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bigtreefest · 10 months ago

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Chapter 3: Honey Trap

From: You Catch More Bees With Honey Series

Pairing: Mob! Bucky x Farmer! Reader

Summary: A Farmer’s Market and Pouring out your heart over a beer leads to Bucky learning more about his favorite mysterious farmer

Content/warnings: mentions of previous heartbreak and descriptions, a surprising amount of crying/near-crying, soft mobster Bucky, Heartless Jake, Creepy Cole, mentions of blood/period (not graphic and should be normalized because this happens to me all the time and I know I’m not alone in that), excessive drinking and lowkey alcoholism, cowboy hat rule, mutual pining and reluctance towards that, y/n used like three times

Word Count: 5,295

A/N: I didn’t mean for this chapter to be this long, but also, I definitely meant for it to be this long. Sorry for making dear, wonderful, Jake Jensen out to be a bad guy, and NOT sorry for making Cole Turner a creep. Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks are SUPER appreciated. Thank you for reading, I love you *gives forehead kiss*

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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Bucky knew lots of languages. Country was not one of them. You would think it would be, with how many arms purchasers were from the south, but he kept his dealings with those folk as short and formal as possible. It was better for his sanity and everyone else that way.

He’d been running into a lot of country folk today, helping you run this farmer’s market out of one of your barns. Half of his conversations with people were full of twangy words and phrases he didn’t understand, so he just lightly laughed, hoping that was the right response. The other half were children, asking him what the bump was on the side of his head, the result of the bee incident earlier this week. Before, it was slightly swollen and red, but it was nearly back to normal. Darn kids have keen eyes, though, and no shame. He’d just about had enough. These people were too polite, besides their annoying children. Lucky for him, though, he’d sold off the last of the turnip greens, and his cash box was full, so he made his way over to you at the stand holding the freshly jarred honey you’d successfully, and he’d not-so-successfully harvested earlier in the week. It was just in time to catch the tail end of a conversation he saw you were having with a slightly older woman.

“You’re like our very own honeybee”

“Oh please, Mrs. Jensen, you know the bees do all the work. I just put it in a jar”

“You’re too modest, dear. My Jakey says no one makes sweeter honey than you. I always tell him to come back and help if he loves it that much, but it seems he’s too late now. Looks like you’ve got yourself a new farm hand who’s easy on the eyes”

Bucky glanced up at her through his eyelashes with his signature smirk, raising to a stand from setting the empty turnip green crate at your feet. “Well you know what they say, honeybees don’t work alone. And their hard work makes the world go round.”

For some reason unbeknownst to him, Bucky slung his hand over your shoulder. Was it jealousy he was feeling? Possessiveness? Why, he didn’t own you and he promised himself he wouldn’t fall, physically or metaphorically (although it was far too late physically, and he didn’t want to think about how close he truly was metaphorically). Plus, it’s not like he was having the best time right now. This whole week was a nightmare, and the only reason he was in a decent mood was from seeing your smile as you interacted with the town’s folk today. You were a person of the people, in juxtaposition to how Bucky was often only looking out for himself. So why did the mention of Jakey make this feel necessary and why did it feel so right? Either way, he was proud of you and your hard work and the way it made people beam as bright as Mrs. Jensen. But he’d never say that. Where he’s from, hard work is expected and definitely not praised, although not nearly as manual. But seeing all the effort for that couple jars of honey made him question if the work he was even doing was that hard. Maybe he’d been away from the city too long and was losing perspective. Yeah. That had to be it.

“Well, either way, bless y’all’s heart for putting in the work. I’ll tell Jake you say hello.”

You and Bucky both waved goodbye.

“Well how about it Honeybee, Jakey appreciates all your hard work” he smirked, but watched the smile slide off your face.

“Try telling me that with our awful breakup years ago” you shrugged off with a small chuckle, but Bucky could see the light drain out of your eyes a little. He had obviously struck a nerve, but didn’t want to push farther, at least not now when there were still a few customers aimlessly shopping around for the last bits of produce left. Maybe he’d catch you once the two of you were alone.

You turned away from him to hide your grimace. Thinking back to that whole situation with Jake, on top of serving others all morning had completely drained you and it was quickly catching up.

“Um, why don’t you finish cleaning up the rest of the empty crates after you ask those last few people how you can help them with anything” you waved off Bucky back towards the other end of the barn, head down, starting to look through the cash box he had handed you. You waited until you could hear his receding footsteps on the hay floor to sniffle and take a deep breath. Bucky had keen ears, though, and hesitated hearing your sigh, before he continued on, giving you your chance to regroup. He had never seen you like this before, you were normally chipper and full of energy, often a little too much for his liking, but luckily it was Friday, and after he closed these deals, you both were home free.

Bucky quickly helped the last few stragglers take their rather large haul back to their car. An older man and woman who owned the bar in town had come to get some fresh vegetables for their salads, and Bucky convinced them to take the lot with his charm. That, and he wanted to make sure he didn’t have to carry them all the way back to storage. That was a long way, and you made him walk it. He rolled his eyes when you had told him about the task, too, handing him the handle to a little red wagon with a beaming smile on your face, insisting “that’s how Pappy did it before his first tractor” and “what did you think, I like wasting diesel for food that’s supposed to have a low carbon footprint? That’s why I’ve got you, Bucket.” So Bucky grumbled under his breath at first light, angry, yet amused that the nickname stuck, but still too tired to react any differently when he started the first of his dozen trips to move the produce from storage into the farmer’s market barn. And there was no way he was gonna do that again, so he convinced the couple to take the lot, even offering to carry it out to the car for them, because that was better than the quarter mile walk both ways through the tall grass of your fallow fields to return them.

“Thank you so much for your help, Jamie. You’ve taken such good care of us, you should come by the bar later if you can get some free time from Miss Y/L/N over there. She’s quite the hard worker, maybe bring her along. Drinks on us.” The older lady looked at Bucky with a soft smile.

Jamie, no one had called him that since his mom. Country folk and their want for instant closeness. He hardly knew this lady and already she was trying to be endearing, but her forced charm was nothing compared yours even when you weren’t trying. She looked over Bucky’s shoulder at you carrying a stack of heavy wooden crates out of the barn, hardly struggling, but very determined before sliding them back into the truck. Bucky’s eyes followed hers, a small grin of admiration creeping onto his face at your independence and mastery at everything you do, no matter how simple.

“Yeah, hardest worker out there. I’ll see if I can convince her to take a break.” He turned back and walked the lady to her door, opening it for her to get in.

“Drive safely. Hope to see you later Mr. and Mrs. Carter.” He shut the door and made his way back over to your truck. You had already gotten in and started it with the windows down. Bucky slid into the bench seat to be met by you with your forehead resting on the wheel in between your hands. You took a sharp inhale and shot up, putting on a fake smile, albeit less forced than earlier.

“Ready to go meet Curtis? We’ve just gotta touch base with him and then we’re good to be done for the day.”

“Um, yeah. Sounds good.”

Bucky wasn’t sure how to continue with you in that mood. Should be keep talking? Did you prefer the silence to think? The radio was low on the dash, but not silent, so he decided to speak up.

“Did you see who I was helping? They said they own the bar in town. Maybe we can go for a drink tonight? Celebrate a long week done?”

You sighed. Again. “Um, yeah. I actually think that sounds really good. We both need the decompression. TGIF, ya know?” You forced out a small laugh which Bucky returned and he turned forward as you continued the drive back toward your house.

When the two of you entered the farmhouse, your were greeted by Curtis, your weekend farmhand, sitting at the dining room table. He had already helped himself to a glass of sweet tea you kept in the fridge, mainly for him, which was made from your Aunt’s recipe he loved so much.

“Oh, good, you’re back from chores already.” Curtis had been kind enough to come in today to work on some tasks since you and Bucky had your hands full with the market. He usually only worked Saturday and Sunday since this was his second job, but he’d sometimes come in to help extra, like today.

“Bucket, this is Curty b—oh sorry, Curtis. He’s the one that makes sure things run smoothly when I’m not. He’s a whiz at fixing the machinery, perks of him also being the best mechanic in town.”

Bucky warily stepped forward, eyes narrowed, barely noticeable, and shook Curtis’s hand. Who is this guy who let himself into your house? “Bucky is fine, really.”

Curtis let out a chuckle, “nice to meet you, Bucket. It’s ok, I talked to Y/N about making cheese curds once, and she’s called me ‘Curty boi’ ever since.”

Bucky laughed and shook his head, looking over his shoulder. You just shrugged with a small smile on your face, already more relaxed and relieved to be inside your home with someone you didn’t feel like you had to put up a front for, that was reassuring. Bucky went into the kitchen to get you both a glass of water as you sat next to Curtis at the table, joined by Bucky sitting across after he handed you your glass. The three of you briefly talked about the chores Curtis had done that day, how the farmer’s market went, and what all needed done that weekend.

Curtis seemed nice, not threatening. The visceral tinge of jealousy left Bucky’s body as the conversation went on. If Curtis was going to make a move, he would’ve done it by now, surely. But the two of you were clearly just close friends. Why did Bucky keep feeling like this?

As you wrapped up, Curtis slapped his knees with both his hands and went to stand. “Well, I better get going, sun’s starting to get pretty low.”

Curtis and Bucky had been getting along pretty well, so you spoke up. “Well actually, Bucky and I were gonna go to the bar in town tonight. Care to join?”

“Yeah, I’d love to. There are just a few things I’ve gotta check on in the shop first, but I can drop by after. Does that work?”

“For sure. We’ll see you then” You and Bucky shared a small smile before you closed the door behind Curtis and turned back to the mob boss standing in your foyer.

“Ok, Cowboy. Good job today. Go take a shower, we’re going out.” Bucky beamed, which you returned, and he felt a warmth bloom in his chest at your praise.

“Yes, ma’am, Miss Honeybee” you smiled and rolled your eyes as he ran up the steps, following behind to get ready, yourself. He was really glad your mood was starting to turn around.

As Bucky went to his room to gather his clothing, his mind started to drift towards why he cared how you felt. He was just here for business, right? So why did it bother him if you were sad? If anything, he should want you vulnerable to help him come out on top of your business, but something deep inside of him felt more satisfaction when you were winning. He shook the thoughts from his head. Maybe a cold shower could help him sort this out.

Bucky came down the stairs and sat on the couch just as he heard your hair dryer start up. He had gotten ready quickly, throwing on one of his henleys, his nicer jeans, and a pair of boots Sam had sent him this week when he had heard about the whole ‘borrowing clothes situation.’

He shot Steve a text, telling him that the two of you were going out to the bar with Curtis, to which he replied Have fun, Bucket😉.

Ugh, why did he have to tell Steve about that, it was never gonna go away now. Bucky had gotten a call from Steve each evening giving updates on the business, with Bucky doing the same on his end, keeping it short, only noting the highlights and trying to keep his emotions in check and out of the updates. His best friend knew better, though, even if Bucky wasn’t fully aware of the extent of his feelings yet.

Bucky got up and walked around, looking through the photos and knick knacks in your living room, before stopping by the mirror behind your front door and checking his appearance. This look wasn’t what he was used to. He was extremely dressed down compared to the designer suit he’d likely be sporting in one of his clubs if he were back in the city. He hadn’t even bothered to gel his hair because it seemed you didn’t care when he did, plus, he wanted to save that valuable product for a real occasion, no use in wasting it to go slum with a bunch of hillbillies. He looked to the coatrack next to the mirror to see a hat that matched his boots perfectly and plopped it on his head, swaying side to side to see how it looked.

Just then, you started to make your way down the stairs but stopped in your tracks seeing Bucky in that hat. His head snapped up to look at you.

“What? Does this hat make me look dumb?”

You smiled and shook your head.

“No, not at all” Bucky could see tears well up in your eyes, accompanied by sparkles of fondness and, sadness?

“That was my uncle’s hat. He taught me everything I know”

“Oh, I’m so sorry” Bucky went to take the hat off but you stopped him.

“No- it’s okay. It looks good on you. Go ahead and wear it out tonight.”

Bucky looked back at you with a somber nod as you continued back down the stairs, taking a deep breath to settle the emotions that had nearly breached the surface.

Even in this state, you looked gorgeous. Hair flouncing in the breeze that was created as you drifted down the steps, wearing makeup he hadn’t seen since the first time you two had met and a sundress that blew him away. You were gorgeous in all states because you were you. Bucky looked down, kicking his feet, to pull his magnetic glance from you. He’s really gotta switch up the power dynamic here, and if there was one place Bucky could feel at home after a week of embarrassing himself, it was a bar. He grabbed the keys and you followed with an eye roll, getting into the passenger seat of your own truck. He didn’t even know where he was going, but he looked at you with a sly grin. Like for the first time, he had the upper hand, and that would only come from being anywhere but on your farm.

Bucky was a good driver, despite his statements about some guy named ‘Gio’ and grumbles about Sam, who you had met once before. Besides that, the drive was filled with laughs reminiscing all the mishaps he went through that week, well, mostly you laughing, and Bucky doing his best to hold a smirk from showing too obviously, his eyes narrowed at you in contrast.

The two of you pulled into town as you pointed Bucky towards a decent-sized building which housed the bar, still nothing compared to what he was used to. The two of you hopped down from the truck and walked through the front door, which jingled, signaling your entrance.

Bucky was greeted by the smell of old wood and stale beer, the dim atmosphere lit with old neon beer signs and fluorescent lights which hung over the pool tables. You looked back at Bucky as you crossed the threshold where he held the door for you.

“Hey, all I’m saying is, I bet you wouldn’t last a week in my world the way I did in yours.”

You rolled your eyes as you sauntered up to the bar, taking a seat at the corner, Bucky next to you, and a few more empty seats to the other side of him that would hopefully stay that way until Curtis came. As the two of you had walked up to the bar, you had seen a bunch of girls groups whose heads turned, seeing the stranger that was Bucky make his way across the floor. Why couldn’t he be ugly? And why did you let him wear that hat? Bucky didn’t even notice. His eyes were only on you, besides his trained peripheral vision catching the eyes of men whose heads turned towards, doing the same.

“Oh please, Bucket, you hardly made it through this week. I’ve never seen anyone cut their finger on wheat before. How did you even do that? You were literally up on the tractor… wheat should not have been anywhere near your hands, yet you came to me with several paper cut-looking marks. And what do you even do all day? Your hands have calluses but a totally different kind. You can hardly toss a hay bale a story high into the barn loft. I’m sure it wouldn’t be that hard for me to just sit at a desk, bark orders, and sign paperwork all day.”

Bucky’s mouth gaped open as he feigned offense and put his hand on his chest.

You flashed a fleeting smile at him in satisfaction as you waved down the

bartender ordering two shots of whiskey and two beers.

“Now just because that’s all you’ve seen me do for work, doesn’t mean that’s all there is to it.”

“Oh really? Please, Bucket, then be my guest…indulge me.”

“Well, if I told you, I’d have to kill you, so take that as one of the common requisites.”

He smirked at you, obviously more comfortable in this bar environment before your phone dinged and it was a message from Curtis.

Hey Y/N. So sorry, something came up at the shop. Rain check?

Yeah, no problem. Hope all is good, see you tomorrow?

Yep! Ty

“Well, looks like Curty boi isn’t joining us, so it’s just you and me, Bucko”

At that moment, the bartender set down the drinks in front of you and you and Bucky took a shot together, ordering an appetizer sampler platter to go with your drinks.

As the two of you nursed your beers, you joked more about Bucky’s farm mishaps and talked about all the men you had turned down from Bucky’s organization to get him out here.

“I’ve gotta be honest, I don’t know how you turned down both Sam and Steve. I’m hardly immune to their charms some days”

You laughed and threw your head back. “It’s not easy. They’ve both got these puppy dog eyes they make when I say ‘no’ to them, but they seemed pretty satisfied with the fact I wanted to see you in person.”

“And why exactly was that? You never quite said”

“Well, at first, it started as a way to delay the deal, but then I realized, if I’m going to be making some major changes to somewhere I consider a sanctuary, I wanna make sure it’s with the right partner” you nudged him with your elbow playfully and Bucky gave you a small grin. “But honestly, if I’m going to do something these days, I wanna do it at the source. I hate hearing important news from third parties, I mean, you’ve seen how I do business. It’s all me at the end of the day. Sure, Curtis helps out, but otherwise, it’s better to deal with things on my own and a few trusted people” you finished that statement breathless from your heated ramble. This didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky at all. Where did that come from? At first, to him, you were just another bug to be squashed in order to get more control over his industry, but did he care now? Did he truly care about what was upsetting you? What caused that hurt you were obviously tampering down? Does this have to do with Jakey?

Bucky hadn’t realized he said that last part out loud until you responded.

“No! Well, maybe? Like, sort of?”

“Can I ask? Can I ask what happened there? Only if you want to share”

“Um… yeah, sure, I guess. You’ve embarrassed yourself enough this week so I think you’ve earned this a little bit.”

You took a deep breath and began. “Jake and I grew up together. We met in kindergarten in school and were instantly close. We were the only two gifted kids in class, so the teacher sent us to the side for extra lessons while the rest of the class learned with her. From that point on, we were inseparable. Two smart little twerps who took on the world together, but our lives were so different. In middle school, I started to take on more responsibility on the farm and he started getting into computers, but we’d still see each other. In high school we started officially dating, and I was so happy to be with someone who I felt like intellectually got me. I think it was the same way for him, too. He’d crack such nerdy jokes, and no one got them but me”

You smiled nostalgically at the memory. “When our senior year came along and my uncle wasn’t doing that well, I applied to more local schools, but he didn’t. We had always talked about going off to college and living together, but he wanted that life to be far away from here, and I had obligations. I got into the local college on a full ride for agriculture and civil engineering, and he decided he’d rather go to MIT for computer science. I asked if he’d be willing to stay since he got into college around here, too, but he said he wanted to be around people who were ‘more like-minded to him.’ As if we hadn’t been the only ones who had understood each other for over a decade.”

Bucky gave you a sullen look as your head fell and you looked down at your hands. He signaled to the bartender for a water and two more rounds of shots.

“I just, I just didn’t understand how he could act like that after so long. So I asked him when he was leaving so I could see him off. We were still friends, after all, but he left without a word. When I saw him again over Christmas break that winter, I felt like he had turned into some overweening, highfalutin, jerkwad. I didn’t really know him anymore, and I had enough to focus on already, so I just kinda stopped talking to him. As you could see today, his mom still comes around, but it’s not really the same. I don’t think she ever really truly saw the way he changed, she’s too caught up in having a son who lives in Silicon Valley now, but apparently he still asks for stuff from the farmers markets.” You shrugged and thanked the bartender for the shots, pounding all four before you excused yourself to the restroom, leaving Bucky to sit there shocked.

He had known where you went to college and how smart you are, but things like what happened with Jake don’t show up on paper. However he clocked you before, you were even stronger than that, because despite how you were hurt, you still wore your heart in your sleeve and showed compassion to everyone around.

You washed your face and looked in the mirror. Sure, that experience with Jake sucked, but it’s been years and you were over it now. Didn’t mean it was fun to relive it all. You decided to go into one of the stalls, the alcohol already kicking in and making you have to pee. You sat down and that’s when you saw it: blood. So that’s the reason for the waterworks all day today. That’s why you felt so tired and couldn’t help tearing up at the slightest things. Luckily the girl in the stall next to you had some products. You cleaned up and washed your hands, forcing a smile in the mirror until it became real, honestly relieved at having a reason for your out-of-character behavior. You headed back out to Bucky in a much more chipper mood and he looked up at you with a quirked brow. He figured you’d taken the time you needed. He was appreciative of you being so open with him, and wasn’t going to question the switch-up since he was just so happy to see you being yourself again after a long day.

“Up for a game of pool, cowboy?”

“Oh, you’re signing up to lose, Honeybee”

“Ok, ok, best four out of seven” Bucky whined as you giggled, whiskey shots catching up to you as you held another beer bottle in your hand. Bucky was hardly affected, he essentially rocked this much alcohol in his system by noon on a daily basis. Just then, his phone rang, and he motioned to show you it was Steve. You gave him a thumbs up and started to rack the balls to set up for the next game.

You watched Bucky walk out the door as you felt a presence looming behind you. You turned around and stood up, eyes tracing up a body dressed in brown hues until you reached a set of blue eyes shaded by a cowboy hat brim.

“Oh, howdy, can I help you?”

“I sure hope so. Can I get you a drink? Two whiskey sours” the stranger yelled over to the bar.

“Oh, uh, thanks.”

“My name’s Cole, Cole Turner. What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?”

He was handsome, there was no denying that, but something seemed off. You plastered your best fake smile on your face. You didn’t need a confrontation tonight, not in your favorite dress. You didn’t want to taint the memory of it because of some rando. Wait. Was he a rando? Where have you heard the name ‘Turner’ before? Before you could continue your train of thought, a waiter came over with your drinks. They were very sweet compared to what you’d had all night, just like his demeanor, which seemed like a thin veil over the surface. You tried to channel your drink’s energy into your words to sweetly reply until you could properly remember who he was through your alcohol-fogged mind.

“Oh, I’m not here alone. I’m here with a friend”

“Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but I don’t see anyone around. You up for a game?”

Before you could even open your mouth to respond, he grabbed a pool cue and made a move to break. After that, he was keeping a little too close to you constantly. You did your best to stay kind, but must’ve been sending the wrong signals as he asked you “You wanna get out of here? I’ve got a hotel room down the road.”

In an attempt to change the subject you asked “Oh, so you’re not from around here? What are you doing in town?” Looking towards the door hoping Bucky would be done with his update any minute now.

“Ah, I used to live around here. My family owns a string of dairy farms. I’m here to try and convince these small-town farmers to give up the land.”

Your eyes went wide. Luckily you were facing away from him. He was that Cole Turner. The one whose family ran a packaged beverage empire and prided themselves on squashing the little guy. You were lucky he didn’t seem to recognize you yet, as the last remaining competitor in town. The one he had probably come in to squash. Just then, lost in thought, you felt a hand snake around your waist and you flinched.

“Relax, Honeybee, it’s just me” Bucky whispered in your ear. Your shoulders visibly relaxed as you turned around and threw your arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. You pulled away, but not enough for Bucky’s hand to leave your waist, and looked between the two men, grabbing Bucky’s hat and placing it on your head immediately.

“Uh, James, this is Cole. He’s visiting town.”

Bucky reached out his hand Cole shook it. Cole took a large step back after, respecting the hat on your head, and, was he intimidated by Bucky’s stature? Sensing your discomfort, Bucky spoke up. “Nice to meet you. Shame we’re heading out now.”

You grabbed Bucky’s hand, not looking back, and headed straight to the door as quickly as your numb, wobbly legs would take you. Once you were met by the cool, crisp night air, you sighed in relief and rested your forehead on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Thank you for helping me get out of there”

He shuddered at your proximity and the comfort you felt in this type of contact. It felt natural and he never wanted it to stop. With a soft smile and a glance at the top of the hat, he said, “No problem, Honeybee. Let’s get home.”

He helped you get up into the cab of the truck, sliding you across the bench seat before he got in and started it up.

“So what was the deal with the hat? And that guy?”

You yawned and stretched, settling in against Bucky’s shoulder.

“Uh, when a girl takes a guy’s hat and puts it on her head, it means she’s going home with him. And don’t worry, I didn’t mean it like that, I just wanted that guy to get off my back. We can talk more about that later.”

You wiggled to get more comfortable, your hand still in Bucky’s as he used the other to steer the truck down the old country roads. Your eyes fluttered shut as you fell asleep on him. His eyes flickered between you and the road in the headlights ahead. He luckily had a good sense of direction and was able to remember how to get home from your instructions earlier.

When he pulled into your gravel driveway, your were sound asleep, softly snoring, drool having dripped onto his Henley, but he didn’t mind at all. He lifted you out of the truck and carried you up the steps, taking off your boots before tucking you into bed for the night.

Next >

Bonus A/N: so where I’m from, “Turner’s” really is a beverage empire and they make really good products. I just figured I can’t make a farm AU without putting Cole in it, no matter how inaccurate to character.

Series taglist:

@scuzmunkie

@openup-yourmind

168 notes · View notes

proosh · 1 year ago

Note

prufra and its france teaching prussia etiquette or something (how not to be a terrible beast man!)

Bro I’m so fucking sorry this is absolutely not what you asked for but. Here we are anyway. Set somewhere in the late 1710s-early 1720s.

Pairing: FraPru/PruFra Prompt: Etiquette/how not to be a terrible beast man (objective failed) Rating: G? I think?? Length: ~360 words (excl. footnotes lol lmao) Content Warnings: mildly questionable power dynamics, excessive historical footnotes

“I want you to be on your best behaviour,” François was instructing while he brushed the rouge1 against Gilbert’s lips. He’d insisted on not leaving him to the attentions of a servant and had him trapped in the toilette2 like a mouse in a lion’s den, held fast by the long fingers keeping his jaw still.

“I understand that your court is quite unlike that of Versailles3, but you must not embarrass yourself. Or myself, heaven forbid,” he continued, and Gilbert wasn’t going to interrupt him when François was leaning so close he could smell his musky perfume, the type that was all the rage. He could almost count François’ eyelashes, this close.

“...But you’re going to be a good boy for me, aren’t you?”

François must have caught him staring, he sat back and was looking at Gilbert with an analytical eye: He’d been powdered and pomaded �� with François commenting about how it was a crime to keep hair of such length and thickness trapped a queue4 all the time – and then made up like a proper gentleman of the French court.

He felt altogether silly beyond words being dolled up and being told to mind his courtesies, but.

At the same time as all that, François was giving him a feline smile of approval and it… He wasn’t sure he had the words in any of the languages he knew to exactly quantify the way his belly did a flip.

Gilbert was hyperaware of the way François had just been holding his jaw and holding him still while brushing the rouge to paint his lips. Some part of him must have been mad because he couldn’t stop himself from darting his tongue out to lick and to taste and–

François’ cry of alarm made him cackle victoriously but the hands back at his chin were a reward, let alone the thumb trying to save the poor smudged rouge.

From there it was simply all too easy to be anything but a ‘good boy’, grinning and nipping at his fingers: if he were going to embarrass himself with all this primping and pampering he might as well embarrass them both.

Footnotes:

1: “Rouge” (as opposed to ‘rogue’) was your all-purpose blush and lipstick worn over white powder, both of which were commonly made from some… Really not fantastic ingredients. Both genders wore makeup, especially at the court of Versailles.

2: A dressing room, basically.

3: King Frederick William I (the “Soldier King” and Fritz’ father) was infamously incredibly austere and focused on practical, wholesome, soldier-y things. Everything that a 1700s European court was not.

4: Borrowed from China, the ‘queue’ was a long braid tied back with ribbon and was made mandatory for Prussian soldiers by FW1 (and was common amongst other European armies as well). In the early 1700s the popular fashion of noble men tended to involve a whole lot of poofy curls, be they natural or wigs. Around this time ‘bags’ were probably coming into use to tie back long hair into a cute little silk bag – this is what I’m personally imagining Fran wearing.

#hws prussia #hws france #frapru #prufra #mine #my fic #the autism to words ratio is off the charts on this one sorry everyone #from the askbox #my writing

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hellmouth-manor · 11 months ago

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i shake it off and run || minami || trial mm.10?! || re: WOOOOO

Minami is left looking a bit smug that pulling on the strings was apparently annoying Alou, and that's enough to make up for his wholly unsatisfying answer to her question. Sure, it makes sense. But she doesn't think it explains why they all had to sit around and murder each other. Pretty shit purpose, if you ask her. Which she would.

And after that, Minami is left wondering if she would count for fulfilling the new motive, if she were to just leap at Alou and beat the fuck out of him right now. Probably not, because she was dead, but it would be satisfying. And everyone would probably let her get away with it. She can't stand the way he continues to talk to them, or the way he continues to talk to Micah in particular, or his smug-ass attitude. Maybe it would at least buy some time to go make an explosive. And after that--

Well, the thing is, Minami had been wholehearted when she said she trusted Micah. Even if his whole rugpull had been genuine, she would have been wholehearted in the belief that she could bruteforce him into seeing that Alou was a shithead. She had had no real evidence, though, besides her own conviction about the sort of person he was. And as a result, Minami had really had no fucking idea how the rest of the dead's little quest had gone. For all she knew, they could have actually been caught in a trap and booted out of there. What, was she supposed to be able to guess they were acting? She'd been fooled, like, at least four times in this whole game by people acting right to her face. The most she was able to do was stare intently at people and try to develop psychic powers to yell into their brains. Not for the first time, she really wishes she had a bit more experience with people than robots.

So-- and she really can't believe she's thinking this-- it's a relief when Hisashi starts laughing.

And it's a much-easier-to-accept relief when Micah speaks up and reveals that she actually is the smartest smart person in the world instead of the dumbest one for believing in him.

For the irritating way Alou has spoken about him just in this trial, she can't really imagine what an ordeal it must have been working for him. Her face goes from a surprised optimism to full-on delight as he reveals the extent of his meddling. And pride, of course. She has no excess of it, after all! It's nice to continue to be able to apply it to other people. It's an almost overwhelming relief that all along, Micah had been the good, strong person she thought he was. What a nice change of pace.

"Micah!"

Practically crowing, she moves around the table to where he (and Eli, now) stands. With the exuberant force of a very, very enthusiastic parent, she claps him on the back excitedly.

"I'm so proud of you, man! You're the fuckin' best! I knew I could trust you! Like my bestie would ever let me down!"

Hopefully his big buff demon form cushions his spine,

Once her congratulatory bone-breaking is over, she returns to her seat with much more of a pep in her step, though she does spare a... well, maybe pitying look, but filtered through the bluntness of Minami. For Alou, the actively-being-deposed king.

"See? This is what I meant. Sorry you ain't had anyone to do shit like this for you. Too bad it's too late."

Despite the rather gloating tone to her words, she really does mean them. It's a shame things went this far. She knows what it feels like to not see the mess you've made of things until it's too late and you've lost everything.

...Except she hasn't, now.

As embarrassing as it is that it took going to hell and getting murdered for it to happen, some of the fog that had clouded Minami's view on her life has cleared. She very much does have things she very much does want to live for, both here in the game and one very important one outside...

Who she might get to see again soon. (Without the use of explosives.) She doesn't want to start celebrating that part of things just yet, not until she sees her own soul-- returning to her chest or busting the fuck out of here or whatever souls do-- but the relief of being this close to a second chance she hadn't thought she was going to get (and likely wouldn't have accepted) just a few months ago is palpable. She leans her hands on the table in front of her, looking exhausted as if she's just run a marathon and simultaneously relieved she's finally been able to stop running said marathon.

"The souls..."

She tries very hard to not stare a hole in all of the dead people's heads again while she waits to hear about that part of things. But, given that she's already very late getting back to her kid and is very going to get scolded for being missing, maybe she can't be blamed.

#mm trial #mari

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honorhearted · 7 months ago

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To Benjamin's surprise, Nina snapped back at his remark with excessive vitriol. Although she wasn't friendly, per se, she'd never been outright hostile with him before.

“Who says I’m in need of one?" she bit back. "I’ve been married before, wise arse. As hard as it might be for your plume hatted head to comprehend, men find me desirable.”

"Desirable?" The word was out before he could stop it, and biting his cheek to keep a straight face, Benjamin huffed and rolled his eyes. "Right. Well, don't expect me to sign up for that incredibly short list."

Whether Nina was still sour from his commentary, or she genuinely didn't agree with him, she was quite quick to cut down his idea. “It’s not a common occurrence to carry on conversation while rutting. No," she dismissed. "Pillowtalk is for after and usually only for those who care to know more than a quick pop off – provided they pay for it, of course.”

