches as Ashton looks down to their intertwined hands, Luke’s eyes following to the same place. His hands are pale from the lack of much sunlight other than what he gets at sunset when he goes out to take his walk after waking. Ashton’s is warm and tanned, likely from the sun he gets from days in his secret garden hideout. He barely knows this man, apart from the apparently highly curated version he’s seen on screen. He wants to know the Ashton that speaks like sunshine and loves love enough to lose his job over. He wants to know the steps he knows he’s skipping in his story right now that led to him faking his own death. So it’s no surprise that the next words have him smiling bright enough to light up the early morning they found each other in. 

“I think we’re worth the risk, too.”

*

[tomsrebeleyebrow]

Hi! Can I ask for a blurb where the reader is insecure about being in a relationship with someone bc she's afraid of getting hurt due to domestic violence that happened in her family so she tells Peter about it and he comforts her? I definetly get it if you don't feel comfortable about writing or if it's a trigger to you, hope you're having a great day/night 😊

A/N: what a heartbreaking request 🥺😢 but in this house, we always provide happy endings even when talking about harsh subjects. so here it is, dear nonnie 💕 all of you out there, care about yourself and never hesitate to talk about it, please. stay safe sweethearts 💖💗

‘Stay safe, Cheer up’ blurb event

A BIT ANGSTY BELOW (MENTION OF VIOLENCE), SO BEWARE! (FLUFF ENDING)

You’ve been in love with Peter since the beginning of secondary school but never dared to confess. Your shy nature always took over in anything you did, acting almost like a shield, a shield you slowly built around yourself year by year to protect you from a lot of things: stress, love and mostly violence.

But how were you supposed to know Peter would actually confess to you once in high school? You still recalled that day when the nerdy boy came to find you at the school library as he somehow knew you would be the only one there at that time.

And you accepting to go out with him definitely shocked your friends, and your own self. But you and Peter were undeniably the cutest couple that could exist, and anyone would agree on that. Two awfully cute teenagers in love.

But something was wrong and Peter felt it - not with his Peter tingle. Even after going out for now four months, you acted a bit strange towards the boy when he got rather close to you, like when holding hands or even sitting close next to each other. Your body seemed to stiff automatically, your facial features tensing as you then began stuttering about weird and nonsense words. As if maintaining some distance between you two on purpose. Mostly, you haven’t said to Peter the three famous words he magically told you to ask you out. He was always the one saying them, hoping you’d say it back to him too but without pressuring you.

I love you.

But still, you never did.

Despite whatever people say, Peter was really observant - this time thanks to his spidey senses - and he was determined to understand what was going on one for all. You already refused to hang out to his apartment multiple times, so the boy asked you for a date on Saturday, only consisting of sitting in the nearest park next to where he lived, to chill around like normal teenagers.

Arrived that day, you both casually sat on a bench drinking soda Peter brought along for the date. People were coming and going in the park, children running after each other on the grass and dogs playing at fetch. A normal Saturday. As you were talking about the next chemistry project of next week, Peter gulped before gently interrupting you, still not too abruptly.

“Err- (Y/N), can I ask you something?”

“Sure Peter, what is it?”

Peter took a deep breath in, hoping to gather some courage and finally spoke again.

“Alright- don’t take it the wrong way, okay? B-but like, I wanted to know- uh... does going out with me bother you? Like I know I’m kinda awkward- okay, a lot actually, so you may have forced yourself to not turn me down... But it’s like you’re building invisible walls around you when I’m near you, w-well that’s how I see it, so you don’t have to-”

Suddenly Peter’s rumbling stopped as he glanced back at you, since you didn’t say a single word. And that was when he noticed you, head low and hiding between your shoulder as if to disappear, and looking away from him.

“Oh God- I’m s-so sorry, (Y/N)! I didn’t mean to hurt you! A-At all! I-I just wanted to understand-”

Peter rumbled again, frantically moving his hands around because his intention was definitely not to upset you, and now he was scared he definitely fucked up any of his chance for you to open up to him.

“... I’m sorry.”

Your voice was like a shy whisper, barely audible but Peter caught it, and cut himself off, almost shocked but mostly confused. Still, he decided to let you talk.

“You’re not the one at fault here, Peter, but it’s me and only me. I just- I-I’m scared...”

You rearranged a strand of hair behind your ear, something you usually do when you’re stressed, your hand slightly trembling. When you finally dared to turn your head back to Peter, you could perfectly read in his eyes he wanted you to proceed in your explanations. So that was what you did.

At first, you were still torn apart from talking about that matter with Peter or not but then, the look in his soft coffee eyes almost screamed to know more. That was Peter, always here to help someone in need. And this time, Peter wanted to help you desperately, the one he grew to love more every day he spent with, to reassure you, to comfort you. At all cost.

