#with them has always been nice but apparently only i care enough or something. she cannot even be arsed to say no apparently :///

[alpinelogy]

.

[lolita-lollipop]

Red

You, a mere farm girl, has found herself living a nightmare after hearing countless town rumors of a barbarian society moving west. A quiet girl in a quiet town is faced with many shocking discoveries in a matter of two days.

the day was hot, miserably so. the sun beating down on your bare back with an unrelenting warmth, making your work twenty times harder. The sun even warmed up the dirt and stone lying underneath your bare feet, working the fields barefoot was already hard enough, the burning sensation under your feet made it no easier.

You couldn't remember the last time you had water, or any form of nutrition. They didn't bother feeding the "low class" likes of you anymore, field and cattle workers, endlessly working for the sake of producing cash crops and cattle for the village. It wasn't slavery, they couldn't call it slavery as it had been outlawed for years now in this kingdom. Even so, you were paid dirt and were treated as slaves always had been.

you worked and worked and worked night and day, in every season of the year for the "sake of the village" they would say, you among a small group of farm workers lived in a small barn out back, with no insulation or form of bathroom. you shared one room between sixteen workers a small space not fit for even two.

Every day, all day, you would find yourself in a similar situation to this one, in a small sack of a dress covered in dirt, knees on the ground with your hands enveloped completely in dirt either pulling weeds from the ground or planting small seeds for potatoes or carrots or the occasional beet, with the hot sun beating down on your back, heaving and panting. just like you always did, you dug through the soil, pulling out weeds, your bare feet digging into the dirt behind you, burning with the heat of the sun. you were humming an old lullaby your mother used to sing before she died, peacefully doing your work no matter how hot and miserable you should be.

your humming came to a halt when you heard a burst of girly young giggles echo through the field off in the distance, the village girls. They would sometimes come out here for fun, either to make fun of the workers or to run around the fields, the owners didn't care so neither did you, if the rich kids liked the farm than so did their parents, meaning more money for everybody but you. You found yourself envious of their freedom in life. They didn't have to work, not like you did. You were about the same age, yet they were dressed in pretty sundresses with bows in their hair, while you were reduced to something akin to a potato sack, hair tied back in plain looking ponytail, they were plump and round and beautiful while you stayed frail and skinny and sickly looking.

You found yourself staring at them, hidden among the plants and crops, unseen by their unfocused eyes, it was easy to just drift off, to imagine yourself giggling with them, being part of their group, gossiping about the town rumors. It was a nice thought. unachievable, but nice.

"Did you hear about that foreighn kingdom conquering west?" they giggled to each other, clearly not noticing you tucked behind the corn rows. You had yet to hear anything about any foreign kingdom, then again you were fairly uninformed, your only news coming from your colleagues or your boss, who spoke to you once or twice a month. The two other girls let out false-sounding gasps, intrigued.

"I know right? My father speaks about the towns they've conquered. Apparently, it's brutal, they leave no survivors and burn the fields and town. " The girl's giggles became hushed and quiet as she went on, listening intently with wide eyes, you sat behind the plants. They were smiling as she said all of this, wasn't this supposed to be sad, be awful? how could they laugh at the destruction of so many towns? So many lives?

"My mother has been talking about the same things! Apparently, a couple survivors tried to come into town, and the guards sent them packing though. Good thing too, they looked dirty. dirt belongs in the field, not in a home." she brought her hand to her lips and let out a giggle, the rest followed suit while you stared. You couldn't tell if they were being serious, they lived ina different world, that much was obvious.

"Ive heard stories! How they kill the women and children in front of their families, burn down homes and villages, apparently their leader is the worst of them. The biggest and strongest and meanest" she snickered in a disgusting, prissy rich way.

"We dont have to worry of course, they would spare us, father would pay them all the money in the world. Its the low levels who should be worried." They all erupted in giggles at that one, and all looked towards your fellow workers, pointing at their clothes and matted hair and dirty hands. You were apart of the "low levels" as they had said, you hated that. And you hated these girls for making you feel less than them just for not being born with a roof over your head.

You scowled at them, now hating them with all of your energy. Maybe it was best that you stayed away from them, it makes sense why you aren't part of their clique, why you never would be part of their clique. Fuck them, and their high-class prissy fathers. You let out a sigh and tried to back up, wanting to disappear among the plants, accidentally cracking a stick with your bare foot and letting a hiss. All of their heads snapped towards your hidden spot.

"Who's there?" The snooty one with the high pitched nasally voice screeched out. You slapped your hand over your mouth, inching back as fast as you could without making noise, the owners of the farm would beat you if they knew you were eavesdropping on the high class girls.

"Its probably one of those workers" the other hissed, poison laced in her tone.

"Come out freak! you like listening on our conversation?" You ran as they yelled for you, abandoning your seeds and work. Their taunts followed you, however eventually their voices quieted and you were left with the shocking information that a foreign barbarian kingdom was migrating west. You were west, and so was your village. They were moving towards you, especially if the survivors from a raid were close enough to walk on foot to your village, they had to be close.

By the time the sun went down and all the workers were in the servants quarters you were able to ask your questions, the younger workers knew nothing, but the elderly and middle aged were willing to tell the stories from their younger times of the war. You had never taken a history class, or any class at all for that matter so you had no clue about anything they would say, you hadn't even known that there was a war.

They were foreigners who lived among the trees and the mountains, known for brutal manslaughter, they weren't human, that much a clear. They were giant apparently, after and stronger and larger,ith predatory instincts and habits, they were like animals. . They even lived longer. The eldest of the women here had been in one of the village raids all those years ago, they killed her entire family while she was hiding in the closet, then burned her house down, leaving her with burn scars all over her body. They told stories of torture and theft and assault, and the worst part about it was that they had no motive other than bloodlust, they looted homes, but they never demanded money or women or crops. Nobody knew what they wanted, they never told the towns their demands, they would just come and go, leaving fire and death in their dust.

The fact that they were approaching closer and closer as the days ticked by, left you shaking.

Mentions of their brutal leader left you even more fearful, as he preyed on the weak. Tearing out the throats of innocents and ignoring pleas or cries for help. You were weak. Like all those he has killed.

You went to sleep that night hoping that it was all just rumors, silly townsfolk gossip that the girls made up to fill the boredom and free time.

needless to say, you didn't sleep much that night.

---

When you woke up,the quarters were empty, you shared a bed with four other people, so waking up without the company of another was quite jarring. At first, you jolted out of bed, terrified of missing the morning work, knowing it would surely receive you a beating. However the others would wake you up if you had not arisen with the rest, and it was still quite dark outside, so that simply hadn't made any sense. looking around, the room was in a state of disarray, the beds oddly moved around, the thin blankets strewn about, and the little belongings that all of you had were either gone or thrown around the room. What had happened while you were asleep, and more importantly, how had you slept through it?

then, the smell of smoke hit you.

Thick and heavy it brought bile to your throat, this wasn't a forest fire or campfire, this wasn't something where empty air was burning, this smelled like meat, like flesh and bone being burned. you gagged, covering your mouth and nose with the thin fabric of the blanket. you stumbled out the creaky door of your quarters, coughing and trying to block the smell out, but were halted in your tracks.

Fire. Fire everywhere. The farm, the house, even the forest around. The only thing left untouched was the animal barn, thank god. Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of acres of land ablaze, weeks and weeks of work lit with slivers of red and yellow light. The warmth radiating off of it burned your face. were you dreaming? this must be some form of a dream.

dream or not, you were in danger.

Once you were able to get over the initial shock of your home being literally lit on fire, you tried to tune into any other noises than the crackling sound of flames. Anything to hint where you should go, where you should run. You had never left this farm, your mother was a slave here before it was outlawed, and you were born into the work, forbidden to leave. Not once had you stepped foot into town, and you certainly have never left the town. You didn't know where to go.

Then you heard it, the screams. people, so many people screaming, you didn't know where to go, but it would be in the opposite direction of wherever that was, whatever was making that noise. So, with a very impulsive decision you ran away from the screams, into the direction of an empty winding dirt road, you tried to think logically, if you could find someone then you could follow them and figure out where to go.

The quiet running was harsh on your bare feet, sprinting down the empty dirt road as quietly as you could was not easy for somebody medically unwell and malnourished. However, there would be much time later to sulk over achy bones and pained feet. Was there anybody even here? you could still smell the stench, although it was getting softer. However, you still clutched the cotton blanket in your hand. Your pace slowed as exhaustion kicked in, and to your luck, you heard voices. Not quiet and soft like the ones you were used to, loud and boisterous. men.

you found yourself frozen on the trail, listening in on the conversation as best as you could you inched to the side of the road, trying to hide among the trees. They looked strange, not dressed all properly like the owner of the farm or the village girls you had seen. Their clothes were woven in a precise ay you had never seen before, jewels and beads hung from their hair and necks, chests bare and blood splattered.The more you stared, the weirder and weirder they looked, too large, too muscular, their voices too harsh. inhuman sounding.

"The towns already a fucking gonor, chief said to wait to set the forest on fire till he was done in the homes" One of the Men laughed out with a menacing cackle, his shoulders shaking, the others seemed too happy, too excited to be starting fires. They were up to this.

"Those guards were a riot though. All tough until they realized we weren't going down "Please spare me!" and "We'll let you in we swear!"" the other mocked in a high-pitched voice. They laughed along as they mocked the guards of your town. As they walked down the road, getting closer and closer to you by the second, you were now able to see blood all over them, splattered on their strange clothing. Your breath hitched as they passed you, still hiding in the bushes by the side of the road.

Thank god they hadn't seen you, whoever they were, they clearly would not do you well. Two giant men conversing about arson and the death of the town guards were not anybody you wanted to mess with.

wait.

The realization hit you like a brick. These were the foreign raiders from the east. How were you so stupid, how had you let yourself forget in the span of a couple hours? They were tearing your town apart just like the others before. That's why your farm was ablaze. Thats why your Coworkers were gone. Thats why you heard screaming.

Your breath hitched as a couple tears left your eyes, you clutched the blanket in your hand, oh god, your town was going to be one of many trampled and raided beyond repair. your knees began to quiver along with your hands, you were a gonor. you had to run. now.

Stumbling back from the shock of the realization, you turned to quietly make your way further down the road, away from the town, away from those men. They were far enough that they wouldn't hear your quiet footsteps, you were sure of it. So you held your breath and pulled away from the tree, staying in the dark.

However, while your footsteps were quiet as a mouse, the same white blanket that had brought you comfort just moments ago had doomed you, when you had maneuvered away so focused on the quietness of your footsteps, you had failed to notice that delicate cotton blanket had gotten snagged on a tree branch. pulling away from you and causing a loud snap in the branches. Your breath hitched as you stared at the tree with wide eyes, stumbling back and letting the blanket free from your hand. You sent a glance at the two men who had been meters away, praying for their hearing to be weaker than their muscles.

They were instead, standing feet away from you, staring directly at you.

A whimper escaped your lips as you backed away in fear, turning on your heel and making a move to run directly backwards. Not before the taller of the two could reach out and grab the collar of the sack you called a dress, yanking you back and knocking the wind out of you. before you knew it you were lifted off the ground with one arm by the collar of your dress, staring in terror as the eight foot tall man in front of you looked down with excited eyes. He flashed a smile with all too sharp teeth, sending you sprialing into endless fear.

The other said something in what sounded like a foreign language, not something you would ever understand. Before you could move, the larger of the two bendy down and smelled the air right next to you, with that his smile dropped and the two locked eyes. Some kind of realization hit them as well, while you remained unknowing and absolutely terrified.