Benjamin sighed, clear exasperation darkening his face. "Well, if you have a better idea, I'm bloody well waiting! Because thus far, it's only been me coming up with varying plans, while you sit there stuffing your face!"

Nina sneered, laughing around a mouthful. “You want me to ‘pantomime’ getting you off? Sorry, Ponyboy, but it’s gonna take a little more than that to get what we need.”

"I don't want anything from you," Benjamin gritted. "But again: until you present a better idea, I'd rather you not dismiss my thoughts so harshly!"

Without further preamble, she passed him a purse -- more than likely filled with his bloody coin -- and said, “You might have to convince one or more of these fine ladies to join us in a room, away from prying ears, so we can inquire about ol’ Rogers the Dodger.”

Benjamin's mouth dropped. "I beg your pardon?" Flustered, his eyes rolled toward the rafters, almost as if trying to cast out the very image. "Just what are you proposing? That we...th-that we commit debauchery with multiple women?"

He suddenly felt ill. Swallowing around his nausea, Benjamin glanced over his shoulder at the preening ladies of easy virtue, then returned his attention to Nina with a scowl. "No," he denied. "It's bad enough that you're suggesting I lay with one woman, but several? That I cannot do." Antsy, he snatched up the coin purse. "I can lie and ask them into a room, but anything beyond that point will just be us talking. Do you understand?" He sneered. "Normally, I can't get you to shut your insufferable trap, so I imagine this is a task at which you'll excel."

“If you need coin, I’ll give you coin,” she reassured, rolling her eyes, “God knows you’re gonna need it to appeal to these louts and trollops.”

Tallmadge, of course, was still reeling from her implication that he wanted to lay with her. At least she could count on her teasing to get a reaction out of him in one way or another. It kept her on her toes, as well as humored.

"It must be exhausting being so loathsomely uncouth all the time. I can assure you, Miss Zenik: you will not find a husband behaving like this."

The comment caused her to frown and take on a slightly more miffed tone, “Who says I’m in need of one? I’ve been married before, wise arse. As hard as it might be for your plume hatted head to comprehend, men find me desirable.”

She had no intention of elaborating on the subject. The only reason she’d mentioned it to begin with was to prove a point, to make him eat his words. He didn’t have the right to know more than that.

“It’s not a common occurrence to carry on conversation while rutting. No. Pillowtalk is for after and usually only for those who care to know more than a quick pop off – provided they pay for it, of course.”

Seemingly just as exhausted and embarrassed as before, Tallmadge continued, "If one of us can pantomime a certain act, perhaps the other can talk to the equally engaged couples in the room?"

Nina huffed something akin to a breathy chortle, “You want me ‘pantomime’ getting you off? Sorry, Ponyboy, but it’s gonna take a little more than that to get what we need.”

Leaning in, she passed him a small coin purse, “You might have to convince one or more of these fine ladies to join us in a room, away from prying ears, so we can inquire about ol’ Rogers the Dodger.”

#pagetreader #take the plunge #lime

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years ago

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magic-8, m | myg, jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader, yoongi x reader mentions of seokjin x reader, jimin x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook wants to have sex. No one is surprised. But he has... reasons. Are they good reasons? Debatable. However, there's something in his way. A Magic-8 ball that seems to relish in cock-blocking him. Nah, it says. Hmph, well, guess what, ball? Like a criminal undercover, Jeon Jungkook is going to steal you and then there's no one and nothing to stop him from getting what he needs.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; tbh, slight crack; JK talks to the Magic-8 ball and himself way too much; somehow Park Jimin is involved; Min Yoongi is confirmed to be sex on legs; smut (fem reader, very minor D/s dynamics, m-masturbation while watching sex in the kitchen, edging / orgasm denial, m and f-receiving oral, vibrator use, multiple orgasms, nipple play, forearm kink, sucking on both balls at the same time, hair-pulling kink, penetrative sex); noona!reader; Jungkook's POV

no, I don't know how this got to 14k+ words, this was just supposed to be a funny idea and now we're here, I am excessive, I know

“Um…”

“Same question?”

He almost flinched at the succinct, matter-of-fact quip. “Y… Yeah.”

The door closed right in his face.

Jeon Jungkook shoved his hands into his sleeves and sucked on the inside of his cheek, aimlessly occupying himself in the seconds he waited. He stopped sucking on his cheek the moment the door opened again. Same woman, rumpled and perfectly messy hair, big black t-shirt dress with a black and white striped long-sleeve under it, bare legs, feet tucked into furry brown slippers with a small embordered cookie motif on them.

In her hands, a black plastic sphere.

Inwardly, Jungkook groaned.

She shook it.

Frowned, and turned the screen around for him to look.

Nah, said the white text on the triangle trapped in hazy blue liquid.

Inwardly, Jungkook screamed in frustration, wanting to snatch the Magic-8 ball and chuck it out the window.

“Sorry,” she said, shrugging casually.

“Oh… Okay.”

She bowed lightly and closed the door, but not as sharply this time. Gentler and turning away from him slowly. Her eyes didn’t linger too long. It was probably for the best, because Jungkook would feel even worse.

The door closed in his face and Jungkook wrung his sleeves, flinging the ends of his black, oversized shirt into the air in silent rage. He balled the fabric up in his fists and jammed them into his closed eyes, forcing the angry tears back, never hating a hunk of plastic so much in his entire life. The twenty-sixth time he had asked this question.

Every single time, this stupid fucking piece-of-shit 8-ball gave him a different quirky variation of refutation.

“Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath, backed away from the bedroom door.

“W-Will you have s-s-sex with me?”

That was the question. Stutters and all.

She had blinked slowly, staring at him for a full ten seconds. Then she asked, “I’m sorry, but will you please explain again why you are asking me to have sex with you?”

Yes, why was Jungkook asking the hot girl that lived in Kim Seokjin’s house to fuck him?

Although it sounded complicated, it wasn’t really. Kim Seokjin was one of his hyungs who lived in a massive house. His parents were loaded, but traveled a lot due to their work. Now that Seokjin was older, well, naturally, it would be socially and financially beneficial to rent out this home with too many bedrooms to his friends if they needed a place to stay. Firstly, it meant the introverted hyung never had to leave his home if he actually wanted company. Secondly, it meant chores could be divided among the tenants, meaning Seokjin never ever had to clean a toilet again as long as he cooked and occasionally did the grocery shop. Thirdly, it meant that if Seokjin wanted to avoid interaction, he could lock himself in the master bedroom on the top floor and tell everyone to go away or he would kick them out.

Work smarter, not harder, Seokjin-hyung liked to say.

Now, why did this particular woman who owned the cursed Magic-8 ball live here?

Park Jimin, one of the temporary tenants, had the answers for Jungkook.

“Oh, her? Haha, get this. Once time, hyung came back with her and another girl with huge tits. Massive. I’m talking melons. I can say that because she literally called them melons. Multiple times. Anyway, Melon girl was kinda drunk, hyung was a lil tipsy, but she was totally sober. And…”

Jimin nudged Jungkook, cradling his hand over his mouth, whispering with glee.

“I’m one-hundred percent sure a threesome happened that night and I’m a thousand-percent sure that noona was the one who was directing everything.”

Jungkook blinked at that angelic face describing a less-than-holy act.

“… Were you trying to eavesdrop outside hyung’s bedroom?”

Jimin snorted. “No. No, of course not. Psh, no. What do you think I am, Jungkook? A heathen?” Those full lips twisted into an affronted pout. “That stupid door is so damn thick. Real wood, for sure. Hmph. Rich-ass prince.”

It didn’t really explain why the woman with the cursed Magic-8 ball was here, but also, it did.

“Anyway, she moved in a week later. Better rent, she said. Melon lady went to school in New York though. How depressing for all of us,” Jimin sighed. “She was only on break for a short while.”

Little did Jungkook know that this noona would become rather important because, some weeks later, he was standing in front of her bedroom door asking the question. Jungkook did not live in this big house, but at this point he might as well have been. He was here far too often these days, asking Jimin questions. Er. Something very upsetting had happened to him. He had needed answers.

Jimin provided him with, well, something.

Jungkook coughed, trying to collect his thoughts. “Erm… well.”

She blinked slowly, waiting for his answer on why he wanted to have sex with her.

“J-Jimin said it might be a good idea…”

She stared at him. “What does Park Jimin have to do with anything?”

Yes, that would be the natural question, wouldn’t it?

“Ah, h-he said… that you helped him at one point. With sex… stuff.”

This was getting super awkward, not because she was awkward, but because Jungkook was trying to avoid being too specific. He didn’t want her to feel like he was talking behind her back. However, she surprised him completely by saying, “Yeah, he was trying to figure out what sex toys to introduce into the bedroom and how to feel like they were not his enemy, so we experimented a bit to find toys and a headspace he enjoyed.”

Jungkook tried to not shrink into the sofa at the explanation. “Y… Yeah….”

She tilted her head at him. “That doesn’t explain your interest in me though.”

“W-Well, I…. I need h-help.”

He flinched as if physically slapped.

Saying it out loud made it real.

“Why do you say that?” she asked.

He bit his lip and looked back up at her, seeing the way she gazed back at him. Not judging, simply genuinely curious and confused. She was sitting on the armchair in the living room, holding a soft plush of a pink bunny and her phone in the other, previously poking around on it before he had sat down and interrupted, taking this chance of Seokjin being upstairs playing video games and the other tenants being out of the house to ask this question. She was wearing a big white hoodie, her bare legs tucked under a thick black blanket with a pattern of miniature red devils cheekily doing various innocently evil things.

“Um… my last girlfriend broke up with me because I fuck like a robot.” He swallowed, feeling the hard lump forming in his throat, unease and bitterness. “Not just once apparently. All the time. And…” He winced, balling his hands into fists on his thighs. “The one before that said something similar.”

“And the one before that?”

He wanted to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment.

“We didn’t… fuck. But she said I was a bad kisser.”

“Everyone is a bad kiss and a bad fuck the first time. Hell, the first couple years. I wouldn’t beat yourself up over it.”

He frowned and searched her face for the lie, but she simply smiled calmly back, gently rubbing the head of the pink bunny in her lap. For some reason, Jungkook wanted to fling the bunny aside and put his head there instead.

Huh?

That was a weird thought.

“But you’re not bad.”

She laughed. “Years of practice, young apprentice.” Her lips curved into a playful smirk, eyes sparkling with amusement. “I might actually be awful. You never know.”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes, frown becoming into a pout. “You have to be good. Yoongi-hyung and you fuck all the time.”

She blinked twice, swiveling her head sharply.

“Pardon? What does Min Yoongi have to do with this?”

He scratched the back of his head. Didn’t she know? “Yoongi-hyung never, ever has sex with someone more than once. That’s his rule.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “What?”

Jungkook shrugged. “That’s what he said.” He mimicked his hyung’s deep, generally impassive voice. “You only need to fuck once. Every time afterword is the same or worse. What’s the point of fucking more than once? It’s a waste of time. But Jimin says you go to Yoongi-hyung’s room or vice-versa at least every week. You have to be crazy good if that’s the case.”

She suddenly jerked her head and stared in the direction of the back of the house where the spare bedrooms were. He saw a myriad of emotions play over her expressive features before she scrunched up her face and mumbled under her breath. Jungkook caught, I do have a certain philosophy, but I didn’t realize… Really? He thinks that, huh? I should ask…

“N-Noona…?”

She jumped a little, blinking at him. “Oh. Right. Well, it would be really arrogant of me if I sat here and said, yeah, I’m fucking fantastic at fucking.”

That’s true, Jungkook thought.

She shrugged.

“I am, though.”

Those sinful lips framed the tip of a devious tongue, playful smirk taunting him.

“I’m an excellent, passionate, wild, rough fuck. Complete opposite of a robot, honestly.”

Jungkook pulled an even bigger pout, furrowing his brows, determination flaring.

“Teach me.”

She let out a big exhale, suddenly standing up.

“Wait here.”

He gawked at those bare legs, shapely and swift, juicy thighs disappearing into the hem of the hoodie. She disappeared for less than a minute, anxious moments of him shoving his hands into his sleeves and tapping his foot, eagerly awaiting her return.

Then she came back with the cursed hunk of plastic.

Oh, innocent him back then, not knowing how fucking horrible that piece-of-shit Magic-8 ball was.

“I’m going to shake this. If it says yes, we fuck. If it says no, you have to wait at least three days before you can ask me to shake the ball again. Deal?”

Why did you nod, Jeon Jungkook? You stupid dumbass.

He grinned.

“Deal.”

She shook it and it said, Nope, not today.

“Hm. Sorry. Next time.”

Yeah.

Next time.

More like, twenty-sixth time and he was still reading, Nah.

“I hate that stupid ball. I want to smash it with a baseball bat, run it over, throw it into the abyss, go down into the abyss, and then hurl it to the moon.”

“Shit, bro, it’s a children’s toy,” Jimin laughed.

Jungkook grunted and threw Jimin’s pillow over his face, yelling incoherently into it.

“Oi, stop that,” Jimin sighed, yanking the pillow away. “What’s this business about the Magic-8 ball anyway? Can’t you just stand there and give her puppy eyes until she submits to your will?”

“No.”

“Huh?”

Jungkook pulled a face and let out a big sigh. “She never treats me any differently. I act tough, she’s the same polite noona. I act cute, she’s the same polite noona. I act pathetic, she’s the same fucking polite-as-fuck noona.” He groaned and smacked his fist into Jimin’s bed, not thinking about what else – or who else – had been smacked into this bed. That was too harrowing of a thought. “Yoongi-hyung’s dick must have her under some kinda spell, because I’m literally right here ready to drop my pants and she’s absolutely not budging on this Magic-8 ball agreement.”

“Damn, maybe you’re right. Hyung’s magic wand-dick must be the reason why everyone thinks he’s sex on legs, because it’s certainly not because of his resting bitch face.”

Jungkook didn’t have the energy to even chortle at Jimin’s joke. “I can’t believe my luck is so fucking bad. This has to be a world record.”

“Why don’t you steal it?”

Jungkook stared at the ceiling.

“What?”

“Steal the Magic-8 ball and yeet that bitch,” Jimin chirped.

Jungkook bolted up from the bed.

“Wuh… Steal it?”

Jimin put his hands up, shrugging. “Yeah, I mean… If you take it and it’s gone, then what?”

Jungkook blinked quickly, glancing at his shortest hyung with the full lips and fluffy black hair. “I… I dunno. I never thought about it.”

“So, let’s say you take the ball. She goes to look for it like usual, can’t find it, and then…?”

He followed the circling of Jimin’s small hands, moving from one side to another. “… And then?”

Jimin clapped his hands together. “Nakey time!”

He furrowed his brows, now hesitant and unsure. “Hm… can it be that easy?”

Jimin laughed, shrugging. “I dunno, but the Magic-8 ball is cockblocking you, so you if you forcibly remove it from the equation, you have already improved your chances of banging the pussy seduced by the magic-wand-dick.”

On one hand, Jungkook doubted she would simply give up on the game.

On the other hand, that hunk of plastic was a cursed object.

“Alright. I’m going to steal it.”

“Secret-agent-mission-impossible Jeon Jungkook about to embark on his most difficult self-assignment yet. Actually, you’re less of a secret agent and more like a criminal undercover. No different from a common burglar, really.”

“Shut up, Jimin.”

Yes, well, saying something and actually doing it were two different things.

The plan was pretty simple, which was about as much as Jungkook could handle. He was a liberal arts guy (at least that was what his university degree said). Following instructions was not his vibe. He was better at this off-the-cuff kind of stuff. Also, his (unwelcome but necessary) partner-in-crime was none other than Park Jimin, and Park Jimin didn’t read instructions ninety-percent of the time, thus explaining why he didn’t cook.

“You can’t search the house when everyone is at work,” Jimin scolded him.

“Why?”

“Because you also have a job, Jungkook.”

“Eh, I can take a day off.”

“You cannot take a day off to increase your potential of getting laid. Not even actually getting laid. Just increasing your chances.”

Jungkook grumbled but accepted that it might not be the best use of his sick time.

“Also, Seokjin-hyung has an alarm system. He arms it when we’re at work. If you’re not a resident, you’ll trip it.”

“So give me your key.”

“He has cameras, dummy,” Jimin sighed as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “Funnily enough, you don’t exactly look like me.”

Jungkook snickered. “Is it the tattoos or the obvious difference in height?”

A brief intermission was taken as Jimin attempted to commit homicide right in Kim Seokjin’s home. Bickering ensued. Hands were thrown. Unfortunately for Jimin, Jungkook was trained in self-defense and pinned him down pretty quickly.

“Anyway,” Jimin growled as he detached his teeth from Jungkook’s forearm to force the younger man to release him, completely ignoring Jungkook’s what-the-fuck-you-freaky-little-imp expression. “There’s four of us who live here right now. Seokjin-hyung, Yoongi-hyung, Magic-8 ball noona, and, the most well-behaved and polite of them all, me.”

“Don’t associate that plastic hunk of evil with her.”

Jimin gave him an offended look at the lack of acknowledgment to his own title but gave up, moving along. “Why you so hung up about this, huh? It’s not like you can’t fuck some other hottie. You just have to shift in age range. The older they are, the more likely they have more experience. Easy.”

Jungkook grunted.

Jimin raised his eyebrows.

He stuck his tongue out and messed with his lip ring. “This is a lot easier. I don’t need to worry about her being some kinda serial killer or some shit. And.”

A beat of silence.

Jimin appeared under Jungkook’s chin, grinning like a madman. “Annnnnnnd?”

Jungkook grimaced. “You said…” He looked away quickly, sucking the inside of his cheek.

He shouldn’t say anything more.

Jimin prodded him insistently, poking at Jungkook’s temple.

The younger man clenched his jaw, speaking between gritted teeth. “You said she put both of your nuts in her mouth and sucked on them at the same time.”

“Aha! You’re a pervert!”

“What?!” Jungkook roared, throwing himself back. “I’m a pervert? I am?! You suggested it! You’re a pervert!”

Jimin grinned.

“Of course, I suggested it. She’s got that cool and calm vibe, plus she’s basically a porn star in bed. You’re way too scared to go for sexy on your own, even though that’s way more your type than those other girls you dated.”

Jungkook found his jaw flapping uselessly. “W-What the fuck are you talking about, I’m not scared–”

“Oh, yeah, you are. You literally ran in the other direction when she came out her room in that slinky black dress and leather trench coat when she was going to that concert with Yoongi-hyung last week. Probably had a giant boner too.”

His ears were on fire. “B-B-Bullshit!”

“Oh, you want to get me started on the literal obsessive way you stare at her hands when they’re resting on the kitchen countertop, with your mouth kinda open and your round peepers all big, waiting for her to move so you can put your hand in the same place hers was seconds before–”

Jungkook slapped his hand over Jimin’s mouth.

A bird cawed outside.

“Anyway,” Jungkook hissed, pointedly glaring to indicate that particular discussion was over. “So, I can’t search during work. Why don’t you look for it? You live here.”

Jimin peeled the tattooed hand off his mouth to speak. With much effort, because Jungkook was wary of the definitely, absolutely, totally untrue nonsense that could come out of those full lips. It happened just now… obviously.

“Uh, no, this is your problem. I’m not getting involved in your problem.”

Jungkook stared at him.

Jimin fluttered his eyelashes.

Jungkook thinned his eyes and mouth into lines.

“Here, so tomorrow Seokjin-hyung is leaving for a production for a couple weeks,” Jimin barreled on, launching into the (very basic) plan. “He’s going to stay on site because of rehearsals and stuff. We won’t have to worry about his comings and goings. Yoongi-hyung and noona basically have the same schedule. They go to work and come back to do nothing. But, when Seokjin-hyung isn’t here, Yoongi-hyung and her cook together.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows.

Jimin wiggled his. “It’s good for us.”

“Is it?” Jungkook grunted.

“It’s not like hyung doesn’t know you’re on your… twenty-sixth try. He’s cool with it.”

He felt a muscle in his upper eyelid twitch. “Did hyung have to ask twenty-six times?”

Jimin shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s sex on legs, remember?”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“It was something Taehyung said ages ago because some girl called Yoongi-hyung that and he thought it was hilarious.”

Jungkook gave Jimin a questioning look. Jimin patted his arm.

“You had to be there, dude.” He rubbed his chin, shifting focus as Jungkook sat with question marks over his head. “If we’re here, they’ll cook for us, but noona’s room is basically right next to the kitchen. If we try to go in her bedroom, she’ll definitely see. It would be better if we leave while they’re cooking.”

“If we leave, we can’t search.”

“No, no. I’ll leave. You stay in my room and wait.”

Jungkook frowned. “Huh?”

Jimin looked exasperated.

The lightbulb suddenly sprung up over Jungkook’s head. “Oh! Oh, I see, I’ll come over in the evening, and we say we’re going out to eat or something, but you’ll be the only one actually leaving, and I’ll stay and look for it.” Then he scrunched up his face, lightbulb flickering slightly. “But that doesn’t change that fact that they’ll be in the kitchen. Hyung and noona can still see the entrance of her room.”

“Yeah, if they’re looking. They’re not gonna be looking.”

“Why not?”

Frustrated, Jimin sliced the air with his hands. “Hello? Nobody home for at least a couple hours? Magic-wand-dick with magic-wand-dick seductress in the same place at the same time? What do you think they’re going to do?”

Jungkook blinked slowly.

“Cook food?”

After some self-reflection and inner soul-searching, Jungkook did eventually come to the conclusion that two hot, horny people left alone would most likely not be cooking.

At least for some of the time.

Now he was paralyzed.

Because it was one thing to know, but whole other thing to be there.

“Yoongi…”

His back against the wall, staring at the bedroom door that closed in his face so many times, and, right around the corner, he could hear a breathless moan and a deep chuckle. His one-track mind suddenly off the rails the second he heard their kiss. Mischievous murmurs, mixed breath and dancing tongue. His heart thudded against his chest as he heard the sound of moving fabric and satisfied sighs, and Jeon Jungkook finally asked himself – what am I doing?

And then he heard his name.

“When are you going to give Jungkook what he wants?”

A low hum, shadowed by kisses on skin.

“When the ball says yes.”

They… talk about me?

“So cruel. Just give it to him. He’s a good kid.”

“You know that’s not how I do things, Yoongi.”

Jungkook felt his breath catch in his throat. Sparks all over his skin, abruptly too hot under his baggy charcoal shirt and black pants, suddenly realizing he was moving closer to the corner instead of closer to the door, his breath stilling, soundless steps to the sinful sound, his fingers spreading out over the wall, the words on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t say them so instead he whispered to the corners of his mind.

How do you do things, then?

“How do you do things, then?” the raspy, lustful voice of Min Yoongi purred.

Jungkook turned his head, pressing his hot cheek against the wall.

“Like this.”

Jungkook peeked over the corner.

He heard the groan and then he saw it. The closed eyes of his hyung, his head tipped back, layers of black hair spilling in the air, her left hand poised on Yoongi’s throat. Index fingernail digging into his chin, thumb next to his Adam’s apple, the rest spread out over his neck, caressing the fair skin as her head moved down, the sound of kisses and tongue over Yoongi’s bare chest, leaving glistening lines of saliva visible in the kitchen’s overhead lighting. Yoongi’s back arched over the counter, his exhale deepening, arms and fingers spreading out over the granite, gasping as her tongue flickered over his dark nipple.

Jungkook’s eyes widened, heartbeat accelerating.

Her fingers curved, wrapping around his hyung’s throat.

Yoongi’s lips parted, breathing out her name in a low hiss.

Jungkook felt his cock twitch, immediately occupying all that loose space in the crotch of his pants.

Her tongue shifted to her own forearm, tracing a line of saliva up, up, Yoongi’s head falling back, constricted breath drifting out in heavy pants, and then their lips connected in a heated kiss, her hair curling against her bare back, the kitchen island blocking Jungkook’s view of the lower half of their bodies.

Her body shifted and Jungkook spied the top half of her juicy, full, naked ass.

He snapped back over the corner, sliding his right hand over his mouth so he didn’t make a goddamn peep. The threatening moan bubbling in his chest could have been both embarrassing and revealing of his position. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have looked. That was a private moment between two people and he shouldn’t have–

Jungkook clenched his jaw and soundlessly whimpered behind his fingers as he pressed his left hand onto his hard-on, trying to get it to calm the fuck down.

He heard Yoongi pant, “Fuck, already going that deep, hah?”

Jungkook clutched his erection and squeezed it harshly, telling it to shut up, it’s not you, stop getting excited over nothing, you delusional idiot, but he could hear the sounds of tongue and lips, of wetness and desire, of Yoongi’s moans and hers getting stuffed back into her throat, and he was rolling his hips into his own hand, his cheeks burning as he felt the pre-cum dripping into his underwear, slick against the sensitive head, his eyes squeezing shut, and he could see her face, maybe even feel her tongue, this is so wrong but I can’t stop, throbs of pleasure racing up his torso and down his legs, running his hand up and down on his pulsing length, I’m so fucking hard, holy fuck, the sounds getting louder, messier, imagining her tongue flickering out and ghosting his balls mid-thrust and Jungkook suddenly tensed his shoulders, gripping his cock viciously hard and locking his hips.

He heard Yoongi hiss her name and her loud, audible swallowing.

Jungkook screamed in his head as he cut off his own orgasm and tried not to make a noise, his whimper thrashing against his ribcage next to his pounding heart.

A mischievous, deep chuckle and Jungkook could imagine the way Yoongi ran his fingers through his long messy black hair, pushing it away from his smirking face to look downwards.

“You look so good with my cock in your mouth.”

There was a flurry of noise, probably changing positions, and Jungkook threw himself off the wall and turned the handle of her bedroom door as silently as he could, slipping into the room and pressing his body flat against the wall, closing the door just as quietly.

He winced, feeling his boxer briefs soaked in pre-cum.

Don’t listen, don’t listen, don’t listen.

He heard a smokey, drawn-out moan of Yoongi’s name.

Jungkook jerked his body away from the wall, shuddering. He was not about to jack off in her bedroom. That was much too cliché to be doing, even for him. He forced himself to look up.

“H… Holy shit…”

It was a neat room, but it was strangely crammed with a ton of colorful things. Soft plushies with cute faces from various franchises, colorful albums stacked side by side between them, hanging keychains on clear hooks on the wall. She seemed to have a thing for plush sheep in pastel colors. The fluffy little guys were placed all over the room. Lilac, plush pink, mint, sky blue, cute little smiles and soft-looking horns, perched on shelves and on top of a huge yellow sheep Pokémon with a blue face. That one had to be at least a meter long.

There was also a big Snorlax sitting on the floor. Jungkook knew the name of that Pokémon.

“Uh…”

There was a myriad of knickknacks too. On the desk, a light purple standing CD player, rolls of washi tape, memo pads, and colorful brush markers. He noticed that the colors were muted, either desaturated darker shades or light pastel. He didn’t expect her to have so many cute things. She primarily wore black with only a handful of other colors, but, upon closer inspection, he could see the reflection of her in select, careful choices scattered about. Black leather notebooks, a hanging keychain of a black skull with a blank white tag, a strange velvet box shaped like a coffin. Curious, Jungkook opened it, seeing a collection of silver rings with ram skull motifs on them.

He recognized them because he stared at her hands a lot.

“No, I don’t,” Jungkook whispered under his breath to absolutely no one.

He closed the box and carefully put it back.

There were small memo sheets taped onto the shelf above the desk. They had small cats drawn onto them, doing things that corresponded to what was scrawled onto them. Do laundry on Friday. Pick up package from post office. In-office work next Tuesday. One of them had a cat struggling to carry a huge hunk of cartoon meat with the bone in it. Grocery shop tomorrow – ask if JK is spending the weekend, will need extra meat. Underneath the initials of JK was a bunny head drawn in pink pen with stars as eyes.

“Why am I pink?” he asked to absolutely no one.

Jungkook suddenly heard a very loud, “Mmm, fuck, Yoongi!”

He jumped and scurried about, scanning the room quickly. Better hurry. He had no idea how long they were going to, uh, fuck on the counter, wait where they actually, maybe I should go see, no, no, Jungkook, focus, find the ball, looking about the room, find the ball, seeing the unmade bed with the thick black velvet duvet, isn’t that sweaty or does she sleep naked, stop right there, think about that later tonight, to the tuxedo cat plush next to the pillows. It was strangely sitting up even though the covers were thrown back, clearly carefully placed before leaving the bed. Weird. Sateen black sheets and pillowcases. And then his eyes fell onto the dark wood nightstand with a hanging black sconce.

Most people had books, a cup for water, perhaps lip balm.

She had a plush Grim Reaper with a fluffy white sheep beside it, a pile of condoms, and a Magic-8 ball right next to her bed.

“What.”

Again, no one was there to respond to Jungkook’s confusion.

Upon seeing the black plastic ball, however, his eyes narrowed. He scowled at it. Raised his hand and mimed shooting it. Why not? It wasn’t bulletproof or anything.

You stupid piece of shit. Time to get your just deserts.

Then he heard the doorknob turn.

He threw himself to the hardwood floor and immediately slid his entire body into the closest hiding spot. Never had he moved so fast. Must have been a damn record. Too bad no one but an army of plushies was here to witness his amazing disappearing act.

“You don’t want to fuck on the bed?” she was saying as the door opened.

On the bed? Jungkook screamed in his head, clutching the sparse dust bunnies under the bed. You can’t be serious, I’m gonna have to lay here and listen to you guys fuck right above my head? There isn’t even space to jack off down here!

“We can fuck on your bed when they get back. No, I want to get something. Stay here.”

When they get back, Jungkook scowled as he saw Yoongi’s pale feet walk past. Rub it into my face some more why don’t you, hyung, stupid sex on legs–

“The Magic-8 ball?” she asked.

Jungkook felt cold sweat break out on his back.

“You never use this thing on me.”

“That’s because I shake your balls and they always say yes to me even if your mouth is saying no.”

Jungkook’s cheeks heated, cooking his face against the hardwood. His hard dick was mashed between his body and the floor. Great. Awesome. Not now, bro. This was too much. He was getting sweaty in the tight space and his dick was refusing to listen to reason. What else is new?

“We’ll see how cocky you remain after I’m done with you.”

Jungkook heard the drawer of the nightstand open, some rustling, and then.

A humming sound.

“Oh?” A devious snicker. “Here?”

Please not here, I will literally cum on your floor under your bed.

“Nah. Get on the kitchen counter. I have to prepare my meal.”

“So dirty, Yoongi.”

Jungkook faceplanted into the wood as he heard them leave.

His hyung had definitely been carrying a vibrator.

He stayed there for a full minute before yanking his body out from under the bed, face on fire, snatching the Magic-8 ball from the nightstand and slinking along to the floor, reaching for the door handle.

Don’t look, Jungkook.

He opened the door and slunk into the hallway, closing it silently behind him. They weren’t going to hear him. She was moaning in the kitchen, a coaxing hum getting loud. There was a sucking sound of wetness accompanying it.

Jungkook made it halfway down to Jimin’s room before he and the cursed hunk of plastic slithered back to the corner closest to the kitchen.

He peered over the edge.

Saw her head thrown back, hair messy and shoulders tense, sitting on the kitchen counter with her legs spread wide open. Yoongi between them, pressing a mint-colored silicone device against her pussy, his pushed-back black hair against her plush thigh, his smirk visible in his profile.

“Don’t close your legs.”

“Not a fucking chance,” she gasped, her muscles flexing, nipples hard and perky breasts pointing upwards as she slid back a little in ecstasy, crying out, the loud squelch indicating her release, and Jungkook held his breath as he witnessed the shiny, glossy splatter against mint silicone and the inside of her thighs.