So you opened your heart to Peter and exteriorised the morbid thoughts that settled deep inside your being long time ago. How trusting people and getting close to them became nearly impossible since your dad started beating your mum during harsh arguments. Even when you closed yourself in your bedroom, you could still hear her pleadings and cries mixed with your father’s screams. Closing yourself in your wardrobe didn’t change a thing. Your nights got more agitated, nightmares being more frequent than actual dreams, and you kept praying every night to not get hit in return. For nearly seven years, you endured all this violence towards your poor mother, who couldn’t do anything but only plead you between sobs to not say a word to anyone, at the risk of you being in danger too. Even when your dad left you both, your trust towards men was just inexistent and, as sadly as it sounded, Peter was now paying the price of this.

The boy listened to you until the end, carefully and quietly, his eyes never leaving your face. Each of your words etched into Peter’s mind, a heavy feeling soon growing inside of him as your story kept going on. Anger. Not towards you of course, but towards that person you still called “father” who dared to violate your mother in front of your innocent self for so long. Anger towards that paternal figure who made you fear men’s presence near you. An extreme anger because due to that traumatic experience, you were even scared of Peter, your own boyfriend.

But that anger slowly faded into sadness, because dwelling on your though past brought back some bad memories you tried to forget after all these years. And that was when Peter understood he would be the one left to pick up all the pieces of your hurt self, to gather them one by one and finally be able to put them back together.

“(Y/N), look at me please.”

With glossy eyes, your head slightly raised back to look at Peter again, cheeks also a bit red from keeping your tears in. Gently, Peter extended both his hands to you, palms facing the sky. Intrigued, you looked at him before slightly putting your hands on his to rest.

“No one in this word deserve to go through what you did during all these years, (Y/N), and for sure neither you deserved it at all. But remember that I will never raise a single hand at you, that my hands will only provide you comfort and warmth when you need it. And I promise to cherish and protect you from whoever would hurt you in any way. I want you to fully trust me, and I know it may take some time but I don’t care. We will take baby steps and we will make it, okay? Together. I can’t just let you deal with it by yourself anymore. You’re so dear to me and deserve to be happy. Please (Y/N), let me help you-”

As Peter basically forgot how to breath during what sounded like a second love confession, he got interrupted when you threw yourself into his arms. That actually caught the boy by surprise but he didn’t dare to circle his arms around your body, not really knowing how you would react. But he quickly changed his mind as soon as he felt your small hands tightly grip onto the back of his shirt, so his arms gently surrounded you to bring you closer. He rested his cheek on the crown of your head while yours lightly pressed against his torso, his heartbeats soothing your agitated soul.

This was during the embrace you finally knew what you needed to know after all this time: everything would be fine, as long as Peter was by your side.

“Thank you, Peter. So much.”

“I’m here, (Y/N). And always will I be for you.”

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[quant-um-fizzx]

Relenting

Synopsis: James Barnes had always been sweet, until he wasn’t. Somewhere along the way, your mutual attraction took a turn. Now, you can’t tell if he’s playing with you or playing you. Then, fate forces some honesty.

Warnings:  Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader. Smut, Dub-Con (Sex Pollen, my friends), Language, (some) Angst, elements of stalking & emotional manipulation. Explicit, rough sex, slight anal play. Literally the most dirty talk I’ve ever written.

Word Count:  5900

If you’ve come here expecting the comedy erotica or angst I write elsewhere, this is not for you. 

This is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor‘s writing challenge from the prompt: “Just a little more, baby.” (How we got here from there, I’ll never know.) 

I’ve labeled this Dark!Bucky, but he’s probably more gray than dark. But not the soft, uses-all-the-bath-salts-when-you’re-out-of-town Bucky I’d consider more canon.  

 *****

No one can pinpoint when, nobody’s ready to say it out loud, but Barnes came back different. Off. 

Wrong.

Might’ve been that mission in the Midwest (of all places to find that kind of cult) or when someone got it in their fool head to send him to verify exactly what the stone status was on Vormir. Your money’s on the veiled gateway rift that sucked him in but spit two out; he’d beaten his wild-eyed spare and flung it back into the void the moment it’d lunged for you. 

Chances are it’s not a solitary event, but the culmination of everything. One could hardly blame him if it were. 

Whatever, whenever, he’s not the same. Speech now often sly, maneuvering. Manners slipping into predatory where they’d always been soft.

Sometimes, you think you’re imagining it - cold glint like metal chips in ice eyes - that maybe you only see him differently because of failed romance. 

Now, he delights in flustering you. Taunting and near cruel one moment. Playful, protective the next.  Makes it nearly impossible to get a read on him. 

You find, in spite of your better judgement, uncertainty is its own kind of clever seduction. 

“Hey, I know this isn’t really my business, but whatever happened there?” Bruce inclines his head toward where Barnes stalks by outside the lab windows. His second pass since you started to prepping vials for transport. Dark, rough strides. He slips out of view and the lab seems colder. Sleek, sterile.  Your mind conjures up memories of sandalwood on fleece, in stark contrast to the lab’s xylene and bitter almond air. “Everyone thought you two were a good match.”