"well, looks like we missed one, didnt we?" he questioned with a deep voice, the fear alone sent your heart into a free fall, beating out of control. you couldn't breathe, your lungs pulsing in and out against your will as panic flooded them. spots clouded yourision as the man continued to say something, and with one breath you felt your consciousness slip out from under your feet.

---

you woke up lying on the hard feeling of cement stones, the stench from the fire before worse than you had ever smelled it, sending you into a fit of coughs. Squinting your eyes open, you were able to see small cottage-like buildings, you were in the village, weren't you? You were in the square judging by the large open space of square stones. with heavy eyelids you tried to unblur your vision, and as you did, you found that cold sense of panic enveloping your bloodstream yet again. red, red everywhere. you were sitting in a puddle of it.

Silently freaking out, you pushed yourself up with weak limbs, trying your best to stand, you couldn't remember what had happened, but you were still alive, that's what was important. looking around none of those men were near, but the fires were. should you even bother running? would they come back and catch you. there was blood soaked through your dress, your head ached, and you found your bare feet wet with the blood of the townsfolk.

you found yourself dry heaving due to the stench, tears escaping your eyes, all while stumbling around the square in the meantime. your attention was immediately drawn to the high pitched screaming of what sounded to be a girl. finding the sound with your eyes, it was one of the girls from the farm, white bow still tied in her hair. She was lying on the ground, a pool of blood lying at where her head had met the stone just moments ago, her hands were up above her head in a shield-like motion.

"Please! Please! I can pay you anything you want! Money and jewels or crops I swear I am no commoner! I just need my father! Please!" she screamed up, your eyes panned up from the girl lying on the ground to a man. not just a man, a giant. at least ten feet tall with arms a width larger than your head, he had icy hair that seemed to stick out in every direction like an explosion, and eyes. oh god. his eyes were red as the blood surrounding him, piercing and raging more so than anything you had ever seen. He was looking down at her like she was a bug ready to be squashed, with such hatred that you could swear he had a personal vendetta.

This was him, this was the infamous leader that was ever-so talked about. and he exceeded expectations, this man was a walking nightmare, fear itself packed into ten feet of muscle and blonde hair. You hadn't even realized his plans until his foot came down on her head, and with a crunch, the screaming came to an abrupt halt.

For the third time in two days, you found yourself frozen, staring at somebody you would never dare to talk to. And for the third time,they were staring right back at you.

The giant man flicked his boot as red splattered on the ground next to him, all while still staring at you, he let the girl's wrist go, and dropped her body to the ground with a thump. he made slow strides to a frozen little you, each step sending shivers down your spine, as you stumbled back, finally able to move, he was already inches in front of you, leaning over to be face to face.

You didn't bother running, learning from your mistakes that running results in nothing and you still get caught. Instead, you met his eyes for a moment, finding something else deep down. He was leaned over, bent down on one knee, inches away from your face. this was it, you give up. you're dead.

you squinted your eyes closed, deciding it would be best not to look as you met your inevitable death, face to face with the grim reaper himself, you chose not to stare him in the eye. peacefully accepting your fate. You waited for impact, waited to feel something hit you over the head or knock your kneecaps out. You waited for something, anything to end your miserable existence.

but it never came.

your hands quivering, your heart pittering in your chest at five hundred beats per minute. tears running freely down your cheeks, catching dirt and blood on the way down. A hand gently met your face, cupping your cheek, You peeled your eyes open to meet his own piercing crimson globes.

And to your surprise, the man smiled. not like the smile the others gave you, not like a predator bearing its teeth, but a genuine smile, one that you had only ever seen worn by your mother.

"Pretty" he grumbled out, an accent hanging over his voice. it was deep and gravelly and powerful. his giant hand came up to touch your cheek and wipe your tears away, wiping dirt and blood off with his fingertips. This hands could crush your neck with ease if he wanted to, but he wont. Why wont he?

"Why are you doing this?" you sobbed out, finding every last ounce of fight left in you to pull back from his touch and defiantly meeting his crimson gaze once more. your breathing shallow, you felt at risk of feinting once more. He tilted his head with a questioning grunt, and you decided to play your luck once more.

"Why do you raid my village, what have you to gain? You sobbed in his face and his smile shifted and morphed slowly into a frown, he cocked his head even further, his face twisting up into confusion.

"This is not a raid, we do not raid. were not cruel. " His gruff voice continued to send shivers down your spine, yet his words let rage flow through your bones. hundreds dead, maybe thousands, all of your friends, and family even, probably also dead. and this "wasn't a raid" according to him. you couldn't find it in yourself to care that he was twice your height, and quadruple your strength, you wanted to hit him so hard that he would feel it for days, even if it meant breaking your wrist.

"Theyre all dead, why? We have done nothing." You couldn't believe you were talking to one of them right now, you could barely believe that you had the courage to even muster a word, let alone a whole conversation. His hand found your waist, the other touching your face once more. What the hell was happening? surrounded by blood and death and this man, no, this thing was touching youso lovingly. the shivering of your hands threatened to come back again as you held his gaze.

"We look for our mates, and we prove that we are strong enough to be worth your time." The second the words left his mouth youwere once again reminded that he was anything but a human, they were creatures of nature, you'd seen squirells and horses and cows find mates, never humans. but you were stupid to think he was even remotely close to a human. the words had your face twisting in distress, and you stumbling back, your consciousness threatening to slip from under you once more.

"mates?" you questioned, voice wavering with uncertainty. this could not be happening, you could not be talking about love surrounded by bodies on top of bodies in a burning town with a man who wasn't really a man and instead a foreign alien like giant creature.

"mates,

you."

and with those words your eyes rolled back into your skull and your consciousness slipped through the cracks of the stone, you fell forward and the man was glad to catch you. standing up with you in his arms was a triumphant moment for him, finding his mate as a real, as a king was a monumentous occasion. you were his, undeniably his. he had finally found you.

katsuki bakugou had finally found his mate.

[akirathedramaqueen]

Do you think this is the moment he fell in love?

Okie, it's time to shitpost speculate a bit on my favorite moment in the whole show: the end of the Truth Seekers episode.

Do you think this was the first time Blitzø was protected? Taken care of? Saved?

Just look at how in awe he is, eyes wide open, jaw dropped. I doubt we've ever seen a face like this before or after. Of course, it might also have something to do with seeing Stolas in his true form for the first time. It was eerie and terrifying, but also sublime and exalting. Oddly attractive even, maybe?

This owl demon, with eldritch ancient powers and two dozen legions, was there just for him. Stopped in his tracks of whatever royal deeds he was attending to and came to stand up for Blitzø, to scare the shit out of his... well, fuckbuddy's (or not really?) perpetrators. Stolas watched after him, knew he was in trouble! So he... cared?

I am going to repeat my starting statement - he is not used to being worried about. Here, Moxxie clearly prioritizes Millie (no blame here, it's completely valid!), and helps Blitzø to get up only after the latter sarcastically sneered, "Oh, yeah, thanks, I am fine!"

And Loona, at least until the Queen Bee episode, which happens later, was very hesitant to show even a grain of affection toward Blitzø. We know she cares, but it's not always enough to just have it in mind and not demonstrate it.

And here is Stolas, caressing Blitzø, asking if he is alright, calling him 'darling' - another first in their relationship, at least on screen. Look how confused he is for a moment; he looks away and up (defensive? scared? annoyed?) - has he ever been asked things like that before? Notice how his face relaxes after Stolas strokes his forehead. Our guy is tough, no doubt, but I bet he just realized how nice it is when there's someone who cares.

Hell knows, these five seconds are a single thread holding my mental health together after the shitshow in the Full Moon and Apology Tour episodes.

Of course, there's the second part where Stolas tones down the grandiosity of his gesture. He scolds the crew for not being careful and jeopardizing him along with them, implying that the book exchange should remain a secret. Then he negates it himself - luckily for them, demon-obsessed lunatics are not taken seriously in the human world.

I don't think this changes anything. The first thing he did was to ask if Blitzø is okay. Only after he was reassured Blitzø is fine did he begin to rant, and even then his concern addressed both the crew letting themselves into trouble and his own safety. Again, why wouldn't it be valid? However I look at it, I don't think the book is his primary interest here.

And is this the first time we see Blitzø blushing?

This blush! I bet my life that Mister Blitzø 'boring-as-fuck-monogamy' Buckzo hasn't even internalized it yet, but oh, did his heart just do a big somersault.

Listen to my voice: This is the moment he fell, even though he didn't know it himself yet. Poor boy has a lot of work to do to unlearn his coping mechanisms and let his walls down.

Thank you for coming to my sappy stand-up, don't forget your coats on your way out. *drops mic*

P.S. Oh, I lied to you. There's a bonus "Blitzø just fell so hard" face in the Seeing Stars episode, haha. Apparently Stolas's human form is just as hot as his true demonic one lol.

[worldsover]

Completeness ft. Yeseo, Mashiro

length ✦ 13.7k

genres ✧ gf!Mashiro, virgin!Yeseo

✦✧✦✧✦✧

There is exactly one axiom that matters. Mashiro is your loving girlfriend. All other truths are auxiliary. Yet, postulates exist that can carry weight to them and affect the system upon which this first and only truth is built. An example: Yeseo, Shiro's best friend, is something of a little sister to you both, and thus you make love to your girlfriend, and care for your girlfriend's friend as much as any guy should. For some reason, this unbreakable and absolute edict has been revised, softened, changed, and now truth itself is something that the two of them are… considering.

"Hey, what do you think of Yeseo?"

It's a Thursday night, and Mashiro's on top of you, her hand stroking your cock as she asks. It's not the kind of distraction you want while you're about to get off, but here you are.

"She's cute. Um, can be a bit of a handful sometimes."

"That's it?" Mashiro gives you a wry smile.

"What's with you? Why are you asking about her now of all times?"

Mashiro shrugs, but you don't believe it. She tugs down the neckline of her cropped top, showing off more of her breasts as they threaten to spill out of her bra. Between the sheen of sweat on her cleavage and the toned shape of her abs, that's a lot of skin and sexiness to swallow. Her fingers don't have to work long before you're fully erect.

"I mean, I'm just saying, she's gotten pretty hot lately."

You raise an eyebrow at her. "Hot? Since when?"

"Well, obviously now that she's an adult. And what, you think she's not hot, babe?"

You look away and groan. "I dunno, it's a bit weird." You're not even being political about your answer. That's just the truth.

Mashiro peels your eyes back to her when she takes your hand and brings it under her shirt. She's smiling like she's got a joke only she's privy to, even when you start pinching her nipples. At this point, she would usually start melting, and all clothes would be forgotten for at least another half-hour.

She doesn't.

Not that this is anywhere near Shiro's first time taking control of a situation, but the motive was always self-fulfillment, fucking out your orgasms to chase her own. Therefore, when Mashiro slaps your cock against her abs, you tense up in surprise and anticipation. She leans over to capture your shaft between her tits, inside the tight confines of her top. You thought that she thought that this shirt was too cute to ruin with stains of cum, but it seems like she's willing to sacrifice some clothes for whatever greater good. Her breasts are just big enough to make this possible, and while her skin is plenty soft and warm, she adds spit to the mix to make the passage nice and slippery.

"Ah, Shiro," you say.

Each time your tip pokes out of her shirt, Mashiro gives it extra attention—kissing, licking, suckling. The only reason you're not thrusting into her mouth is because she has your hips pinned to the bed. 

"So," she says, "Yeseo. Imagine her here."

"Wha..." You're dumbfounded, and it's not just by how Mashiro's mouth wraps around the head of your cock. That's nice though, and you could probably cum on her lips like this—you've done it before—but you're apparently in the middle of a conversation and it's very hard to reply when she's working you like this.