Yoongi’s hand shifted, revealing the puffy slick lips of her pussy, throbbing with the force of orgasm. He leaned in and Jungkook listened to her breathless moan as his hyung licked it all up, messy and loud, the sound echoing throughout the kitchen. A shudder flickered throughout her body, her fingers tensing on the countertop, dragging along the granite.

“Give in?” Yoongi drawled, deeper in his Daegu satoori.

“No,” she growled down at his hyung.

“Again then.”

Jungkook sank to the floor, gripping the Magic-8 ball and thrusting his hips into the floor in silent frustration, knowing he couldn’t take much more of this, but he was doing it to himself, and he had no idea why. Ugh, there was just something so good and so bad about it, rolling over and running his fingers over his rock-hard, ignored length trapped under layers of fabric, his dreams and his reality mixing together, so close yet so far, just wait a couple more days, you can wait a couple more days, the weekend is right around the corner…

He crawled back to Jimin’s room, clutching the Magic-8 ball and the last shreds of his dignity.

“How was the mission?”

Jungkook held up the Magic-8 ball.

“Nice!”

He grunted and shoved the plastic sphere back under him, remaining face-down in Jimin’s bed.

“Uh… You okay, bro?”

Jungkook remained unmoving.

“… Bro?”

“I hate you.”

The Magic-8 ball, understandably, said nothing.

Jungkook glared at it. It remained innocently sitting in the middle of his bed, in his apartment with no working air-conditioning unit, which was not a problem right now, but, come summertime, he was going to be complaining every night and escaping to Seokjin-hyung’s house for a sweat-free sleep. The offensive hunk of plastic was completely still, the little circular window revealing the triangular thingy inside it that currently read, I don’t think so.

He squinted angrily at it. “You caused me a lot of trouble. I should throw you away. I could do it right now,” he threatened to absolutely no one because the Magic-8 ball was not sentient. It was just a plastic children’s toy. Jungkook just needed it to know it was hated. “Everyone knows about you, everyone knows it’s all your fault, everyone knows you’re the one that stopped me from–”

His breath suddenly caught in his throat.

From?

Her moan echoed throughout his thoughts, invading everything.

Having sex with her.

That could have been him, in the kitchen. Not Yoongi. Him. That could have been him, leaning back with her hand around his neck, him shuddering as her tongue and lips claimed his chest, him moaning as her mouth covered his cock and slid down her throat, him, it could have been all him, but instead it was his hyung, all because of this dumb black sphere.

It was sexy though.

Watching.

“N-No, it wasn’t,” Jungkook snapped at the Magic-8 ball.

Unsurprisingly, it did not reply.

His heart raced in his chest, remembering every detail. He saw it all. He didn’t look away until he knew he couldn’t hold back his noise any longer. He didn’t want to look away. He didn’t want to back away. He had focused on every detail. Because Jungkook knew he could watch all the porn in the world, but nothing was like the real thing, something he had never experienced himself. Thundering heartbeat, irresistible attraction, need so strong that he almost abandoned the plan and announced his presence, all because…

Because.

“You could feel it,” Jungkook breathed to the air, staring into space. “Passion.”

He wouldn’t say that he hadn’t loved, but there was certainly something he had missed along the way, something he hadn’t thought about, well, how could he yearn for something never knew? He did things because he thought it was right, a good way to express love, and it was, there was no lie there. But it was never like this. Like he was ready to take risks, ready to put his neck on the line, ready to run recklessly into her arms, ready to…

Steal.

Like a robber.

Jungkook turned and stared at the top of his blankets were the Magic-8 ball sat innocently.

It had rolled and hit him in the arm.

The message had changed.

Ask again later.

“I will,” he murmured, picking it up and setting it, circular window down, onto his nightstand, next to his star projector, turning it on and staring at the colorful, artificial, rippling lights as he slipped down into his duvet, landing on his pillows with a flump.

It was quiet, all alone.

Jungkook scoffed.

“I’m crazy, huh.”

The Magic-8 ball was face down, so it was even more unresponsive than usual.

Okay. There’s no need to overthink anything.

Jungkook thought to himself as he tugged on the sleeves of his black bomber, revealing the silver chain bracelets on each wrist. Sniffed his black shirt, checking if it was clean for the eighth time. Tucked his black hair behind his ears. Felt it was awkward and flung the ends back out, covering the tops of his ears and brushing against his cheekbones. Then it pushed his hair to the right. Then the left.

Yeah.

It was going great.

Hadn’t even knocked on the door yet. Didn’t even know if she was in her room, although it was very likely. According to Jimin before he left, I saw her come out to brush her teeth and then she wandered back into her room so… unless she jumped out the window, she’s still there.

“Asking the big question?”

Jungkook jumped and his fist flew up.

Min Yoongi raised his eyebrows.

Jungkook immediately put his fist down. “H… Hey, hyung.”

The other male tilted his head, peering curiously at him with a sharp-cat-like gaze. Yoongi was wearing a black bomber jacket as well, although his had white trim and embroidered dragons in silver thread. White shirt with a small logo on the chest, loose black pants with his keys on a chain, hooked to a belt loop.

He ticked his chin to the door. “Feeling lucky?”

Jungkook scratched the back of his head. “Um…”

In his mind, the kiss between his hyung and noona came up in striking detail.

Jungkook felt his cheeks heat and a small tent pitch in his pants.

“You’re pretty persistent, hm?” Yoongi was saying, running a hand through his long black hair. “Lesser men would have given up by now.” He patted Jungkook on the arm. “That’s a good trait to have.”

There was a certain kind of terror as Jungkook glanced at Yoongi’s hand on his arm and Yoongi continued looking at the bedroom door, as if he too had a question to ask the one behind it. Then Yoongi dropped his hand, tucking it in his pocket and turning his head to face him.

Jungkook did his best to swallow his fear as those piercing dark brown eyes landed on him.

“Something wrong?” Yoongi asked in that smokey, raspy Daegu satoori of his.

No. No, not at all.

Jungkook opened his mouth and nothing came out.

Yoongi tilted his head.

He attempted to speak once more. “Where are you going today, h-hyung?”

“Me?” The older man blinked slowly. “Dunno. Wander about I guess.”

Jungkook furrowed his brows, puzzlement eating away at his nervousness. “Why?”

Yoongi gave him a pointed stare.

Then he smiled.

Actually, it was more of a smirk.

Suddenly, Jungkook’s unease came torrenting back.

“See you, Jungkook.”

“W-Wait, hyung–”

But Yoongi was already turning his back on him and the bedroom door was opening.

“Who is having a conversation out here – Jungkook?”

“N-Noona!”

She blinked at him, holding her phone in one hand and the door handle in the other. Wearing black silk pajama shorts and a big black sweater with a white cat face that had angry eyebrows on a rather neutral expression. “Uh, yeah. This is my room. Thought you knew that. This is the twenty-sixth time you’ve been standing here and the twenty-seventh that you’ll ask the question.”

He stared at her; eyes wide.

“You’ve been counting?”

She stared back with an ambiguous, vague expression.

A bird cawed outside.

The front door closed and locked, indicating Min Yoongi was gone, leaving Jeon Jungkook and his noona all alone in a big, empty house in the middle of the day during the weekend.

“… Same question?” she asked plainly.

Wait. She’s been counting. She’s aware. She knows. Of course, she knows. She literally talked about you with Yoongi. What… What’s going on? She… And then the memory of her moan, her head tipped back, her breasts and hard nipples, the ripple of orgasm visibly traveling through her body, down, down to pale hands and black hair, to Yoongi and that could be you, Jungkook. You.

“U-Um.”

She didn’t move, waiting patiently in front of him.

Jungkook reached out.

His fingers brushed her sweater, just under her shoulder. She turned her head, looking down at his tattooed fingers against black knit fabric. Warmth and softness at his fingertips. So close. All this time, so close.

Almost.

His.

“Uh…”

She raised her eyebrows, understandably looking confused as fuck.

Jungkook withdrew his hand quickly. “Erm. Sorry. Sorry, ah.” He shook his head roughly, wincing. “Look, um, I…” He stumbled once more, tongue-tied. “Ah…” Lifted his head, finding he inquisitive gaze, his heart galloping in his chest, absolutely rampant in his ribcage. “It’s rigged, isn’t it? You’re playing around with me and my feelings, aren’t you? You never intended to have sex with me, did you?”

She held his gaze. “What makes you say that?”

He scoffed, feeling something fall down and crush his heart, biting back the sting of pain. “Well, I mean–the ball, Yoongi-hyung and you�� anyone can… can tell…” Why? Why is it so hard to breathe? “And… the way… you touch him…”

His words died in the sudden helpless feeling that ate him inside out.

“I touch everyone like that when we’re fucking,” she said gently.

“Hah…” He wanted to believe it, but, no, there was no way that could be possible.

“I’ll touch you like that if we fuck, Jungkook.”

Her face remained calm and collected, and Jungkook felt himself fall apart little by little, crumbling in the eye of the storm, he had come so far, number twenty-seven, come on, if the answer is no, the answer is no, just give it up, I can’t do this anymore, because I…

Her eyes flickered downwards but quickly returned, a sterling resilience in them.

“You didn’t tell me you have those feelings.”

Jungkook felt a shudder shimmer through him.

“You got me feeling like a psycho, noona,” he breathed.

She smiled.

His heart did am uncomfortable flutter and faceplant.

“Ask me the question,” she purred.

Smooth like butter.

What a dainty smile with the perfect hint of naughtiness. He wanted to scream in frustration and triumph, but that would be alarming, so instead Jungkook screamed in his head and asked the question at a normal volume.

“Will you have sex with me?”

He knew what was going to happen next. The door was going to close in his face and she was going to go looking for the Magic-8 ball that wasn’t there. Then he would have to play it cool and–

“I will.”

What.

Jungkook blinked. “W-Wait, don’t you have to get the thing?” he sputtered.

Her head cocked, strands of hair falling down her shoulder. “The thing?”

He made a spherical shape with his hands, wringing them in mild panic. “The cursed ball thingy.” Shook his hands in the air, miming the familiar action. “Then it says no, and you…” Trembling breath, twenty-six memories playing back-to-back on warp speed, making him nauseous in his head. “Y-You walk away from me.”

She raised her eyebrows.

Tipped her head to one side, whispering under her breath. Jungkook caught – I seem to have scarred him, I didn’t think he cared that much, I should have been more attentive, you fool, get it together… Then she jerked her head, startling him and forcing him to snap to attention at her direct gaze.

“I don’t have it.”

“E… Eh?”

She clicked her tongue, twisting her lips to one side. “I don’t have the Magic-8 ball. Dunno where it went. I thought I knocked it over, but I checked under the bed and everything. I don’t know where it rolled off to.” She shrugged. “I’m not one to lose things, especially stuff people gave me.”

He frowned, confused.

“It was a gift?”

Oh, shit. I stole a gift?!

“Yeah, Jimin gave it to me,” she sighed, shaking her head.

Jungkook’s frown instantly evaporated.

There was a silence so barren that it was completely possible for a tumbleweed to blow past.

Jungkook placed his knuckle on his forehead and rubbed a slow circle.

“Jimin-ssi, huh?” he squeezed out between clenched teeth.

“Yup.”

He let out a pressurized exhale equivalent to a small volcanic eruption. “So… if you never had the Magic-8 ball, you wouldn’t…. You wouldn’t have denied me all this time?”

“Mmm, I think I would have changed it to flipping a coin or something.”

He raised his head. A coin? A fifty-fifty chance rather than whatever-the-fuck chance he had going on before? What the fuck?! He was going to murder Jimin!

She leaned against the doorframe, looking thoughtful. “I think I would have always added some small element of chance to it, considering, well.” She chuckled softly, smiling up at him.

Thought of homicide slipped away, replaced by that endearing smile with sparkling playfulness, an almost smirk that filled his heart with a weird kind of warmth.

“C… Considering what?”

She gave him a rueful pout. “Considering it’s a little suspicious, isn’t it? Someone as attractive and hot as you, claiming some silly girls said you fucked like a robot? First,” she continued, raising her fist with her pinky outstretched. “You don’t seem like the type to care about what others think about you.”

“I-I-It’s sex! How am I supposed to feel when someone says something like that?” he sputtered, ears burning at her compliment. She said I’m hot! And then, what the, am I a teenager, why am I getting worked up over something like that? Yet his blood pumped harder anyway, excitement and anticipation spurred on by the praise.

She shrugged, ghost of a smirk on her lips. “Okay. Two,” she added, ring finger popping up. Her expression sharpened. “It feels like you only picked me for easy access. Because I live here.”

“B-But Jimin said–”

Her eyes narrowed, piercing.

Jungkook shut up.

Don’t tell her about the nuts thing.

The silence was too long. She scrutinized him silently but then continued, seemingly letting it slide. Her middle finger raised with the other two.

“Three. Seems like you have a noona kink.”

His cheeks felt like they had been thrown into right into a volcano.

“I-I-I don’t – you fuck Yoongi!”

She blinked.

Veeery slowly.

Now Jungkook wanted to throw himself into a volcano.

“… Hyung. Y-Yoongi-hyung,” he squeaked.

Mmm, mmm, mmm. Yes, adding the honorific here will save you.

Her expression contorted a little and her index finger half-raised before Jungkook’s hand shot out and grabbed hers, cramming all the fingers back down to her palm, panic coursing through him, oh my God, this is all going to shit, “Ah, j-just, no more fingers, I’m sorry, yes, I have a noona kink, whatever it takes, I don’t fucking know, okay, it’s not because you’re easy access, it’s because I really, truly, never felt so much desire for a person in my life and you haven’t even touched me, but y-you’re the only one that has never made me want and I don’t know how it happened, it drives me crazy, your��”

His breath caught in his throat.

His fingertips caressed the back of her knuckles.

“Hands.”

His eyes slowly, slowly shifted up, to hers, to a smile with a shadow of deviousness that made his heart race.

“Your hands.”

He held on, maybe the only time he would ever touch her hand after this disaster of a moment. “They must…” he said shakily, squeezing her hand under his. “They must make him feel so good and it’ll never…” He didn’t want to let go, but he had to.

Had to.

“It’ll never be me,” he breathed, voice breaking.

Let go.

Jungkook let go.

Her hand opened and captured his wrist.

His eyes widened.

She yanked him forward, making him stumble and collide, the soft scent of brown sugar and sweet coffee drifting up from the collar of her sweater, his lips parting and her closing the distance, pressing her thumb against his wrist, tracing the silver chain bracelet, her mouth centimeters from his.

“He likes the hands,” she chuckled, seductive and intoxicating. “But mostly Yoongi likes the kiss.”

She pressed her lips to the underside of his lower lip, right at the center.

Jungkook shivered, stunned and jumbled, almost thinking she had missed somehow, accidentally kissing the mole under his lower lip, but there was clear intention, a delicate press of such subtle sweetness that all nervousness inside him crumbled, tumbling onto the contented sigh that escaped from her lips, lost in her touch, the light presses up the side of his mouth, right to his lip ring, her breath shallowing, hitched with threads of arousal that seeped into him too, a puppet to her taste, his inhale extracting from her exhale and then her lips touched his.

She tilted her head and kissed him fully.

It was the varying pressure of tenderness and insistence, as if she was holding back, as if she was so close to breaking and smothering him with desire but she was feeding it to the slowly, building it layer by layer, flickers of tongue and whispers of moans slipping between their lips, her thumb rubbing his palm, her other fingers caressing the back of his hand, multiple sensations like sparks catching fire. Her other hand slipped under his bomber jacket, ghosting over the fabric, the oversized fit keeping air between his shirt and his body, and then she pressed down onto the small of his back, coaxing his body to hers, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Her tongue traced the entrance of his mouth, stroking his lip ring, sliding back, breathing in, humming in approval at his scent. Pressing deeply, swallowing his shivering cry. A pleased murmur and she drew back, her eyes slowly opening, smug smirk dancing on her lips.

Jungkook panted, slack-jawed.

No fucking wonder Yoongi broke his own rule. I would murder to be kissed like that again.

“What… What the hell was that?” he breathed, voice slurred and deep, suddenly aware that his Busan satoori was drawn out in as his mind swirled.

“A kiss,” she quipped playfully.

“That,” he rasped, shooting her an indignant look. “Is complete and utter bullshit. Who the fuck kisses like that?”

She smiled, enigmatic and sly. “Me.”

He narrowed his eyes, turning his hand in hers, intending to grab it tightly, but then her fingers slipped between his, intertwining and locking, palm to palm, and he held on tight, forgetting what he was going to say. She filled the silence for him, speaking softly between them.

“You have a nice kiss.”

“I… I do?”

She nodded, leisurely smile and stroking his back. “It’s earnest. Simple. No frills or tricks. Just you.”

He frowned slightly, knitting his brows together. “That… That doesn’t sound very exciting though. It’s nothing like yours, so…” He struggled, finding no word concise enough. “Dynamic. Intoxicating. Addictive.”

The side of her lips quirked up. “No one ever kiss you like that?”

He stared into her eyes, full of mirth and reflecting his wonder. Shook his head.

“Hm. No one ever wanted to fuck you like an animal, then.”

She held his hand, her other on his waist, two dancers attuned to the symphony of passion, her lashes lowering, leaning in again, murmuring his name and he found his lips breathing hers, reaching out himself, hesitant, is this my place, and her lips pressed just under his again, smile to his skin.

“Do you think I was meant to fuck you?” she mumbled.

“The Magic-8 ball didn’t think so,” Jungkook spat bitterly.

She chuckled, her laughter feathering against his chin.

“I really hate that thing,” he muttered. “It was so mean to me.”

“Mmm…” She dotted light kisses on his lips, each one a lingering wish for more, more. “There’s something about the anticipation though, isn’t there? The uncertainty, the wait, the denial, the almost and then the yes.”

Kissing him again and he was lost in it once more, more intense this time, her tongue darting into his mouth, quick and teasing, tugging on his hand in hers, rolling her body into his, layers of fabric preventing the full sensation, but there it was, the anticipation, the uncertainty, the wait, his gasp trapped in her mouth and then the sharp break of the kiss, her tightly sucking on his lower lip and immediately releasing him, sending a ripple of want through his veins, the whine tumbling out of him, the denial, the almost, and her smile, tugging him in her bedroom.

“You’ve never been in here, huh?”

His eyes shifted, seeing the familiar plushies and pastel colors mixed with flourishes of black and strangely cute occult.

“Erm…”

“You think I have too much stuff, huh?” she chuckled, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out her phone, and he started slightly, he must have been too focused on the kiss to even notice she had slipped it in there to hold him by the waist. “When I like something, I get a lot of it.” She placed her phone on her desk, gliding back to him on light steps, standing in front of him once more.

“Ah… yeah, me too, the hyungs make fun of me because I have a lot of Bluetooth speakers,” Jungkook said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “There’s a lot of choice out there.”

She ticked her head, smiling, a little death that tumbled his consciousness into a worrying mix of lust and desperation now that he had a hint of what those lips could do.

Her hand lifted.

Fingertips grazing his jaw.

He almost moaned, but bit it back, keeping eye contact.

“Sometimes there’s only one choice. One-of-a-kind.”

She smirked.

Fuck, I can’t take much more of this, I think I’m gonna cream in my pants if she keeps talking like that.

Her thumb stroked his cheekbone, her smile creeping into her eyes, glittering orbs of sweetness mixed with wickedness, like brown sugar and strong coffee, the perfume drifting off her wrist to his nose. Her middle finger toyed his earrings, the fingernail dragging down the curve of his ear.

“I don’t like half-assing anything,” she admitted, apologies in her expression. “I don’t like giving up, I don’t like giving in, and I don’t like not giving my all.”

Small snicker.

She’s so fucking pretty when she looks a little evil.

“What about you?”

Jungkook smirked back, the thrill of excitement burning strong within his core.

“Me neither.”

She grinned. “That’s good. I promise to listen to you tell me it’s too much.”

“Okay–”

Her hand glided down his jaw and outlined his neck, following the tendons and muscle. He cut himself off, eyes widening, his heart leaping into his throat, transfixed on her exploring expression. The way she looked at him, like he was tactile art, caressing his skin with her fingertips.

Her fingers wrapped around his neck.

He held his breath.

But she didn’t tighten her grip, only loosely holding, her lashes slowly lifting, seconds ticking past and then she made eye contact. Something hazy and dark in those eyes. Her lips parted, lightly licking the side of her lip.

“Sorry,” she breathed out, strangely shallow, and Jungkook found himself hanging onto every word, fascinated by the way she formed them, collected but barely so, keeping him at arm’s length. “I’m not going to choke you. I… wanted to see you like this. For myself.”

That smile, honest with a flair of mischief.

“I know it’s selfish.”

He remembered her hand around Yoongi’s throat, her fingers splayed, her nails digging into that handsome pale neck, owning it, you could own me too, his blood burning hotter, remembering her touch on someone else, and Jungkook looked down at her clothed arm extended towards him, their bodies separated by too much space. His whisper was heavy and laced with lust.

“Does it…”

Looked up, tilting his head, letting his black hair fall over one eye.

“Turn you on, noona?”

So close.

“I want to please you too,” Jungkook murmured.

She caressed his neck, nicking her fingernails against the sides of his neck, making him gasp.

“When did I please you?” she purred, dream-like, her touch, her voice, her gaze, bringing him somewhere else, her other hand dancing up his chest, rippling the fabric against his skin. “Tell me.”

“All the time.” Shivering, watching her free hand pause and rest on his chest, outlining his pecs through the jersey fabric. “Especially when I’m alone.” Her moan ringing in his ears, right there in the kitchen counter, meters away from him. “It’s so sexy, the way you move and sound, like you feel pleasure everywhere and it makes me want to feel it too, makes me want to touch myself and pretend that it’s you taking my clothes off…”

Her hand on his neck tugged and he looked up, blinking slowly, somewhere between memory and reality, but she only pushed him down slightly and tipped his chin up, forcing him in an awkward crouching position to kiss him. Slow, sensual, flicking tongue and plush lips, mumbling against his open mouth.

“Mmm, you’re such a fucking dream, a pretty face thinking such dirty things,” she purred, removing her hand from his neck and he whimpered, feeling lost, but she kissed the side of his mouth, chuckling softly. “Is there more? Tell me there’s more. Make me want you, Jungkook.”

Her hands on his shoulders, pushing down his jacket.

“I…”

She tossed it into her desk chair, taking his forearm and straightening him, running her fingers against the colorful tattoos of his inner arm.

“I see your hands,” he breathed, watching and feeling her fingertips graze the black on his inner elbow. “A-And I imagine them touching my cock. Your fingers wrapping around me and, f-fuck,” he gasped, his face burning, seeing her hand drift, skimming over his black shirt, lower. “I get so hard, it’s so w-wrong, but sometimes…”

She hovered her palm over his erection, so close, her lips against his ear because his head had fallen maybe shame, maybe need to watch, maybe both, he was going crazy, feeling like a psycho, recalling how it felt in the hallway just outside this door, stroking his leaking cock through his pants and edging himself while watching their sex in the kitchen, he was a bad boy, I shouldn’t have done that, but it had just felt so good, so fucking good that he went home and got himself off for real, thinking about it again, dragging down his cum-soaked underwear and pumping his throbbing length punishingly tight, imagining it was her hand and her voice in his ear.

“It’s okay. You can’t help it.”

Her hand pressed into his crotch and he moaned at the feeling of her fingers encircling his stiff length trapped under layers of fabric, his forehead hitting her shoulder, feeling the wet, slick spot already forming underneath the tip.

“Roll your hips. Let me feel you.”

Mirroring himself days before, but instead of his own hand, it was hers. “F-Fuck…” So much better, rubbing him with each rock of his hips, hooking her fingers under the head and squishing the pre-cum against the sensitive skin. He whined and looked up. Instantly, her free hand rose, grasping his chin firmly and gently, and he saw her smirk, white teeth catching the edge of her lower lip.

“Don’t be afraid,” she nudged, sliding a finger over his chin and tugging down. “Make your noises. Talk to me.”

He was going to say something stupid, he knew it, so he simply moaned instead, humping her hand in the middle of her bedroom, with force and with speed, too impatient to wait any longer, not enough friction so he begged for more in small whines, hoping his pleas reached his teary eyes.

“Just like this?” she hummed, twisting her palm from side to side, alternating the pressure and the tightness, keeping him on the edge. “You fuck your hand like this and think about me?”

Think about you?

Jungkook bit his lower lip, feeling the ripple of desire flow through him.

I watched you and him.

He winced, feeling his cock lurch in his pants.

Fuck.

A slow smirk grew on those sinful lips. “Oh?”

Breathing hard, his chin gripped by her hand, and she squeezed him below, forceful but not too tight, tearing a gasp out of him. A pulse of tightness, pressing two fingers into his balls, and he yelped, jerking in her hand, then immediately knocking his hard-on into her touch again, hoping she got the hint.

“Y-You surprised me…” he got out, reaching for her hands again, touch me again, don’t stop, I’m okay, please…

She let go of his chin.

Grabbed the bottom of his shirt and jammed it into his abdomen, pushing up, up, hot friction and sudden shock, his arms lifting as she cocked her head.

“Take it off.”

He scrambled with the bunched-up fabric, yanking it up and over his head hastily. Tossed it aside, knocking over plushies, “Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry,” but she knocked his hands down and seized his wrists, slamming them down to his sides with vicious force.

“A-Ah!”

She hovered in front of him.

Calm, succinct, matter-of-fact.

“You watched Yoongi and I fuck in the kitchen, didn’t you?” she said, staring into his eyes.

Jungkook’s eyes almost popped out of his head.

“N-N-No!”

She ducked down and planted her tongue right on his sternum, looking up at him as she licked his chest, hot and wet and sensual, creating glossy lines of spit across and up to his collarbones, deliberate, expressionless.

“I thought I saw your eyes,” she chuckled, dark and deep, flicking his nipple with the tip of her tongue and the moan tumbled out of him, embarrassingly loud, so fucking wrong, but so was sucking on his nipple and raking her teeth over it, his body writhing in want, pressing to her lips, wanting more, and her thigh hit his thigh, knocking him back into place. “Your black hair and big eyes curiously watching what your hyung and noona were doing, huh?”

Fuck, I’m an idiot, stupid dummy Jungkook, couldn’t you keep your big peepers to yourself?!

“I-I-I didn’t mean to… it j-just happened, I–”

She drew a circle on his chest and planted a sloppy kiss right in the center, above his skyrocketing heart, and Jungkook suddenly had the image of her doing that to the head of his cock and he was fucked, completely and utterly fucked.

“Did you like what you saw?” she asked serenely, her hands crawling up to his forearms, gripping them tight.

He could barely breathe and he was a shit liar.

“Y-Yes…”

She hummed, nodding lightly.

“Flex for me.”

Jungkook blinked. “Um…” He tried to tense his chest.

She shook her head.

“Your arms.”

“Oh.” Tucked his lower lip in between his teeth and made fists, checking to make sure his arms were flexed. It was hard to see on his right arm from his tattoos, but it was easy to see on his left, sculpted muscle bulging at his insistence. “If I could raise my arms, you could see my bic–”

She sucked in a slow breath, caressing his hard forearms, and then let it out, steady, rolling her hips into his thigh, her self-satisfied sigh washing over his wet, naked chest.

“O-Oh.”

He had never felt like a third wheel to his own forearms before, but there was a first for everything.

Her head rolled back, squeezing his tense arms underneath her demanding grip. Tighter. Unyielding. Almost crushing.

“A-Are you mad, noona?” he squeaked.

Her head tilted back, and there it was, open-mouthed smile, naughty and obscene. Sparks burned through his blood at her pornographic expression – her glistening pink tongue hanging out, messy hair over part of her face, eyes glittering with genuine mischievous mirth.

“No.”

She let go of his arms.

“Watch more. Need me more. Want me until you can’t take it anymore and then come give me your crazy, dirty, sexy side.”

She dragged him down and Jungkook sank to his knees, and, this is it, she’s got me, fuck, grabbing him by the waistband of his pants and sliding him on the hardwood, pushing him down, his back hitting the sudden cold, her body over his, pushing her hair to one side and kissing him, deep and harsh, messily thrusting her tongue into his lips and mashing his moans into his throat, his nose saturated with sugar and coffee, I’m crazy, why am I so fucking hard being roughed around like this, whining when she sucked on his lower lip, tight and then sharply letting go. His head snapped back, half a breath, looking up at that gentle smile appreciating his disheveled state.

“Feeling a little psycho, Jungkook?”

If only you were in my head.

He smirked, panting.

“All your fault, noona.”

She blew him right there on her bedroom floor.

Right there on the hardwood, pinning his body down and kissing her way to his crotch, trailing desire and placid licks, the slow contrasting the sharp of her fingernails digging into his side and dragging down, crashing pleasure and pain, his mind reeling, unsure what to focus on, so much to feel, a balance of delicate and danger. “Take these off,” and Jungkook practically ripped his pants and underwear off, the quiet order more than enough, her breathy laugh drifting above him as he nearly smacked her in the face with his clothes.

“S-Sorry!”

He chucked them behind him and heard a fwoomp and then plup, plup, plup.

He jerked his head, seeing fallen plush sheep and a faceplanted Snorlax.

“Shit, I’m so sorr–aaah!”

She shoved her hand onto the base of his abs and swallowed his cock.

He swiveled back, smacking his palms down, gasping as his bare ass hit the floor, cold, but, fuck, her mouth was so warm, so soft, her lips cupping the head, her tongue rubbing the underside, lapping rapidly, rolling wave after rolling wave of pleasure, not even the whole thing in her mouth yet and he was already crazy, his chest rippling from the sensation, her eyes watching him lazily, molding the curve of her tongue to the tip and rubbing all over.

“P… Please…”

He tried to thrust his hips up and she pushed down on his lower belly, cocking an eyebrow, her tongue popping out and licking around his length in a slow circle, plush lips still loosely encasing him.

Jungkook felt his heart leap to his throat and his cock bob in the warm wetness.

She slurped and planted a wet, sloppy kiss onto the dark purple-red head of his cock, string of spit snapping as she retreated.

If I was hyung, I’d fuck every week too. Hell, every fuckin’ day.

She tilted her head, licking along his length, her hand sliding down from his abs and lightly tipping his cock up, thick and hard and covered with her saliva, and she curled her tongue around his balls. Took one in her mouth. Hot, slick bliss. Sucked, nice and slow. Flexed her tongue against the surface, smooth and expansive. Opened her mouth wider, sucking on the skin a little more.

Scooped his other one into her mouth, stuffing her cheeks with his nuts.

“H… Holy fuck.”

She wrapped her fingers around his length and bobbed her head back and down, sucking on his balls and licking in between them, creating a pocket to shove her tongue into, pumping his cock with the same pace, and he could feel the rhythm, the movement of her head, her lips holding him, tongue thrusting, hand on his cock.

Her eyes watching him, looking amused and smug.

Would be trouble if he went pop just like that, so Jungkook locked his jaw and whimpered, trying not to feel too much but it was so hard, the situation and his dick. It was ruining him, his balls in her mouth and her expert touch, his eyelids fluttering, he was losing, no, please, her tongue swirling around now, oh, I’m so fucked, and then she popped her mouth off in wet, sloppy pops, one by one, sending shivers and shocks to cut through his climb to orgasm.

“T…Thanks, I didn’t w-want to c–”

His sputters were cut off because she swallowed him as deep as humanly possible and stuck her tongue out from her lips to poke at his nuts.

“Fuck!”

His dignity tried to come up with something better than fuck as his declaration of delight, but sanity was in short supply, especially as she started to move up and down, one hand elegantly on her hair to hold it back as her other hand anchored herself on his thigh, all while she heedlessly rammed his dick into the back of her throat, slapping her tongue against the base of his cock with every descent.