You smile, wistful. Mourning. “I had hoped so, too. But,” you sigh, “what makes good theory does not necessarily work in practical execution.”

Banner tsks. “Shame. Ever since you came on board, you both used to get along so well. Even now, he still looks at you like you ought to be picking out curtains.”

You scoff. “‘Used to get along’ until he...never mind. Whatever Sergeant Barnes might really want, it’s not that. And definitely not that with me.” He’d made that perfectly clear.

Suddenly, as if he’d heard you - but he shouldn't have, couldn’t have - Barnes pauses outside. His glance locks on your eyes. You fumble and clink the glass against the tray’s edge. 

Bruce shakes his head, gently using a tremendously large, green hand to steady the tongs you hold. “Careful there. Breaking that in here? Could’ve been ugly.”

“Doctor Banner,” you say, placing the final vial in its slot and trying to shift your attention from the man outside, “your report indicated that universal precautions were sufficient for international transport of these ‘classified contagion’ samples. As I have committed to hand-carrying them, despite possessing insufficient clearance to be privileged with details, if it would be best to utilize hazmat gear and airborne pathogen protocols, not only would I appreciate a full disclosure I would consider it your due diligence to do so.”

He nods. “You’re right. You’re right. It’s really an unknown at this point. I’m just being cautious. Using any iteration of the Hulk as a guinea pig is a scenario I strive to avoid.”

“Fair enough.” You click the lid closed, the half dozen tubes of churning red haze goo nestled securely inside. “Do I wait there for test results?”

“Nah,” Bruce says, already on the way back to his microscope. “Thorough runs could take longer than we can spare you here.”  

Smiling, you return your lab coat to it’s hook, smooth your hair, and give the station a once-over, making sure everything has been completed properly. This also serves as a welcome delay to going out those doors and encountering the long-haired enigma who has plagued your thoughts for longer than you care to admit.

“On second thought,” Banner says, peering up over the eyepiece. “She could have a prelim synthesis to send back in no time. Their tech is so different.” 

Taking a deep breath, you gather your gear and subtly check if Barnes is still nearby. Being off-kilter around him, while handling what you suspect is more dangerous than Bruce is letting on, is the last thing you need. 

Being around Barnes doesn’t feel cordial the way it used to. Warm banter that had felt safe.  

You can’t get a read on him, aren’t sure how you feel around him, about him. 

You don’t love him. Probably easily could.

You might fear him. Probably, definitely should. 

You do...care.

Lately, day in, day out, he’s there. Stalking along the periphery, a shuck peering out from woodlands.

He’s charming, affable enough for everyone else’s comfort. He used to be with you, too. 

Even in a crowded room, he  - sullen growl of a man - used to seem alone. The kind of alone that oozes off a person, rolls out from his shoulders. Used to it. Accustomed to it.

Trust only it. 

When you first tried - heart in your throat and skin gooseflesh - when you first stepped up to that guy, part matinee idol, part drive-in backseat rogue, he’d turned in on himself. Tried to force his large frame to disappear. Behind his barriers, he’d just watched you. Wary. Accessing.

But the next time he’d been holding the wall up, ale bottle in loose metal grip, you didn’t have to look for an opening. He’d lifted his chin and inclined his head toward chairs.

After that, the pair of you could be found engaged in long, private conversations. Content to let whatever ruckus go on around you. Foreheads nearly touching. Fingers not-so-casually brushing together. Your stomach flutters at the memory.

Now, his attention makes the hair on your neck stand up at least as much as it travels down your belly, between your thighs. Puts you on edge, mouse batted between paws. 

When you exit the lab, he’s waiting. Leans his back against a column, arms folded. Legs crossed at the ankles, pants taunt were they wrap around his thighs. His eyes flick to you, his only perceived movement. “Whatcha got there, Red?”  He draws each word out as if puffing smoke.

Your eyes go wide before you can stop them. Left corner of his mouth ticks up, goal met. 

The nickname startles you for a moment. It always does. He dusts the name off, digs it out once in awhile, just when you’ve almost forgotten. When you’ve let your mind scab over that single, awkward date. Forgotten how once upon a time, even his team thought you’d “be good together” and made that final push to fix you up. 

It had been right after the rift clone incident. If you’d not been so caught up in him - that red warmth that unfurled in your chest - you should’ve known. Paid attention to his shift, his change. The tragedy of it all.

You’d worn a crimson silk column dress, French twist, Replique dotted on pulse points. 

He’d worn black jeans and blood-dirt under his nails.

Peering at you over his menu, he’d dropped it down and motioned between you both. “You took this seriously, huh?”

Only just enough to have waxed everything reasonably prudent. 