"Mm, tell me what you think of her. Be honest this time." Sure, Mashiro talks about her best friend a lot, but you never imagined that she'd be so cavalier about bringing any other person up while in bed. At the very least, you'd think she would broach this topic with a bit more tact, and a bit less tit-fucking.

Where to start is a dilemma, what with your brain functioning at half speed. "Uhhh. Purple hair." Gotta start somewhere. "She's… smart?" You're pretty sure that's it, right? That's everything there is to know about Yeseo. "She's like a sister."

Mashiro pulls back, relaxing the pressure on your dick, and you're both disappointed and relieved. "What if she were a little less like a sister?"

"Shiro, what do you want me to say?" You don't get to see her smile, since she's back to sucking on your tip, but you feel it.

"That you would dick down my bestie if that's what she needed?"

You open your mouth to deny it. "Well, I—" The next word should be a word, not a squeak. But that's what happens when she sucks on your dick while its length is stuffed into her tits. Her lips fit around your girth tight and they leave you with a parting lick. Makes your breath catch. You think about what she said. The fact that you're still hard says it all.

"It's okay, you can admit it. Yeseo's got such a pretty ass now, doesn't she?"

Your first thought is comparison: you want to believe that your girlfriend beats Yeseo in every department, and that's certainly true with the heft of her breasts as Yeseo's petite frame has a way to go before being able to swathe your member how Shiro currently is. Yet, you think about yesterday, how your eyes kept traveling to Yeseo's ass in her leggings and how that butt could be softer to the touch than your girlfriend's. Could be. Could be fluffier like a cloud, fuller like ripe fruit, rounder than a bubble ready to pop, and you don't want to admit you would pop it. Not really, so you're silent and tense, so what could be, isn't.

Mashiro notices, and pulls away from your cock. "Hah, thought so."

Shaking your head, clenching your jaw, you ask, "Why does it matter? Are you gonna be jealous?"

"Jealous? Of what, you ogling Yeseo? God no," Mashiro says, laughing, "she's so cute and tiny, I wouldn't blame you." She pauses, giving your length a few languid strokes up and down her tits. "If anything, I'm the opposite of jealous. Curious."

"Is that what opposite—"

She squeezes her tits together with an arm around her chest, your shaft in the most loving stranglehold. "I'm being serious. Just think about it. Okay?"

You sigh. "Fine, fine."

The conversation dies and gives way to the sound of wet slurps, soft moans, and the squelches of Mashiro's spit lubricating her titjob. Your toes curl as the pressure builds, and it's not long before you're close. And since her understanding of what close means to you is atomic-clock precise, she unsheathes your dick in the annoying nick of time. You can only laugh after all that—for all the times she's edged you, at least they were premeditated, or for a cause like a sudden visit from her parents.

"Fuck, babe, really?" You've had an infinite amount of patience for your lovely girl, so you're surprised at your own exasperation. You sit up, but then she pushes you back down to the bed with a hand to the chest. You take a deep breath, now grasping that this is all part of her plan, and that you should know better than to mistrust Mashiro for a second.

Mashiro leans over, your cock in her grip, the other hand slipping aside the wet white panties under her skirt. She doesn't bother getting them off properly, adjusting them to the side to reveal her trimmed mound and the swollen button peeking between pink lips. She lets your shaft rest against her pussy, then strokes the two together. Each pass of your cock along the underside of her clit has Mashiro breathing heavier, until she's panting like she's just finished a good work out. The wetness of her juices spreads on your shaft and her chest heaves in her cropped top while you need prison-grade handcuffs to keep from thrusting into her.

When the pressure's built enough, when your cock's about to burst, you're forced to watch your girlfriend rub herself to completion, your cock still in her grip. She cums before you, like an angel crying out for salvation, her blonde bangs sticking to the sweat of her forehead, though none of that stops Mashiro from jerking you off through your own orgasm. You moan her name as your hips buck and her thighs clench and her hand works in a blur.

The moments like this are where you realize your notions of Mashiro have been challenged, over and over. Loving is not so singular in meaning as you had thought, because when you first started having sex with your girlfriend, maybe a month after the first date, you honestly were making love. When you'd cum inside the condom while hugging her tight, that's when you two were done for the night.

But now loving means that you paint her abs in milky white, cum pooling into her belly button, spurts dribbling over her fingers, and then coat her pussy with the thick river flowing down her stomach. Plus, since you're still hard, might as well use that as lube for the ride of her life. You're not sure how you manage to keep up with Mashiro. Obviously, how she eats your cum from her fingers like it's candy, how her tits bounce now freed from her shirt and bra, and how her cum-creamed labia grips around your cock are all great incentive to push through your exhaustion. But in the recesses of your mind, the one part of your brain that isn't fixated on her, there is a small question. 

Small indeed. The same brand of small as your girlfriend. Five years younger.

Mashiro has gone and done it now. You're seeing the other girl in her face, the supposition, the thesis, your eyes blurring as Mashiro fucks down on you harder. Oh, damn, Yeseo really knows how to ride you well—wait, no. Your girlfriend's riding you well, her pussy milking your cock just right. Fuck. What the hell is wrong with you?

You groan, and you're not sure whether it's a cry of frustration or pleasure. Mashiro's face, Mashiro's tits, Mashiro's hips, Mashiro's tightening pussy, all of them are so nice and so warm and so tight and so wet and so every good that good can be. As if in that cute package of her body, your girlfriend has molded herself to be everything you need in a lover. She repeats the words for good measure: "I love you, I love you, oh, fuck, I love you!"

The same way loving used to mean something classic and rigid, taking her out to dinner or watching movies, loving now means that rigid takes on a different, more literal definition. That's Mashiro, growing as you grow, and in that way, you shouldn't be surprised that the topic of Yeseo—sweet, innocent Yeseo—isn't the end of it. Not even close.

Speaking of growing, the tension in your loins. Lewd, sloppy sounds intermix with a mess of Mashiro's cries while your hands squeeze too tightly the flesh of her breasts. 

You gasp and mindlessly call out "Shiro, Shiro, Yeseo, wait, I—" but you're cut off by Mashiro's tongue wrestling yours. Unbridled want, unmitigated desperation, she kisses you like a girl possessed, and there's no room to protest and figure out what the hell's happening. 

With no condom—it's been a long while since that—your load spills into Mashiro like she's an unwitting, impure bride, and by god, there's such a hellfire in your ears from her scream when the sin soaks through to her sinner womb. The pleasure blurs your minds, or more, her cunt does, and with the cum your dick oozes, the most you can offer when Shiro topples over you and collapses is a "Ah, mmh."

As your breathing calms, she lifts up her skirt and spreads her pussy, letting you see your second load ooze from her insides. 

"God, I needed that so bad," she says. Her voice is breathy, but there's a smile in it, and she crawls over to you and kisses you on the lips. Between the two of your bodies is a whole lot of sticky. You groan into her mouth, and then when she breaks off, she starts to pepper your lips and jaw with more kisses. "You wanted that too, huh?"

You wipe away a bead of sweat on her forehead. "Yeah. Of course. You're so fucking perfect, Mashiro." You run a hand through your hair. "Oh, fuck. Right, I'm... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said..."

"Shh. I think I've made it pretty clear that I don't mind, right? I love you, it's okay."

You nod, laughing to yourself in disbelief is not some fancy dream. "I love you too. I just wish I, I dunno, didn't call her name right then, you know?"

She grins as you begin your cuddle. "No, no. That was fucking hot, actually."

"It was?"

"Yes!"

"No, really that wasn't right, I'm..."

Mashiro insists. You deny. It's a circuitous route that continues onward from outside of this bedroom—at dinner, walking down the street, at a sweet little shopping date where you and Mashiro were buying decorations for the home and she just had to get this puppy plushie for her best friend—really any time that Yeseo is mentioned, this conversation bubbles up from the depths.

It's one of those oddities, those quirks, the little humps in a relationship that eventually dies off and...

No, whiplash fucking snaps your neck in half.

So now you're here, in a room with your girlfriend and your truth-breaker. Mashiro sits on your lap, her breath so close to yours that you can smell the strawberry lip balm. Pliant, warm, she straddles your thigh while her hand travels down your chest, to your crotch. You groan into her mouth when she squeezes your hardening member through the fabric of your slacks. All the while, Yeseo watches, hands also down her pants. Too embarrassed despite the unspoken permission—goading, really—Yeseo keeps her fingers pressed against her clit, not quite daring to move.

It was supposed to be a normal day. Yeseo wasn't even supposed to be here. But Mashiro invited her, and she didn't kick Yeseo out, (which you would've done yourself, but it's hard doing anything when Mashiro has her nails on your skin like claws), and Yeseo didn't leave, and now you're stuck here, having your girlfriend dry-hump you and make out with you while another girl's watching.

It's like this for a while, a holding pattern, a cold war. Days. The first shot across the bow is when Yeseo leaves, flushed, and you rail your pretty girlfriend into the sheets so that the girl can't escape the sounds outside the room. If later, you somehow find out she was slouched against your bedroom, fingering herself to completion, then you wouldn't be surprised. Here comes the next battle in the next day, where Yeseo steels herself to watch Mashiro ride you, your back to the headboard. Then she sends the follow-up, bombarding you with her every fantasy while you know that acting upon it is this landmine, or now it's a minefield, or now the trenches are dug and all that's left is to wait.

Mashiro shoots the farmer's pig when she speaks up over dinner.

"It's just a handjob."

You choke on your half-swallowed piece of meat and end up coughing.

Yeseo looks up from her phone, then freezes. "W-what."

Mashiro gives Yeseo a wry smile as she gets up, massaging her shoulder. "You want to, right? So you should. It's okay, Yeseo." Mashiro's voice is gentle, and Yeseo nods slowly. Mashiro presses a kiss to Yeseo's cheek before walking over to you. She doesn't have to ask if this is what you want.

This is what you want.

Mashiro takes Yeseo to the bedroom, and you finish dinner before tidying up. You wash the dishes, wipe the table. Put away the leftovers. Count down from twenty until you tell yourself there are no logical reasons to delay the inevitable further, not with the way your pulse is racing, not with the way you've tasted anticipation in the air.

Once you open your door, you find your girlfriend holding the shirt collar of a willing Yeseo who has already crawled into your bed. The two are kissing—this isn't the first time you've seen, though it's the first time you've seen them hold it longer than a cute peck. First time you've seen tongue. First time you've seen hands under clothes and on bare skin. Never seen Mashiro grabby with her spit-covered lips.

You are quiet on your feet. Any sound you make, the creaking of the door, or the harshness of your breath, it drowns in Mashiro and Yeseo's obscene make-out. Delicious wet sounds burrow into your ears, the two girls slicking over and around and with each other, Mashiro in an exploratory mood while Yeseo lets herself get familiar. She looks flushed, content. Happy.

Mashiro acknowledges you by the doorway with a coo. "Just giving a little lesson." She pats the space on the bed next to her, where she strips off your shorts, your semi-erection right there for Yeseo to behold.

Yeseo wipes her lips with her shirt. You see her white bra. You think you can feel heat coming off the bridge of her nose. She stares like your dick's looking back, like this is the first time she's seen a penis that wasn't in a textbook diagram. Mashiro pulls Yeseo closer, bringing her between your legs; the furtive girl reaches for your member, then stops before touching, eyes back-and-forth between your dick and her arm. Even half-hard, you're about as thick as Yeseo's slender wrist, nearly the length of her forearm. She mouths "how" as her fingers hover a centimeter, this warmth a ghost over your cock.