Sanity?

What sanity?

His eyes actually rolled back as her tongue slid back into her mouth and began teasing the thin skin right under the slit, her lips tightening, trapping him in a veil of slick wetness with complete precision. He was slipping, elbows giving out, his sweaty hair touching the floor, moans tumbling out of him shamelessly, his fingers pressed to the floor, nothing to hold on to, not even a dust bunny, lost in warm and wet and constricting and insistent, and he could do nothing, wanted to do nothing, leaving himself at the mercy of overwhelming passion, feeling so much and wondering why it had never been like this, giving him everything all at once.

There had been so many things to worry about, if he looked good, if he made the right sounds, if he was doing the right things, and now Jungkook had no time to think about any of that because he was feeling too fucking good to be thinking.

His mind went blank and he managed to choke out his words.

“A-ah, no, I’m gonna c-cum!”

It hit him so hard that he gasped, forcing the air out of his own lungs, smacking his fist down on the wood and feeling the orgasm shoot out of him, powerful pumps straight down her throat and she paused, pushing down, and then he was overcome with chills as he felt the twitching head squish into his own cum at the back of her throat, the head throbbing, more dribbling out and pooling around his cock, her tongue curling to hold it, scooping it against gravity’s will.

Ecstasy radiated through him, pulsing levels of high, his body flinching at its power.

Jungkook groaned her name, drawn-out, wanton and gravelly, feeling her swallow and ghost her tongue over his trembling cock.

Hyung, I will literally box you to have my dick sucked like that again.

She turned her head and ran the oversensitive skin against the roof of her mouth, turning him into a whining mess.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

All the way up and she lazily lapped at the head again, looking down at him with a peaceful expression as he gazed back at her, hazy and wrecked.

“Can you get on the bed?” she asked, sounding muffled with a mouthful of dick. “I wanna get fucked.”

“Y-Yeah…”

Seconds later, after she got off him, Jungkook realized he had the walking capacity of a baby fawn. It was as embarrassing as one might think. He nearly faceplanted onto the bed, scrambling on the rumpled black velvet duvet, clutching it before freezing, staring at the pillows at the top. There was the familiar tuxedo cat plush.

Next to it, the pink bunny plush that she had been holding when he had asked the first time.

They flopped against each other, side by side.

Jungkook stared at the cat and bunny plush. Completely naked, half-on, half-off the end.

Hands smacked his ass and grabbed it, spreading it apart.

“Ah!”

He threw himself forward, spinning around, his ears and neck growing hot at being exposed so fully. She smirked, open-mouthed and flickering tongue.

“It was a nice picture,” she teased.

Now his (facial) cheeks burned. “W-W-What, wait, what d-do you mean?”

Instead of answering, she crossed her arms and snatched the hem of her sweater, pulling it up and over her head, her perky tits bouncing, hard nipples poking straight out in the air. Up and over her head, dropping it by her side, running a hand through her hair.

Jungkook stared with his mouth open.

Her brows furrowed a little.

“Hm?”

He sensed her slight displeasure. “Wha? What did I do? Did I do something wrong?”

She hesitated, but her lips formed a small pout. “You really must have seen everything, hah. You’re the only person who didn’t give me a good verbal reaction upon seeing my boobs for the first time.”

What?

And he almost laughed, but held it in, fuck, so cute, her looking away and he could see she was telling herself it wasn’t a big deal but it bothered her all the same, a little irrational thing, so he reached out and touched her arm, her head snapping back to give him her full attention again.

He smiled, tugging lightly.

“I didn’t see them up close yet, though.”

He saw the inner struggle, and yet she stepped closer to him all the same, sliding between his open legs gracefully, black silk of her shorts against his thighs. He skimmed his fingers along her sides, copying her earlier movement. Her eyes watched him with apparent neutral interest and he held her gaze, not yet looking down.

He remembered her back arching, the perfect shape of her breasts above Yoongi’s head.

“Your tits looked so fucking good when you came, noona.”

The side of her lips curved upwards.

Jungkook lowered his head, seeing the ample roundness, and it was better up close, it really was, because those nipples made his mouth water, so large and soft-looking, leaning down and wrapping his lips around one, her shiver traveling through him, they taste so good, what the hell, malleable enough to push around and hard enough to feel substantial, so soft, it was crazy how soft her breasts here, pressing his fingers into them and rubbing her nipples with tongue and finger, listening to her sound. Sweet moans with strength, her hands sliding into his hair, cupping his head, rolling her chest into his lips.

She was moaning for him.

Me.

Jungkook didn’t understand how someone could sound so vulnerable and so commanding at the same time, like she was empowered by her pleasure, running her fingers through his hair and pushing it back, giving him a chance to look up.

She smiled down at him, almost a smirk.

Cradled his head, framing his face with her fingers, becoming art with her touch.

He sucked harder, seeing her gasp, smirk widening.

“Nobody will ever want you like how I want you, Jungkook.”

He believed it.

She pushed his head back, and he whimpered, forced to let go, her nipple slipping out from between his lips, and she shivered, pushing his head back, back, one hand gliding down his jaw, tracing his throat, down his chest, feather-light touch contrasting the fierce grip on his hair, not quite pulling but almost.

Almost.

He yanked on it himself, moaning at the pain.

She raised an eyebrow.

He leaned his head back, looking back up at her helplessly.

“I… I don’t know why I did t-that,” he panted out, whole body alight with arousal.

She tilted her head, slowly licking her lips.

“You don’t?” she murmured. “Is that the truth?”

Her fingernails balanced on his chest; fingers splayed out elegantly.

Breath by shaking breath, Jungkook was falling apart.

“N… No.”

Very calm, very collected, coaxing it out of him.

“Don’t be afraid of the past,” she said quietly. “What’s the truth?”

Don’t be afraid of the past.

He tugged his head forward and her hand remained in place, he was pulling on his own hair, whimpering at the stings of pain that seemed to shift into pleasure immediately, and before his thoughts could interfere with self-doubt, Jungkook opened his mouth.

“I’m a bad boy,” he breathed. “I watched you and Yoongi-hyung in the kitchen and… touched myself, because I… I liked it. Both watching and p-pretending it was me.”

Did I just admit that?

Her fingers twisted in his hair. Light, pulsing tugs, and he kept his head still, gasping, gasps turning into moans as her hand trailed back up, stroking his jawline, smiling down at him, serene and serpentine, sighing softly.

“Oh, Jungkook.”

The way she cherished his name, lightly scolding him and savoring it at the same time.

“You don’t need to pretend anymore.”

She leaned down and kissed him. Pulling his hair, working his mouth, sucking on his tongue, running her fingers over his cheek and neck. Pain, pleasure, possession, obsession, and there was a little part of him that thought, maybe you shouldn’t like this, but mostly he didn’t care because he liked it, I do, the too much being almost not enough, the being thrown onto the bed and kissed down his neck with bites on his throat, I just like it, it makes me feel alive, her poised hands framing his body, down, down, and it was vain, but he felt beautiful in her touch.

Handsome.

Picturesque.

Perfected.

Jungkook did feel like a psycho, but in a good way.

There was no time to think about if he looked good, if he was doing the right thing, if he was enough, mostly because there wasn’t enough time to feel it all at once, lips, fingers, body, skin-to-skin, catching her observing him, precise and piercing, adding crashing sparks to the torrent of pleasure. Her pink tongue cupped around his cock, moving her head up and down to rub it along his length, and his head fell onto the pillows, disturbing the tuxedo cat and the pink bunny plushies.

She kissed him all over and came back up, wiggling her hips. He realized she was getting out of her shorts and panties, but he had no time to admire as she scooped her hand under his head and rolling them over so he was on top, leaving her in between the two plushies, bringing him down to leave kisses he chased after, her free hand reaching over to the nightstand.

And then she held out a condom to him.

Jungkook took it and he wondered, is she going to say the same thing about me, even after all this?

In the middle of opening the package and adjusting it, he felt her watching.

He looked up and she smiled at him.

“You’ll be okay,” she said softly.

Then she kissed her middle and index fingertips and brought them to his lips, pressing down. His eyes widened at the contact. She grinned, a light mischief to add to her chaste kiss.

He grinned back.

It really did feel okay.

For a grand total of five seconds until he started sliding into the pussy.

“Oh… fuck me, you’re so… fucking… tight…”

“I’m very wet, but you are very stimulated and hard right now.”

His neck and ears heated up. “I… w-well…”

Her hands gripped his hips.

“Let me help.”

And then she lifted her hips and slid up to the base.

“Oh, fuck!”

He gasped at the pulsing constriction, his head lurching down, seeing her smirk and her tongue between her teeth, feeling a strange, controlled massage along his length, and then it became very apparent that it was not just the natural course of things.

“Y-You’re doing something down there!”

“Me?” she drawled, licking her teeth. Cocked an eyebrow. “No, surely not.”

Jungkook choked on his own moan as she slapped her hips into his crotch. Holy fuck! Barely had time to adjust his arm as she hooked a leg onto his shoulder, no longer holding his hips and simply springing off the mattress to pummel him from below, oh God, squeezing him and sending tingling bolts of electric passion up his spine and down his legs, so powerful he nearly lost grip, clutching the sheets and following the movement, down, jerking his head back at the sheer strength of erotic bliss. It was less about the actual force and more about how she tipped her hips and pressed every single centimeter of him deep into her soft, warm, inescapable tightness, squeezing him all over, still having the audacity to chuckle under him.

“I know you’re strong, Jungkook,” she exhaled, hot and sultry.

Challenging him.

“Let me feel it.”

For a moment, what if I’m not good, popped into his head.

Her hand shot up and gripped his hair, not quite pulling but clearly in control.

“Fuck me,” she commanded.

So he did.

It was different from any other time. Any other time, he had to be attentive and aware of himself and his partner. He had to be the one in charge, had to take into account the little details, had to worry about his own inexperience, but there was none of that here.

Only pure, raw fucking, doing what felt best. The rough depth, the lewd squelch, her pussy suffocating his cock and his mind going blank at the sensation, not even in charge of his head, yanked this way and that by her grasp and moaning at the pain. His task was to hold up, his task was to go forward, his task was to fuck and she would meet him halfway, every time, every little hiss driving him on, every sharp intake of breath fueling the fire, even all the swearing under her breath as he felt the undeniable throb of her orgasm gripping him and threatening his own, pulsing pleasure radiating all over him at her release, but he held on, he just had to, he didn’t want it to end, it just felt so good, so fucking good, letting go and doing it, knowing it was him that she was looking at, knowing it was him that forced those sounds out of her, knowing that it was his power and hers that caused this sensual sound of their hips slapping together, messy and wet and straight-up pornographic.

Her free hand slid up his forearm, a soft moan dripping from her throat at his hard muscle.

There was just so much to feel, to hear, to see.

He had no time to doubt.

He just had to make her feel good.

Her tongue slid out, licked the air between him and her.

Pushed her head into the pillows and moaned up to the sky, clenching all around his length, leaking onto his crotch and down his thighs, extra slick and sweet-smelling, her fingers scraping into his scalp and skin, her hips flinching, the movement rolling up her chest, inhaling deeply to hiss out to him.

“Fuck, Jungkook.”

Me.

He gave her that orgasm.

Her chin tipped down and she smirked, open-mouthed and satisfied.

It was the sexiest thing in the world, knowing he could do that.

His lower lip snapped out from between his teeth and he groaned, losing all control, slamming his hips down and filling her with everything he had, his balls smacking into her wetness. His cock jerked, and his whole body shuddered as his orgasm shot out of him, pumping into the condom, her walls closing in, his twitching length trying to fight the tightness, heart in his throat and trying to breathe, barely getting her name out, shocking pleasure shooting through his veins, burning a want in its wake, creating a craving.

I’m so fucked.

He lifted one hand, pressing his hot palm to her cool thigh, each exhale shivering, looking up to her pleased gaze and heartfelt smirk, her hand slipping from his sweaty hair, stroking the curve of his ear and his jawline.

The way she looked at him, like there was no one else like him.

“I… stole it. The Magic-8 ball,” Jungkook panted. “S-Sorry.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You’re not that sorry.”

He thought about it now. Sweaty, crotch covered in her cum, the scent of sex mixing with her perfume of sugar and coffee, his muscles burning, memories forming, craving created.

He smirked, licking his lip ring.

“You’re right, noona. I’m not that sorry.”

She laughed, full of genuinely mischievous mirth.

“Get out.”

“B-But, hyung–”

Min Yoongi growled deep in his chest, narrowing his eyes. “This is my night. You know I own these nights.”

“Can…”

Quickly jerking his head back and forth, looking between his hyung and noona.

“Can I w-w-watch this time?”

Dead silence.

Yoongi stared at him, expressionless. Jeon Jungkook wanted to sink into the floor. He strongly contemplated throwing himself off the bed and rolling under it even though he was completely naked. The only reason he didn’t was because his noona rose from the bed beside him, drowsily yawning and massaging her cheeks.

Oh. That’s cute.

“Get the Magic-8 ball,” Yoongi suddenly said.

Jungkook started.

“The ball?!” he wailed.

He still hadn’t smashed it to smithereens.

It was in his room. Not his apartment. He moved out of there weeks ago. No, the room Jeon Jungkook now rented in Kim Seokjin’s house, the one beside Park Jimin’s room. It honestly seemed to be nothing more than a storage room for Jungkook’s things because he had a favorite bed he slept in and it was not his own.

The older man laughed, raspy and full, closing the bedroom door and yanking off his jacket, tossing it onto her desk chair. It fell right on top of Jungkook’s, covering it. Meanwhile, she found the water bottle beside her bed and took a big sip, still not saying anything as Yoongi crossed his arms over his torso, pulling the hem of his black shirt up.

“I’m joking. Go ahead and watch.”

Yoongi yanked it up and over his head, sending his black hair flying, causing it to fall down over his eyes above his devilish smirk, amusement sparkling in hose dark brown orbs.

“You already have anyway, psycho.”

Jungkook felt his face burn hotter than a volcano.

“Yoongi, he’s not supposed to know I told you everything,” she chastised with no inflection, blinking sleepily.

“Oh. Well, shit.”

The other man slid on top of her, casually dipping his head down, whispering her name with fondness, his voice raspy and deep, hovering over her lips with clear desire. A moment between them, electric and passionate, heavy and loaded, a moment very similar to the one hours before when Jungkook himself was above her. She brought out the best in him. In everyone, probably, but Jungkook knew for sure about himself.

Then Yoongi shot Jungkook a grin full of genuinely mischievous mirth.

“Watch closely and maybe you can join in.”

“Stop flirting in front of my face,” she mumbled under Yoongi, seizing his chin and silencing him with a fierce kiss as Jungkook gawked, jaw slack, quite sure what he got himself into but unprepared all the same.

Damn, maybe Min Yoongi was sex on legs.

re-roll. in which poor JK can't jack off (ಥ﹏ಥ) | yes or no?

masterpost

#yoonkook x reader #jungkook x reader #bts smut #yoonkook smut #jungkook smut #jungkook x noona #jungkook x you #yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #yoongi x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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ongaku-ato-kakikomi · 3 years ago

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1 - Aching Blaze

Prompt: #1 “I need you”

Fandom: Stranger Things (Jonathan Byers x Reader)

Word Count: 554 words.

Summary: You’re about to risk your life, and Jonathan begs you not to.

Flames were pouring out of the building, the smoke rapidly coming out of the windows to form a threatening cloud in the sky. You could hear your heartbeat resonating inside your mind, the monster’s horrifying screams from inside the building being the only louder thing around. Your eyes frantically look at every exit in view, your breathing getting heavier as you wait for your remaining friends to come outside. Soon, you notice them run out the front door one by one, your shoulders relaxing as you recognize each one of them, only for your panic to increase once you notice one of them missing.

“Eleven.” You lunge yourself towards the building, already knowing that the girl stayed behind to get rid of the monster herself. “Eleven!”

There’s no way in hell you’re gonna let her face that thing alone, not if you can help it-

“No!” Someone grabs your arm just as they scream that word, preventing you from going any further. “You can’t go, (Y/N)! Are you crazy?”

You turn your head towards Jonathan, your eyes filling up with tears; you can’t tell if it’s because of the smoke or your own fear.

“My sister’s in there!” You hold on to the young man’s wrist, trying to shake his grip off of you. “She can’t face this thing alone!”

“Neither can you!” He manages to take a hold of your shoulders, his eyes begging you to listen to his words. “You almost died last time you used your powers! You seriously think you can survive in there?”

“I have to try!” You bottom lip trembles, flashes of your little sister struggling in the flames. “I can’t give up on her!”

“She wouldn’t want you to risk your life like this!” He opens and closes his mouth a few times, desperation taking over his features. “Please, (Y/N)… don’t go in there…! I…” He shakes his head, his eyes closing for a second before he stares into your orbs once more. “I need you.”

Your heart bursts with an excess of emotions just as you notice the desperate passion in his eyes, his words leaving a mark inside your mind and burning into your soul. You trap the side of his cheeks between your hands before you can even think, your lips already pressing against his in a way to relieve some of the feelings swirling inside your chest. Despite his fear of losing you, his shaking fingers loosen their grip on your clothes, tears falling off his face as he lets himself drown into your kiss. Your first kiss.

You break your lips apart a few seconds later, staying merely inches away as you press your forehead against his. “I’m sorry.”

His heart drops after hearing your words, his mind already knowing what you’re about to do next. “(Y/N)-”

“I’m sorry…!” You shake your head, freeing his face just as you step back. “I’m sorry…!”

You run towards the building before he has a chance to grab onto you, his hand reaching towards your form in a last act of desperation. His lips tremble as his tears blur his visions, the monster’s shriek coming to his ears just as you disappear into the flames.

Somehow, he knew this was the last time he’d ever see you. And that killed him more than anything else.

#fictober21 #1 #fanfiction #stranger things #jonathan byers #jonathan byers imagine #jonathan byers imagines #jonathan byers x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #stranger things x reader #imagine #imagines #x reader #reader insert

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seiyasabi · 4 years ago

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Bulls in the Bronx

(So…. long story short, I’m now a hucow simp. Thanks a lot @/biskywrites and @/dark-side-blog2 for making me this way (ﾉД`) lol, all jokes aside, I wanna suck some tiddy milk from a buff man ;)) Anyways, this is Yandere Hucow(Hubull?) Bokuto x Fem Reader ;0 This fic allows me to flex my farming knowledge lol, bc my grandparents owned ponies and dogs.

TW: !Noncon!, !dubcon!, creampie!, he hits you twice!, somnophilia!, predator vs prey?, manipulation!, cumflation!, breeding kink!, size kink!, ur a farmhand!, lactation!, tiddie sucking!, Asshole farmer Ushi, etc..

Please don’t proceed if any of the above are triggering! Also, sorry if Bokuto is too OOC lol)

“Bokuto got into the lackweed again,” You can’t suppress the laugh that explodes from your mouth. The idea of the biggest hucow (hubull??) on the ranch freaking out (again), because he’s now dripping milk is hilarious.

“Where on Earth does he keep finding those damn weeds?” The other farmhand laughs as well, stooping down to fill two buckets with water.

“I think those grass seeds were cross contaminated, the other hucows also started to lactate a lot more than usual. But, it’s kinda funny that our best breeder is dripping like a heifer,” Chuckling in acknowledgement, you can’t help but feel a pang of pity. Poor Bo, he’s probably really self conscious at the moment.

“Maybe I should go check on him-” Your coworker almost drops the bucket she’s filling, looking up at you as if you just grew three heads.

“Why would you do that? Did you forget that he’s going in rut soon?” Frowning, you glance down at the floor in mild shame.

“Well, yes, but he isn’t supposed to start until next week! Plus, I’m not ovulating right now, so I won’t trigger him,” The other girl thinks for a moment, before nodding slowly.

“I suppose it’d be fine. If anything, he may calm down if his favourite handler is there,” Nodding, you grab two buckets from the shelf beside you. Squatting down next to your coworker, you place a bucket underneath a faucet, turning the circular handle to the left. A gush of cool water rushes out, quickly filling the plastic pail. Quickly switching it out for the empty one, you wait a few more moments, before turning off the rushing water. Grabbing the handles of the buckets, you lift them whilst standing to your feet, using your legs instead of your back.

Nodding towards the other girl, you bid her farewell. Turning on your heel, you tromp towards the bull pens. The large red barn is quite a far distance from the shed you were once in, causing you to break out in a light sweat. It doesn’t help that it’s mid spring, causing the farm to be quite warm.

Setting the buckets down on the dirt ground, you wipe your brow with the back of your hand. Huffing out a deep breath, you quickly move the concrete slab keeping the barn closed away from the sliding door, before shoving it open. The sound of the cowbell on the red and white door handle on the inside clinks noisily, queuing a symphony of deep ‘moos.’

Picking up the buckets with bent knees, you hurry inside, relishing the feeling of the barn’s fans on your sweaty skin, “Hey guys, is the barn cool enough for you?” Grumbles and shifting of large bodies are all you get in response, causing you to laugh, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Gunning it for a certain grey haired bull’s stall, a bright smile makes its way onto your face, “Hey, Koutarou, how’re you feeling?”

He’s currently laying on his bed of compact hay, tears sliding down his handsome face. His cute ears are droopy, his bell earring not jingling with life like normal. His tears drip between his septum piercing, and drop onto his well defined abdomen, “Not good, (Your Name).”

With a small gasp, you set down the pails rather harshly, some of the cool liquid sloshing onto the wooden floor. Hurrying towards him, you sit on the prickly ‘mattress,’ “What’s wrong? I heard that you’re lac-” A small sob leaves his lips at your words, causing you to grab his hand reassuringly, “Are the other guys making fun of you? I can go yell at them if you’d like!”

The buff bull-man sits up, one arm covering his chest self-consciously, “No! They’re not being mean,” He grips your hand almost to the point that it’s painful, “I-it’s just… my chest hurts, real bad.”

Nodding in understanding, you motion towards his covered pecs, “Let me see, Bubs. I’ll see what I can do.”

His face flushes bright red, “But it’s embarrassing!” You shush him sweetly, releasing his hand to coax his arm away from his chest.

“It’s okay, I won’t make fun of you! I just wanna help you,” After a moment of hesitance, he obeys, revealing his swollen, red nipples.

The area around his nipples is raised as well, showing just how much his milk is backed up.

Eyes softening even more, you delicately rub both pecs, “You’re alright, Bubs. This happens to the cows sometimes when we don’t milk them as much as we need to. If you’d like, I can go find a pump!”

“No! I don’t wanna pump!” You jump slightly, and move away from him, only for his hands to trap your own to his chest. More tears gather in his eyes, as he becomes distraught, “I don’t want my milk to go to waste!”

Taken aback, you nod, although you don’t understand his reasoning, “Kou, why’re you acting like this? You know we don’t get rid of milk, we sell your guys’ milk at the market.”

He shakes his head, “I don’t want you to sell it. I want you to drink it,” The look of shock on your face is mistaken as disgust, causing him to cry even more, “Do you think I’m weird? Why do you look like that?” Seeing the bull act so sensitive is adorable, but you feel as though you have to comfort him.

“No, no, it’s okay! I’m not weirded out, I’m just surprised. I’ll go get a bucket-”

“No bucket!” Sighing at his weird behaviour, you cock an eyebrow at him.

“Then how am I supposed to collect it?” A big grin crosses his teary face.

“Drink from me! I promise I’ll be good!” Shifting in discomfort, an anxious sweat starts to form on your brow.

“Ahaha, that’s funny, Kou. You know I can’t do that,” More tears well up in his eyes, squeezing your heart painfully, “Don’t look at me like that, Bubs. I don’t think your owner would like me getting so close-”

“I don’t mind,” Ushijima’s voice booms throughout the barn, scaring the living daylights out of you. Whipping your head around, you make eye contact with the large male, an uncharacteristic smirk on his face, “As long as my star bull is happy, I’m happy.”

Kou releases your hands, only to grab your face, forcing you to look at him, “See! He doesn’t care! Please, (Nickname), please help me! My udders hurt so bad!”

With Ushijima’s eyes on you, and Koutarou’s sad and pain filled face, you finally relent, “Okay, okay! Don’t freak out, Bubs, I’ll help. You just gotta let me go.”

He releases you quickly, before shoving your head towards his chest. The jingling of his earring is heard, telling you that his ears are no longer pressed down on the top of his head. You hear heavy footsteps walk away from his stall, probably gathering the bulls to let them graze outside.

You try to push away from where your head is being smushed, but the bull gives you no leeway, “Why aren’t you drinking?” The male practically whines, as you whack his shoulder lightly.

“I’m being smothered in between your tiddies, Kou,” You chuckle in slight discomfort, but he finally allows you up. Moving towards his most swollen nipple (the left one), you pinch it between your thumb and forefinger, causing a small stream of milk to come streaming out.

A small moan leaves the large man’s lips, as he shoves you once again face first into his chest, “Don’t tease, (Nickname), I feel like I’m dying!” A flash of empathy goes through your heart.

Removing your hand from his nipple, you take a deep breath, and latch yourself onto him.Your chapstick covered lips are soft against his sensitive skin, causing him to keen. When you suckle, a tidal wave of milk bursts into your mouth. Luckily, it doesn’t taste very bad; his milk tastes like vanilla, causing you start to slurp it up like a babe.

Your one hand kneads his other pec to soothe him, “Fu-fuck, you’re making me feel so good!” You don’t bother trying to say anything, instead, you just suck harder. Your unoccupied hand squeezes his tit that you’re currently nursing on, causing him to pump out more of his yummy milk.

After a few long moments, you release his nipple. A drop of milk trickles down your chin, which the large bull laughs at. A thick finger wipes off the excess, pushing itself into your mouth. A tender look is in the grey haired man’s eyes, as he kisses your forehead.

“Thank you, pretty girl. Can you do the other one, please?” Now that he’s no longer in a painfilled state, he’s back to his normal, boyish self. Nodding, you lick your lips, before latching on to his other nipple. He barely chokes back a moan, his hand gripping the back of your head.

You suck as hard as you can without hurting him, pretending his nipple was a straw to a thick ass milkshake. Between your massaging and sucking, his teat no longer feels as painful as it once did.

Pulling away, you give him a wry smile, “There, all better. Well, I should pour your water into your trough now,” Standing up with wobbly legs, you move towards the filled buckets. Picking them up one by one, you pour it in with unsteady hands. Why are you so shaky right now? “Well, I should get going now. I hope you feel better later,” You try to walk out of his stall, only to be yanked back into Bokuto’s lap. Both empty pails fall to the ground unceremoniously, clattering loudly through the empty barn.

“Don’t leave me, Lovely, I need you,” His warm skin against yours feels nice, and you suddenly feel sleepy.

“Kou, I’m tired. I think-I think I’m gonna take a nap,” He runs his fingers (through your hair/over your scalp), tantalising you into drifting off.

“That’s alright, (Nickname), I’ll watch after you,” With a muffled ‘Mhm,’ you fall into a deep slumber.

When you awoke, you woke to your body shaking. Brow furrowing, you blearily open your eyes, only to see a tuft of grey hair in between your bent, spread legs.

His long tongue is currently fucking in and out of your dripping cunt, his thumb rubbing against your clit.

“Ku-Kou? Wha-“ He looks up immediately, a look of shock on his strong features.

“I-It’s Not what it looks like! I-I just wanted a taste!” You groggily push at his head, catching his ears slightly, causing a small jingling to sound throughout the empty barn.

“You didn’t ask, why, why are you-“ He grabs your hand, kissing each knuckle with a slobbering kiss.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Let me make you feel good! You taste so good,” You yank your hand back, trying to kick off the hand that currently wrapped around your right thigh.

“Get off of me! Bokuto, you-you’re doing this without my consent! I thought we were friends!” You shout, pushing at his face harshly. He grabs one of your hands, trying to kiss it, only for your other to clap him upside the face harshly, “Don’t! You’ve already done enough.”

Kicking him away (even though he’s much larger and stronger than you, meaning he just moved away), you stand to your feet, pulling back up your halfway down jeans and panties.

Snatching up the buckets previously discarded, you don’t even shoot the crying bull a glance, just turning on your heel, and stomping away.

Tears of your own drip down your face, humiliation and betrayal weighing down your aching heart.

Forcefully sliding open the barn doors, you run from it, catching the eye of a certain green haired farmer.

It seems Bokuto fucked up.

But that’s okay, when he goes into rut, there’ll be nothing keeping him from breeding you full of his massive calves.

You avoided the bull barn like the plague for the next week. The hucows are very pleasant company. They treat you as if you’re their young, making you feel well loved.

That is, until Hachi asked you why you’ve been avoiding Bokuto. She’d told you that he hasn’t acted the same, in fact, he’s acted depressed and withdrawn.

Since then, you’ve stuck with aquatic life. The fish, swans, and ducks don’t give you that much trouble.

But, when you come back from the pond and fish pools, the farm is ensued with panic. Apparently, Bokuto’s finally gone into rut.

And, unfortunately for you, he’s on the prowl for you.

So, when your coworker runs up to you, begging for you to calm him, you turn on your heel, and start walking back towards the pond. They can figure this out themselves, you’re not going to sacrifice yourself to someone who tried to take advantage of you.

Sadly, that doesn’t work out.

You’re immediately stopped by Ushijima, his broad form blocking you from advancing forward, “Where do you think you’re going?” His arms are crossed, an angry scowl on his usually handsome features.

“I forgot something at the pond,” You lie, smoothly, “I’m going to go grab it real quick-”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” His strong voice booms, “What you’re going to do, is march yourself into the barn, and make my prized bull happy.”

Your own scowl forms on your pretty face, “I will do nothing of the sort. Interspecies sex is illegal! You can fire me for all I care, I’m not going in there!” You try to move around his large form, only to be manhandled into a chokehold.

His left arm is wrapped around your neck, your back to his chest, and your face being held in a large hand, “Interspecies sex is legal when a human and hybrid are mates,” He hisses through gritted teeth, and you struggle in his hold, “If you don’t go in there, I’ll drag you in.”

“Fuck you,” You spit, “I’ll fucking castrate you!” You kick backwards, landing a solid hit on the large man’s groin. With a loud yell, you’re let go, allowing you to run towards the farm’s parking area. Pulling your truck’s keys from your pocket, you haul ass, not bothering to look behind you.

The barns and sheds fly past you, as you run through the open field leading to the car park. You suddenly hear loud footsteps follow after you, and you assume that it’s Ushijima, that is, until you hear them, “(Nickname)! (Nickname), where are you going? Why are you running away from me?” Bokuto’s voice rings out at top volume, hurting your ears. His voice a lot more gravely than before, and without looking at him, you know that he most likely looks crazed.

You don’t respond, trying to pick up the pace. You click the unlock button one time, only unlocking the driver’s side door. Because you had a head start, you cleared the field in less than three seconds, allowing you to hop into your truck, and lock the doors. Shoving the key into the ignition, all whilst buckling your seatbelt, you press on the brake, and turn it, only to hear the spluttering of your failing ignition, “Come on! Don’t do this-” Bokuto slams into the driver’s side door at top speed, rocking your large vehicle harshly. His hands and face are pressed against the window, his expression looking like that of a kicked puppy. You then notice the fact that the buff male is completely naked, his impossibly large cock bobbing against his toned stomach.