Crestfallen, your shoulders dropped. Clearly, you thought, you’d misread the prior conversations, his lingering looks, mistakenly thought he returned your interest.

Cheeks on fire, you’d started to fold your napkin and push your chair back. “My apologies, Sergeant Barnes. I won’t take up any more of your time. You may return to the Olympic-level brooding of which you are so fond and I will retire for the evening.”

He’d thrown his head back, barked what might’ve been a laugh. “You’ll ‘retire for the evening?’“ Shook his head. “Red, you’re too much.” He grabbed a waiter - not ours, but Barnes didn’t let that stop him - “Bring us that special and a bottle of whatever makes uptight dames spread their legs these days.”

You sat still, mouth open, staring at your fork. 

He reached out, took your hand in his. Seemed to apologize with his eyes. They held yours, sky fading into sapphire. Held you without touching you. 

You look up behind lashes. “Dinner is just...we can have a good time. Talk.”  

“Yeah, let’s have the Blue Plate. See how it goes.,” he said. 

Then, the air had shifted, when he seemed...vulnerable...he pulled away. 

By the end of the night, the pulse pounds in your ears. You’d talked and laughed and when he walked you home, you knew you’d invite him in. You’d always known.  

He’d walked you to your door, eight-to-ten now-uncharacteristically chivalrous inches between your bodies on the way up the steps. Single bulb buzzing overhead. The key had proven elusive. Always on its ring and placed in the back pocket of your purse, your shaking fingers had let it slip down somewhere in your bag. 

He stepped in closer behind you, looking over your shoulder, breath passing over the shell of your ear. “You need a hand there?”

You jolted up straight, back bumping into his chest. “Thank you,” your voice cracked, “but I think I can manage unlocking my own stupid door.”  You inhaled sharply through your nose. “Excuse me,” you said, sounding mousy even to your own ears. “I didn't mean for that to sound so rude.”

“You didn’t, hmm?” He hums, breath slipping down your neck and he wrapped his right hand low around your waist.

“No,” you swallowed hard. Your skin on fire under his palm. 

“So, you’re saying you would like a hand...” He whispered, smoothing cool fingers down along the space between your hip and thigh. 

Limbs shaking, desire and curiosity and confusion swirling in your veins. You tried to find your voice, leaned against his chest’s blister strum. Shuddered as another warm breath huffed over your skin. 

“Y-yes.”

He spun you and you found your back suddenly against the cold, wooden door. His face hovered, lips barely an inch above your own. 

“As much as I think you think you want this.” He traced your collarbone, eyes burrowing into yours. “As much as I enjoy hearing your heart race.” His finger dipped inside your neckline, under the edge of your bra, skimming pebbled flesh. You shuddered, worried some neighbor might be looking, but unable to tear your gaze away from his. 

“Today’s your lucky day, Red. I am gonna leave ya jus’ the way I found ya.” He pressed himself against you, thigh wedged between yours. “‘Cause, if I stay here on this porch one more minute, with you an’ your wide eyes, smelling like sins you don’t begin to understand…” Stubble grazed your cheek. He hummed, words hot and heavy in your ear. “I think I’d ruin you.”

You wanted to grab his hand and hold it there. To ask him in and show what he did to you, to prove to him...to yourself...that this could be good. Special. Right.     

“You wouldn’t ruin me. I - I trust you, ” you squeaked, instead. Tentatively closed that fractional space, brushed your lips against his. 

He didn’t let it become a kiss. “You misunderstand me.” He moved back a bit, pulled his arm free and ran knuckles down between you, tracing your chest and then grabbing tightly around your waist. Pushed you, a quick snap, deeper into the door.

“I want to.”

Then, he’d bound off the porch and down the steps before the night air had even cooled your skin. Calling out behind him as he cut across the grass, “You aren’t ready, little girl.”

His words play back every night as you fall into fitful sleep.

Now, he looks at you knowingly. Like he knows where your mind was, that shared flickering old film reel memory.

You hold up the vials and manage a small laugh. It’s short. Belies your nerves. 

“Oh, I - I have some things to deliver to Shuri. To Shuri’s lab.” 

“Shuri’s lab.” He says, mouth moving as if rolling around an invisible hay straw. He still leans, unblinking, trained on you. 

A moment of silence as he considers you. Electricity buzzes across your skin. Words rush out of you to fill the void. “Shuri’s lab. In Wakanda. Shuri’s lab.”

His eyes crinkle, pleased as you stumble over your words. “Yeah, I’m familiar.” 

Of course he is. You’re supposed to be smarter than this. 

**

Across the hanger, Clint performs his pre-flight checklist. 

“Change of plans,” he calls out, back still turned to you. “Laura’s got me roped into filming a play tonight.”

“Okay,” you say, unable to fault her for wanting to keep Clint as retired as possible. “I need to put these samples back on ice then.” You start to head back when a shadow emerges from inside the jet. 