"Here," Mashiro says, kneeling beside Yeseo. Holding her hand over Yeseo's, she guides the girl to wrap those fingers around your shaft and stroke it up and down. In your life, you've had lots of handjobs—mainly either self-administered or Mashiro-administered—but nothing quite matches Mashiro having her fingers tangled with Yeseo's, the touch soft with a little squeeze from one of them, not quite meeting any spots that'll make you squirm. You think Mashiro wants it this way, wants Yeseo to get a feel for it, find out the heft and warmth of a man's cock. It is, however, enough to get you stiff and plumb and twitch-happy, which is where Mashiro lets go.

When Mashiro gives Yeseo a quick kiss, you swear Yeseo tries to chase her when Mashiro pulls away. Then, you receive Shiro's next kiss. "I wanna see my boyfriend and best friend enjoy themselves," she whispers, before sitting aside.

You look back down at Yeseo, and you've never had such a carte-blanche view of the girl's face. Her eyes are big, round, chocolate-brown, the same as your girlfriend, but in them, Yeseo has this super-cute, really obvious, nervous lust that keeps sending a twitch in your hips. Her cheeks are soft and flushed red as you stroke them, squeeze them, press your fingertips in just to see how fluffy she is. She has a bunny's teeth when she gasps and her thin lips part.

"Hi. Hi… hi, hi." She's caught in the headlights.

You say "Stroke," and her pupils shift down to your crotch, the word a command that's clearly Yeseo's first. This exhalation out of her mouth would be fog in the winter. "Like this," you tell her, gentler, as you start to stroke yourself with one hand. Yeseo bites her lip and reaches toward you again. Your precum oiling the way, Yeseo's digits meet yours. At first, you only hold hands and smile at each other and feel out the moment before starting tender, guiding strokes. You have a way of measuring one's nervousness by cupping her hand in yours and feeling how she touches back: the sweat of your palms, her pulse through yours, this heat that seeps through the cracks in her fingers as she trembles.

When she becomes less tense, you let Yeseo try on her own. She looks down, head full of those breaths and some little noises she doesn't know she's making. Yeseo wraps her tiny hand around the base of your cock. She stares at it, at her fingers that don't cover your girth, and you wonder how long it will take for her to get used to it. When you think about Mashiro, you realize the awe never quite goes away.

With one hand in a jerking motion, the other palm wrapping around your base to act as an extension of the first, you like what she's trying—go wild, cute thing. A low growl in your throat lets her know that you find some enjoyment in the attempt. You lean back, spreading your legs apart to give her more room, and you close your eyes to savor the moment. With your eyes closed, you're certain you could tell the two girls apart, your girlfriend naturally more experienced, less afraid of your cock.

"Am I doing good? Yeseo mutters.

You nod, eyes still tight.

"You're so big, Oppa," she says, voice filled with wonder. "It's so warm. And the veins, and the way it pulses… is this really happening?"

"Yeah, it's real." Your breath catches when Yeseo runs a finger along the underside of your cockhead.

Her breath warms your cock, and you can't help but open your eyes. Yeseo is concentrating on your dick like the test's answers are on it, and the only way to get them is to wring them out. Sure, you've given yourself much better handjobs too, but there's something about her furrowed brows, her lip giving way to her teeth, that makes it all worth it.

"Yeseo-yah, try using your other hand to twist around the tip," Mashiro says, and you hear a slick noise coming from outside your vision.

There's an eep as Yeseo uses a second tiny fist around your tip to do just that.

You moan softly, weighing into the mattress; it's a good thing you're already lying down, because the newfound intensity makes your toes curl, and you find yourself thrusting up into her hips.

"Wow, it's so big," Yeseo says. "How do you fit it in Shiro-unnie?"

You draw in a hiss. "Hah, takes some work."

Yeseo giggles. "I can imagine."

You groan as Yeseo strokes and jerks and twists faster. Pressure builds up in your balls, and when you turn your head to the sight of your girlfriend dipping fingers between her thighs, you're certain you'll cum in time to Mashiro. Diligent, your girlfriend sidles on closer, adding some spit to Yeseo's hands, to which Yeseo responds by stroking you even faster. Mashiro pours more and more saliva onto your member, insistent on looking you in the eyes, while Yeseo's strokes get wetter, slipperier. Your grunts and the wet sounds of impromptu lubricant mix with and Yeseo's quickened breaths and Mashiro's self induced moans, a filthy choir of angels. Your balls tighten; the edge tempting to knock you off-balance.

But before you can finish, Yeseo abruptly stops. You clench and whip your head toward her, and you realize instantly by the look on her face that she does not know how to handle this climax part. Thankfully, just in time, your girlfriend has her mouth ready, lips around the head of your cock, and the vibrations of her moans tips forth the chain reaction of bliss. In awe, Yeseo stares as you and Mashiro unravel, your balls pumping semen into your girlfriend's mouth, your hips bucking upward as her pussy pulsates, a thin river of lust pouring out of her.

Even with every line in the sand kicked away, you haven't put much of an effort into convincing yourself of the reality of the situation. You've known Yeseo too long, too well to conceive of anything further happening. This was an aberration, puppy's love, a one-time folly, or you might excuse it as such if there weren't more mistakes—well, calling them mistakes implies a lack of agency.

"Just a handjob," you murmur to yourself, and if they're mere mistakes, then there would no point in time in which you could stop Yeseo from jumping on you and making out with you; and you're helpless when Mashiro brings your face between the young woman's ample thighs; and Yeseo kneels over you like a dutiful maid, mouth ready, hands working, and this is the result of a long-standing debt that your family's been paying—nothing, nothing to do with you being unable to say no anymore.

Looking up from the wet, messy patchwork of muted purple and blonde hair, of thighs squishing together as they kneel and lick in tandem underneath you, you realize that Yeseo has mastered her oral techniques in addition to the manual under Mashiro's tutelage, which has shattered your final understanding of Yeseo. This picture of innocence is much like the other picture of innocence in your life, and thus you should've expected as much. When you and Mashiro first started having sex, it truly was love-making, slow, sweet, vanilla, candle-lit, adoration-for-adoration's sake sex, something you started out of gratitude for each other, and continued because every time was an affirmation of the beautiful relationship you cultivated. Over time, you learned two key things: all her dirty secrets, and the fact that she only took your cock that slow because it was too big for her to be able to do otherwise.

("No, babe, I swear, I meant the love stuff too," she said.

You replied, "Okay, fine.")

The difference here is the speed with which Mashiro—and you, admit it; you are no fucking saint—have corrupted Yeseo. You estimate it'll be a matter of weeks before Yeseo's ready to match your girlfriend's skills.

Yeseo is trying to prove as much. While Mashiro licks your shaft, she leaves Yeseo your balls; while Mashiro is busy letting your dick knock against the back of her throat, Yeseo makes sure your sack receives enough tender sucking. When they swap places, you feel a pulse through your cock, Yeseo's mouth being impressively warm and wet. The only place this tongue of Yeseo's has been wetter than the inside of her mouth must have been the insides of Mashiro's pussy—and you've watched the damnable act, how your girlfriend arches back, eyes shut in pleasure, as the eager teen tongues her dripping slit.

That's the same tongue Yeseo uses now to stroke alongside the bottom of your shaft, your cock in her mouth, nose inches from your pubis. Yeseo isn't quite as capable of taking to the root as her unnie is, but you have no complaints about watching her struggle to swallow you, and you figure she'll catch up soon enough. She hums on your cock, swirling around the tip before bobbing back down again, happy to gag and make a mess.

And the slope is slippery down from her throat to her tongue, making saliva strands from the corner of her lip down the veins of your shaft, onto the floor where your filthy fucking girlfriend—lord, when did she get this nasty, this depraved—licks it up clean for Yeseo. You watch, mind blank, as Mashiro's tongue goes from the floor up to Yeseo's hard nipples. Then she continues along her breasts, till it's Mashiro's lips meeting Yeseo's again, and your shaft is jammed between their mouths for good measure. When Yeseo takes surprising control of your dick, your eyes focus on the sweet face that's learned to hollow her cheeks and flicker her tongue over the soft ridge beneath your shaft head, one hand working on the inch she can't reach. The only thing stopping Yeseo from gulping down your seed is the very girl who's kissing your shaft where it's free, taking your cock when Yeseo leaves for a quick breath. With the competitive swallow-duel going back and forth, it's inevitable that your girlfriend wins.

"Ah, thanks for the lunch," Mashiro says.

"One day I'll win." Yeseo huffs, but you can tell she is not mad. For as much as she pretends, her thighs are wiggling in Mashiro's face moments later, and she can't hide her smile so wide whenever your girlfriend's nose brushes against her swollen clit. She smiles even wider when you invite her onto your thigh, pressing that needy pussy down and leaving a trail for Mashiro to lick up.

But for all you've done in the past few weeks, one topic has never been brought up: Yeseo's virginity. Well, never explicitly—Mashiro has asked teasingly about it before, and all Yeseo says is "a guy in school" while her body language reveals that's the lie that it sounded like. Plus, whenever she watches the two of you bang, it's as though she's putting a puzzle together—how excited she gets during afterglows or those pillow talk sessions when you explain something or other.

As you gain a better understanding of Yeseo's every mechanism, you realize it's the framing of the situation. Act in the frivolities for the appetizers all you want, but don't underestimate what makes sex a nutritious meal.

"Seriously," Mashiro says, "if you've had sex before, you wouldn't be this much of a blushing mess. What are you getting embarrassed about?"

How cruel of your girlfriend to tease. Because as Yeseo says "sorry," Mashiro pushes her finger all the way into Yeseo's core, causing her to cry out. "Ahh! It, it's just that, I've had the plug, inside, since yesterday night! God, it's b-been, too, too much… mmnh."

"You're so cute," you say, spanking the girl on all fours. The plug is simple, black, silicone, and a hell of a lot bigger than her dainty fingers that you've seen toy with her anal ring before. You had taken care to see to it that Yeseo was neither in pain nor undue stress when it came to accommodating it, with plenty of lubricant, though you warned her that she couldn't remove the anal plug until Mashiro or you came to retrieve it.

Now that you've come to collect, you bend to kiss the cheeks of the girl's small, round butt, which jiggles as it twitches. Your tongue reaches, swirls around the ring of the plug, while your hand traces between her thighs to bring forth her slick. All this while, Mashiro's finger buries between Yeseo's folds, her cunt squeezes greedily against it, and her body pushes down on the object buried in her ass.

"D-don't stare. It's, um, dirty."

"Oh? Is it?" you ask while your thumb strokes Yeseo's anal ring around the plug. You pull on it, a hair's length, playing with her, and the wetter she gets, the more Yeseo trembles—the more she tries to hide her face and her screams into a pillow—the more she inadvertently thrusts her ass back into you. Inching further until the plug is out, you lean forward and bring your tongue closer to her tightest hole. "Then why does it look so tasty?"

"I dunno! God, this is so, so embarra—"

Yeseo collects the air in front of her in a single harsh breath, your lips sealing against her back passage, which tightens considerably from your tongue's foray. Then, when Mashiro supplies the same treatment to her friend's pink folds, you feel your tongue may be trapped in her hole. Fine by you. Your hands cover Yeseo's asscheeks as you slobber with licks and kisses, tasting her asshole like it's a last request, until her whines devolve into long, indecisive moans of wanting more and asking to slow down. Yet, her hips move as if to beg for more themselves, how greedy the woman. You laugh before you let up, squeezing cool lube onto the black buttplug.

"Ahh, ahh, ahh," Yeseo pants, "I need, I need more."