“Why are you trying to leave? I need you so badly, pretty-pretty. Why don’t you open the door, and we can figure this out? I promise I’ll make you feel good, after all, us bulls pride ourselves in taking care of our mates,” You cringe in disgust, not bothering to answer him. Instead, you continue to fiddle with your ignition, muttering expletives under your breath. His large hands start to beat on your driver-side window, trying to gain your attention, “(Nickname), come out already! Ushi already cut your fuel line, so you’re not going anywhere! Come on, I just wanna make you feel good-”

It was your turn to cut him off, “Shut up! We aren’t friends anymore, Bokuto, much less lovers! Just leave me the fuck alone! I’m sure many of the cows would love to help you through your rut, why can’t you just ask them?” Tears of frustration dot your eyelashes, as you pop open your glove box and search for your phone. Catching sight of the black cased (phone type), you snatch it from its confines with a loud ‘Aha,’ “Don’t make me call the Farmer’s Union, Bokuto. I’ll report you and Ushijima for-”

“You won’t! You love me too much!” His frantic words raise in volume, as he hit the glass even harder than before, “You wouldn’t put me down! Come on, (Nickname), why won’t you call me ‘Bubs’ anymore? I love you!” You swipe open your phone, and go to the contacts. Pulling up the Farmer’s Union phone number, you go to press ‘call,’ only for the shattering of glass to halt you.

You scream in both fear and shock, throwing up your hands to protect your face. This, in turn, causes you to drop your phone. In this time, Bokuto is able to grab you by your arms, and drag you towards the broken window. Your seatbelt keeps you in place, causing him to pull you even harder, and making you scream in pain.

You use your arm to whack his against the broken glass on your truck’s window area. He releases you in a moment of pain, allowing you to unbuckle yourself, and throw yourself to the passenger side. Once there, you unlock the door, and bolt towards the road.

“(Your Name), come back here! Stop being so difficult!” You pay him no mind, a few meters away from the busy road. Noticing a car speeding towards the area you’re running to, you push yourself even harder, trying to throw yourself into the road. Unfortunately, you’re grabbed by two buff arms that encircle your waist. They use all of their strength to smash you into their chest from behind, knocking the air from your lungs, “Are you crazy? You could’ve been hurt!” You thrash and try to bite at him, causing Bokuto to backhand you across the face, “Now look what you made me do! If you’d been good, I wouldn’t have had to do that!”

To be completely honest, you’re in shock. Bokuto has never raised a hand at you, and that slap wasn’t a warning tap. No, that was him using a good majority of his strength, causing your cheek to throb painfully.

You continue to thrash and curse after freezing for a moment, drawing the eyes of concerned coworkers, “Let go of me! What the fuck is wrong with you? Put me down!” You try to kick him in the junk, only to kick him on the inside of his thigh. In retaliation, he backhands you again, this time on the other cheek. Gasps and whispers are heard from those around you, drawing the large hucow’s eyes.

“There’s nothing to see here, guys! Just my mate making a scene,” He shakes you a bit to shut you up, causing you to become disoriented. The farmhands and other hybrids look like they’re about to step in, only for Ushijima himself to show up.

“What Bokuto said is correct,” His harsh gaze is on you, his hand gripping his dick, “She’s just making a scene. Let them through.”

They reluctantly go back to their business, as Koutarou guns it to the empty bull barn. Ushijima only watches as you’re dragged to the large building, as tears drip down your face in fear, and his fist at his side clenches in fury.

Stomping into the barn, Bokuto makes quick work of getting to his stall. Once inside, he tosses you on the hay mattress, and straddles your waist. With pawing hands, he rips your t-shirt and jeans off of you, leaving you in your bra and underwear, along with your boots and socks. Yanking off your boots, be tossed them out of his ‘room,’ as you try to throw punches at his muscular chest. He grunts, but doesn’t stop.

With beefy fingers, he yanks off your bra, ripping it in two. Your tits jiggle at his harsh movements, making him lick his lips in enjoyment. He then rips off your cotton panties, exposing your cunny to his hungry eyes.

“You’re beautiful, pretty-pretty. I can’t wait to see you stuffed with my calves,” You shake your head no rapidly, pushing his hands away from where they rest on your hips.

“No! Stop it, Bokuto! I thought we were friends!” He tightens his grip on your pelvis, forcing your legs open.

“That’s Not my name, (Nickname), you know that. Now, you know that I’m way more than just your friend-I’m your mate, and you know that I’ll provide for you and our calves,” With grubby fingers, he rubs at your clit, trying to draw a good reaction from you.

You squirm in response, trying to wriggle out of his one handed grip. You shove at his chest, but he remains unmoved, choosing to press down harder than before, “Stop it! Let me go!”

He inserts his middle finger into your moist cunny, forcing it in and out. You try to kick him in the head only for him to catch your leg with the hand that previously held your hip, “If you wanted me to eat you out that bad, you should’ve just said so, pretty girl,” Before you can refuse, he throws your legs over his shoulders, and dives in.

His long tongue fucks in and out of your hole, one of his thumbs rubbing your clit. A loud whine escapes your throat before you can stop it, making you feel a wave of disgust for yourself. Bokuto shouldn’t be making you feel good, he’s assaulting you, after all.

But, when his tongue brushed against your g-spot, you can’t help but convulse in pleasure. Thighs quaking, you try to stop yourself from cumming.

“St-stop! I’m, I’m gonna-“ He stops before you can cum, instead, pushing your hips down to where his cock lays against his abs. Forcing the bulbous head against your tiny hole, he pushes harshly, trying to fuck into you like an animal, “No! No! You’re too big! You’re going to tear my-“ With one powerful thrust, he forces his way inside, and you can’t help but scream.

Tears drip down your face at the feeling, your pussy feeling like it’s been ripped open. Bokuto grabs your head, and forces it against his chest, practically making you take one of his pink nipples into your mouth. You’re immediately met with the taste of his vanilla milk, drinking it up as the hucow starts to buck into you at a lightning fast pace.

Your teeth bite down on his nipple, but instead of being angry, he just moans in lust, “Yes! Yes, pretty girl, you’re taking me so well!”

His hand that isn’t cradling your head goes to your tummy, feeling his huge length moving underneath your skin. He presses down a bit, causing another wanton moan to leave to both of you. With this thought in mind, he picks up the pace, practically fucking you into unconsciousness.

Eyes rolling back, your ruined cunny gushed pathetically, coating you and the bull with your juices, “(Nickname), you’re so pretty when you cum,” He continues his breakneck pace, getting close to orgasm himself, “I’m gonna fill you up so good, that you’ll be dripping with my fun for days! Your little womb will be bloated with my fertile cum!”

You try to speak, but you can’t, just continuing to suck his yummy milk from his teat. Walls fluttering with another orgasm, you feel yourself clamping down on his enormous cock.

With one last mighty thrust, he seats himself fully inside of you, cumming directly against your unprotected cervix. A muffled scream erupts from your chest, as you feel your womb expand with copious amounts of beeile cum. Releasing his nipple, you throw your head back, a loud cry echoes throughout the barn, as you squirt once more around his cock.

Now completely filled to the brim, you pass out from the trauma. Entirely exhausted, Koutarou grins down at your bloated form. He rubs your tummy like a Buddha statue, kissing it tenderly.

“You’ll be a good Mommy, I’m sure of it,” he then trails his hand up your abdomen, groping your right tit, “You’ll look so pretty all milky and filled with my calves.”

The sound of a throat clearing gains Bokuto’s attention, as he practically throws his naked body over yours. A loud ‘moo’ of warning escapes his chest, even when he notices that the person is just Ushijima.

“I see that she mates with you well,” His eyes trail over your sleeping face, not straying downwards, “I hope this means that you’ll enter more shows.”

Bo smiles, “Yes. Now I need to show off, so my mate thinks I’m an eligible male.”

Nodding, Ushijima turns on his heal, making his way to leave the barn, “I hope your children take after you in strength. (Your Name) is a lot prettier than you are, so maybe they’ll be pleasing to the eye as well.”

Snorting, the grey haired man’s ears twitch, jingling throughout the room, “You bet she is. She’s perfect.”

#yandere bokuto #bokuto koutarou #yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyuu imagines #yandere haikyuu x reader #yandere koutarou #bokuto x reader #bokuto imagines #bokuto haikyuu #hybrid au #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu au

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oomisluvr · 4 years ago

Text

study dates (derogatory), a drabble

synopsis: kiyoomi hates chemistry and you really aren’t helping the situation. steamy kisses and excessive swearing. absolutely no productivity.

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

“this is the dumbest fucking class i've ever taken in my entire fucking life.”

“kiyoomi, take a breather.”

“i play fucking volleyball. what the fuck does fucking chemistry even have to fucking do with me, a fucking volleyball player. fuck.”

“baby, please. let’s take five.”

“isn't chemistry a bunch of theories anyway? this shit isn’t even real. i hate this.”

he isn’t actually mad; he's more frustrated with himself and he’s rambling to keep his genuine anger at bay. at this point, you’re in tears; absolutely cracking up. oomi is a relatively calm guy, but when he gets frustrated, he curses like a sailor in the same monotonous tone he would use to talk about the weather. you suppress your giggles, for his sake.

“okay, let’s start from where you’re having trouble understanding.”

“literally fucking all of it. i don't know what the fuck is going on.”

“alright, we’re taking a break.” you softly remove the pencil from his iron grip, and gingerly slide the materials away from you two. “let’s find something to eat and we’ll get started again.”

you grab his hands and lead him to the kitchen, where he continues to grumble over the unfairness of valence electrons.

“why would they teach us a rule, if it isn’t even applicable to every situation? the octet rule is such bullshit because sulfur fucks it up like every fucking time.” he leans against the doorframe of the kitchen, arms crossed and eyebrows tense. you get some bowls from the cupboard and search for the instant noodles you keep around for days like these. your back is facing him now as you calmly open the noodle packs and turn the kettle on.

“babe, we’re done talking about chemistry, for now. think of something else to talk about.” he sighs and makes his way over to where you stand. wrapping his arms around you, he rests his chin on your head and begins to sway the both of you.

“you’re so outta my league, oh my god. thank you for helping me. what would i do without my genius girlfriend?”

“you’d be an absolute failure, my love.”

“alright, you answered that way too quickly.”

“just being honest, babe.” you free yourself of his grasp, spinning around to give him a quick peck, your eyes low. “y’know,” you start, slowly sliding your palms up his broad chest, “we could probably fool around a bit before the noodles are done.”

he visibly brightens, “well, you did say I needed to clear my hea-,” he pauses before narrowing his eyes accusingly, “wait, are you saying I don’t last long?”

you smile. the kettle interrupts you two.

“water’s done!” you exclaim, turning around again to face the counter and reaching for the kettle, before pouring even amounts of boiling water into the two bowls. the second you cover the noodles, the entire kitchen is flipped upside down.

“put me down!”

“no! you insulted my manhood and called my stroke game weak!”

“i never said that! when did i ever say that? you liar, put me down!” you laugh through your screams.

you’re roughly plopped onto the couch. sakusa crawls over you, trapping you between his body and the couch. strands of his hair tickle your face “take it back.”

“i never said anything!”

“take it back right this second.”

“no! i'm innocent”

“alright,” he feigns pity, “you asked for it.” before you can even recognize his threat, his fingers are already digging into your side. you scream. kiyoomi laughs like a maniac. “you could end this with just a few words!”

“fine!” you scream, “fine! i'm sorry! i take it back!” he stops, but his hands remain at your sides. he lifts and eyebrow, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

“and?”

“and what?” you try to rebel, but his fingers dig deeper into your skin. you fold. “okay, okay! i take it back and you have the best dick game in all of japan! there, happy?”

he smiles and gives a satisfied nod, removing his fingers from your sides and placing them on either side of your head, “and you better not forget it.”

you roll your eyes and wrap your hands around his neck, bringing him down to kiss him. his lips are soft against yours, building a rhythm that leaves you breathless. he kisses you passionately, forcing you to feel all the love he has for you; the affections he doesn’t always know how to convey verbally. he pulls away first and pinches your side, meeting your eyes in a mischievous gaze.

“noodles are done,” he gives you a quick peck before lifting himself off of you and leaving to retreat the instant ramen. you stay on the couch, but sit up, awaiting his return. you huff. that was a really good kiss. damn him.

“i hate you.” you declare as he hands you a bowl.

“no you don’t.” he counters, seating himself next to you and blowing on his noodles. there’s a comfortable silence as you both enjoy your food. he side-eyes you, “best dick in all of japan, was it?.”

you frown, “keep that same energy when we get back to studying.”

“now why would you even say that? my appetite is gone now; i hate this fucking class. holy fuck.”

#haikyuu!!#haikyu x reader #sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #kiyoomi #haikyuu msby #msby x reader #msby #msby sakusa #msby sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #Sakusa kiyoomi x reader #msby jackals #poc!reader #haikyuu x poc #kiyoomi sakusa #haikyuu x poc!reader #haikyuu x black reader #haikyuu x black!reader

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myherowritings · 5 years ago

Text

Borrowed Sweaters, Stolen Kisses

— In a game of Truth or Dare, you’re dared to sneak into your crush’s dorm and steal one article of clothing to wear the next day. It just so happens that the hoodie you snatched was Shinsou’s favorite sweater.

pairing: shinsou hitoshi x reader word count: 2,204 genre: fluff, aged up au (class 3a) warnings: 16+, suggestive content

a/n: this used to be a harry potter fic i wrote on my hp account but i rewrote it for shinsou bc it just seemed fitting fhgjdhsfg. shinsou is in class 1a in this fic or 3a since they’re aged up and at least 18 years old u.u i hope y’all enjoy!! xx

“No way.” You shook your head, kicking your legs out in front of you as you ignored Hagakure’s poking and prodding.

It was a relatively relaxed Friday night, and you and your friends decided to spend it in your dorm with a bottle of whisky and a game of Truth or Dare. The truths ranged from anything to, “Fuck, marry, kill: Sero, Kirishima, Kaminari” to, “Who was the last person you sent a nude to?” And the dares weren’t any better. Ashido practically vomiting in the corner served as a great reminder of that.

You were just grateful the dares you received were rather mundane.

That was, until now.

“Y/N, you have to do it!” said Hagakure.

“Can’t I just forfeit this round and take a shot?”

“Nope, that’s only allowed for truths,” she quipped.

You glanced over at Jirou, a pleading look on your face, but you were met with a nonchalant shrug.

“Rules are rules,” Jirou sang, taking a swig of whisky before passing you the handle.

You opened your mouth to protest, but Mina’s fierce glare caused your words to die in your throat.

“If I had to chug that hot sauce concoction you guys made and then eat the mystery sushi until I felt sick, you can go to Shinsou’s room and steal a hoodie or something-- Sounds like a cakewalk compared to my dare.”

As she leaned her back against the bed, hand over her stomach as beads of sweat trailing down her forehead, you figured Mina was right. You’ve been in his dorm plenty of times before, anyway-- You two were friends and, at times, you supposed you enjoyed his company. What was the worst that could happen?

“You’re right.”

“I know.”

Rolling your eyes, you stood up and slipped some fuzzy socks on, ignoring the cheers coming from your tipsy roommates. When you reached the door, your friends watching fervently as you wandered off to your ill-fated trek, you paused at the handle.

You looked back at them, heaving a sigh. “If his dorm turns out to be booby trapped and I get caught, just know I will haunt you from the grave after I die of embarrassment.”

“We expect nothing less,” was Tsuyu’s smart reply.

Soon enough, you found yourself climbing up the boys’ side of Heights Alliance, feeling like you were doing a reverse walk of shame. It was a quarter past three o’clock in the morning and the odds of any of them being awake were slim to none, but that didn’t stop the butterflies from fluttering in your stomach.

You made your way to the front of Shinsou’s dorm room and cautiously placed your hand on the door handle. With a small grumble you fished the key card Hagakure stole from Hitoshi earlier (which made you wonder just how long your friends were planning this whole escapade out…) out of the pocket of your sweatpants.

For the most part, it looked just like your dormitory. Only neater. His desk was fairly organized and, aside from balls of yarn and different sizes of knitting needles, was clear enough to work on. Scarves and hoodies were piled onto the back of the chair and foot of the bed--which meant your dare should be easy enough to complete--and a dim light was left twinkling.

Everything seemed cozy and lived in. Normal.

Except for the fact that Shinsou Hitoshi was not in his bed.

“What on earth?” you murmured under your breath, finding it a bit strange the room was completely empty at this hour. But knowing him, you reckoned he was out training at any hour he could--something that worried you about him--or playing with a cat off campus grounds. It wasn’t unlikely.

Still, with your feet planted at the foot of his dormitory, you wanted to get out of there before you were caught. Because you knew there was no way in hell for your drunken ass to smooth talk your way out of this mess if he were to find you.

Your hand hovered over the article of clothing nearest to you, which was a sweater draped over the back of a chair, and you took a deep breath, saying, “It’s just a dare. You can do it.”

Before you lost all your nerve, you snatched the jumper with one hand and slipped out of the dorm. As you rushed down the stairs, you could’ve sworn you heard some shuffling coming from the empty room. But you didn’t care.

Part one of your dare was successfully completed.

Now for the hard part: Wearing it around the next day.

- - - - -

“How do I look?”

You posed in front of your roommate, trying not to laugh at how the borrowed jumper engulfed your frame. Walking down the center of your dorm, you gave a little twirl.

“Sexy,” Mina teased from her spot on her bed. “Shinsou’s sweater looks nice on you.”

Sticking your tongue out at her, you made a face. “I’m not sure what you mean. It’s pretty gross to me. I would never want to wear any of Shinsou’s clothes.”

“Then why did you put the hood over your head and bury your face in the collar?”

Slowly, you peered up at her with your view obstructed by the fabric. You sniffled haughtily, trying to ignore the soothing aroma of lavender and smoked wood that filled your sense.

Mina smirked, catching the small sigh of contentment that left your mouth as you basked in the scent of Shinsou’s hoodie. “Gross, huh?”

“Mention this to no one,” you mumbled with a nonthreatening glare, pulling the hood off your head and folding your fabric-covered hands over your chest.

Laughing, she tossed you your bookbag from across as she waited by the door, the rest of your friends back in their own rooms to get ready for class. “Come on, lovebug. You can see him during math in a few minutes.”

“I won’t be looking forward to it.”

You grumbled protests as the both of you made your way down the stairs of Heights Alliance and toward the main campus of U.A. High, but Ashido paid them no mind. Soon enough, you reached the room and spotted Jirou and Hagakure in their usual seats.

“Hey,” you quickly whispered, sliding into the seat next to Tooru before Ectoplasm sauntered over to the front of the class.

“Nice jumper,” she said simply, voice going an octave higher in amusement. “I knew you’d go through with it.”

Reminded of your rather bold choice of clothing (that was horribly out of dress code), you subconsciously tugged at the sleeves. You sent a quick plead to the gods above that you didn’t look as foolish as you thought you did.

While Ectoplasm introduced antiderivatives and indefinite integrals to the class, Hagakure nudged you on the side, sliding you a ripped piece of her parchment paper.

You looked at her curiously as Mina peered over your shoulder to catch sight of the writing.

DO NOT LOOK NOW!!! But I’m 100% certain Shinsou has been staring at you since the start of math class.

Of course, the first thing both you and Ashido did after reading the note was turn your heads at the same time towards the back of the class where Hitoshi and his friends were sitting. And, as your luck would have had it, you made directly eye contact with an amused-looking Shinsou.

Both you and Mina turned around to face the front so fast you were sure at least one of you received whiplash.

Wide-eyed and flushed, you exchanged glances with her, both of you trying to hold in your laughter.

“I told you not to look,” Hagakure whispered, a small giggle escaping from her lips, sending you three into fits of laughter you tried to muffle with your hands.

Behind you, someone cleared their throat, causing the three of you to straighten up in an instant.

“Something amusing you, ladies?”

“No, sir,” you quipped.

“Sorry, Ectoplasm-sensei,” remarked Tooru.

“We’ll shut up now,” promised Mina.

With a stern look on his face but a slight tilt of his smile, Ectoplasm nodded and returned to his lesson. “I trust you three will be experts of the integral calculus by the next lesson and I won’t have to catch you making doe eyes at a certain someone?”

Though he asked all three of you the question, his gaze was pointed at you and the class knew it. Your cheeks heated up as slouched into your chair. Perhaps if you tried hard enough, you could turn into the seat.

“Yes, sir,” you mumbled, ignoring the stifled laughter from Ashido and an apologetic, but amused, look from Hagakure.

And as he continued the lesson, you could’ve sworn you felt a certain pair of eyes on the back of your head until the end of it.

When class finally concluded and Ectoplasm dismissed the lot of you, you rushed out of the classroom as fast as you could.

But not fast enough.

“Nice sweater, Y/N,” you heard a deep voice call, stopping you in your footsteps. “Looks familiar.”

You swallowed, slowly turning around to face Shinsou--lazy smirk and all. There was nothing you wanted to do more than dash back to your dormitory and hide, but instead you straightened your spine and braved a look of nonchalance.

“Does it now?”

“Yeah,” he said with an amused look in his eyes. “I’d have to say it does.”

Peering up through your lashed, you looked at him with faux innocence. “I can’t say I know why.”

Slowly, he walked closer towards you as you moved back against the wall. He took the excess fabric of your sleeve into his hands, stroking them between his fingers.

“You know-- It even feels familiar.” He smiled thoughtfully. “Just like my sweater I happened to lose last night.”

By now, the halls had begun to clear up, the traitors you called friends having left you with a thumbs up right as Shinsou approached you.

You coughed as you repeated, “I wonder why.”

He was so close you could catch a whiff of his lavender and woodsy scent.

“If you wanted my clothes on you, Y/N, you could’ve just asked.”

You pointedly eyed the way he was toying with the hem of your--or rather, his--sweater, lifting it slightly. “Well, if you wanted my clothes off this badly, you could’ve just asked.”

Shinsou raised his eyebrows in surprise at your suggestion, hand frozen on the fabric. The intensity of his gaze melted your steely disposition, embarrassment creeping up to your neck.

“I’m only kidding,” you murmured, refusing to be the one to break eye contact.

“That’s a shame, then.”

You blinked. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

Biting the inside of your lip, you toyed with the bottom of your sweater.

“That’s my favorite jumper, you know?” mused Shinsou, looking fondly at the U.A. hoodie. “Aizawa got it for me when I entered the hero course.”

A horrified look crossed your face. You stole his favorite sweater that Eraserhead gifted him himself? Good going.

“Oh, shit,” you swore, reaching for the hem of the hoodie. “I’m sorry, Shinsou! I didn’t know.”

Chuckling, Shinsou placed his hand on top yours to stop you from removing it. “No-- You can keep it on.” You paused. “I’d say I quite like how it looks on you.”

Your heart skipped a beat when his hand that was still on your ran down the length of your fingers. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you interlaced them with his own, causing him to send a shocked but pleased look your way. You smiled.

He ran the tip of his tongue along his lower lip, gently drawing you closer to him. “If I were to kiss you right now, would you be upset?”

You shook your head, leaning into his touch. “Upset is the last thing I’d be.”

“Well, then I suppose--”

“What are the two of you doing?” you heard Aizawa exclaim as he rounded the corner, catching sight of the two of you against the hallway. He pulled Shinsou away from you by the collar, your cheeks flooding with embarrassment.

Shinsou, however, looked unperturbed.

“Sorry, Aizawa-sensei,” he said sincerely, “but what I was about to do just then-- I’ve wanted to do that for a while now.”

He chuckled at the shocked look on your face, giving you a wink as Aizawa released his shirt. Shinsou made his way back over to you across the hall.

“How cute you looked in my sweater was only the catalyst,” said Shinsou before placing both hands on either side of your hips, pulling you towards him in a brief but deep kiss.

“Shinsou! Y/L/N!”

“Sorry, sir.” This time, Shinsou didn’t sound so sincere as he ignored the appalled look on Aizawa’s face. “I just couldn’t wait until we got to the dorms to do that. Don’t worry though, Y/N-- I swear there will be far better kisses that’ll take place there as well.”

And though the two of you may have been sentenced to detention and cleaning duty for the next three weekends, you would have to say the kiss was definitely worth it.

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teklarn · 3 years ago

Text

𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓫𝓸𝔂𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭 - 𝓴. 𝓫𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓰𝓸𝓾 (𝓅𝓉. 𝟥)

character(s): katsuki bakugou x gn!reader (x eijirou kirishima)

a/n: ok but like ty for all the notes on my last post??? i get so excited whenever there’s a new notification. ALSO, the best time for me to accept requests is from now to sept. 5! i’m currently on summer break, so i will have plenty of time to write from now until then.

𝕣𝕖𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕!!

summary: bakugou x gn!reader. they have feelings for one another but have no idea how to express them, however y/n has someone pining for their attention.

genre: angst

warnings: mutual pining, cursing, aged-up to third years, bit of a love triangle, romantic tension, one-sided pining, i gave the reader a quirk, kirishima gets jealous EHWJEH

word count: 2031

lol wow things are finally beginning to pick up heehee

please excuse any typos! i edit to the best of my abilities, but it’s easy to miss lost of things

part 1, part 2 , part 4

- - -

you dabbed bakugou’s nose. he winced as you tapped it. “sorry,” you breathed out, switching the tissue in your hand for a clean wipe.

“i’m fine, dumbass.”

“then why’d you ask for my help?” you teased, wiping at the blood on his upper lip.

his cheeks dusted with red, eyes averting to the side. you smiled softly, victorious in his silence.

nighttime was settling in nicely, the sun bleeding orange into the clouds.

“look back at me,” you said. gently, you took his bruised jaw in your fingers, adjusting his head so he was facing you. you brushed your fingers along his swelling cheekbone. purple blossomed beneath bakugou’s pale skin. “kirishima was pretty rough out there, huh?’

“i’m proud of the guy.”

you smiled, tilting your head. “you? proud of someone? really?”

he chuckled. “knock it off, dumbass.” a grin spread across his face, however it was gone when the pain hit. he winced, trying to ignore the sting his smile brought with it.

you let out a laugh. “just relax, bakugou.” you resumed dabbing away at the excess blood on his face. there were flecks of dirt scattered over his forehead.

he caught your wrist in one of his soft, large hands.

your smile faded, and you swallowed, pushing down the rising emotions fluttering into your chest. “yes?” you responded to the silent question his eyes were asking.

his grip on your wrist loosened, and he let go, letting his arm fall back to his side.

“everything okay?”

he didn’t break eye contact as he grunted a reply. “mhm.”

“alright. i’ll be right back, okay?”

“‘kay,” he said.

you stood with a groan, knees sore from all the training you’d been doing lately. you gently shut the bathroom door behind you and rinsed the bits of dirt off the towel, scrubbing away any imperfections stuck between the fibers of the fabric.

your cheeks were boiling with heat as the ghost of his touch on your wrist lingered. what was that? did he mean to tell you something?

you wrung out the newly washed cloth and returned to your seat across from bakugou.

bakugou’s eyes flickered as you began scrubbing the dirk from his forehead.

“ah,” he gasped out.

“you’ve gotta stop wincing, bakugou,” you teased. “you’re making me think i’m doing something wrong.”

“you’ve gotta stop being so rough, y/n.” he took your wrists and pried them away from his face.

you set the towel down on the table, letting it rest on a paper towel so the excess water could drain out.

“well, i think the issue is that you haven’t let me set your nose properly.”

bakugou squinted, unsure. “alright.” he spread his legs, leaning forwards to make your job easier. “do as you wish, y/n.” his voice dropped, eyelids lowering seductively.

the heat returned to your cheeks, flushing out your confidence from before. instead of replying with an equally snarky comment, you took his face in your hands. “this is going to hurt.”

“not so much if it’s you.”

you scoffed. “are you flirting with me, katsuki bakugou?”

his lips quirked up—just a tiny bit. “stop dreaming, y/n.”

you ignored the comment and traced your fingers over the bridge of his nose. “on three?”

he nodded.

“one—” you cracked the bone into place.

“ah, shit!” bakugou recoiled back, covering his nose with his hands. “damn brat.”

“it would have hurt more if you knew it was coming.” you shrugged innocently.

“at least i would have been prepared.”

“whatever you say.” you gestured for him to come back to his previous position, and bakugou did as instructed, hands dropping from his face as your hands came back around to cup his cheeks.

being recovery girl’s grandchild had its benefits. for example, an easy way to get into yuuei off of recommendations. while your quirk wasn’t usually one people would associate with fighting, it came with unexpected pros with how it developed.

you’d earned the ability not only to heal but to ruin as well. using your quirk, honing it properly, you could twist someone inside out with ease, however, healing was something you were more skilled with.

a green glow was being emitted from your palms, white orbs flowing into the air and landing on bakugou’s skin. you could tell, under his skin, the bone was fixing itself, beginning to reshape into the flat bridge.

bakugou sniffed.

“hold still,” you said.

“does your healing always make your patients itchy?”

“it’s just your body healing. stop moving.” the green light receded into your palms.

you met bakugou’s eyes as you pulled your hands away. you were leaning closer than necessary, out of your seat, knees slightly bent. you could tell his hands were shaking just a bit as they trailed down your arms, starting from your fingertips which were still hovering around his face.

his hands found their way to your waist. bakugou tugged you closer. barely an inch closer, but it felt like the two of you were inseparable at the moment.

“y/n?”

you jumped, and bakugou’s hands fell back to the sides of the seat he was in. you swallowed as kirishima popped up at the doorway.

you wiped your palms on your shirt, nodding for kirishima to enter. “yes?”

the redhead walked in warily, hands up and pace slow. “i hope i’m not...interrupting anything. am i?”

you shook your head. “not at all. we were, um. we were just finishing up.” you picked up the cloth intended for wiping bakugou’s face. “do you think you could finish up by yourself?”

he took the cloth from your hands. “yeah, sure.” he pushed himself up and was out of your room, waving his thanks. “i’ll pay you back so i don’t owe your ass, got it, y/n?”

“Alright.”

bakugou shut the door behind him, leaving you and kirishima alone.

“so, what was that about?”

your eyes flew wide. “what was what?”

“don’t act oblivious, y/n. you two looked at each other like you hung the moon in the sky.”

you bit your lip, hiding the smile that was brought about upon reminiscing about the recent seen. “it wasn’t anything, kirishima. don’t worry about it.”

“i’m worrying. you know bakugou.”

“that’s something you’d say about someone with dating experience, and a bad reputation regarding it. bakugou is—”

“just like every other guy out there? it’s the twenty-first century. there are not many decent people left out here. do you really think he’s any different?”

“well,” you said, shaking your head, “personally, i see he’s changed.”

“two years isn’t going to erase all the past shit he’s done.”

“there’s a thing called forgiveness.” you quirked an eyebrow at him, tilting your head down as you began cleaning up. “plus, it wasn’t necessarily his fault. we can both agree that hero society created toxic standards for all aspiring pros.”

kirishima clenched his fists. “he’s bad for you.”

you tossed out a few wipes into the garbage. “sorry?”

“he’s...not good for you.”

“i appreciate you thinking nobody is good enough for me, but at the end of the day-”

unknowingly, kirishima was hardening his fingertips. his nails punctured the soft skin of his palms. “i don’t mean he’s not good enough for you, but that’s another truth, too. he’s just not good for you.”

you turned, smiling brightly. “and since when did you know what was good for me?” you laughed, eyes closed. “why are you trying to dictate my decisions-”

when you opened your eyes, you found kirishima standing closer, brows furrowed angrily.

your expression lowered into something angry. “what’s the matter?”

“i just...i can’t.”

“can’t what?”

kirishima was one to be slow to anger. he always had been. you can’t recall a time you saw him angry or pissed except for when bakugou had been kidnapped by the league of villains.

“kirishima,” you scoffed, “are you genuinely pissed over this? what? is this because i got mad at you because i scolded you for breaking bakugou’s nose? if anything, i don’t think i was wrong for-”

“that’s not it. that...that isn’t it, y/n.” he stepped towards you. kirishima closed the gap between you both, pressing your back against the wall, trapping you there between his arms. “that isn’t it at all, y/n.”

you swallowed. “then what is it, kirishima?” his eyes met yours, serious and stern.

your chest tingled.

he brought his fingers to your chin, angling your face with ease to get a better look at you. “call me eijirou.”