Clint says, dryly, “You’re going. Looks like I'm still the only one around here who doesn’t have a Wakanda stamp on my passport.”

Barnes peers down from the quinjet ramp, takes the checklist, and winks. Your stomach drops. 

Clint claps him on the shoulder. “Say ‘hi’ to those damn goats for me.”

Once inside the jet, Barnes gestures toward the insulated box you carry. “That it there? What did Barton call it? Funky Cold Medina?”

Of course. Yes, naturally. That’s exactly what it would be. Aphrodisiac Pheromones. Sex Pollen. 

The mystery of why evil organizations frequently leave a cache of screw-or-die juice sitting around abandoned complexes for wandering bands of Do-Gooders to uncover is as baffling as why they consider rampant libido to be a great offensive strategy in the first place. 

Nodding curtly, acting unruffled by the news, you brush past him and secure it in the cooler. 

**

The plane is at cruising altitude before either of you speak again.

“How long has it been since you’ve been to Wakanda?” You venture, throat tight.

He runs his tongue along his teeth, never looking away from the sky, then answers, “Haven’t been back since Strange showed up.”  He pauses, then continues, “Used to have a nice place there. Best view. Sunsets over still water.” Leans slightly out of his seat in your direction. “I think I wanna take you there.”

A smile comes over you, wide and almost hurting your cheeks. This glimpse of how he’d been, hope tingles along your arms. 

“I’d love that.” And you would. Have him let you in, return to where he’d been and who he was.

“Sure thing,” he says, voice lilting out on a devil smirk. “I could take you there. It’s...secluded. Make you scream.”

“Why do you do that?” The tingles take on a different tenor. 

“Do what?” He sounds believably innocent in the way a prostitute dresses up like a nun. 

You fidget, nails scratching a foreign itch on your palms, and chastise yourself, reminded again why it’s better when you don’t get your hopes up. Don’t act on your urge to spend time with him.  Your once almost more-than-friend...your wishful thinking...seems gone for good. Now, when he comes around, it feels like finding yourself suddenly teetering on a high ledge when you’d expected grass between your toes. 

“Why must you be so...so, crude?” 

“It is. I am. That’s the point though, isn’t it?  You like it,” he says matter-of-factly, looking you up and down, “Hell, you crave it. And that’s what’s got you confused, all tied up in knots.” He turns in his chair, arms bent and leaning on his knees, casual, is if he was discussing new coffee in the common room or a cell phone plan. “Because you’re stuck thinking the goal is a fella wife-ing you up,” he snorts.

“Hell, Red, you’re still stuck thinking you want a guy grunting on top of you Tuesdays from 9 to 9:10 with a meatloaf pan soaking in the sink.” He shakes his head. ”You have hangs-ups and I’m not gonna play along with them like that boring ass agent you wasted time on.”

“Stop,” you whisper. “Please, stop trying to scare me.”

He blows out a lungful of air. “It doesn’t scare you. That I could just take it. That I could have you - have you in all the ways that you won’t let yourself think you want. The thoughts you kill before you can admit them in the back of that beautiful mind of yours. I could have you every one of those ways. But, that’s not how I want it. Not how I want you. What scares you,” he says, leaning in. “What scares you is, that I won’t. I won’t let you keep fooling yourself about what you really want. 

“You know, deep down you know, that’s not how it’s gonna happen. You gotta admit what you need.”

He inches a little closer. “You’re gonna have to beg.”

Your heart stops, eyes unblinking. “You’re wrong.”

“No,’ he says, returning to the controls and beginning your descent. “No, you’re wrong - and I’m a different kind of wrong. I’m so wrong that I’m the only thing right.”

Your head pounds. Stomach lurches as the plane breaks beneath the clouds. “You used to be my friend,” you half-mumble, staring down at your knees. “Sweetheart,” he punches the word out, saccharine-sweet, “I was never meant to be your friend.”

**

Silence stretches out for several more minutes. Only the engine’s hum, lull and dense, barely bats at the thoughts raging in your mind. Barnes’ words, his presence, suffocates you. Even strapped securely in his pilot seat, it feels like he’s crushing your lungs.

The plane lands in an outlying region. 

“I should be back by four,” you spit, container swinging wildly from your fist. The walk is probably twenty minutes from here and you relish the idea of having the quiet to process things.

“Orders are I make sure you’re safe.” He falls in step.

You spin and push a single finger into his chest, stopping him in his tracks. “Your services are not needed, Barnes.”

“Don’t be like that,” he snaps, serious. “Just because you’re pissed at me for saying shit you don’t wanna hear, don’t put yourself in danger.”

“Danger? I think I’m infinitely safer out here. It’s Wakanda, the most advanced place on the planet!” You sweep your arms wide toward the city in the distance, towers like exclamation points jutting out of fields. “I’ll be fine. Besides, the plane could have flown directly to the palace but you’re the one who elected to land way out here.”