You are happy to provide. In another hand, you hold a small buzzing device. You trace it along Yeseo's pussy lips, weakening her elbows and knees—jolting when the vibe makes contact with her firm nub—damn near collapsing her as Mashiro seals her lips to the toy, ensuring none of its strength escapes. You know, from experience, a combination like that is bound to make a girl pass out, so once her hips slow down their staccato jerking, you steal your girlfriend's lips for a kiss.

Though every man who's made it this far in life knows well that every hole is good to eat, every hole's different flavors are treasures and miracles unto themselves. The flavor on your girlfriend's tongue is Yeseo at her very core, salty, musky, addicting to you; when you sample Yeseo's ass once again, popping the plug back out, you get a metallic tang mixed with the sweetness of the lube; lower you return, and Yeseo's cunt is spongey and soaked and hot, slick and oozing and a veritable delight to munch on, as the taste from the source is second to none.

It's an all-out sensory assault as you pull the plug some, enough so that its widest girth is right at the clinging ring, only for you to push back inside with a pop and a delightful mewl. Fingers and toys and tongues and lips alike massage Yeseo everywhere and overwhelm all her senses, her nerves tensing into spams and jerks of utter ecstasy. She doesn't even get the courtesy of oneness in her condition: each time you work her up to the peak, Mashiro is hungry for the next, pulling out all the stops to keep Yeseo climbing higher. Mashiro and you kiss, lick, push, pinch, fondle, stimulate, and the best Yeseo can do is squirm pathetically around the devices in her holes, her mind fucked straight out of her body.

Yeseo slumps down, shaking as if her bones were wrung out. After four or five or however many consecutive orgasms, and each attempt to catch her breath ending in her wailing, her crotch is so wet that you and Mashiro might as well be making out with a pond.

"Plth, pleath, please, mnh. Th-that was, was a little, little much."

Mashiro pulls her sticky face back to pepper Yeseo's lower half with little kisses, while you lick the remainder of Yeseo's juice from your lips. Cleanup takes a while, especially as Yeseo is too much a drooling, weak mess to help out—you don't mind, knowing this is all for her. Mashiro grabs a spare towel and wipes Yeseo down; once she's stable enough, you give her a gallon jug of water from the bedside stand and instruct her to drink up.

In the throes of this arousal, still breathing like air has never quite reached her lungs properly, Yeseo lays back and fights against the delirium. You and Mashiro cuddle her sides, squishing her between, and plant kisses all over her face and neck. Yeseo embarks on the road back to normalcy, thanks to the warmth of the two bodies, the careful embrace of loving hands, and your soothing words. When she's returned in totality, Yeseo locks eyes with you, her gaze serious like you've never seen on such a delicate, pretty face.

"So," Yeseo whispers, tensing up. "I know you've been waiting. You know. For me to bring it up."

"Hmm?" You grin. "What's that?"

Mashiro grumbles and reaches over to tap your shoulder. "Hey, this isn't the time to play coy."

"Alright." You face Yeseo. "Hey. It's okay." Sincerity in your voice, you bring yourself so close that Yeseo can't possibly miss your eyes and the warmth in them, you hope. "Whatever you're comfortable with, Yeseo. I mean it."

"Yeseo-yah," Mashiro says, her arms wrapping tighter. "You don't have to rush into anything. Whatever feels right to you, okay?" She glides forward until their kindred faces are so close they might as well be kissing.

A giggle permeates through the cracks in the wall of tension she's built. "I had no idea you two were such softies. Is this what happens when you date for so long?"

"Us? Softies?" You chuckle and cup her cheek, making the skin soft and pink. You brush her hair behind her ear. "Did cumming make you forget the past hour or—"

Mashiro throws a pillow at you. "Don't talk like that to our baby!"

That only makes you laugh even more, and as Yeseo joins in the laughter, so too does Mashiro. It's a while before Yeseo sits up, takes a deep breath, slaps her thighs. "I'm fine. Seriously, I'm ready now." She looks at you, dead in the eyes. "Oppa. I… I have wanted to fuck you ever since… since…" Her voice gets lower. "A couple months ago."

You try not to choke on your own spit. "Yeseo, you just turned eighteen then."

"So?"

"Yeseo." Your voice is calm yet stern.

"Besides, lots of other girls in school already lost their virginity!"

"And so you haven't, I knew it!" Mashiro laughs from the sideline.

Yeseo sticks out her tongue, and then her face turns serious again. She holds her hands on top of yours, as though drawing the answers from her fingertips as she thumbs them. After a slight pause, you give her an encouraging rub on her shoulder. "I just don't, didn't want to disappoint you guys. And I know we've done so much together, but sex… it's different. Means more. Like, look at you two. You're such a sweet couple, and I feel like I'm just budging between—"

"Absolutely not!" Mashiro exclaims as she joins in massaging the flesh of Yeseo's shoulders.

"I swear to god," you say, "you're all that matters in the world to us, right, Shiro?"

She nods forcefully.

"If we didn't care about you, we would have never taken you here, would have never let you in on our lives and intimacy. You could never budge between me and Shiro. In fact, I think you've made us better as a couple in ways you couldn't imagine, like how much happier Shiro and I are now."

Mashiro turns to kiss your cheek before addressing Yeseo herself. "We love you so much. And the most important thing to us, the thing that makes me the happiest, is when you feel good. So please, whatever you're worried about, we can work it out, baby."

It's all the truth, new axioms being built from a foundation of old, with your affection for the other girl unquestionable—enough for a lifetime, you think, that every day the three of you spend time cuddling or watching a movie is a day in paradise. Yet when you ask about the color of your world with this new addition, it becomes obvious how incomplete that thought is, to what degree you were underestimating the effect of the past few weeks. Here was this naive girl, this sweet doll, to whom the world was a painting of only shades of soft vanilla white. Now, it is pink, candy sweet. Now, it is red, a fiery thing. Now it is the burning color of sunrise, on her cheeks, from her ears, in between her thighs, and shall the colors subside, you gladly will rise up tomorrow to bring more.

Here comes the clouds, their tears on Yeseo's face, but they're joy-filled, like rain while the sun shines hot on a summer day. As Yeseo rests on her knees, back against your chest, Mashiro draws upon Yeseo's face with a kiss.

"How about this," Mashiro says. She steals the girl from your lap, pulling her into her own lap and embracing her from behind. "You should go on a date with him. Remember where we went the first time?"

With Shiro gazing expectantly at you, you reply, "Yeah, the aquarium? I even got you a stuffed shark there, right? Then we ate crab and—"

"Yeah! Take Yeseo there, go on a cute date and make her melt. You two can make it official. And while you're out, I can work myself into a mess and we can have the best possible first time. How does that sound, Yeseo?"

The toothy smile says it all.

The night falls, then another, as time slows. Gravity has changed. The anticipation for that Friday drags on, and the days are slow, sweet, long, tortuous. The three of you aren't even fooling around anymore; hell, you and Mashiro haven't... well, you still fucked three times last week, and nothing rough, but that's easily half of the usual, if not less.

But this new dynamic is not unwelcome. It's reminiscent of when you first started dating, before things became intense and adventurous. You cuddle in your bed under blankets and the moonlight and start to touch, caress, and feel each other's warmth. Mashiro whispers sweet things to you like "I love you, you're the best boyfriend in the world, you're so good to me." You run your fingers through her hair and over her neck.

Naked bodies pressed together, skin-to-skin, you can feel the warmth emanating from each other. She grinds against your leg, her wetness leaving a slick trail on your skin, and you grip her ass as she thrusts against you. Your shaft is hard and heavy on her stomach as you roll over her, Mashiro on her back and you on top of her. With the blanket covering you two, it's like the space is a tent and you're intrepid explorers discovering new continents, remapping unknown boddies. Your gazes become those of lovers finding hidden moons and suns in each other's eyes.

Mashiro grabs your face and kisses you, hard, and you return the gesture with passion. She lets out a small squeak, and it's a tiny noise in the still room under the cramped covers. You suck her bottom lip, nipping on it, before your tongues intertwine, causing her to moan softly into your mouth.

You break the kiss, and Mashiro whimpers, "Don't stop, don't stop kissing me."

You lean back and say, "Shh, baby, I got you." Your finger goes to her mouth and you pull on her bottom lip, drawing it down. Then you take that finger and run it down her body, from her mouth to her neck, then down to her breasts. Mashiro has a beautiful set of tits, and you love to see them bounce, jiggle, and move, and you circle her breasts with your finger, drawing lazy circles around them, but the way you love and touch her now is more than arousing; it's intimate as you treat her body like an adoration to praise, worship, and cherish her.

She deserves you telling her as much, in as many words: "You are the most perfect, beautiful girl in the world. Your body, your love, you, your everything."

Mashiro blushes at your words and closes her eyes, arching into you as your lips trail down to her chest. Soft, wet kisses leave trails along her skin, causing her to whimper and writhe beneath your touch. As your lips continue their journey downward, so too does your hand. Her legs spread willingly for you as your fingers hover over her folds, teasing and tracing circles around her dripping pink pussy. Your thumb rubs against the thin skin of her inner thigh before playfully dipping towards her entrance.

She's soaking already, the sweet smell of her arousal filling your senses, and your pecks if like a map of the world plot a course down her body, her ribs and her hip bones like signposts. When your girlfriend squeals and tries to push your face away as you lower your head to its final destination, you grin—it's like old times when she used to get shy and flustered in your presence. Using one hand to keep her pink labia spread and the other to hold her thighs in place, you finally lower your head to its final destination. Your tongue darts in her, kissing, lapping, probing, and, most of all, worshipping the insides of the cunt.

And the noises she makes are the sweetest little things in the world, little breaths and hums and keens and croaks that are only audible under the soft cocoon of blankets surrounding the two of you. Even though you're alone in the room, she's hesitant to be too loud; it doesn't stop her from expressing her satisfaction. With one hand on her clit and the other gently caressing her backside, you delve deeper between her folds with your tongue, eliciting coos and sighs from Mashiro. You want every moment to be this moment—your woman lost in the isolated woods of her pleasure, no one else to hear the tree fall but you.

You yearn to look up at your lovely Shiro, to watch her unravel in bliss, but the blanket obstructs your view. Thankfully, she notices and removes it herself, possibly feeling overheated from being enclosed in such a small space. You're grateful, because now the view of your beloved girlfriend is even better: her hair tousled from squirming around in bed and covering herself with the blanket, her face flushed, mouth open in a small "o." Her hands roam over her breasts, alternating between gentle cupping them and rough pinching of her nipples. Your gaze settles on the aspect of the scene you most enjoy: the small bead of saliva escaping from the corner of her mouth, the shimmering trail it leaves as it rolls down her cheek.

Her eyes, how they sparkle in ecstasy from the love and affection you give her, filling your heart with a warmth that borders on painful. As much as you could stay here all night, then all day, until the moon rose again, Mashiro's eyes connect with yours, quietly and meekly pleading, and you know it is your duty to proceed, before she crumbles on her own.

Your tongue retracts and you leave a soft kiss on her mound. You scoop her body into your strong arms, positioning yourself above her with your cock pressing against her stomach. Her face is so close to yours that you can feel every breath she takes. She wraps an arm around your back and draws you closer with a tug, hooking a leg around your torso.

This is the closest two people can get without actually being inside each other, yet your lips remain just out of reach. Mashiro's gaze captures you, as it has since you first fell in love with her in college. There's a brief moment where something unspoken passes between you both, and then her eyes close and your noses brush against each other. In the darkness of the night, with only the light of the stars shining through the window, the crescent moon appears in her smile.

"Hello there, dear," Mashiro whispers.

Your heart is caught in your throat.

"I love you," she says.