“what?”

“just once. please.”

“why-”

“once.”

“...what is it, eijirou?”

the pause felt like an eternity. “it’s you, y/n.”

“it’s...me? what about me? did i do something wrong?”

he chuckled softly, but there was no humor in his longing smile as he stared down. “you’re so oblivious.”

you could hear his heart beating, getting faster with every sentence he pushed out.

“you’re so clueless, y/n. it’s kind of pissing me off.”

“what am i doing to piss you off?” you snapped.

he tongued the inside of his cheek. “like i said.” he flashed you an award-winning grin. “clueless.” kirishima pushed himself off the wall and left the room, the door shutting hard, but not slamming shut.

you were left breathless, the hint of his cologne still lingering in the space before you.

you’d avoided kirishima and bakugou for the rest of the night.

what kirishima had wanted to say was nothing like what he said, but he knew everything would come out all wrong if he’d try to say anything.

his mind would have jumbled all his words, and he’d look like a crazy, insane lover.

bakugou wasn’t bad for you. not at all. you two were perfect for each other. you both had thick skin for silly rebuttals towards one another. you brought out the fun side of the blonde, and he worked you to your best.

kirishima was just your best friend. he hated to be the one who had fallen with nothing to soften the blow that was surely coming soon.

his ears burned nearly as red as his hair. a shudder passed down his back, the feeling of your jaw pressed between his thumb and index finger still imprinted there.

“i can’t fucking stand to see you around him.”

kirishima made his way to the common room, finding bakugou looking for snacks there. kirishima scoffed as his friend emerged with an apple in hand.

it was not like he hated bakugou. not at all. he didn’t think that pining for the same girl would ruin their friendship. he was just angry that you chose him.

kirishima respected your decisions. he wouldn’t ever try to get in the way of anything if you and bakugou made that kind of decision. he just wanted to be near you.

perhaps he should leave the situation alone. leave you alone and just forget about how his feelings were nagging at him every day.

he should forget how you were the first thing on his mind every morning, and the thing he thought about when he fell asleep.

you were everywhere. should he forget that too?

bakugou tossed his apple into the air. he clapped his friend on the back, taking a bite out. “go to sleep, idiot.”

“don’t call me that.”

bakugou turned, startled that kirishima wasn’t taking bakugou’s shit today. “you good?”

“i’m fine, but i’m not an idiot.”

bakugou’s body tightened. “alright.”

the pair stood awkwardly for a moment before kirishima sucked in a sudden breath. “what is y/n to you?” he asked.

bakugou raised an eyebrow. “what?”

“they’re obviously something to you.”

“listen, they were just helping me out. didn’t think you’d get offended from them fixing my broken ass nose.”

“that’s not what i mean. i walked in on you two, and you were about to—”

“i wasn’t going to do jackshit.” bakugou tossed his apple away, too angry to eat anything anymore.

“yes. don’t lie to me.”

“i’m not lying. where is all of this coming from?”

kirishima huffed out a frustrated breath. he shouldered past bakugou. kirishima uttered words he hated himself for saying. “leave me alone.”

- - -

tag(s): if u want to be tagged in any continued fic of mine, pls let me know! i don’t have a taglist, but please @ me and ask to be on the taglist! thank u <33

@heizenka

@insomniac-nerd-posts-things

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collecting-stories · 4 years ago

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Strawberry - Daryl Dixon

Request: Hi love! I adore your daryl dixon works and i was wondering if i would be able to request a scenario where you risk your life to save a baby that you found and daryl’s reaction (you still survive but it was a narrow escape) to your maternal instincts? 

A/N: I think I went a little off course with this one. To be fair, I tried it out three different ways and settled on this so hopefully it’s good.

The Walking Dead Masterlist

✘ ✘ ✘ ✘

The atmosphere at camp had taken a relatively negative turn after you’d gotten back from the run with Daryl. It didn’t help that you were injured, cuts so deep on your leg that if Daryl hadn’t vouched for them being caused by barbed wire you were sure Shane would’ve shot you on the spot, convinced you’d been bitten. Hershel had to stitch you up and you could hear Andrea bitching the entire time, voice carrying through the door, that this was all a liability. You, your recklessness, your injury, and, most importantly, the baby that you were holding on your lap for the entirety of Hershel’s work.

A little girl without a name, she was wearing pink corduroy overalls with strawberries embroidered into them. The run, which should have been routine, had taken you and Daryl further into town. He’d been spending a lot of time looking for Sophia but when Glenn injured his ankle on a run, Rick nominated you and Daryl to head out in search of supplies.

“When I told you to bring back whatever you could find,” Rick said, watching the baby skeptically, “I didn’t mean a baby.”

She was little more than five months old you guessed, trapped in a car seat in the back of an old Volkswagen that Glenn told you hadn’t been there when he passed through before. “Must’ve been other survivors, travelling through the area.” Everyone seemed to have an opinion on the baby and on your decision to save her, at great personal risk to yourself, but you tuned most of them out. Aside from situationally, most of these people weren’t ones you would ever actually spend time with and you didn’t care if the Andrea’s of the world passed judgement on your personal convictions.

“How’s she doing?” The only one who had been surprisingly without criticism of your actions was the one person you had expected to admonish you for being reckless. Daryl sat down on the porch steps beside you, crossbow on his lap.

You had seen the baby trying to outrun a hoard of walkers and get back to Daryl’s bike. She was inside the car, crying, and you had doubled back for her, nearly killing yourself when you caught your leg on a bundle of barbed wire from a downed fence. Daryl had cut it from your leg, part of your jeans ripping off with them as he pulled you and the baby to safety. He’d been the one to bandage you enough to get you back to the farm too, not a word to you the entire time.

In all honesty, you were waiting for him to be angry. Maybe not yell because you hadn’t really experienced him yelling at you before, but certainly had heard him go at it with Shane a few times. And you expected something, at least a “yer stupid” but so far he hadn’t said anything.

“Alright,” you shifted the baby in your arms and placed the empty bottle down between you and Daryl, “she finally ate.”

He nodded, glancing over at the baby as you laid her against your chest to burp her. “Yer good with her, ya got any experience with babies then?” He asked, more than you’d talked to him since Merle went missing, presumed dead. Probably more than you had spoken to him before that too.

“I was the middle kid of nine,” you replied, “babies are pretty much part of my wiring. I always thought I’d have one.”

“Got one now.”

You laughed, maybe the first honest one since you’d wound up in Atlanta. Daryl wasn’t one to joke around and that, partially, had thrown you into the minor fit but, more over, he was right. As judgmental as Lori and Andrea and Shane wanted to be, this baby wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. None of them would as you to do that.

“I guess I do.” You finally said, “I’m sorry for getting us all mixed up, by the way. I wasn’t trying to jeopardise your safety.”

“I ain’t some heartless bastard, not gonna ask ya ta leave a kid ta die.” He replied.

“Still, thought you’d have something to say about it. Everyone else seems to.”

“Yeah well,” his hands worked to clean the crossbow and he paused his speech for a moment, full concentration on the weapon in his hands. He listened for any sign of footsteps or the possibility of somebody that might overhear the conversation. “Shane woulda just as soon shot ya both in the back.”

“That’s true.”

“Everybody’s losing that bit of ‘em...it’s good ya still got it.” He said quietly and you nodded because you understood what he was trying to say. The same thing that had him out there looking for Sophia had propelled you back to the car. And if he had seen the baby first he would’ve done the same thing.

The baby made a quiet heaving noise before something akin to a giggle and you laid her on your thighs as you reached for the spit blanket that Maggie had given you. Daryl reached a hand over, steadying the baby she didn’t roll off your lap, the infant cooing at him and grabbing at his fingers.

“I looked through her diaper bag,” you finally said, adjusting her again so she could sit up, facing her out to the yard and letting her look around at everything. She seemed transfixed with Daryl, reaching out for him and clapping her hands together when he gave her his hand back. “There’s no name or anything on it…not even on her tags.”

“I ain’t good at naming things,” Daryl said, as if sensing that was why you’d brought it up. “Stray cat used to come in our yard ta eat and all I called him was kitty.”

“Yeah…I’m gonna pass on naming her Baby.” You joked, “just figured since you were there when I found her.”

“She’s all yours,” he replied hastily though he had set his crossbow aside to play with her. Not going so far as to take her off your lap but keeping her occupied, holding her attention.

You pushed open the door to the jail cell, sliding the curtain out of the way as you slipped inside, surprised to see Daryl sitting on the bed in your tiny room, the baby on his lap. You had put her down for a nap only thirty minutes earlier, heading outside to check the snares with Rick and had come back in to make sure she was alright.

“Beth asked if I’d check on her,” Daryl said, not even looking away from her as you shut the curtain and pulled the chair over. “Said Judith was fussing.”

“Thanks, sorry I was out in the field...guess I shouldn’t be leaving her with everyone else if I’m the one who’s supposed to be taking care of her.” You joked. Lori was gone now but the admonishment had been from her. That if you so desperately wanted this baby around than you should be the one to care for her.

“Ain’t just a job for one person.” Daryl replied, “she ain’t hard to take care of anyway.”

“That’s cause she likes you.” You observed. His cheeks flushed and he bowed his head, almost bashful at the thought and you just smiled like you hadn’t noticed his sudden behavior, turning your attention to the baby.

“Frazier,” the little girl rocked back on her bottom, giggling when she met Daryl’s shins and tilting her head back to look up at him. Her knees and the palms of her hands were stained from the grass that she’d been tearing through.

She smiled, rocking herself forward so that she could clumsily stand up, turning swiftly to face Daryl again as she reached her arms up for him. “Daddy!” The moniker was new, ever since Judith had started talking, calling Rick ‘dada’ when she saw him, Frazier had decided that she, too, required a dad. And, naturally, she had decided that it was Daryl.

He shouldered the crossbow he was carrying and leaned down to scoop her up, doing his best to ignore the name. You’d suggested that maybe the term would die out as she got a little older but so far it was sticking and, while Daryl made like it bothered him, it didn’t really. Taking care of the baby, who you’d named from your mother’s side of the family, had seemingly brought the two of you closer. Or at least it had created a reason for Daryl to stay close to you. Looking out for the baby, as he always put it.

“She’s been waiting all day for you.”

Speak of the devil, he turned toward the house to see you coming out to greet them, still pulling a hoodie on to combat the chill that had settled into Alexandria. In the time between Hershel’s farm and now you had seen a lot of bloodshed, lost a lot of people. For a brief moment in time Daryl had been fairly positive he had lost the both of you too, but you had turned up in the woods outside of Terminus, Frazier right there with you.

“Ya been keeping watch?” He asked, jostling her slightly and being rewarded when she giggled and nodded her head.

“Yeah, no naps!”

“Oh Lord,” he muttered, handing her off to you when you reached out for her.

“Come on Frazier, let’s get some food?” You offered, carrying her towards the stairs. She twisted in your arms, reaching over your shoulder for Daryl as he followed behind you.

For all the maternal instincts everyone always said that you had, you thought Daryl was just as protective and acutely aware of Frazier, and now Judith, as you were. He was just less obvious about it. Trying to pass it off as indifference when in actuality you had seen that side of him often and in excess.

Taglist: @cbarter @onemorebeautifulnightmare @mainokutan @solllaris @twdeadfanfic @legit-emily @gigilame @sabertooth-potato @enrapturedbythemoon @thanossexual @yespleasejayhalstead

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon fic #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fic #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead imagine #twd fanfiction #twd fic #twd fanfic #twd imagine #collecting stories imagine

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weirdochick56 · 4 years ago

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Sin- Steve Rogers AU Chapter Three

Biker!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Explicit language, set in a universe where Pietro isn’t Wanda’s twin, but her older brother!!!

Disclaimers: I don’t own any MCU plots/characters mentioned.

Word Count: 3, 379 Words

Summary: Y/n finally comes face to face with Biker King and it’s nothing like she imagined. And when she least expects it, the very person she came looking for will find her and all the emotions she has been holding in will come pouring out in unexpected ways.

Read Chapter Two Here!!

Under different circumstances, maybe you would’ve stayed there, in his hold a little while longer. It wasn’t like it was an unpleasant feeling...not in the least.

His hot hands and cool rings contrasted eachother deliciously on your skin and it had actually taken you a while to pull yourself out of your dazed trance, between getting the air knocked out of you and now....

“Oh.”

You didn’t mean to yelp the way you did when your gaze met those of the blonde Adonis that stood before you, but you couldn’t help it. Those eyes...if you had thought they were pretty before, now you could say with absolute certainty that they were utterly showstopping.

Salacious, intense, powerful...you’d never wanted to drown in a person’s gaze more.

He had the kind of eyes you don’t just get lost in, but entirely lose yourself to. The kind that if you stare into too long, you might be swallowed like quicksand. And yet, even knowing this, you couldn’t pull yourself away and had found yourself for the second time in only a short span of time, unable to breathe correctly.

His gaze was steady on yours as well, though unlike you he wasn’t shaken in the least. He was all cool and collected, his eyes searching yours out shamelessly.

And so you stay like that for a few moments, his big hands pressed onto your mostly bare back and your hands gripping his forearms tightly, steadying- anchoring yourself. Though nothing about the piercing power of that gaze was anchoring or even real to you.

Gradually, your heart begins picking up an erratic pace which only spikes when his fingers begin tracing softly over your skin.

The shivers this sends down your spine feels like a slap to the face and you find yourself almost aggressively pushing yourself away from him. He hesitates a bit, but it’s only a split second before his hands are unclasped and off your skin.

Breaking away seems to break the trance-like state you were in and instantly, the embarassment sets in, your cheeks heating up immediately. You bow your head refelctively.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble out of pure shame. Not because of him, but because of yourself.

Why were you acting like this?

I mean, you weren’t normally one to fall for a pretty face because you had grown up around rich pretty boys your whole life.

But he...

You take a cautious peek at him again and instantly regret doing so when you realize the fact that his eyes had seemingly never left you and were now practically glowing with amusement as he watched you closely.

Your breath hitches and you bite your lip, a nervous habit of yours. His eyes momentarily flick down to the action but they quickly return back up to your gaze.

Your eyes are everywhere at once, your breathing labored. ‘He’s too close’, you think to yourself amidst the chaos in your brain.

And he’s too goddam perfect.

He’s all sharp jaw, high cheekbones, silky, messy blonde hair, pink plump lips and piercing blue eyes...every slope and curve and straight edge of his face was all too perfectly harmonious with one another. To say you were in complete awe at the Adonis before you would be an understatement.

You couldn’t breathe.

His plump lips are so pink and full and they’re only highlighted more by his dark neatly kept beard, you have to blink several times to make sure you’re not imagining them. How can a man have such pretty lips?

You had never seen someone this alluring in your life, he wasn’t at all like the pretty rich boys of your town.

He had a naturally intimidating aura to him, in that rough-around-the-edges badass biker way that you shouldn’t be finding this damn attractive.

And then you take a moment to take in his full form. You were right; he was easily a whole foot taller than you, sporting more tattoos than you could count on his visible skin- that was, his collarbone and hands, some of the ones up his arm poking out when he moved.

Unlike most people here who wore kuttes, he was wearing a thick leather jacket with the word, ‘President’ patched in bold black and white on it, but you knew he had his arms fully tatted because you’d seen it that day at the store.

He also wore black worn jeans that clung sexily on his slim hips, chains hanging over the jean hoops and clanging everytime he moved. He clearly loved his black combat boots because it was visibly obvious he used them a whole lot.

His sexy mouth lifts at the corner into an even sexier smirk and you all but come undone when he speaks again. “It’s okay, angel.”

‘Doll’, ‘angel’...

Your brow furrows and before you know what you’re doing...

“Are you in the habit of giving girls you’ve never met pet names, sir?” You blurt without thinking.

The unintentionally sassy words fly out of your mouth before your brain can even catch up, but when it does, your eyes instantly widen and your hand flies to your mouth, clasping over it in complete horror.

You want to die when the excessive attitude in your words sinks in and suddenly you’re all too aware of just how much bigger and intimidating this man was compared to you.

He could snap you, and most grown men, in half without a second thought.

You open your mouth to apologize profusely thinking you’ve offended this (most likely) dangerous outlaw, but you freeze once you see his expression.

He doesn’t seem angry at all, in fact, he’s...laughing? No, it’s not a full-on laugh like the one you’d seen in that parking lot. It’s more airy, more casual.

He was chuckling. At you.

He speaks again, this time amusedly. “Nah, only the pretty ones.”

You’re caught off-guard by the suave of his words and you find yourself profusely blushing once more. You have no idea how to respond to him so instead, you just shake your head, desperate to escape this increasingly flustering situation.

“Okay. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” you offer him a forced polite smile and go to side-step him.

You barely make it two steps before his hand is flying out, gripping your wrist firmly and tugging you backwards. A little gasp flies out of your mouth at the suddeness of the movement and before you understand what’s happening, you find yourself pressed tightly against a wall, shrouded in darkness.

You turn your wide eyes onto Biker King, whose thick arms are now pressed beside each side of your head, caging you in entirely. His long torso is leaning down slightly, so his eyes are directly with in your line of sight.

His scent comes onto you like an avalanche. He smells strongly of leather, cologne, shaving cream, something woodsy yet manly and strangely enough, clean laundry.

It was unlike any scent you’d ever smelt on a man, but somehow it fit him perfectly and you found yourself inhaling deeper than usual, your heart racing at his sudden proximity.

He’s so close, your chests are only an inch or two away and he’s staring straight into your soul, cornering you like a predator would a helpless prey.

“Uh...” you can only mumble awakwardly, still kind of dazed and gaping up at him in utter shock, you can barely hear yourself over the loud pounding of your erratic heart.

Up close, he’s more beautiful than you could’ve ever imagined a person to be and his piercing gaze was honestly dizzying you.

“Why are you here, doll?”

His sudden question jerks you painfully back into reality and you press your lips together, your brows pinching up instantly at his words. The question is so blunt, so sudden, you can only blink furiously up at him.

“I- what?” You breathe shakily, suddenly unable to function at all.

He tilts his head down at you, raising a brow and speaking awfully matter-of-factly. “Well you’re that pretty little thing from that shit-hole parking lot, aren’t you?”

At first you can only blink stupidly at him, not expecting him to recognize you but then it suddenly dawns on you...if he recognized you then-

You gasp loudly, cheeks more fiery than ever.

A knowing smirk grows on his face. “Hey, for what it’s worth, angel, it was a pretty catchy ringtone.”

You bite your lip in order to supress any small sound threating to spill over out of your lips.

His eyes darken when they fall onto your meek movement and he tightens his hold in the wall, inhaling sharply. “Damn...”

Your blush darkens and your stomach clenches at his small, heated mumble that leaves those pretty lips.

Maybe it was the smug little smirk on his beautiful face that bothered you so much. Or maybe it was the way his eyes pierced through you like you were see-through, but either way, you felt trapped.

Like he was a lion and you were some small, distressed powerless prey, unable to escape that watchful gaze.

“I have to go...” you breathe curtly, staring at his mouth from under your lashes as his pink tongue pokes out, sweeping lightly over his lips.

He chuckles sexily. “Oh, nu-uh, doll. You haven’t answered my damn question yet. What’s a girl like you doing here?”

“A girl like me?” You frown.

He laughs, looking away for a second before turning his magnetic eyes back onto you, somehow more intensely than before.

“You and I both know you don’t belong on this side of town, angel,” he whispers meaningfully, staring at your mouth fixedly.

“I-I don’t even know you,” is all you can manage in a shaky voice, feeling like an invisible force is pushing at your chest.

His eyes lazily drag up to your own and he hums thoughtfully. “You don’t have to. You just have to tell me what you want with this place.”

You find yourself reeling back indignantly at his demanding tone despite your nervousness. Just who did this stranger think he was?

“I don’t have to tell you jack shit,” you snap. “Now let me go, please.”

If he’s shocked by your little outburst, he doesn’t show it, instead he laughs lowly, the sound somehow like pebbles scraping against gravel and also like what silk felt on your skin or the way honey squeezes out of a bottle.

The sound was so sexy- a perfect balance of masculine and airy- that it felt like a carress on your skin.

“Oh, you’re definitely not from around here, little spit fire.”

You want to ask him what he means, but before you can, a voice cuts in from behind you both.

“Prez.”

The both of you freeze, but perhaps for entirely different reasons. Biker King looks mildly annoyed at the interruption, and you...

Well that voice sounded freakishly like-

Biker King releases a big breath, smoothly pushing off the wall and spinning around to look at the voice, leaving you to finally be able to release a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in.

You’re still safely hidden behind the much larger frame of Biker King, but you can easily make out about three pairs of manly feet from between his lean, jean-clad legs.

“Sorry, Prez,” the same voice quickly pushes out, but he sounds more panicked than apologetic. “I know you’re busy but...” he pauses, and for some reason you know it’s because of you.

‘Prez’? As in “president”? You found yourself wondering silently.

Tentatively, you step out from behind Biker King, head bowed. “Uhm- I was actually just going so..”

You don’t even plan on looking at them before high-tailing it out of there, but a shocked voice stops you.

“Y/n?!”

Your head snaps up instantly.

And when your gazes make contact for the first time in a long time, you can’t help the tears that instantly pool around your eyes, eyes and nose burning furiously as all the overwhelming feelings and thoughts you’d been suppressing for so long come rushing to the surface.

It was an instantaneous reaction because deep down you had felt he was near and a wave of conflict crashes right against you as you stiffen up.

Your mouth feels dry as you blink the threatening hot tears back. You haven’t seen him in a while, but he hasn’t very much changed appereance wise.

Those eyes were still the warmest blue you’ve ever seen, that hair was still kinky and he hadn’t chopped off his frosty tips.

It dawns on you why you’d recgonized that voice and your heart squeezes tightly as you’re fact to face with him...

Your voice is croaky and breathy when you say his name, but you force yourself to.

“Pietro.”

Steve’s POV

I watch with raised brows as Pietro, or ‘Pretty Boy’ as we called him and my angel -Y/n is what Pietro called her- naturally draw closer together, like being pulled together by some kind of fucking magnetic force, and a surge of anger rises within me instantly.

‘So your name is Y/n, huh?’ I can find myself thinking that her name is beautiful, delicate and feminine like her and that it would probably feel good to say on my tongue.

Bucky and Sam each shoot a weird look my way, as if asking ‘what’s up with these two?’ and I give them a short shrug, quickly turning my gaze back onto the stomach-churning scene developing before me.

Fuck, I hated her being so close to another man, it was inexplicable. I had just met the girl but I already knew I wanted her in my bed- it was like an instinct to me.

Pietro is now within reach of her and I can do nothing but clench my fists as he reaches his arms out, with tears in his eyes appareantly not giving a flying fuck that his brothers are watching this unfold and tugs her small body towards him.

What fucks me up more than anything is that she doesn’t fight him in the least.

I mean it’s clear that they know eachother from their dramatic soap opera moment, but it’s the fact that they look so natural doing it -like they’ve done it so much before it’s muscle memory at this point- that makes me want to kill someone...perferably Pietro.

He buries his face in her hair, inhaling her scent deeply and I can’t say I blame him. In the small amount of time I’d spent close to her, I’d become addicted to her smell. She smelt nothing like the women I’d fucked over the years. They used cheap off-brand shit, that too potent sweet stuff...but her?

She smelled like wild flowers and vanilla, an expensive, soft, but not entirely inconspicuous scent I would fucking drown in if I could for the rest of my miserable life.

As I watched on, helplessly clenching my fists so as to not do something rash, she shakily lifts her petite arms and wraps them around Pietro, hugging him tightly to her.

Oh. I growl under my breath, unable to resist the pang of jealousy that hits me.

Bucky, my vice president, sends a look my way and I’m pretty sure there’s murder on my face, but all he does is smirk amusedly, the fucker.

But then it gets worse, because Pretty Boy’s hands start wandering, rubbing her back tenderly, up and down almost to her nice round ass. Up and down, up and d-

I see red, and before I know what I’m doing, I feel myself lunging forward, ready to rip them apart.

Except...

“Oh shit!” I freeze when I hear Sam voice all our thoughts at what has just happened.

In the time I had stepped forward, Y/n had suddenly broken away from the embrace, brought her small fist back and clocked Pietro right in the jaw.

We all stare like damn idiots at the loud smack sound, and consequent mixture of grunts and yelps that rings out, but none more than me.

Little spitfire packs a damn powerful right hook, even with her size.

I can see even Bucky, whose the most stoic of us all, is unable to do anything but gape at the scene.

Our shocks lasts very little because in the next second, still cradling her injured hand to her chest, she uses her other free hand to smack him in the head, over and over.

“You asshole!” she hissses, whacking him anywhere she can get her small hand. Pietro is crouched over, arms thrown over his head in order to protect himself.

“Y/n stop!” he demands.

But this only seems to anger her more and she’s attacking him with more fury now. “How dare you just up and leave like that? I thought-” she huffs, pained. “I thought you loved me, you dipshit!”

It would seem my little angel has a potty mouth on her and I can’t help but smirk bemusedly to myself despite the fact that anyone here can tell there’s history there.

Sam and Bucky’s shock seems to have worn off as well and they’re now staring, on the verge of laughter.

It was pretty comical I’ll admit, seeing as she was way smaller than him and still whooping his ass. It was actually pretty impressive considering he was one of my guys.

I snap into action once I remember that she’s injured her hand and that Pietro isn’t fighting back because if he did, he could kill her.

“Sam, Bucky,” I snap, pointing at Pietro with my eyes. They don’t hesitate a single second and instantly capture Pretty Boy in their hold, tugging him back.

I reach out and grab Y/n by her waist, easily lifting her up and away.

“Let me go, dammit! Let me go!”

She wiggled aggressively against my hold, still flailing her small limbs about and yelling like a nutjob, but she’s no match against my strength.

I hug her tightly, pressing her back to me so she can relax. “Settle down, angel,” I whisper calmly in her ear, but she keeps resisting, so I hastily add “If you keep wiggling that pretty little ass of yours like that on my cock you’re going to make me do something I’ll regret later. So I highly suggest you stop. Fucking. Moving.”

I suppress the urge to grin when I feel her instantly stiffen beneath my touch. She finally seems to give up and fall limp against my hold.

I mean, I was only half lying to get her to calm down. Actually, I was already half hard.

‘You are one sick fucking bastard, Steve’ I think to myself bemusedly.

“Y/n?! What the hell is going on?!” Another feminie voice calls out from behind us.

Our necks snap instantly towards the direction where it came from and I frown. A pretty redhead comes bounding towards us, or well, me, looking just about ready to kill me and it is then I realize that I’m still carrying Y/n.

“What the fuck are you doing?! Let her go!” She starts to give me hell, but Y/n suddenly sighs.

“It’s okay Wanda,” she mutters. “He was just trying to keep me from killing-”

“Wanda!” Pietro calls out suddenly and the redhead’s eyes widen, much like Y/n’s had when she had first seen him. She instantly turns to Pretty boy and runs over to him, tears in her eyes. She practically jumps on him and holds him tightly to her.

What. The. Hell.

Sam turns to Bucky incredulously as ‘Wanda’ and Pietro hold eachother like they were the other’s life line.

“Dude,” Sam breathes over to Bucky. “Where the hell is Pretty Boy getting all these babes from?”

Bucky shrugs. “No clue.”

“Wanda what are you doing here?” Pietro breaks away from her, ignoring Buck’s and Sam’s whispers.

“Oh Pietro! I thought you were dead!” she sniffles and I’ve had just about enough of this shit show.

“Enough.” I call out, gently setting Y/n down. I try to ignore her pretty gaze burning holes into the side of my head and focus on the issue at hand, turning my harsh gaze to Pietro.

He gulps audibly because he knows I’m no longer playing around.

“Pietro, you’re going to explain now.”

Read Chapter Four Here!!

***

Pretty short chapter but I hope you liked! If anything I can rewrite it-

Please give me feedback I’m so insecure about my writing so anything would be fine. I see all your asks and replies.

And if you want to be added to any of my taglists pls send me an ask or reply!!

A special thanks to:

@daughterofthenight117

@patzammit

@readermia

@jessikared97

@ladyofletters67

@lilypalmer1987

@sammykb1994

@mogaruke

@tomshelbystits

@actorinfluence

@hottubbaby

@rosalynshields

@peaches-roses-sins

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@dbnightingale24

@holl2712

@amberritonicole

@aikeia

#Steve Rogers #steve #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america x reader #biker!AU #biker!steve rogers x reader #biker!steve rogers #biker!steve rogers x reader au

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deadpoetsmuses · 4 years ago

Text

"sunflower". | gerard pitts, dps.

in which when two sunflowers have no sun to follow, they turn to each other.

✧ title: “sunflower”.

✧ pairing: gerard pitts x fem!reader.

✧ genre: angst to fluff.

✧ word count: 1,019.

✧ warnings: mentions of cheating, academic failure.

✧ author’s note: i know it's not true that sunflowers turn to each other when there's no sun, but the idea of that is just so cute. anyway, thank you so much for the anon that requested for more pitts stories !! i hope you and everybody else enjoys !!

✦ requested by anon! "hey! i love your writing so much <3 i was wondering if you could do more stories about gerard pitts.. thats lanky boi doesn’t get enough attention <3"

“All of the good ones go for jerks, you know that,” He advised, consoling his friend Knox. This was all well and true for a man like Gerard Pitts. He had once been a man of excessive affection-- the level in which he fell hopelessly in love once rivaled Knox Overstreet’s and his heart had been broken for more times than the world rotated on its axis. He thought that his hope for love had ceased to exist and that the sun wouldn’t shine upon him anymore-- until he saw that same bright light of the sun in her eyes.

Despite Y/N being homeschooled and Pitts attending an all-boys academy, the two would take it upon themselves to visit each other often. Usually, they would spend time together at the local coffee shop, drinking out of hot mugs and talking about topics that they wouldn’t have been able to in the company of their regular groups. The two of them would always take the corner table engulfed by the large bay window, as it was the only spot in the entire café where the light of the sun would beam through. Y/N would sit in front of the window so as to shield her sight from the sun’s rays, while Pitts would be seated directly across in a manner of welcoming the sun.

“Why do you like it here so much, Pitts?” Y/N questioned as she took a long sip from her coffee. She noticed that once again, his vision was pointed towards the golden ball of light. “I just like the sun,” He shrugged. He finally took his eyes away and placed it on Y/N’s figure instead. “Anyway, how are you and that guy doing? Dan, was it? What is that short for, ‘danger’?” Pitts surmised, wiggling his eyebrows. He had a gut feeling that Y/N’s new boyfriend wasn’t good for her, but he had nothing else to do but to simply let his intuitions pass through jokes and banters. “You know his name’s short for Daniel.” Y/N responded with a roll of her eyes. “He’s good; we’re good.”

Little did she know, she had been wrong and Pitts had been right. It took approximately six weeks and five days for her to discover about old Daniel’s deceiving ways. Everything had been all right from her perspective, but she hadn’t known about all of the cheating and the fabrication from Dan’s mouth. With her grief came the lack of energy, and with the lack of energy came the misfortune of not being able to see any of her friends-- especially Gerard Pitts. Y/N knew that things wouldn’t have worked out with Daniel anyways, regardless of his cheating ways. She had just felt so used and so betrayed; but she knew that something much better had been waiting for her-- only if she had the courtesy to get out of her misery and into the real world.

He wouldn’t have had any time to go and see her either. In those six weeks and five days, Pitts found himself feeling more and more distressed with every drop of his academic grade. Whatever lecture or teachings he heard in his ear simply went out the other. The quicksand he had fallen into had trapped him entirely; and there had been no other way of escaping. Thus, all of his free time was beginning to be dedicated to nights of relentless studying and futile reading.