He pushes his hair out of his face, holding it up and off his neck. You notice the curve, the warm, inviting color of his skin. He looks out toward the trees, calm as anything, like your outburst never happened. “Guess I can check out the old stomping ground.”

Fighting the urge to flip him off, you march down the ramp, leaving him standing there. “By all means. Go have congress with a goat for all I care.”

**

Mid afternoon, as soon as you break the tree line on your return, he emerges from the woods. Appears freshly bathed in the river, mane wet and loose, shirt clinging to his frame. 

“After you,” he smiles, wolfish, and bows exaggeratedly, inviting you to go first up the ramp. 

Your eyes narrow, but you climb inside anyway. 

Suddenly, coming around from behind you, his hand reaches for the biohazard bag containing the single tube Shuri had sent back.

“What are you doing?” You snatch the bag away, crushing it to your body.

He throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Begging your pardon. Just trying to be a gentleman and carry your bag.”

“Knock it off, Barnes. If you’ve got a predilection for hearing every woman throw themselves at your feet, you can satiate it someplace else.” 

“Oh, I can. Just don’t wanna.” His eyes narrow on the bag and he wrenches it out of your grasp, tosses it unceremoniously into the cooler and slams the door 

You watch the cooler as if the door might burst open and the horny wrath of Hell take flight about the cabin.  When it remains undisturbed until Barnes completes the pre flight rituals, you finally allow yourself to breathe a little deeper and turn away from it.  

“And you wound me,” he croons, spinning his seat into position. “It’s not every woman.”

You roll your eyes, strap in, and swear you’re never giving him the satisfaction of hearing you speak again. 

That resolve, among other things, breaks over the Atlantic.

The air fills, flowery. Like a florist’s shoppe - oh. Oh, god no -  so many scents it feels fake. Cloying and sweet. 

“Wha-What is- we need to land!”

He holds his hand up toward the windshield, water as far as the eye can see. “No problem. Just shout ‘ahoy’ when you spot some dirt.”

You fling aside the belt and run toward the cooler.  Viscous sludge flows slick as mercury on the floor around it. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Barnes yells from the cockpit. 

You start rummaging through cabinets, looking for something, anything. “Maybe I can dilute it, cut the effects.” You open the cooler and pull the bag out. It’s ruptured, the vial broken and plastic cut, or eaten away by the chemical, it’s hard to tell at this point. 

“By touching it?!” He punches in codes hard enough the key clanks echo. “Stop, just - just wait. Wait two seconds until I can find out what’s what.”

You fling the near empty bag at the back of the plane. “You! You did this on purpose!” The plastic thumps, hollow against the metal door. A roaring, mute thing.

Barnes shakes his head once, hisses between clenched teeth, “You’re the one who smashed it against their chest.” 

Then, he cleanly switches tone - deep and clear - speaking into his earpiece. “Banner. Yeah, we have a situation here.

“The package Shuri sent back has been compromised. We’re mid flight, no safe place to put her down. Need to mitigate effects. Please advise.”  He pauses, presumably listening to Bruce, then purses his lips. “Nothing? Banner, are you sure?” Turns again, gives you a gauging look.

This can’t be happening. Can’t. You start to shake, knees going out from under you.

He keeps his eyes on you, touches the earpiece. “Nothing. Understood. Barnes out.” Then rips it off and throws it hard enough to shatter.

A thousand thoughts swirl at once. Is it really going to work? How long do you have? What if you go at it like rabbits who just got out of prison and then have to face him day-after-day? What if it works on you both but he resists? 

Preemptive humiliation, clawing feral behind your ribs, the terror of possibly being rejected if you, if you...finally admit...

Then, Barnes is there, crouched down beside you, offers you his hand. You wave it away. 

“Doll,” he says, soft, like one might coax a fawn to take berries. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Sniffling, you shake your head. 

“C’mon,” he says softer yet and backing up, giving you space. “Get out of that. Come, sit.” 

You look down and realize the liquid is seeping toward you. Some on your leg. Scrambling past him you make it to the other side of the cabin and slump back down to the floor. He moves away from the spill, but keeps his distance, placing himself on the other side of the aisle. 

“Why?” Betrayal pours out of you.

He sits down on the floor opposite you. Legs bent and knees up, hands clasped and hanging between. “You gotta believe me, the very last thing I want is something happening between us that’s not real.”

You stare at him. He seems so genuine in this moment. But, you force focus, because this is how he always is, right before he pulls the rug out from under you.

When you don’t reply, he breaks the silence again. “Besides, maybe it doesn’t even work. Hasn’t kicked in already. That’s a good sign. I’ve been around that type of shit before,” he pauses, looking off to the right, unfocused on something that isn’t really there, remembering some horror you don’t want to contemplate. “It’s not always so bad.” He shrugs, picks a string off his pants. “Even if it is, if it is...bad, I know I can hold off.”