"I love you too, babe."For a few moments, your noses are the only points of contact, stretching into what feels like eternity. Then you realize she's waiting for you.

"Kiss me," she whispers, repeating the words over and over again, and you give in. Then you two kiss—it's with an odd, powerful feeling, like you're trying to stuff the world into each other's mouths, breathing each other's air, and the timing is right and perfect and good for the next stuffing of your length into her welcoming heat. Her lips and her legs tighten around you as you ease yourself in inch-by-inch.

Doesn't take you long before you bottom out, her grippy thing sealed around the base. You wait a while before you begin moving, your hands beneath her head, on the nape of her neck. Watch how her face twists from pleasure, to frustration, to a longing. As though you're both star-crossed lovers meeting at night and on the fly, she mounts you in a rush of anticipation and love and heat and she clings onto your shoulders like a lifeline. Your girlfriend's more excited than she ever was, and her breath runs ragged, as though the weight of the world is upon her—or you upon her, pressing her into the bed.

You drink in her every little moan and squeal while she clenches your bicep in a firm grip and you're on top of her and her legs split open to frame your hips. Thrusts into her like pistons in a steam engine, driving with force and energy, and so much power that the entire bed shakes around you two. All the while, you're kissing everywhere your face can reach: neck, breasts, nipples, all over her flushed skin, all over her skin getting redder still—and Mashiro loves it all, from the deep passionate kisses to the gentle tickles that make her giggle uncontrollably.

It's all so clumsy, like you don't have the years between you to know how to work together; maybe it's the nerves—like you're teenagers in the back of your first car, almost getting caught; like you're in your dirty college dorm, finding where the screw in your frame breaks and the mattress falls and you're so horny you can't find enough grip on the uneven sheets to get a proper grip. Or maybe it's because it really is just like your first time: not the location, or the rhythm, or the surroundings, or even the way her breasts jiggle when you thrust with abandon, but the all-in desperation, of thanking the past for catching up, or thanking the future for promising to get even better.

Back then, the first time you slept with her, it was like learning an entirely new language—like you had to keep looking around as she pulled you in deeper, the walls of her snatch tugging on your cock, an alien sensation like a vacuum, her sex threatening to suck out your very soul despite the awkward inexperience.

Now, despite the awkward rhythm and the need to touch and kiss every which where, the way your bodies connect is smoother. More meaningful. Hotter.

She kisses your face and cups your cheeks and makes quiet promises under her breath, "I'm yours, I'm yours, oh, god, you're fucking me, you're—ahh—so good, so big," over and over. You love it, how much she tells you, her voice strained and high and keening and on the verge of tears. Your nails drag up the sides of her thighs and bring her into another embrace, arms around each other, tongues weaving. The more it goes, the less graceful you become, and the less coordinated you are, and the more you forget the sensations and rhythms, and your animal instincts go back to clawing and prodding and exploring and mating.

How many times have you done this? You've counted them at least, the things they do to your mind, the way your girlfriend looks at you in bed. Hundreds? Perhaps a little under a thousand, almost halfway through the past three years, each time more intimate and delicious than the last. You look into her dark- yes and become stunned in love, overcome with adoration, unable to bear it as her sweet pussy contracts on your throbbing length and you push her into the bed as you both slip over the edge of sweet release—you cum together, spurting into her wet embrace, gripping her closer than ever before, and still you hold her and hug her. She's yours, and she will forever be yours, and that is why you and she still make love three times a week like newlyweds, content with the lazy nature of time.

And just like that, maybe, you can pretend like what's coming up with Yeseo is a first encounter, an exploration in the same manner that sex with her unnie was, from some corner of her heart calling out desperately to be loved the same way as Mashiro had, to that young heart you both did your best to nurture and coax into blooming.

You're standing in front of fish, alive and vibrant. Yeseo's standing next to you, not even up to your shoulders, beaming up at you in a hoodie a bit too baggy for her small frame—it's yours—actually, it's Mashiro's now that you think of it, so long ago when your girlfriend pulled it from your closet and decided she was keeping it. It used to make her small figure positively miniscule, same way Yeseo makes it swim on her. Her short shorts, however, are all hers, all that asscheek squishing out from under it, and you want to make it the floor's instead.

Cute date. Cute date. You turn your attention back to fish, all these shimmering sea creatures swimming around in their tanks, the smell of saltwater pervasive. Lots and lots of little rainbow-colored fish behind big panes of glass and the vivid blue. You watch, and they don't glance in your direction, which is probably a good thing because they'd see how embarrassingly nervous you are for a date; you're certain you can't handle this mix of sexual anticipation and cuteness overload for another minute. The air is dense, so sticky that you're practically underwater yourself. You can tell Yeseo is thirsty, a touch uncomfortable, and so are you. Despite the wet air, your throat's dry, all your senses tingling, every nerve electrified like sharp edges of lightning arcing through the thick atmosphere.

After buying her a bottle of soda (as she says thank you in the smallest voice), you take a sip, and it's funny thinking that this is the closest you've been to kissing in a while. You sip, she sips, and this repeats back and forth until the bottle's spent. It's like you're making out, in public, no less. You want to take your hand but she's off to look at jellyfish.

This little nerd goes around oohing and ahhing at at every new species while you wonder when did she get this geeky, overtaking Mashiro of all people. You go into the penguin exhibit, and watching her shiver, you grab her slender hand and intertwine your fingers with hers before placing your two hands in your pocket for safe keeping. Yeseo tiptoes and presses her nose into your shoulder, sniffling.

"Are you cold?" you ask.

"No. Smells bad."

"Oh." You ruffle her hair with your free hand. The dye's losing its saturation, though her still a brilliant tinted gray. "Good point. Say, aren't you feeling hungry?"

Here's the answer.

You're sitting in front of fish. These ones are dead, and delicious. Yeseo's sitting in front of you, eating guilt-free, committing grand larceny from your hand, all with a big smile. Unable to prosecute and in fact a perpetrator yourself (one count of corruption), you feed her, leave fingerprints of some red sauce on the corner of her mouth, and you wouldn't mind licking her clean if there weren't so many people around. She tongues at it herself, and visions of her licking other things pop into your head.

The visions disappear when she grins once again, wide, flashing her teeth. This isn't the Yeseo you've built up to break down; this is the Yeseo you started with, a postulate, the unbendably true and innocent one, a girl who likes hugging you and her best friend, and nothing more, least of all getting involved with the filthy sex you two have.

The pendulum swings.

"You know you don't have to use condoms, by the way. I know you bought a whole bunch, but… I wouldn't mind raw… you know, I trust you." All that is said without missing a beat, and you miss a few: blinks, breaths, words, choking on some oyster, and as she kindly hands you a napkin, she turns her head bashfully like nothing happened. "Tonight's gonna be so special, I know it. I'm so glad we did this, Oppa, thank you."

You smile, as warm as you can while your lungs are recovering.

In a park nearby, she's the one who takes your hand, swinging it back and forth as the day's bleeding amber into her skin, as her sweater becomes a blanket for her and her happiness. The dark thoughts push against the bright light of the girl, still fighting as you carry your Yeseo up a hill to catch the day fading away. On top of that hill, you kiss Yeseo like it's the first time and tell her you love her, and you hope that's enough because she deserves every part of the world below this hill, and so above.

As above, so below. The night falls. If the nights then slowed, this one has halted completely. The stopped night falls and the curse of darkness is a biblical thing because it will return you to dust from which you were made, back to where you started. These are the end times.

You're making out with Mashiro in your lap, and she has indeed worked herself into an apocalyptic mess for you. Her legs are wrapped around you, between her thighs as a wet spot like the flood, her hands squeeze your nape where your hairs raise, and god, you missed her kissing like her next breath must be in your lungs.

Yeseo, judge of the soul, eyes you down in the periphery of your vision—back to where you started.

The night falls, and it's a biblical curse of darkness upon the land because no good can come of it. There is an unshakable heaviness in the bedroom, like gravity has suddenly intensified. You're sitting on the bed with Mashiro in your lap and Yeseo nearby, her posture a mix of alertness and contemplation. You kiss Mashiro passionately, caress her body, run your fingers through her hair, and grasp her hips tightly to make her feel desired and needed.

Then Yeseo slinks over and wraps her arms around you from behind, pressing her cheek against yours and biting her lip while emitting a small moan. It's clear that she's uncertain about how to act in this situation. She hesitates before leaning forward and gently kissing your neck, causing your whole body to shiver.

What a stark contrast—the intentions and their effects. Your body acts on its own accord while your mind struggles to make sense of the conflicting emotions. But your arm instinctively wraps around Yeseo, as if it knows what to do.

Mashiro finally pulls away, understanding the situation, and there's a diamond in her eyes. "Go for it," she whispers.

Yeseo and you are two parts of an incomplete whole, and you sum with your lips, and multiply in moans. The bed squeaks, the sheets shift, and that which does not move becomes stiller than ever. Yeseo starts to grind against you, matching your movements. From the corner of your eye, you see her squeezing her eyes shut, drooling slightly onto your shoulder. When she opens them, they flash between desire, fear, longing, and confusion as she looks to Mashiro for guidance.

Your hand gently strokes her hair to soothe her, while Mashiro leans closer and tenderly kisses Yeseo's forehead. "What do you want to do next, Yeseo-yah?" Mashiro asks.

"I... I don't know what I want. I just want him inside me."

You smile adoringly at Yeseo and brush her hair away from her face. "I can make that happen for you."

"R-really? Aren't we supposed to do more...things first? Like...you know..." Yeseo stammers. "I can suck you clean again, or we can…"

"I think you've waited long enough, princess," you say.

Yeseo shudders. "Oh. God... just fuck me."

Mashiro's lips brush against Yeseo's forehead with tender affection, the warmth of their embrace palpable. As she moves down to her lips, their kiss deepens and they both lose themselves in the moment. You move behind the pair, pulling Yeseo's jeans down; she squirms in your forceful grasp. Mashiro moves to the side of the bed as you lay Yeseo on her back. As you throw her pants to the corner of the room, you spread kisses where they must go—along the inside of her thigh to her knee, back to the joint of her torso and her hip, your tongue grazing the skin above her panties. She does nothing to hide her arousal, vocal, flushed, all-in-all unrefined perfection.

Your teeth clasp on the fabric of her soaked panties, and you pull the clothes down, her hips bucking in hurry. Without breaking eye contact, you discard her last items of clothing, and rest your face atop her dripping pussy. Yeseo cries out, arching up in the instant your mouth meets her pussy, bucking against you to bring you closer.

At first, you take it slow and gentle, savoring every delicate motion that sets Yeseo off into a frenzy. But as her begging becomes more urgent, you give into her desires and increase the intensity of your ministrations. Kang Yeseo is like a leaking faucet, spilling out her lust onto your tongue and down her thighs until even the sheets beneath them are moist.

With practiced ease, you add a few fingers into the mix, skillfully bringing Yeseo closer and closer to climax with each thrust. And when she finally reaches the peak of pleasure—marked by a simple count to ten and a swipe of the letter Y—she lets out a primal scream of pure bliss. Her body writhes against yours, her fingers clutching the pillow beneath her head as she surrenders fully to the overwhelming pleasure.

"O-oh, oh god... yes," she chokes out. "Oh god. Fuck, fuck."

Mashiro has gotten naked during this, has started fondling herself, excited at her friend's exhibition. Yeseo only has eyes for you, though, and takes your head between her hands to bring you over and mash your faces together again. She tastes her own lust on your lips, her own pussy juices evidence of your hard work, kissing you and begging you to make love to her.