While Y/N laid on her bed and waited for all of her tears to dry out, Pitts would be at his desk, continuingly grinding his brain and working to raise his grade into something more decent. They both knew they had to take a break-- to be able to think about something other than their respective troubles. So, the coffee shop dates began to return to its usual schedule.

On one particularly cloudy day, the meeting had followed through but their troubles remained. Not even the sun could brighten Pitts’ day, for there had been no sun at all; nor could the same be done to Y/N with hearing the humorous comments of her friend, since the friend in question hadn’t been in a humorous mood at all.

The two cups of coffee on the table had gone cold and the atmosphere was overcome with misery. Both Pitts and Y/N had been too taken in their despair for things to be the same as before. Only small talks and miniscule smiles had been exchanged-- but nothing else had seemed to help them get out. Y/N then tried again for what she thought should have been the last time. “Pitts… I’m sorry I made us go out on such a cloudy day, I know how much you like the sun…”

Pitts then turned to look at her. There it was, he thought. The light of the sun was nowhere to be found in the skies, for it was in those captivating eyes of hers. It’s not like he had been unaware of that glimmer in her eyes that whole time. Perhaps the one true reason why he had favored the sun so much was due to the fact that he had seen it in her eyes countless times before.

For the first time in weeks, Gerard Pitts finally had a reason to take his mind off of his troubles; and after all those years, he finally found a way for his heart to be mended. The reason why he had favored that coffee shop so much was not because of the sun; but it was all because of her. The sun hadn’t been his favorite thing either; it was the way it illuminated her face and presented each tiny detail for Pitts to see.

As they felt it before, things would never be the same again after that one day. It wasn’t because of any previous sorrows or burdens. It was due to the fact that despite all of the cloudy days and the lack of warmth, the two sunflowers finally found the sun-- and it was all because of how they found it in each other.

for my favorite dps stans <3 @deadpoetsgayvodka @neilfuckingperrydeservedbetter @neilsemeraldsweater @ughgclden @nananostalgic @galaxyrhymes @mybabysweetascanbe @romanticacademiaasshole @catflowerbean @willowestelle @yourpal

#dead poets society #dps #dead poets society fanfiction #gerard pitts #pitts x reader #gerard pitts x reader #gerard pitts fanfiction #gerard pitts fluff #gerard pitts angst #jemi-writes #jemi-requested #jemi-dps

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kazuhasbunny · 3 years ago

Note

*in Xingqiu's voice* Right on cue! I was wondering when you just might appear!

(That's because I was having Bennett brainrot yesterday before sleeping )

Imagine Bennett and you are getting back from an adventure, the both of you sweaty and trying to catch your breath beside a tree on your way to Monstadt. His bad luck acted and the two of you had to run from a horde of Hilichruls.

Bennett looks at you, still panting from all the running and dodging. the adrenaline from escaping that situation was still high, and seeing how your clothes cling to you detailing your curves neither helped with the ragging hard on he had.

You are slumped against the trunk of a tree, the damp and thin fabric of your shirt did nothing to prevent the rough texture of the bark rubbing on your back every time you breathed. Your head was hanging and your eyes closed, relishing in the calm moment, until the soft thud of footstep on grass made you crack them open, the sight of Bennett's boots and a nice tent on his pants greeting you.

Before you could asking what's up, he shoves you down on our knees with a good push from his hand on your shoulder, then takes several steps until you have to crane your neck so you won't press your face against his crotc, but it did almost nothing since the tree behind you won't allow you to move back for more space, you are basically trapped between the tree and Bennett.

He orders you to suck him off, to which you happily oblige, but the moment you part your lips to take the tip in, he shoves his entire length down your throat, groaning as you sputtered and clenched on his cock. It's a good thing he likes to receive head, or else you wouldn't have been able to control your gags that fast nor even your breathing.

Even though he told you to blow him, he just fucked your face at such fast pace, your eyes all teary and running down your cheeks, face warm and jaw sore from having to keep it open for so long and his unapologetic thrust didn't help it, but boy how you were enjoying it. The tree behind you kept your head in place, so his cock always slides deep down with such ease, making you take every inch he has to offer.

As his orgasm closes by, he takes his cock out and fist it just as fast as he was fucking your mouth. "Keep it open" He growls, and you do as you are told. You till your head up a little bit and stick your tongue out. Your hands cup under your chin just in case some of his cum misses your face.

With a couple of pumps latter, his breath hitches as his body goes still, ropes of his hot cum lands primarily on your face. You groan as a bit of his load falls on your tongue, savoring the taste as Bennett fists his softening cock to get a few more drops of his release on you.

He steps back a little, just enough for your back to not be pressed against the tree. He puts himself back in place, and then crossed his arms across his chest as he looks at the mess on your face. You kept your head up and returned his stare, he likes it when you don't immediately clean up whenever he cums on your face.

You close your thighs and rub them together, trying to get some type of relief, you groan when a flick of pleasure course your body.

Something rubs between your knees and you look down. Bennett stuck his right left out, the from of his boot pushing through your pressed knees. You open your legs and let the foot slide between them, stopping short in front of your aching cunt. You look up at him, a blush coating your cheeks as he returns the look with his hands on his hips:

"If you want to cum, use this--" He list the tip of his boot and rubs hard on your clit. Your hands latch on his naked calf as the wave of pleasure came far stronger than what you were expecting.

He lowers his foot and your hips follow in instic, your crotch pressed against the curve of his boot so you can sit and rub your clothed clit on the leather, both of your knees beside his foot. You hug his thigh to your chest and lay your chin on it, looking up to him while you wait for his orders.

He nods and combs his gloved fingers through your hair. "Good girl" you purr at the praise and rub your cheek against his thigh.

Bennett grins and let you bask on the praise before he yanks your head up by the hair:

"But. You only have five minutes to get off, or else you won't be cumming until I decide when you will. So, get started"

Your eyes widen at his words, seemingly in terror, but in reality it only made the fire in your belly grow. You're confident that you'll finish before the five minutes mark...

...or so you thought. Whenever you lost rhythm or you moaned specially loud, at the brink of orgasm, Bennett would pull back his boot a bit so you couldn't reach it.

He grins again. Bennett really loved when you show the whore that you really, all by his hand.

OWFIFJEJI THIS IS SHIT BECAUSE I GET DUMB WHEN I GET HORN KNEE.

Sorry for the foot thing... IT'S NOT A FOOT KINK. It's more of a... shoes kind... I recently noticed that sometimes, men when wearing tick boots or dress shoes makes me? Want to? Get off on it??? Sir, I promise you I'll be a good girl and I won't soil your shoes 😳

(Thank you Trapper from DBD for setting your traps with your boots. That hot )

OH MY GOD *screams into pillow* THIS IS . the . this is totally . the . *drools excessively* i can’t form any words i’m too hornknee

ALSO its okay i kinda have a shoe kink (??) like idk what it’s called but i just want them to step on my crotch and grind it’s hind (?) on me . or i just go up ti their leg and start grinding on their shoe/boot whatever it is like the desperate slut i am . ofc when i’m fully clothed i aint want any germs 😭 but like . fuck this is extremely hot the part where bennett pats your head and it turns into gripping you harshly — creamed my panties . goodnight kazuhasbunny nation

#eli.replies #eli.thirsts #anon #👀.bennett

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captainsimagines · 3 years ago

Text

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Nine

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 9 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: strong language; use of a derogatory slur/racist language (not said by any main character); mentions of blood and injuries; angst!

Word Count: 11,200+

A/N: One more chapter after this - I should really stop labeling this as a mini-series considering it’s already over 100,000 total words lmao. Thank you for staying with me this long! I love you guys soooo much!!!

Utah Merry Hotel, January 2025, 2:09pm

“I’m being an ol’ sport, why can’t you?” You whine, stomping your feet as you trudged up the stairs to the hotel roof. “It’s our first serious stakeout in forever! I’m pretty sure Wanda shaved her legs for this.”

Steve shoots a flustered and unsettled look over his shoulder. He’s lugging the rifles and extra equipment on both his shoulders so you know he’s truly baffled because to even attempt a look over… well, that required real effort. He doesn’t answer, however; he continues upward.

Bucky and Clint are following close behind. They’re tired, huffing every few steps and grunting while doing so. Finally, Bucky whines and throws himself against the wall dramatically. “Remind me why we couldn’t just get Wanda and Sam to lift us up there?”

Steve readjusts one of the rifle straps while he replies, “Buck, I told you not to skip leg day.”

“I skip ‘everything’ day. I’m just now employed as a superhero, thank you very much. The serum should be enough.”

“Are we even close?” Clint asks and passes Bucky on a few steps. Bucky takes that as a challenge though and hoists himself more steps before giving up again.

You just watch in pure amusement. Makes you really proud that your thighs are stronger than theirs. “Just a few more flights.”

They both groan in unison. Steve has already rounded the next flight, no longer waiting on the three of you. It takes several more minutes until you kick open the roof door Steve had left slightly ajar. It’s cold outside, wind howling with icy droplets whipping through your hair. It’s only fifty stories up but it’s pretty high - you can see the tops of the trees, or branches really. It’s winter in Utah and most of the trees are naked and covered in snow. You hope Bucky and Clint, the dynamic duo no one saw coming, still have good aim in this wind after a year of vacation.

“Alright. Buck - Clint, set up over there. Y/N, you’re over there.”

“Aye Aye, Captain.”

You set up where Steve instructed. You’ve got a simple magnifier and some binoculars - you won’t have to do any shooting today, thank the Gods. Clint’s got his arrows and Bucky’s got his sniper. Steve’s waiting for a signal from Sam if need be - he won’t need to shoot today either.

“Wanda and Sam will let us know when the cars pass the barrier. The tech cannot, under any circumstances, pass through the gate right over there.” Steve points to the giant, black coated metal gate. There’s no one on duty. You made sure to evacuate the area and any staff before. The tech these goons are bringing in is all stolen Stark Tech. And according to Happy, strict instructions are to ‘blow it to Hell’.

“And if it does?” Bucky asks, grinning mischievously at Steve’s pointed look.

“What’d I just say?”

Bucky laughs and puts his hands up in surrender. “Damn, Stevie. Calm thyne tits.” He goes back to fiddling with his rifle. “Blow the tires before they reach the gates but after they pass the barrier. Got it.”

“Peter, you in position?” Steve asks and adjusts his earpiece.

You can hear Peter over your own mic. “Seatbelts look easy enough to break. I’m in position, I can easily pull them from the trucks.”

“Five minutes then.”

You all settle in. The cold has passed through the leather of your boots and your toes are paying the price. It makes you miss the rain of spring and the sprinkles of fall, when everything is drenched rather than frozen and your toes still have mobility. Your jacket is big enough but it scratches your neck every time you lean down to look through the magnifier. As the minutes tick by, you brave the cold and take it off. You’d rather conduct your part efficiently and without the constant distraction.

“It’s almost forty degrees out,” Steve mumbles beside you. He’s looking over the roof balcony and into the trees. He’s squints and refuses your offer of binoculars.

“So I get a sore throat.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Tony put a heater in all our suits. You should have worn yours.”

“My suit is half nano. It’s excessive for a stakeout.”

He huffs but you ignore him, choosing to look through the rejected binoculars instead. He shuffles, and then there’s a warm weight enveloping your shoulders. It’s his sweater, cotton and baby blue, and he lifts the hood to cover your cheeks and ears. Your stomach flip-flops.

“Uh, thank you,” you say and zip it closed.

Steve shrugs lightly, “Don’t mention it.”

So you don’t. He doesn’t look cold besides or he’s just really good at masking it. It’s quiet now; you can’t really hear the quiet mutters of Clint and Bucky enough to join in and to not mention the jacket is eating at you. You opt for a casual conversation instead while you wait.

“Soooo… how’d your date go last week?”

Steve clears his throat and turns to you, a forced grin on his face. “They, uh, they were sweet.”

“Sweet,” you repeat, nodding at nothing and cursing yourself for creating such an awkward moment. “Going on a second one?”

He sighs and his expression actually turns truthful. “No, don’t see that happening.”

For a second, you’re appalled. Who wouldn’t give Steve a second date? He’s an absolute catch and being a famous superhero wasn’t exactly a dealbreaker for many. Or maybe it was and Steve was blaming his alias once again for no fairytale ending. “Are you kidding? Who wouldn’t want you?”

The words leave your mouth too quickly to reel them back in. Steve’s cheeks turn pinker, both from your words and the chill, and he ducks his head low as he answers. “It’s my fault, really. They were sweet but I wasn’t paying much attention.”

“Mm, on your phone? Daydreaming? Were they a bore?”

Steve chuckles, “I pulled out my phone, like, once to answer a text but I was a proper gentleman!”

The tension is slowly melting and there’s a soft twinkle in his eye as he laughs. It’s been so long since he’s looked at you this way: on his own accord and not on order. “Bucky said they were, and I quote,” you lower your voice and look over at Bucky to make sure he’s distracted. “‘Cute as hell’.”

Steve gives Bucky a warm look. “Eh, it’s fine. Wasn’t the one.”

“The one,” you mock in a deep voice. “Who texted you that it was so important to ignore someone cute as hell?”

Steve hesitates and looks over the balcony as if wishing for an interruption. But the trucks aren’t near yet and Sam hasn’t given the signal. “Uh, it was Peter.”

“Oh, don’t tell him that. He’ll feel incredibly guilty if he ruined your chances at getting laid.”

Steve shoves your shoulder a bit harder than he intended and it makes you stumble back. He quickly catches you by the arm and holds you still, a sheepish smile painting his pink face. He mumbles a quick ‘sorry’, and goes back to lean over the railing. “It’s cool, he knew.”

You fake a surprised gasp, “Even worse!”

“He needed me to stop by the compound and I did. Really, it’s okay,” Steve assures and he’s speaking a little quicker. He fidgets with his thumbs and it looks like he wants to wrap up that portion of the conversation. But he looks over at you and sighs deeply, and he rolls his eyes as his upper lip tilts upward. “Ask.”

“What’d he want?” It makes your belly all warm to know he expects this enthusiasm from you.

“Wanted me around. Buck and Wanda were out getting dinner.”

“Yeah, but like, what for?”

He gives you a knowing smile, like you walked right into that trap. “You made dinner but Peter was too nice to say he didn’t enjoy it, so he texted me knowing I would like it. Knowing I had it before. He didn’t want there to be leftovers because then you’d be sad.”

You step back and shake your head like there’s a fly swarming around. It startles you. “You left your date… during dinner… to come to the compound to eat the dinner I made instead?”

“Don’t think too much about it.”

“How not?”

It’s five minutes when Sam calls it in. You groan in frustration and give Steve a look that says the conversation isn’t over.

There are four armored vehicles and the magnifier illuminates three bodies per car. The targets will be hit starting from the last to keep the explosions out of each driver’s line of sight.

“Target acquired,” Bucky mumbles and clicks off his safety. He closes one eye and settles comfortably as he awaits Steve’s signal.

Clint tugs back an arrow, “Same here, Cap.”

“Wanda, you ready?” Steve’s voice is lower when he’s focused. He looks over at you, your hand up with an index finger raised, and waits. Wanda answers that she’s ready and Sam counts it down. The first truck crosses the barrier, then the next, next, and finally the fourth and you drop your hand in a fast swipe.

“Fire! Go Parker!”

Bucky shoots the back tires of all four vehicles and Clint shoots his arrows to penetrate through the passenger doors. Peter works fast, webs slinging from side to side grabbing one passenger right after the other. Once the trucks are empty, Clint activates the arrows and you all prepare for the explosions. The fourth car catches flame first and Wanda contains the explosion perfectly, balling it up into a weak bundle of light and string. She does the same to the third and second, bundles extinguishing just as quickly as they burst. But the first car swings out of control on manual and the explosion is delayed.

“Clint?”

Clint leans over the balcony and squints, as if it would help. “I don’t know. It’s not going off.” He’s clicking the detonator repeatedly, holding it up for all of you to see.

“Wanda, the truck! The truck! Sam!” You scream as the truck crashes through the gate and hurls closer to the hotel. The commotion is enough for Bucky to pop out from his cover and the four of you watch in horror as the truck still doesn’t stop. Clint has stopped clicking the button, but it’s no use. The truck finally explodes in an outbreak of debris and electricity. The Stark Tech reacts poorly to the strain, electric gusts of smoke fire left and right and rattle the building. It feels like an earthquake, shaking the already weak foundations and old brick. Wanda catches the bottom to better contain it and tries desperately to smother it. But the shaking doesn’t stop and the corners of the roof are collapsing.

Steve leaps to grab and pull you away and just as quickly to catch Clint’s leg before he falls over the edge. Clint is thrown back rather harshly but Steve isn’t thinking about the abuse of strength right now - no, not while Bucky slips and hangs on to a rogue pipe. Steve crawls and latches onto his hand before the pipe gives way. He yells as he tugs Bucky up with only one arm, the other having to hold onto undisturbed brick. He won't let Bucky fall. Not again.

Bucky throws his leg up and over solid ground, and you go to help Steve pull him up. Bucky’s heavy and his metal hand pinches your skin bad but he’s safe. Wanda struggles to contain the electricity but she’s succeeding. The rumbling slows until nothing moves anymore. You collapse back in exhaustion.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” Bucky gasps as he rubs his face.

“Is Wanda okay?” You mumble more to yourself and struggle to pull yourself back up. But the sudden weight of your body proves too much for the edge and in a horrible wave, you’re falling through. You practically file your nails as you try to latch onto falling brick.

“No!” You feel the scratch of someone’s fingers along your forearm and soon they’re digging into your skin, and it hurts but you figure it’s better than splitting your skull open. Pebbles of concrete are falling down onto your face and the smoke from the explosion is clogging your nostrils. You hang for a few seconds, like the person can’t believe they actually caught you. Then they begin pulling you up, lifting you to safety, and you claw the rest of the way only to tumble into Steve’s chest, shaking.

He pulls you into his arms but they’re restless, roaming over your shoulders and through your knotted hair clumsily. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His voice wavers and he’s on the verge of tears, it seems. His waterline is glossy and his lips are quivering. “Answer me.”

“I’m fine, hey. Steve? I’m good.”

He pulls away and his hands hover you like he doesn’t know what else to do with them. “I’m sorry. I should have kept you close. I-” His voice cracks and he swallows hard. “You sure you’re okay?”

Disregarding his words is difficult, especially when you feel a second meaning to them, but you force yourself to do so. It’s been such a long time since you’ve seen him like this. And each time you have, it was never because of anything good. “Y-yeah. I’m good, Rogers.”

Bucky and Clint look at each other, they look at Steve, to you, and back to each other. Finally, Clint breaks the silence and huffs a light chuckle. “Are we really THAT rusty?”

Present Day, 2025, 11:45pm

The Montana skies are clear and free of passenger planes, allowing the Quinjet to swift easily on autopilot. You could never drive this thing and the building anxiety of that reality bubbles each time it makes an unsteady bounce.

Steve’s laying in the makeshift medical wing and though it’s against protocol, he’s on a secure line with Dr. Cho. She takes her time, albeit working as fast as possible too, and her light voice is fairly calm. It settles you to hear her speak this way.

‘I need you to use this disinfectant, Captain Rogers. Do not pour it on all at once… Good, now dig through gently and make sure the pliers are sanitized.’

Steve digs out the bullets himself and bites down on a clean towel. He’s biting down hard enough that his teeth make a squeaking sound against it. It takes every ounce of your willpower to not do it for him. The Montana skies are beautiful, at least. It’s a good distraction.

Steve gives a rather painful yell as he finally plucks the second bullet, cursing as a stream of blood drips onto the table. He’s got such tough skin - miracle or serum - that the bullets didn’t pass all the way through. Dr. Cho moves on to how to properly bandage the wound but Steve begins to tune her out.

Two years mucking through mud and bodies and getting patched up every other day has prepared him for whatever life may throw during this new century. Not much has changed, it seems.

When the line disconnects, Steve can finally just relax. He focuses on the soft rumble of the engine and your steady breaths.

You hold your breath as you settle the Quinjet on the open field, only half of you actually trusting automatic tech. Steve coaches you the whole time too, the little shit, and promises you’ll never be doing that again.

Steve stumbles and teeters and falls on the porch steps with a low groan. You let him fall because you know you’d only fall with him. He catches himself with the hand he’s been pressing over the bandage while the other still holds on to you. You fight the urge to crash down with him and bite your lip as you look up to the night sky.

“C’mon, Rogers,” you swallow down the increasing worry, “We’re almost inside.”

Steve huffs a pained laugh and nods. He grabs your arm again and with his remaining strength, pulls himself up,

The inside of the cabin looks comfier than the outside. You help Steve to the couch closest to the unlit fireplace before going out back to turn on the power. There’s a thin layer of ice in the grass so just in case, you scope out the garage and make sure there are snow supplies. Not that you really know what the hell snow supplies actually look like, but there’s a shovel and you figure that’s as much as your brain is going to piece together.

When you get back inside, Steve’s fumbling with the coffee maker and leaving tiny fingerprints of blood over every surface he touches. You don’t comment on them, just step back and discreetly wipe the counters each time he passes.

“Figured you’d like a pot,” Steve says.

It damn near breaks your heart how small his voice sounds. The fact he’s stumbling around the cabin making sure you’ve got your coffee fix while he’s nursing two bullet wounds damn near snaps it in two.

“Thank you,” you respond and go to lead him back to the couch. He moans quietly when he sits and again as you lay him down. “I hope you don’t think I’m sleeping here,” Steve laughs and tries to hide his wince due the uncomfortable rumble.

You smile and touch your hand to his hot cheek. His body is working overtime fighting off infection and regenerating tissue. His cheeks are a lovely scarlet red and so is the beautiful bulb of his crooked nose. He’s a little shiny, like varnish over light paint strokes, and taking the fever like a champ. “I’ll help you to the bed in a little bit. Let’s get that fever down first.”

Steve sighs, defeated, but nods. He lays his head back on the pillow and once he shuts his eyes, you get to work. The bathroom is stocked with the simple necessities: aloe vera, vapor rub, heating and cold pads, dozens of towels, and painkillers. You pop two painkillers yourself before gathering everything and dropping it on a nearby table in the kitchen. The coffee is about done brewing so you fill up a mug with bottled water and set it in the microwave for two minutes. You dip a chamomile tea bag a few times once the water is heated. There’s no teapot - you’ll apologize to Steve later.

Once Steve’s happily sipping his tea, you start on the medicine. You wet the small towels and lay them over his forehead and bare chest. You rub aloe vera on the other cuts he obtained from hand-to-hand and finally rub the vapor rub in the dip of his neck and just below his nose. Steve gives you this funny smile as you do so, scrunching his nose and wiggling it back and forth.

“Vicks,” you say as you show him the small container. “Heal you right up.”

“I bet,” he laughs. “Stuff smells like what I think liquid morphine would taste.” A laugh bursts from your chest, your first real instance of calm during these last few hours. You ignore his protests and smother more across his chest.

Steve settles deeper into the couch and returns to his tea. He’s got less sweat on his skin now but he’s still red. You go to pour yourself that coffee and return to his side. The nanotech is growing stiffer and scratching your skin but you refuse to get comfortable until Steve’s fever breaks. You’re still covered in Ernesto’s blood, the red now a hellish brown, and you try not to move your face much for risk of feeling the dry pull of it.

“Steve,” you try, but Steve shakes his head and makes sure to meet your gaze before he speaks.

“No. The less I know the better.”

It surprises you, makes you feel more guilty, but you understand. Not telling him the full truth would be beneficial in the long run. Still, your hands hug the mug closer to your chest. “Do you think I did something bad?”

His upper lip tugs upward, “Do you think you did something bad?”

You don’t think for long. There’s not much need to. “No.”

He nods, “But you care what I think?”

“Of course I do. You’re not just my Captain anymore - you’re my friend. I care even when I’m asking you if my eggs need more salt.”

“You trust me enough to correct your cooking?” He teases, but it’s a question disguised as another.

“I trust you enough to tell me if I need more salt. You’re not correcting it.” He laughs and dips deeper into the couch. The bandage is bleeding through, only slightly, so you move to find the first-aid kit.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’ll stop bleeding soon.”

You hum your disagreement. “I’m gonna keep it clean until you’re strong enough to shower.”

“You can always help me shower,” he mumbles into his tea.

Rolling your eyes, you gently nudge his shoulder as you sit back down with the kit. “If you fall, I can’t catch you, you big lug. We’d have to tell everyone we screwed in there because you falling on top of me, injured, is somehow more embarrassing.”

He allows you to remove the soiled bandage and dab around the healing wounds. He’s bruising around the sides, multiple shades of green and yellow already, and the holes are stitched rather poorly. It makes you feel a little better about your own criss-cross work - even Steve sucks at it.

“I’m sorry I had to go and get myself shot,” Steve apologizes and sucks in a deep breath when the towel drags a little too roughly.

“Yeah, what the hell happened there?”

He almost mimics you in the way he shrugs his shoulders and lifts his arms in that ‘well, fuck if I know’ position, pursing his lips and expelling a chuckle. “Had my gun trained on Ernesto. Ernesto had his own on Ramirez. Then Seda came in and Ernesto ordered Ramirez to hand his over to Seda. Played right into Seda’s hands.”

You process the explanation slowly and dab his wound a few more times before unwrapping the clean bandage. “And the damn shield?”

Steve’s embarrassed by that small detail, he’ll admit it, because he truly was blindsided by Seda’s appearance. You were supposed to be holding him down after all. “In my defense! When it’s shrunk down and in your pocket rather than latched onto one’s arm, it’s easily forgettable.”

You clean around the wound softly before placing and taping the new bandage. The conversation settles and you’re both quiet for a long, long minute. He thanks you for cleaning him up by rubbing sweet circles into the knuckles of your right hand. Finally, you can’t take it anymore. It’s like a wave of irrefutable worry and rage, all bunched together with each emotion trying to outweigh the other. That goddamn riptide, sucking you in and keeping your head below water just for the hell of it. Breathing in harshly, you fail to keep yourself from stuttering over your words. “I’m sorry.”

Steve bites back a groan of pain as he leans over to take your cheeks in his palms. The brush of his fingertips lets you know that you’ve already started crying. You don’t much care about the facade anymore. “Doll, listen to me. Listen.”

“I never meant to leave you alone.”

“You never did.”

You bark out a wet laugh, sarcastic. “I should have run faster. I should have killed him all those years ago. I should have never brought you into this.”

“You did what you had to do,” he says, fiercely. He forgets his own strength for a second, only slightly diminished from the healing process, and loosens his tight grip against your cheeks. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

“I wanted to hate you,” you admit. Your bottom lip is trembling and your hands clench together over your thighs. “I wanted to hate you so much. If I did, then you getting hurt or killed on this mission wouldn’t hurt so bad. I hated you for what you did. Because it made me realize that I could never hate you at all.”

“Hey,” he tries, hands now lowering to clutch at your own. “Stop apologizing for having a heart. Stop thinking you’re not worthy of even having one.”

Your face crumbles and Steve realizes for the first time in a long time just how much you’ve been holding in. “Why didn’t you use the stones?”

Steve’s heart clenches at the sound of the crack in your voice. He hasn’t heard that crack since Clint fell to his knees without Natasha by his side. He holds onto you tighter and prepares himself for an admission he never thought he would ever have to give. “Because Peggy told me not to.”

Something confusing happens in the middle of your chest. It clenches with anger but understanding. The answer to your question was always this simple but it looks like it’s tearing Steve apart from the inside-out.

She’s as beautiful as the day he went into the ice. All he has to do is whisper her name so sweetly, delicately, and she turns her head like she’s answering the prayer. First her knees buckle, eyes watering and blotching her vision, and she collapses on the soft grass of her backyard. Steve’s holding her the very next second, repeating that he’s real, he’s here.

“Steve,” Peggy gasps, hands shaking as she brings them to his wet cheeks. She grips and pokes and does everything so comically that Steve laughs a wet laugh when she starts smacking him. “What is going on?”

And he tells her. Everything he can remember: the good, the bad, the wretched. He spills everything, and he spills the most delicate information of their time: he’s alive, just frozen; Bucky’s alive, just hurt; the world is saved, just broken. Whether she believes it or not Steve’s not sure, but he’s so goddamn happy to see her again that he chokes every other word.

“And you? You’re happy?”

His eyebrows come together and he looks at Peggy like she’s speaking another language. She’s got the same red lipstick, same curl in her hair even if it’s longer now, and she’s filling out her dresses more. “Pegs, don’t ask me that.”

She detaches herself slowly from his arms, pausing their dance as she speaks. “Why not? You can’t expect me to accept that you stopped by to see me all willy-nilly after saving the universe.” Her lips twitch into a knowing smile and Steve melts. Her voice is sending him into a spiral, a world he never thought he would see again, and he realizes just how much he loves accents on women - especially this woman.

“I just,” he chokes out, and brushes his index finger down her cheek. “I had to see you again.”

“I get that,” Peggy says and pays no mind that the record player has stopped; she still sways gently with Steve. “But you’ve just mentioned a whole other world you’ve been a part of. You’ve got your best guy back, that Wilson fellow sounds like the life of the party, and this Agent Y/N certainly sounds like she’s been by your side through it all.”

Steve stutters in his step and holds her closer. Her stomach presses against his, and he stops abruptly. He looks down between them and runs his hand from her shoulder, down, to lay across her growing belly. “Pegs.”

She gives him the same wide and proud smile she gave him when he returned with the 107th. She lays her hand over his. “I know.” She laughs and tilts her head lovingly. “I’m happy, too.”

Steve bites his lip to keep from sobbing. He was so stupid for coming to this timeline, for ruining Peggy’s chance at happiness, for interrupting the life he already knew she created for herself. He inputted the wrong year, he suddenly realizes, and steps back arms-length from her. “I’m sorry, I was stupid to come here. I just wanted to see you and then I did, and I… I still love you, Pegs.”

“Oh,” Peggy gasps, bottom lip trembling. “Darling, do not mistake yourself, even for a second, into thinking that I do not love you too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing for having a heart.”

He wants to argue, say he’s stupid a million more times, but he finds himself listening to her gentle words. It’s Peggy, Steve thinks. She’s always been right.

“In this world you live in, you have James?” He nods. She continues, “In this world you live in, you just lost two of your most loved friends?” He nods again. He wipes his face from forehead to chin. “In this world you live in, you have met a woman who has the same stubbornness as you; has the same self-sacrificing streak, who has your heart in such shambles that you dare call her one of your best friends?”

Steve thinks of you and how broken your smile was as you waved him goodbye, hand clenching Sam’s as Steve gathered the stones and Mjolnir. He thinks of the times you’d leap onto his back and demand a ride; the times he’s saved your ass in a firefight; how his sleep has definitely improved ever since he started calming you from nightmares - he hasn’t slept so well since before the war. He nods again.

Her eyes go soft. “Steve,” she starts and Steve knows. He doesn’t want to know. “Don’t abandon the world you’ve built for yourself. Surround yourself with the people you love. Do this for me.”

“There’s so much hate and blood waiting for me when I get back, Pegs. I don’t want to-”

“There is a difference between you not wanting to and you having to.” He drops his head and focuses on the floor. Peggy isn’t done grilling him, however, and he looks back up to grant her the respect. “You must not abandon the world you helped create. I’m not saying this to be mean. I’m saying this because I know you don’t want to.”

“Pegs.”

“I see right through you, Steve. We marched together through mud and blood before. We’ve got two years of fighting side by side under our belts. I’ve seen you at your worst, and you I. I know that face anywhere.”