You can’t look at him. Not when his voice is soft and his words are kind and he reminds you so much of the man you fell...the man you...

dammit.

He gets up slowly. Checks the autopilot. Eases back down where he was. Boots scuffing out in front of him along the metal floor.

“Did you mean what you said?” You venture. He just raises his eyebrows. “When you said you wanted something real with me-with us?” You elaborate, barely audible. 

He clears his throat, rearranges himself on the floor. Stares off at nothing. “Why else would I hold off all this time? At first, sure, I thought you were interesting enough. Probably good for letting off steam.” He looks to you for a moment, then away again. “Then, you just sorta snuck in. Took over. You and your little button up sweaters.” Gives a little chuckle. “Fucking seduced me with your cardigans and ‘Nova’ recaps.” 

Mulling it over, you start to ask, “Then, why do you-”

“You know why.”

He blows out a lungful of air.  “Because I’m not settling for half-ass. Never had much. But they always find a way to take even more.” 

So torn up in your own stupid fears - selfish, petty girl - you never thought about his lot in this. A sob punches out of you. Made and unmade. So many times. Here’s another time, one more damned time, he faces control of himself being torn away.

You don’t know how long you sit there, crying into your hand. Eventually, he swipes a tear from your face. 

He scoots back away. But his touch...lingers. He watches you trace where he’d been, little lightning strikes that turn and shift, then burn. Burns past your skin, thrums in your veins.

“It’s happening.”

“Nah, Doll. We’re halfway home, we’re not gonna do anything we don’t want to do.” 

His voice, coffee rich and smoke, settles in your belly. Your hips clench, rock. You think, this must be the cusp, there’s more to come, but you want to tell him, show him...feel him before you’re so far gone it’s a blur.

Hazy want swirls around him, poppies and violets and jet fuel in the air. Your hand sneaks up under your shirt, the rough outline of it juts out over your breast. He’s sitting up now. Licks his lips. 

“I can’t - noooo,” you say, breathless. It’s scorching now. Boiling, latent want bubbling up. You pull your shirt off, burning.

“I can’t wait,” you plead. He looks so good, always looks so damned good. “I don’t want to wait.”

His back goes straight. Muscles tense. Ready to pounce. 

“Not like this.” His breath has picked up. “Not if you think you can tell yourself later that it was chemicals talking.”

“You want real, Barnes? I’ll give you real,” you purr. Stretch out lythe before him. It’s not so bad, but you know it will be. “I do want this. I want you. Always have.”

He smiles, crooked, but doesn’t move. “That’s nice. Real nice to hear.” Watches your hand go under your clothes, between your legs. “That’s not enough. I could’ve had you back then. Back on your porch. Had you a couple times. Taken the edge off. Maybe gotten it outta our systems. But,” he stops for a moment, seeming to reconsider when you moan as you slip between your folds. He palms the hard length of him. “that’s not enough. I want all of you.”

Electric yearning rolls your shoulders, pressure between your legs frustrating. “Please.”

“‘Please’ what?” He shifts again, watching you, sweat forming on his brow. Fists clenched at his sides.

“I don’t want to date you, Red. Don’t wanna be your boyfriend or any fucking trivial thing like marriage.” Stares you down, blue boring into your soul. “I want more than that meaningless shit.”

Your mind is nothing but the want of him - broad shoulders, his gravel-tired voice, the thick of him. 

Skin on fire with tremors. “Anything you want, Bucky. Everything. Please. I just, just-” you moan, a twisted mess on the floor before him. Voice a shuddered breath.  “You’re right. I want you everywhere. Mark me up. Show me - show me you own me.”

“Fuck yeah, I do.” Then, he’s there. Hands holding your jaw, angling you open, tongue a deep slide. He breaks free, swallows your breaths, presses his head to yours. 

He’s out of his clothes while you fumble with what’s left of your own. They start to rip. “Shush. Let me.” Deftly, he undoes them, sets you free. “You need to wear these later. No one gets to see but me.” His eyes sparkle mischief until the thin sky edge gives way to black.

Cool fingers slide inside you. One, then two. Curl and pump, wet and obscene. Moments and, you’re there. “I’m gonna...I’m gonna come.”

He doesn't let up. “Yeah you are. Give it to me.”  Your head falls forward, clinging, hanging on through a silent scream, wet rushes past his wrist.

“My turn,” he snarls. Towers over your, pushes a finger past your lips, hooks it around you cheek, and pulls you to his cock. Pressure and he angles your face up, finger replaced by thumbs at each side pulling your mouth wide - drool pooling - and pushes the tip onto your tongue. 

You give a tentative lick. Try to work the girth of him while he holds you open. “Look at me,” he says, hair a veil framing his face. “You can do better than that. Don’t hold back.”

You keep your eyes on him, nudge his hands away, work him halfway down, salty musk on the back of your tongue. 