Mashiro approaches, drawn to the scene before her. Is she motivated by genuine concern for Yeseo's well-being or is it a voyeuristic desire to witness your lovemaking? As she presses up against you, her delicate hands reaching for your throbbing shaft, it becomes evident that it is the latter.

With a flick of a switch in her mind, Mashiro sheds all inhibitions and eagerly guides your member inside Yeseo's waiting heat. Slip into Yeseo's tightness, every centimeter a kilometer. Her small but eager pussy lips tightly compress around your tip, sending shivers down your spine. You close your eyes and can almost feel Yeseo's own eyes shut in bliss, while you can only imagine the hungry gaze of Mashiro fixed upon you both.

Her weight barely registering on your body, Yeseo digs her fingertips into your shoulders as she pleads, "Please… be gentle." It takes you back to when you first started dating Mashiro, and you reward Yeseo's trust with long, slow strokes that gradually stretch her open. She lets out encouraging mewls mixed with a single tear rolling down her flushed cheek. With each thrust, her pain gives way to gratitude and pleasure. From behind you, Mashiro's eyes lock onto yours with a mischievous glint.

As expected, she revels in Yeseo's discomfort—perhaps with a touch of wicked empathy or even a hint of jealousy at not being able to experience this first time herself. It's clear that with Mashiro's provocations, this will be anything but romantic and sweet. Your lips meet hers in a heated kiss as you pull back slightly before thrusting into Yeseo again. "You're doing so good, Daddy," Mashiro whispers breathlessly. It's not often she calls you that, but right now it feels fitting. "How does she feel?"

You respond with another searing kiss before murmuring, "Just like you did. Maybe even wetter."

"Oh yeah? You should fuck her harder to prove it then." Mashiro's full lips curve upwards into a satisfied smile as she watches you, her focus shifting to the girl writhing beneath you. You can feel the change in Yeseo, her body language shifting and telling you that she is reaching her threshold for pain. But her desire for that elusive orgasm is still strong.

As your hips continue to thrust into her, filling her holes with your thick cock, you sense the pain radiating from her body. But Yeseo is too caught up in the pleasure to call it off or complain. Each time your hips collide against hers, she breathes out "oh fuck" in ragged gasps.

The pace quickens, the intensity of your movements increasing with each passing second. The bed creaks and groans under the weight of your bodies as you both crave more and more. Your grip tightens on Yeseo's hips as you lift her ass into the air, pushing her body to its limits.

In an instant, everything changes. Yeseo's screams now come not from pain, but from overwhelming pleasure as you reach deeper inside her. Tears cloud her eyes and she cries out for "Daddy," shocking even herself with the pet name that escapes her lips. But hearing her say it only adds to your arousal.

You feel Mashiro's hand move down to Yeseo's clit, aggressively rubbing and stimulating her even further. Her words only add fuel to the fire, driving you both towards pure ecstasy. "You like that," Mashiro taunts, "You like Daddy's cock? Like how his giant fucking cock feels buried so deep in your virgin pussy?"

Yeseo grits her teeth and nods, barely able to form words through her pleasure-filled haze. "I do… please."

"You're a slut for my man's cock," Mashiro continues, causing a primal growl to escape your own throat in response. Your body moves on instinct, driven by a primal desire for pleasure and dominance."Such a slut for Daddy's cock, aren't you?"

"Yeeees..."

"You're gonna get addicted to this, hooked on cock, fucking you, and you're going to wanna cum all the time, Daddy's naughty princess, aren't you?"

"Aaah, ahh... fuck, yes, I love your cock, love Daddy's fat cock, aahn, aaah, don't stop, fuck me, fucking fuck me, fuck me like you fuck Unnie."

You love watching Yeseo's face as she gets pounded. The way her mouth hangs open, tongue hanging out, panting like a dog, eyes rolling back, lids fluttering, all in such a adorable package. However, you've been craving something else: that pert ass of hers. You unsheathe Yeseo's pussy to a line of girl cum, then flip her and scoot her towards you until her round rear is against your pelvis, and resume fucking her pronebone.

Yeseo screams into the sheets, Mashiro's fingers buried in her mouth to show her the taste of her lust.

"You gonna be a good girl, aren't you?" Mashiro asks, earning Yeseo's moan in approval on her digits. "Good. That's my cock, mine, and the only way you're getting to feel it is by being a good girl and letting him cum inside you, let him coat your pussy with Daddy's cum. Make Daddy proud, you hear me?"

When Mashiro pulls back, Yeseo speaks: "Yes, yes, breed me, cum in my pussy, make me a woman, I wanna be a woman, a woman who cums on Daddy's cock, a woman who cums from getting fucked."

Her ass jiggles in the prettiest way. Whether through the excitement or fear of having a pregnant belly at only eighteen, her thighs are shaking. Her entrance clenches tightly around your girth and milks your orgasm from you, and it's like you've become her baby maker and nothing more.

You wrap your arms around her. "You sure you wanna get bred, princess? You want my seed, every drop, to make you mine? You want to be an adult, that what you want?"

She struggles under you, her wet pussy giving way to your penis. "Yes. Yes! Fuck me, please, Daddy. Please."

Those are your last words for a while, that plea. Her asscheeks give way to your  fingers, slipping to the puckered hole of her anus. You know she's been practicing with that hole, plunging dildos up her butt, training for Daddy's cock. Mashiro takes your hand, offering to lubricate, and before you know it her saliva seeps through your digits. With that, a pointer finger hooks inside Yeseo easily, earning a happy squeak, a bit of cock-drunk laughter at being doubly penetrated.

Anal wasn't something you and Mashiro tried during your first encounter, but you very well are familiar with the act, an intrinsic fact about Mashiro that few others know. Her ass has come to be both of your preferred mode of orgasmic expression, your cum leaving a filthy pool in her asshole. Now Yeseo's about to find out why. Her anus offers the final tightest barrier for your probing finger, slipping inside the dirty hole. In and out a half dozen times, Yeseo soon adapts, and Mashiro—being on the other side of Yeseo and facing you—makes a show of kissing her neck and palming her small breasts. Yeseo bucks back on your digit and cock, the clench of her two insides holding you tight and in love.

You're so lucky that your girlfriend holds no jealousy to speak of—at least not in her sex life—as Yeseo cums hard around your invading cock. Her body clenches at the multiple parts of her that you've stuffed, keeping you held firmly inside. Like a chain reaction, your orgasm is triggered, pulled in forcefully. One two pumps is all it takes, her virgin pussy a divine void, and after that first one you lose count of your inseminating shots. Her womb is full of you, thickened, and your finger pumps with equal force in her ass. Yeseo is mumbling into the mattress, a long nonsensical string of begging and pleading that only end once you're out of her, she can feel your seed inside of her, once the bliss of the last few minutes leave.

Yeseo is your fucking whore.

After cumming her brains out, the tired slut in her sleepily tumbles off. You're not done. Seeing that creampie leak out of her well-fucked cunt, nope, you're not nearly finished. Right now there's a much sluttier hole available to you.

Yeseo rests her head against Mashiro's soft chest, passing out as her friend embraces her.

"Shiro. Marshmellow. I'm really going to ask this with all my self-control, but is it okay if I fuck her ass. She's very tempting."

Your precious petal gives the brightest smile, you know, when she's so uninhibited like this, free to her own wicked whims. Mashiro kisses Yeseo's sleeping forehead, before looking back to you. "Aww, baby, but she looks so adorable sleeping yeah fucking do it. Fuck the shit out of her."

With a peck, you accept her permission. You spread the winking hole open with two fingers, then collect some of the leaking seed from Yeseo's pussy and wipe it on the entrance. Then, the lube: Mashiro with a diligent mouth, and soon a dew of her spit onto your cock for Yeseo's ass.

As you rest your wettened cockhead against Yeseo's anus, it spasms slightly, involuntarily, puckering further against your assault. Suddenly her eyes shoot open, her back arching.

"Good dream," she moans, and as you've learned, it is possible to fuck cutely. Because that's the Yeseo on Mashiro's chest now: cute. "I was... a bad girl, I let Daddy use all my holes, aahn."

"He's ready for more of you, Yeseo-yah." Mashiro whispers.

"Wha..." Yeseo is still in a stupor from her slumber, and so the shock is clearly visceral and uncomfortable as you enter her ass. Even lubed up it takes more effort to break her innermost seal as it stretches around your tip and clings to the millimeter she lets you go in. As she gets filled with your cock again, it doesn't matter how she had previously reacted to the rough pounding you gave her pussy. Your hand grabs her arm and keeps it in place as the half inch meets an end in the resistance of her anus' unwilling submission to your fucking. But she begins to thrust herself back on you slightly, and that helps, relaxing the walls that inveighed against your penetration. Soon you make another centimeter of progress, a centimeter closer to fully lodging your cock inside her.

The penetration is slow as time itself, but for a curious reason: in this single instance, both you and Yeseo want the process to take as long as possible, for this moment to stretch even beyond how fucking long you're taking to actually penetrating her. The lewdness is so beyond what the both of you are familiar with, your plunging cock filling her most intimate spot is perhaps the dirtiest deed imaginable, filthy and nasty and deliciously so.

Yet, she's still fucking cute—cutely fucking, when she looks back to you, meets your loving gaze, a pout on her lips, and a fluttering opening of her mouth. She eyes you with an innocence that has long since left her presence here and now. Of all the girls you've fucked before and this night, none have the spark of natural sexual goodness that Yeseo possesses. Before it was pretty fucking adorable, the eager virgin desperate for attention, desperate for an anal orgasm. Now it's not just arousing, it's something deeper: beautiful. And she wants you to share in her beauty.

"M-more." It's a scant whisper, her throat dry with anticipation. More than enough. You pull on Yeseo's hair and throw her head back, exposing more of her slim neck, to drive your cock with more force into her unbroken depths. Harder now, in: two more inches penetrate her, yet no outward journey is permitted, something else which you've prevented as you continue your rhythm. Your other hand trails down from her back to her ass, where your fingers lay, kneading the cheeks apart to admire your conquest. Yeseo is being taken, wholly owned. She's yours, belonging only to your pleasure and only to your pleasure alone, to feel the pleasure of this moment together.

You pull a fistful of her hair now, drawing her ear close enough to your mouth to bite gently on the lobe, to send a shock of exhilaration through her skinny frame. "You're a filthy fucking anal whore, Yeseo. I'm going to fuck the creampie out of this asshole. Just know I own you, and you need a real man inside of you. Say it."

Yeseo purrs. "Nnn, nngh. Nn, yesss, Daddy, you own my hole, you own all my holes, your slut, just want your cock always in me, fuck my fuck, oh, ohyes, godd, do it, please!"

Again you claim this sweet sin, and push on through to the end of her depths, till you're bottomed out in her ass. Yeseo wiggles ineffectively, fruitlessly, letting you work her anus on your girth.

"How does it feel, baby girl?" Mashiro asks, and you begin to draw your cock slowly. Yeseo howls and squeezes your member, her anus unable to take the stretch any more, yet unwilling to let it go. It takes the weight of a greater instinct for her to move her hips away from you. You help pull back, but it's equally mind-agonizing, mind-numbing, but eventually you come out cleanly.

Through gasping breaths, Yeseo says, "C-can I ride it instead? That, that was too much."

Mashiro giggles, nods. "Daddy can lie down for you, sweetie. Lay him out and sit your pretty little butt on him."

You lean against the headrest and spread out your legs, giving Yeseo free range to work your cock. Much quicker now she takes your cock inside, sinking down on the cock to an easy half. Then, Yeseo relaxes and soon her ass claps against your pelvis, earning a moan from you both.

"Wow, you're a natural." Mashiro says.