“I missed you, Pegs,” Steve breathes. She cups his face with her hands and draws their foreheads together.

“The stars weren’t written in our favor. But to know that you’re alive, and that you make it, and that you actually get to live,” she bites back a sob. “I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“It isn’t my world to begin with.”

“No, you’re a man out of time. But so is James. You won’t abandon him now, will you?”

He chuckles low and their noses touch. “Stop making me feel guilty for wanting to find you, Peggy.”

She presses a soft kiss to the side of his mouth and finally breaks away. “And you won’t abandon that sweet girl who has put up with your nonsense for the last five years, you say?”

Steve shakes his head and meets Peggy’s gaze. “I’m just tired.”

“They are too, I bet.” He turns to the door and to Peggy, and she figures it’s almost time for him to leave. “You have been the archer and the brave, Steve. I’m absolutely certain you’ve been more. You will be more.”

Steve says his final goodbyes and stops to remember the fine details of Peggy’s face. The fifties are treating her well. Steve expected nothing less. Bright lights flash around him and he’s back to the world he wanted to leave, to hide from, and he sees you - and your mouth parts in shock.

“And you listened to her?” you ask.

Steve smiles, although it’s hard for him to remember that conversation. “I came back. I didn’t listen to her when she said to surround myself with people who love me, and who I love in return.”

“No, you made damn sure of that.”

“Hey,” Steve chuckles. “Don’t take smacks at me when you’re down.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Sorry, it’s just too easy sometimes.” Laughing about the two years of missed chances and spoiled friendship was not on your bingo card for this week.

“I don’t know how this is going to play out,” you admit. Steve looks so young with a somber expression: his eyebrow creases gently without wrinkling the rest of his forehead, the side of his mouth tilts downward, and his eyelashes kiss the pink of cheeks. “I decided in the moment. So I’m fuck all out of ideas on how to proceed.”

He nods in understanding. “Guess we just have to look over our shoulders three times instead of two now.”

“Simple like that?” You scrub a hand over your face and curse inwardly when you smudge your lipstick down to your chin. You ignore it. “I know we’re Avengers, but.”

“No buts,” Steve says and moves to sit up. You help him by pushing his shoulders and he accepts your help as you struggle to the bathroom. “You helped the guy and his daughter. I’m sure he’s going to be watching our backs from now on.”

You help Steve strip from his dress pants and shoes and finally remove your suit as well. The graze on your arm is covered in brown, dried blood but the wound isn’t deep. It’ll sting like a sunburn, you know that, but it’s better than being shot through. You watch Steve enter the shower and leave the curtain drawn. His bandage is soaked again but thankfully it’s from the water and not more blood. You grab a spare towel and soak it with water and soap, and rub it across your lips and chin.

“Let me do that,” Steve calls. You strip bare and bring the towel with you into the shower. Steve takes it and scrubs over your face, gently but more rough as he gets to your eyes. It’s an innocent moment of ‘ouch, scrub softer!’ and ‘surprised I didn’t take all your lashes off’. He helps clean your wound as well and once you’re both clean, he bandages you up and you him.

The master bedroom is the only room without electricity so you gather some candles. It’s like the two of you won’t admit you’re currently afraid of the dark or what may lie in it. They illuminate the room in a delicate orange and it’s such a peaceful color to briefly see before falling asleep, head tucked into Steve’s chest and his heartbeat thrumming gently with your breath.

It’s a wonder what a night’s sleep can do. Steve’s wounds are sealed and his fever is gone, but there’s a signature left behind. A pink and white patch of skin as tender as a newborn’s, a memory. Steve pours your coffee and his tea while you trace your fingers over it.

Two hours after eating a small breakfast and securing the perimeter, a soft ding startles you from the random book you’re reading. Steve’s phone shines with a message from Sam. It simply reads: ‘Clear’. Grabbing the phone and walking out onto the porch, you find Steve sitting on one of the steps he tripped over just yesterday. He’s sketching the sky and the trees, taking his time on the lines of the branches, the strokes of the leaves, and the frost over them. He looks up, studies his surroundings, and looks back down to add a detail he previously missed. He sniffs, rubs his nose, and finally notices you leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey,” he says, soft. “Any news?”

You hold up his phone and nod. “Sam says we’re clear to fly in.”

Steve looks back to his drawing. You hesitate before speaking, knowing damn well an all clear means get your ass back as soon as possible. “Finish your drawing. I’ll pack whatever we need to.” Steve’s mouth parts but he shuts it just as quickly. Slowly, he nods.

There isn’t much to pack since you brought nothing but the clothes on your backs. Everything at the hotel was collected before the wedding and should have flown back with Scott and the others. It feels awkward stealing bottled water and processed foods to hoard on the quinjet, but it’s a necessity. Steve meets you at the quinjet doors, shows you his drawing, and volunteers to take the wheel.

“You’re not volunteering. You’re ordering.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “No license, no drive.”

“What are you? A cop?”

“Don’t think for one second I won’t actually hand the wheels over and happily crash while screaming ‘I told you so’.”

Steve steers for the duration of your flight. The next few hours are spent just enjoying each other’s company, speaking of all things and simply catching up. It’s amazing how much you two missed from one another’s lives those two years.

The landing base is clear and it’s Sam who’s waiting for you as the Quinjet manually lands itself. He shoots you a gap-toothed smile and extends his arms, pulling the two of you in at the same time for a strong hug. He’s talking a mile a minute about how successful the mission was, how Fury is over the moon that it’s finally over, how the DEA is thinking of congratulating everyone one by one. It’s enough to distract Steve, who’s just happy to see his best friend again, but it isn’t enough for you. The large metal doors sealing the storage facility from the rest of the compound are thrown open. Bucky stumbles through and practically sprints over to the three of you.

“Get back on the jet,” he orders, already pulling you by the arm. You all look at one another like he’s gone mad but that’s impossible. Bucky’s paranoia isn’t something to take lightly; he’s right nine out of ten times.

“Buck, what-?”

“Rhodes couldn’t hold them. They have warrants, Steve.”

Steve hauls Sam onto the jet as well. “Warrants for who?”

“Get down from the jet without a fight and this will all go smoothly.”

There are about twenty uniformed officers surrounding the jet. They spread out in case anyone decides to run but it seems pointless to even try. Secretary Ross points his gun directly at you, proud and tall and looking just the same as you remember him. Last time you saw him was at Tony’s funeral.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you bite, and raise your hands in cooperation. Ross shakes his head and his expression contorts into one of disgust. There are red beams coming from each gun but your friends are clean - the beams are only pointed at you.

“Agent Y/N Y/LN, you’re under arrest for multiple charges of drug smuggling, trafficking of illegal goods, the murder of Ernesto Vega and Daniel Seda, aiding and abetting drug-lord Omar Ramirez, and for conspiracy against the United States of America. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a federal court of law...”

You drone out half way through. Ross finishes up the speech but no one is listening. Sam is already yelling over your Miranda Rights and Bucky’s frozen in place. Steve’s fighting his way through to Ross, pushing through the muscle until he’s face to face with him. But Ross isn’t fazed. There’s nothing left to do but exit the jet.

Immediately there are handcuffs slapped to your wrists. Two men drag you over to the containment car that’s enforced with so much indestructible material it’s almost insulting. You weren’t enhanced - they were doing this for fun.

“You’ve got it all wrong! Y/N! Y/N!”

You don’t fight. Conspiracy… you’re surprised they didn’t just shoot you dead. Steve’s still yelling, begging to be heard, but you try to block him out. It’s not your first time being arrested but it is your first time being charged with something you didn’t do. As funny as that sounds, it’s terrifying.

“Steve,” you say, and Steve breaks through some more hired muscle so he’s within earshot. “It’s okay.”

His face pulls up in pain, “No, you didn’t do this! They’re not listening!”

One of the officers pushes your head down roughly and tries to shove you in the backseat. You’re still looking at Steve. And those eyes, wounded and vulnerable, haunt him even after the door shuts and the car drives away.

There’s a privilege attached to the mantle of Captain America. Perhaps he was too blind to see it during the war or just too proud he was finally being heard and respected, but now he sees it for what it really is. It’s a mantle this country has never truly associated with the person but with the purpose. Steve was manufactured to help protect this country under government orders and when he defied that purpose, he disgraced the mantle. Seems like some people idolize the role a little too much.

But he’s still Captain America. This reality has continued to clear his name from stunts he pulls and laws he breaks. And once Steve is able to walk away without so much as a scratch, he leaves bodies behind.

Sharon. Sam. Bucky. Wanda. And now you. All people who fought his fight and weren’t granted the quick privilege of that perceived pureness and holiness. He was always ready for combat, he was built for it, but he didn’t really want it.

Did he?

Ripping that star off his chest was one thing. Accepting his new shield cemented his continual legacy as the Star-Spangled Man. He deserved to be in that cell with you. But if he learned anything about how the world works, it’s that cruelty doesn’t just win in the movies. All of his enemies started out friends and if he had to bet, he’d bet the reason they’re labeled as such is partially because of him.

So he sits and listens to everyone’s ideas and plans, vetoing and dismissing one right after the other, his mind doing jumping jacks. He’s both there and not, drowning in the fact that he made it home and you didn’t. He doesn’t know how to sleep without the sound of your snoring anymore.

He sits and listens.

The cell isn’t one you would expect for someone who has been charged for betraying her country. It’s modestly furnished: a black cot in the far right corner with a mini table beside it, a desk with some paper, and a door that leads to the private bathroom. All in all, the room’s size is that of a child’s bedroom; there’s no actual pens and pencils for risk of violent behavior and there’s a bulb camera that moves when you move.

You’ve been trapped in worse.

Countless detectives and investigators have visited already. They all ask the same questions: Why did you do it? Did Captain Rogers know? Who are you, really?

You give the same answers: I didn’t do it. Of course, every single person knows. Who do you think I am?

Every time they leave more discouraged than the one before them, refusing to compare notes with one another in case they were in possession of gold. They all ignore you when you try to ask for Steve and his wellbeing. Their faces contort, they whisper to their partners, and they shake their heads in disappointment. One even goes as far as to threaten you, warning you to keep Captain Roger’s name out of your wetback mouth or else, until he’s escorted from the cell. Not that it really matters - the manipulated ideals of these people will always blur their search for the truth. And when the truth fails to satisfy such greedy manipulations, they choose to create their own.

There is one agent who peaks your interest. He offers you gum when he settles in the chair near the door. His name badge reads ‘Kavert’; it glares in the bright lights overhead and he makes no other attempt at small talk once he gets comfortable and opens his little notepad.

That goddamn notepad, you think. Every single person before has prided themselves over it, scribbling little notes about your tone of voice, body movement, and vague answers. You never give much, Natasha had taught you better, so they always end up writing less than two bullet points before giving up.

But Agent Kavert surprises you by opening up to a blank page, spitting his chewed gum in the middle, and then he shuts it closed. He offers you a real smile, one that doesn’t look practiced or forced. It lets you study him without being so guarded or uncomfortable. He seems young, not really a rookie but it’s obvious he’s spent more time behind a desk than out in the field. His dark hair is short, sprinkled grays near his temples, and his attire screams upper level. His build is lean, his gun is in the holster on his right hip, and a part of you knows he’d put up a hell of a fight if you tried to escape.

“I was gonna comment on what lovely weather we’re having, but I don’t think you get out much.”

You’re startled into a real laugh. Satisfaction washes over his face.

“I think you’re wasting your time, Agent Kavert.”

He grins and moves to proudly pull at his jacket and present his badge. He sets the notebook to the side and leans forward to cup his hands together on his knees.

You squint at him. There’s nothing interesting about you right now: back against the wall as you sit criss-crossed on the cot, sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, hair brushed but a little greasy. Your last shower was two days ago and you figure they’ll let you have one tonight.

“Yeah, you’re right. There’s no point in hoping you’ll tell me anything you haven’t shared yet.”

“Nope.”

He hums low in his throat and tilts his head to the left. Now, he squints at you. “I just don’t get it. How did you do it? Not show up on our radar, I mean?”

It doesn’t seem like he’s calling you guilty or innocent. Already he’s one-hundred percent different from the other agents. “I wasn’t exactly hiding.”

He sits up to lean back in the chair, “Different last name, government and Avenger protection, covering your tracks so carefully even the DEA missed you.”

“You’ve done your homework.”

“Yes, but,” he starts. He acts like he’s having a normal conversation on his front porch. “It still doesn’t make sense. How could Nick Fury miss this? Tony Stark? After the whole Obadiah situation, I expected him to-”

“It’s simple, really. Do you want to know or do you want to keep making assumptions?”

He’s watched the other agents leave by this point. Some couldn’t even make you talk. So he shuts up and waves his hand for you to continue.

“Cool,” you breathe out. “First of all, I’m literally only telling you this because I’ve already been refused a lawyer or some crap like that and I highly doubt this is going to actual court. The publicity would be horrible.”

He bites his lip but you catch the little smile forming. You continue, “And I have nothing to hide. I’m sure my Captain, my teammates, and Fury himself have given their sides. Am I right?”

Agent Kavert adjusts himself in the seat and nods in response. He doesn’t dare interrupt you now.

“Good, then I’ll keep it sweet. They knew who I was. I was recruited to be an inside source, a double agent, and this wedding was the perfect chance to corner those men,” you declare, turning your hands palm up and shrugging your shoulders. “There, happy?”

“Double agent.” Agent Kavert chews over the words, rolling them around on his tongue a few more times. He’s squinting harder and you can see his brain working. The next sound to leave his lips is a heavy sigh and a feeling of immense irritation washes over you. It wasn’t enough. “Are we going to be truthful yet, Agent?”

Chuckling lightly, you rest the back of your skull on the wall. It was wrong to assume he’d be any different from the others. “Of course you don’t believe me. You want more, they all do. I don’t suppose I have anything better to do.”

He claps his hands on his thighs and leans forward again, loud and restless. “Then let’s get started, really: Did you or did you not let Omar Ramirez, Mexican drug-lord involved with Ernesto Vega, your father... imagine that, run away from a crime scene, evade arrest, and possibly leave the country?”

“You expect me to follow all those questions?”

“It’s not the time to be funny.”

“You were enjoying it just a second ago,” you mumble. He raises his eyebrows, still waiting for an answer. “Then let me put it simply: no, I did not.”

“Did you or did you not assassinate Ernesto Vega?”

“I would have remembered such a brilliant kill if it came from my gun.”

“So that’s a no… Daniel Seda?”

“His gun was pointed at my Captain. Yes.”

“Against orders, then?”

Confusion is written all over your face and you make sure the camera knows it too. There are only so many times you can repeat yourself. “Don’t you have Steve’s report? Scott’s?”

“We have to hear the story from you, Agent.”

“But that’s just the thing, isn’t it? You don’t believe me.”

He shrugs and quickly scans you up and down. Even if he doesn’t have the tangible notepad in his hands, he’s getting away with making mental notes. “The story just isn’t piecing together the way it should be. Why would Daniel Seda murder his greatest ally and friend?”

“Our mics have already transcribed that answer for you, sir. I’m sure of it. And I’ve got sources outside of the DEA and Avengers-”

“Like Maribel Rodrigo? Another smuggler who has operated inside the cartel, HYDRA, Madripoor…”

You cut him off, angry. “Not the full story.”

Tone of voice: defensive.

“Then that leads me to my next question.”

“Oh, fun.”

Tone of voice: sarcastic.

He speaks with a tinge of astonishment hidden in every syllable. “Why didn’t you do it? Kill Ernesto, I mean.”

“I was disarmed at the time. The Captain and I both were,” you answer, growing more impatient by the second.

He uses his hands to speak now, finger pointing along an invisible timeline detailing the order of events. “So you admit you were going to kill him if you had your weapon.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

Body movement: rigid.

“Or maybe you weren’t. Maybe my boss is right, maybe the FBI is right in thinking that you are a double agent leaning more towards your roots than our boys in blue.” He says this like its scripture; like it’s some holy conspiracy he’s just found evidence for. He wants you to plant words in your mouth and in this discussion so he can pluck the evidence from the ground and water it with fire.

You scoff hard, “I hardly ever wear blue when doing your job for you.”

“Was letting Omar Ramirez escape our job or just yours?”

Telling him the truth would mean losing all credibility, all titles, all trust in your work. You know what you’ve done and you don’t regret it. Ramirez was never the biggest fish and if you spun this right, then he was simply a fish who got his meal and promptly swam away. “You assume I let him go. What evidence tells you that?”

He ignores the question and instead asks another of his. “Why were your relations kept hidden from SHIELD and the FBI?”

“That’s a question for you know who.”

He shakes his head in disappointment. “You’re in a lot of trouble.”

“I bet I am. But this is not some precinct where you can get my team to turn on me so easily. And this is not a situation in which they’re lying for me. I trust that whatever the Captain has said is the answer to all your questions.”

“We’re gonna unravel this case. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

You’re suddenly overcome with a wave of sleepiness. These past two weeks have been exhausting even if you haven’t moved more than five feet from wall to wall. Having to repeat yourself to people who have already written the story for themselves is tiring. “I don’t know why you guys can’t just believe the words of myself and everyone vouching for me. We got you all the evidence. We have given you more names and connections that you’ll ever know what to do with. You don’t need to unravel anything; it’s all there! But because we weren’t able to arrest the one person you wanted, that being Ernesto, you go after me. You have White but I guess he’s not talking. And you’ll believe what you want to believe.”

“I trust my gut.”

“As simple as that, huh?” You sigh deeply and cross your arms over your chest. “You know, there’s a saying the late Agent Carter used to tell all SHIELD agents when they first started out and when they came back from missions. When she retired, it was Fury who then eased our minds.”

Agent Kavert has a harsh line creasing through the middle of his forehead and he looks deeply interested.

“There are three sides to every story,” you recite. “Your side, my side, and the truth.” A gentle shrug of the shoulders feels like all you’re allowed to give him. “I’m not lying to you but I’m not telling you the full truth either. Just my side.”

Agent Kavert shuts his eyes and bounces his left leg. He looks conflicted and unable to formulate a response at all. He’s shaking like he’s at war with himself or with the suits on the other side of the door, but no one has come knocking yet. “Let’s say I believe you. Just for a second.”

You nod.

“Daniel Seda murders Vega at his own daughter’s wedding. We managed to catch Marcus White and because of fault entirely, Omar Ramirez gets away. Because from what I heard, Ramirez was working with you.” He paints the picture rather mundane, but you shoot him a smile that tells him he’s on the right track. “And you and all the other Avengers were blindsided by Ramirez. You gathered all the evidence you were told to gather, worked together and played your cards right, infiltrated one of the most secure estates in the country, and fucked up so badly that you managed to let two of your biggest giants die?”

“I really think you got it spot on.”

He laughs dryly, “But it still doesn’t make sense. Once Vega was gone and Seda survived, where would you have fallen in this tree?”

He wants to retract his question the moment he sees your face fall with such a sincerity he wasn’t ready for. “That’s just it, Agent Kavert. I would have fallen.”

“And the other two? How would business work? Would Daniel Seda have been the head of it now?”

“Your answers are in the evidence we gathered. I know you guys aren’t touching it because you think I’m compromised.”

He stands from the chair and dusts off his jacket. “Your side, my side, and the truth,” he repeats. He goes to open the door but you speak quickly before he can leave.

“They think I infiltrated SHIELD, the Avengers, and am in bed with HYDRA because they’ve been helping Ernesto’s vision all along.” Agent Kavert stops and turns back to you. “I am a double agent whose identity was kept secret to aid this country and not raise suspicions from your part. I have seen a lot of things, have done things I’m not proud of, but I’ve done it all for a reason.”

Agent Kavert looks almost ashamed. Tone of voice: sincere.

“Me and my Captain saved lives, our own as well, and we stopped three of the most notorious drug-lords who have been at large since the eighties. We got your giants for you. And the truth is, I have discovered: through all my pain and experience... that it’s excellent to have a giant’s strength; but it is tyrannous to use it like a giant.”

Agent Kavert doesn’t know if you’re talking about Ernesto, the U.S Government, yourself, or him. His eyebrows pinch together and he slowly moves to leave the room.

It’s another week before you’re visited by someone who isn’t bringing you food or extra toilet paper. You’re picking at your cuticles when the vents above your cell begin rattling with the obvious weight of a human being. You sit dumbly on the bed, straining your ears and trying hard not to laugh as each rattle is returned with a muffled curse. The vent on the ceiling right outside your cell drops to the concrete floor.

Ernesto’s men wouldn’t go through all that trouble to kill you James Bond style. They would have just bribed a guard. So it’s a treat when the door swings open quickly and in comes a staggering Clint, keys in one hand and his phone in the other. The screen is illuminated, showcasing what looks to be blueprints. He’s got a bandaid over his left eyebrow and dust all over his clothes.

Your upper lip twitches into a silly smile. “You’re ridiculous if you thought you wouldn’t be heard in those damn vents.”

Clint makes a noise that sounds like he’s saying ‘maaaf’ and he plops down beside you on the cot. It’s absolutely hilarious he traveled in the vents and that the team approved this when in reality, they could have just sent Scott. “Just had to get past the first line of security. Plus, the blueprints said they were wider... I figure we’ve got a good three minutes before they check the cameras.”

It’s not the first time you sit in a cell with a time crunch.

The Raft is nothing special. They have you all separated by rank, meaning you were in the same vicinity as Clint, Sam, and Scott. Wanda was moved to a more secure location and you haven’t seen her since they brought you in.

There isn’t much to do in a place like this. You tried counting how many strands of hair you had but gave up once you counted two hundred; you tried seeing if the others could hear you when you yelled out to them but the cells were soundproof; you even tried filing your nails against the uneven paint on the wall. It’s like they made life in these cells purposefully horrible - like you didn’t save the world a couple times over, c’mon.

The camera fidgets over your head where you’re laying down and after a few seconds, it stops. The red light slowly fades and turns a bright yellow. You move to stand on the bed and reach for it, but a voice startles you from doing so.

“Don’t mess with my magic!”

You topple over the single pillow you were given and fall flat on the bed, scrambling to shield yourself from whoever intruded. “Jesus!”

“Oh, I met him. Strange lad, didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

There’s a moment where you think you must be dreaming. His hair is longer and hits his shoulders and he’s added some blue and yellow to his usual attire. But other than that, he’s alive. Truly, brilliantly, really alive.

“Loki, what the fuck?”

“Right!” Loki claps his hands and extends them outwards, smiling. “Ta-da!”

A few beats pass. You blink a few times just in case you’re hallucinating. Barely a week in containment…

“I’m sorry… I’m still trying to process the fact that you’re still alive!”

He scoffs low and goes to sit at the edge of the bed. “A God never truly dies, darling.”

“Well in Greek mythology-”

“Greek mythology and I have this unsettled beef that’s been going on for about five hundred years. Do not mention Greek mythology to me.”

“Excuse me, right, I should have known that was a sensitive topic.”

Loki swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and expels a laugh. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Your restraint is gone and you lunge forward to envelope him in the tightest hug you’ve ever given anyone. He returns it, sighing into your shoulder and holding you close. You pull away just to stare at him, watching his features as they move ever so slightly. It’s really him.

“I-” Loki tries but stutters. He’s studying you too and he almost looks sad. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Does Thor know?” Loki shakes his head at your question and winces when you smack his shoulder. “Loki, Thor has been grieving you for months!”

“I’m planning on it!” You don’t believe him. He goes to rub his shoulder. “Gods, I forgot you had excellent aim.”

You look back at the camera and find that the yellow light is still glowing, dim. Loki’s magic is blocking footage out or putting footage in, you really don’t know. But it’s allowing you a few moments with the man you thought you’d never see again. “Spontaneous reincarnation aside, what are you doing here? How did you even know I was here?”

“I’m on this planet for five-FIVE minutes, and the television has all these reports about you and everyone fighting each other?”

“Mm, right, right.”

Loki stares at you, amused. “... Care to explain?”

Your face contorts into a hundred different expressions until you finally settle on one of gentle guilt. “The person we were after was a friend of a friend. I made a judgement call and let him go.”

“You went against orders?”

“I went against the law.”

“Even better.”

With an eyebrow cocked, you give him a judging look. “Loki.”

His eyes crinkle from the intensity of his smile and you’ve missed him, you missed him so much. “That’s what I love about you. Barely starting out as an Avenger and you’re already realizing you can do more good in your own way.”

You groan quietly and rest your head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around your waist and tugs you closer. “I mainly did it for Steve. Wasn’t like it was a big ‘fuck you’ to one-hundred and seventeen nations for the hell of it.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.”

“Spoken like a true anti-hero.”

“You comparing me to yourself?”

Loki chuckles and runs his fingers through the strands of hair closest to your cheek. “Darling, I’m a God. No one comes close.” He sighs, serious again. “All I’m saying is that it’s refreshing to see the young break the rules.”

“I missed you,” you softly say. You can feel the nudge of his cheek turning upward against your head.

“Always nice to hear.”

Rolling your eyes, you move to meet his gaze. “So, no reason why you came to visit me specifically?”

Loki takes one cautious look at the camera, to outside your cell, and back to you. “I too do things for your lovely Captain.” His smile grows wider.

“What?”

He winks and tilts his head over to the giant metal doors that are starting to pry open. “See you in a minute.”

The alarms begin blazing; there is fog filling the room, and Steve emerges from that fog with a winning smirk.

You look over at Clint, half selfishly wishing he was Loki on another one of his midnight visits, and quickly do away with the thought. “So how’s life without me?”

“Oh, it’s great! The flowers are in bloom, the kitchen isn’t always a mess, and my bow and arrow aren’t misplaced because you wanted to have some fun with it,” he jokes, stretching far enough that his feet dig into your thigh like he’s trying to make more room for himself.

“Not like it’s your only bow and arrow.”

He chuckles and sits up. He does a once over of the room and adjusts the frequency on his hearing aid. “They read you your rights at least?”

You wait to respond until he finishes fixing it. You speak and sign the words slowly, “I don’t think any lawyer in America will want to take this case anyway.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s a career killer.”

Trying to refrain from smiling around Clint was nearly impossible. You look to the door quickly, “Two minutes?”

He shoots up straighter as he watches your hands, “Right! So we’re currently tracking down your sister-”

“My sister?”

“Steve thinks she’s our only hope at clearing your name.”

“Why is that? I told her to get as far away as possible.”

Clint sighs and scratches the skin just above the bandaid. “She stayed in Mexico all those years you were gone. By all accounts, Ernesto adored her. Because of that, her influence might clear your name.”

“But she stayed. All the more reason to believe she was involved as well,” you say, shaking your head.

“She’s barely out of her teens. Everything that happened, happened when she was a minor. She has a first hand account of the abuse Ernesto caused you. And Steve thinks that the Julian fellow might even come clean and admit to the arranged marriage. Shows a pattern of abuse by Ernesto to his own children. Could spin it to make it seem like you had no other choice but to follow his orders.”

You follow his hands slowly, some signs difficult to read but you latch onto the gist of his argument. You groan and lean your head back on the wall with a small thump. “They go against Ernesto and they have targets on their backs. Even my other siblings who are still involved with all of this won’t let it go.”

“Y/N… Ernesto’s dead. You know that.”

“His influence isn’t.”

There’s minimal commotion a few doors down. Clint realizes it’s time to leave. “It might never be. But we don’t get to live in the future.” He stands with another small groan and stretches as he prepares to lift himself back into the vent. “We’re living now, and it’s all any of us can do.”

“Clint?” You also stand and have to wave in his peripheral to get his attention. He turns and knows what you’re about to say even without the hand gestures. “They won’t answer me when I ask.”

His lips pull into a perceptive smile, “He’s okay. Doing what he does best - blaming himself.”

“Oh, okay, good.”

He’s had enough practice reading your lips to notice the sarcasm that drips from them. He hurries to lift himself up. “We’ve got about a million tricks up our sleeve. If Jackeline’s word or the evidence isn’t enough, we’ve always got Fury and his blackmail.”

“Yeah, half the guys who interviewed me look like they cheat on their wives, so.”

He genuinely laughs and jumps high, muttering more to himself than to you. “Up we go…”

The team locates Jackeline just a few days after your run-in with Clint. The building saw a triple rise in security but even then it didn’t prevent undercover agents passing all the checkpoints and sliding notes with your meals. They’d leave the tray, tip their hats, and smile like they knew the cameras wouldn’t suspect a thing.

The first note is from Bucky, with the simple message of ‘I watched a few episodes of The Crown without you… I’m sorry.’

The second comes on the same day at dinner time, this one from Wanda. ‘I think Peter is trying to flirt with your sister.’

The third isn’t slipped through with any meal, but rather through the tiny opening beneath the door. ‘Surprised we did this the legal way this time! See you soon! - Rhodey’

The final one is actually hand delivered when several guards come in to tell you you’re free to go. They’re mumbling amongst themselves, cursing the system and the privileges Avengers always get, when the smallest of the five turns to you and hands you the note. ‘I owe you one. You owe me one. Who’s counting anymore? - Joaquin’

Jackeline had been able to track down Maribel and the two of them, with such accuracy in their stories and their timelines, constructed your defense perfectly. They showed them phone records, all of the recordings from that week, had proof that you never signed a thing, and made several special deals. Jackeline promised to reveal where bodies were buried, where business was dealt with, who else was involved with Ernesto and Seda. Maribel managed to get a message to them from Ramirez, which basically cleared you from the crime they were trying to stick. Ramirez was a damn good liar, you’ll give him that, and it made you the tiniest bit sad that you’d probably never see him again.

The tipping point was when Steve turned himself in. There was no evidence that you did anything, never signed anything, never conspired behind your teammates backs. Fury made sure not to keep a paper or electronic trail. But there was evidence that implicated Steve - the contract. No matter how badly the FBI and CIA tried to make it go away, to absolve Steve from it, he didn’t back down. It was like the story they originally wanted toppled in on itself and it was actually Steve who forced you into all of this - playing your connections and forcing your hand. The contract hadn’t been voided, still hasn’t, and they really couldn’t risk another SHIELD fiasco. So it was destroyed to protect the Stars and Stripes, and in return they promised to let you go if you didn’t tell a soul. The image you’d come to despise, that tacky red, white and blue, is starting to grow on you.

‘Let me think about that and get back to you,’ you had joked. You think they let you go sooner because they feared the truth in your joke.

But there wasn’t anything to think about, ever, still isn’t. Steve pulled another sacrifice play and you wanted to get out as soon as possible to kick his ass.

You leave the prison with the same clothes you had on when you entered. They smell washed and you’re thankful they allowed you to shower before you left. You ignore the looks guards and prisoners aim at you, each trying to somehow get their hits in without actually pulling their punches. This would be a media disaster either way, didn’t matter the outcome of a supposed trial, and PR was most likely struggling to prepare their defense.

You resist the embarrassing urge to run into his arms. He’s standing right outside the gates, leaning back on the passenger side of his rusty old blue pickup, positively glowing underneath the blazing sun. You’re blinded by it, skin thanking the dangerous rays for its first touch in weeks, but it only takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. He still hasn’t shaved and his hair is getting longer, and instead of his usual tucked-in dress shirt, he’s wearing a brown leather jacket over a faded graphic tee that reads AC/DC. It was Tony’s.

You’ve only got the broken burner phone and a hair tie in your possession; it’s what was on you when you were arrested. You drop the burner in a nearby trashcan and head on over to the truck. Steve’s wide smile buckles your knees and it damn near breaks your heart. Even when the two of you weren’t on speaking terms, you still saw each other at least twice a week. Going two weeks without seeing him feels like a lifetime.

Once you're a few feet away, you stop in front of him. There are no immediate words you know to say, so you simply shrug your shoulders and give him a look that asks ‘What now?’

“Home.”

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