“This ain’t about you being passive, Sugar. Come on. Show me what I do to you. Fucking treat me right,” he growls, grabs your head and shoves as you gag. “I didn’t spend months coming in my own hand, thinking about you, biding my time - waiting to do this right - for you to barely-” 

Fast, determined, almost angry, you swallow him down as far as possible, eyes wet and blurred.  Find the spot behind him, between his legs, warm, heavy, and rub in tight ovals. “Fuuuck - yesssss.” He twists your hair in his hands - holding you in your place. 

“That’s it. Oh god, Sugar, you didn’t just come up with that. What else you got hiding, waiting to show me? So fuckin -“ he shudders as you massage him more, pinky brushing farther back. 

He laughs, surprised. “Dirty girl.” He pulls out, then wraps his hand around your neck, squeezing himself there as he pushes back in. “You got the sweetest goddamn throat.” Thrusts while you run your circuits until he empties himself, head thrown back and thighs straining.

He moves faster than should be humanly possible, unfurls his jacket over the floor grid, and pulls you over it. Wads his shirt under your knees.

“Floor’s hard,” he says, chest rising and falling rapidly. “I only want you feelin’ me.”

“Spread.” He smacks your ass with a sting.

You obey, arch your back, offer yourself. He dives in with his mouth, tongue in deep. When he starts to thumb your clit, constellations bursting behind your eyes, you stop him. “In me. I want to come with you inside me. Only with you inside me.”

He smiles, face slick with you. Straightens, grabs your hips and pulls you to him as he starts his slide in. 

You mewl, palms flat and fingers splayed. Try to relax through the stretch and drag, strain to take the rest of him.

He runs his hand over your spine. “Just a little more, baby,” he coos. “Fuck. Look at you. Takin’ me so good.

“You’re mine. The moment I heard your heart race, you were mine. When I made you wait, you were still mine. When I told you to beg for it and you did, you were mine. When I told you to spread your legs and you did it, you were mine.” He makes a final push, fully seated, sharp spark at your end. Holds you there, pulsing. Then, pulls out long, begins again. 

It’s everything you ever wanted. He was so right. So, so right and you can’t believe you waited for so long and you really need to thank Shuri for not inventing vibranium test tubes. 

“When that bastard wearing my face looked at you, looked at you like he had the right, that’s when-”  He moans long and low, makes a particularly full stroke, air sucking through his teeth. 

“That’s when I knew. No other man could have you. Even if that man was me.”

His hands dig into your hips. Anchoring you. He holds you open, watching. Cold thumb follows the line down the center of you. Stops above where you meet. Pad runs over where you’re tight and untested. 

“Pleeeease,” you keen. You need him. Need him everywhere. 

His hips falter, finesse sacrificed to curious need. 

“Has anyone been in here before?”

“No,” you mewl, debauched, wanton. 

His pace picks up. Harder, slamming, sting against cervix. “I need in there. Fuck. Sugar, let me in.”

Beyond words, you tilt your hips and push back, forcing him in knuckle deep.

“Only me,” he roars. “Promise me. Swear.” He angles over you, spreads you out, chest crushing to the floor. His free hand finds your neck. Pins your down. Breath harsh beside your ear.

“You. Only you.” You come, crying and clenching around him in all the places he is within. 

He pulls out. Kisses your face as he lifts you, turns you to him.

He settles between your waiting thighs - surrounds, nuzzles in, taking in your scent - until there’s nothing you can see, or feel, think, that isn’t him. 

Then he stills. Then watches. Then breathes.

Brushes his warm hand along the curve of your face. Presses a kiss, pillow soft. Weight pinning you down. He pushes fully back in, his head breaking skyward as you take him. 

Hips rolling full - the drag and curve brings him to your chest. His tongue slips along you breast, seeks and teases. Licks and pulls you in. 

His hands wrap around your thighs, anchors you, opens you up. Kisses deep and pushes in, until you’ve run out of you and he’s run out of him.

“Fuuuck, you feel so good. I knew you would. Thought about you every fu- every fucking day.” 

He stops for a moment, beaming down at you. You realize you were the one talking.   

“That’s my girl.” 

Then, he’s moves, ruts, whispers faint praise into your skin. Low. Can’t quite hear.

And you want to hear.

You want to taste his secrets and feel his sounds and listen to his mouth on you.

You push up into him, hard, matching him. You explode again, suddenly. 

“Fuuuuck.  He swells. Rhythm falters. Marks your walls. 

After, you tuck into his side, both of you curled up on the floor. His face is finally relaxed, serene. You press your lips above his heart.

“Bucky, I want you to know, I wanted this, I will always want this. I am yours. It wasn’t just the chemicals.”

He kisses the sweat and tears from your face. Tucks your hair behind your ear. “I know, Red, I know,” he says, eyes sparkling, voice sincere, “Bruce said there was ‘nothing’ to worry about. That wasn’t the pollen - that was just the antidote.”