"Yeah, oh, fuck, I practiced, this position, oh, mmhm. On, haaa, on a toy. Wow."

"But, the real thing's better." When Mashiro starts touching Yeseo's clit, even more globs of semen leave her cunt.

Yeseo just nods to that, her eyes meeting the lord in her head, her mouth dangling open. "Mhmm, so big, s-so hard, and, umph, and, haahh."

You quickly ascertain that while Yeseo is certainly practiced in her riding, she is no match for Mashiro's experience. Here, you don't mind—the grip of her warm and willing walls wrapping around your cock, her pussy clamping at air in response. Your mouth, open and hungry, is captured by Mashiro, french-kissing you. She's a warm, comfortable presence beside you, watching you watch the pornographic scene of the inexperienced girl fucking herself like a needy anal whore. Yeseo, from her expression, is obviously getting the hang of it: her fucking is getting faster, the cock that enters her quickly leaving in rapid pace, her pleasure quickening in its growth. Yeseo bucks up, slips down, trying to give you as much pleasure as possible

Insofar as Yeseo can find purchase in her brain-melting daze, she's cumming so very quickly and so damn hard. Yeseo is so tightly gripped at your cock you can only imagine the spasms she must be going through. For your troubles, she sprays juice all over your abdomen. As if from the deepest part of her orgasm, her last shreds of coherence, an almost non-fathomable concept, give way to a smile, to a laugh. She collapses on top of you, her cheek against your chest.

"I'm... Daddy's..."

"Cum dump." You sit up, wrapping your arm around her back. "I'm not done with you, not until I've left my cum in your asshole."

She nods. "I'm your slut, Daddy."

You take Yeseo from the bed, and carry her over to the side, bending her over the nightstand, holding her neck and keeping her pressed against the wood. Her small hands reach behind her, taking hold of your shaft and guiding you into her anus. A single thrust is enough to seat her all the way to the hilt, and it doesn't take long before you're pistoning into her, her ass jiggling.

Mashiro's got her hand buried in Yeseo's hair, pushing her down harder against the wooden surface. She's a beautiful girl, your girlfriend, her pussy soaked from watching you use this other girl. "Make a mess for Daddy," she says. "Cum around his cock, milk that cum out like you deserve."

With Yeseo bent over like this, it's a tight fit for the both of you. But you rail the woman. No mercy. All the restraint you had when taking the virginity of either hole is gone now, nothing but raw need and animal instinct driving the motion. The wet smack of your balls against her pussy, the squeaks of her own need, the sounds of the room fill you, fill her, fill Mashiro, and there's no stopping you from taking Yeseo's ass like you mean it.

It's all Yeseo can do to hold onto the edge of the nightstand for dear life. For good measure, Mashiro spanks the slut. The slut loves it. She's basically humping the furniture now, trying to get any kind of friction on her clit, any kind of sensation to heighten her pleasure.

In this moment, the world could be falling apart around you, but you wouldn't care. You just want to keep pounding away at this beautiful woman's ass. Your hands grip her hips, and you thrust inside as far as you can.

Yeseo's breath catches as she feels her ass clench around the base of your cock. Her face is one of pure ecstasy, her mouth forming a perfect O shape.

"Oh fuck, oh god, aaaah," Yeseo cries out. "I'm gonna cum, fuck, Daddy, I'm cumming!"

You don't announce it as loudly, just a sharp groan, solid grip of her hips, pulling her down onto your cock where balls-deep you unload into her. Your second climax is no less powerful than the first, shooting rope after thick rope of hot cum into Yeseo's asshole. You can feel it twitching around you, like Yeseo's trying to milk every last drop out of your cock. She's gasping for air, her body shaking. Mashiro kisses her neck and shoulder to soothe her.

You pull out slowly, letting her feel the loss of your cock. A glob of semen slips out of her gaping asshole, a strand of cream down her lithe legs.

Finally, you're spent, the well of your lust and energy dry, the strength of your legs gone, the strength of your arms gone, the strength of your mind gone. The energy to do anything more than lay in bed is beyond you now.

Yeseo can't even do much of that, and you have to help carry her to the bed, where the three of you lie.

"Fuck. Is it... usually that much?" Yeseo asks, her fingers sliding between her thighs, feeling her sticky hole and slit.

Mashiro giggles. "No. Not by a long shot."

"You're so fucking tight Yeseo-yah, of course you'd get filled up so much."

"But, is this, like, how it is? Like, I'm gonna feel it for days?"

"It's not too bad, after a while. But yeah, you'll definitely be sore. I think I still am."

"Okay, Daddy." Yeseo leans into you, resting her head on your chest. On your other side, Mashiro joins in too. Yeseo sighs."It was really, really good. I... I knew it would be, but I had no idea. You were so gentle at first, and then so rough, like I needed it."

"Well, I'm glad," Mashiro says. "And don't worry. It gets better every time."

"Really?"

"Mhm. You've got a long way to go, Yeseo-yah, if you wanna get as good as Unnie."

"You're a good fuck," you tell Yeseo. "You've got talent, Yeseo-yah."

She giggles. "Thanks, Daddy."

Mashiro looks at you, smiling, and kisses your cheek. "So what do you think, Daddy? You okay with this being a regular thing?"

"I... yeah. I can deal."

"Good. Because next time, you're fucking us both. Together."

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AO3, AFF

[highonmarvel]

Heyy love your work. I wanted to make a request for Bucky Barne was thinking something like reader goes to his house for Christmas but then he forcefully drugs her with a syringe and she's held captive. But he's overal nice enough. He'd let her kick or scream or fight back. But then one day he lets her out of the basement or wherever he keeps her and she tries to escape and succeeds to some degree He manages to catch her and he snaps, gets angry and punishes her and she's scared cuz he snapped.

Winter

i love this! i’m sorry this isn’t proofread—i’m late as is and needed to get this out into the world so at least some people can read this as they lie in bed and have it be relevant. also, i’m so sorry, i left out the syringe bit because i got too into the plot i conjured up with the food coma here, sorry, sweetheart, but please, send another request if you really want to see it get done. let me know your thoughts, also to my sister @thehydraethereal. with that out of the way:

Bucky Barnes: A Christmas dinner opens your eyes to a new type of Winter.

additional content warnings here!

CONTENT WARNING, PLEASE READ: This piece includes graphic depictions of torture. Seriously, this is really dark; do not proceed if you are not comfortable with explicit descriptions of physical violence. This is your warning. This is fucking dark. I can not stress this enough. I am fucked up.

It wasn’t that you were technically averse to relationships or had commitment issues, you just feel like at this point in your life a solid relationship wasn’t really going to work. You had been travelling to the other side of the country quite a bit to take care of your sister, but this Christmas, your parents went down, so you didn’t really have an excuse to bail when Bucky invited you to dinner.

You don’t think you’re technically dating him–you don’t ever recall you or him asking the other to be their partner–but you’ve at least been going out with him for a few months. Guess you’d have to face him at some point; it’s been nearly three weeks since he had suggested you live together, which had caught you completely off-guard. You had managed to side-step the conversation at the time before making up some bullshit excuse to leave, and you haven’t had the courage to face him since.

Pulling into Bucky’s driveway always makes you feel a little uneasy; he doesn’t live like a hermit or overly secluded, but for some reason the houses in this suburb seem just a little too far apart for comfort–no one really has ‘neighbours.’

The scent of a very well-cooked meal carries right up to the front door, making you take a deep whiff before knocking.

“Hi, honey,” Bucky answers the door, leaning down to give you a kiss on the cheek.

“God, I’m practically drooling out here,” you say, and Bucky laughs as he steps out of the way and allows you in. “How long have you been standing?”

“Ah, a few hours,” he admits, sheepishly, watching you hang your coat up and rubbing the back of his neck when you raise your eyebrows at him.

“But it’s just the two of us, no?” you question as you lead him into the kitchen (maybe you being so casual in his home gave him the impression you’d like to move in with him).

“Yeah,” he replies, tailing you. “But I realised I don’t really know what you like and I panicked a bit.”

You giggle and that seems to ease his apparent embarrassment, allowing him to let out a breathless laugh as he moves into the kitchen, standing on the other side of the island as you settle on a stool.

“How have you been?” he inquires as he pours you a glass of wine, not making eye contact.

“Alright,” you reply, watching the red liquid slosh into the glass. “Glad to have some time off.”

“How’s your sister?”

You sigh and mouth a thank you to him as he slides the glass towards you. After a sip, you look up at him. “Better, I think, and she’s only allowed two visitors at a time–my parents really wanted to see her so I let them for Christmas, they don’t really get a chance otherwise.”

He hums in understanding as he puts on pink oven mitts and crouches down.

“Are you disappointed?” he asks loudly as he pulls a dish out of the oven.

You shrug. “I’d have liked to go, but I’m not all that sad about it. I don’t have much going for me in New York, so I was worried I’d be bored, but I’m having a good time.

“You just got here!” He laughs as he rises with a turkey.

“I know, but wine.” You raise your glass to him and peer into the ceramic dish. “Turkey?” you ask, which he responds to with a hum of affirmation.

“I don’t really like it, not sure if you do.”

“I like it. I would have thought you patriots like Thanksgiving stuff, though.”

You help him set up a few dishes across a small dining table and sit down.

“This was really sweet, Bucky.” You smile, tone sincere and nearly sappy as he cuts you a large leg of turkey. “Doesn’t this stuff make you sleepy?” you joke, and it takes him just a beat too long to chuckle.

“I think that’s a myth, actually,” he responds as he sits back down across from you.

“Really?” you raise your eyebrows as you dig your knife and fork into the leg. “I could have sworn...”

“Is it good?” he asks, watching you carefully, and with a kind of interest that makes you slightly uneasy, but you can’t deny it’s heavenly. You nod enthusiastically and point to the meat.

“God, this is great! You’d swear there was cocaine in here or something.”

Something lights in his eyes for a second, a spark you mistake for happiness. Bucky has always loved nothing more than to see you happy and relaxed: one of the reasons you were so drawn to him was his genuine desire to not only make you as happy as possible, but to appreciate that joy. Sometimes you got the impression making you happy pleased him almost as much as it pleased you, if not more. And it was times like these you felt bad you weren’t really able to make a commitment to him. He never seemed to mind it all too much, but you can tell it’s something he wants, and you almost feel like you’re taking advantage of his affection–but he knows, and you know, and if he isn’t happy with this arrangement, surely he’d say something.

But Bucky has to bite back the retort, “Well, not that drug.”

After a hearty meal you only put down when you feel you’re genuinely on the verge of passing out, you push away your plate. “Woo! I don’t know how I’m ever gonna work that off. I think I’ve gained, like, 10.”

“You're perfect the way you are,” Bucky says, leaning down to press his lips to your cheek as he clears the table.

You close your eyes and hum in delight, but you find it a little hard to open them again. When you manage to pry your eyes open again, it’s not much, still looking at the table through droopy lids. You stand and sway, rattling your chair as you grapple the table for support.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks as he reappears in your line of sight, brows furrowed in concern.

“Yeah,” you respond, squeezing your eyes shut and ripping them open again. “But I really should get going.”

“Get going?” he repeats, moving to your side for support as you stumble forward. “I don’t think you should drive right now.”

But you dismiss him with a wave of your hand, pushing off of him to stand up straight. You think you say, “I’m fine. I’ll call you.” but you can’t really make out the words through the slight slurring.

“Lie down,” he offers gently, taking a step towards his bedroom.

“No…” you tear your arm free of his grasp. You had spent the night with him before, but for a reason you can’t figure out, this time, something is screaming at you to decline.

“Really, darling, you need to,” he insists, his voice having dropped to a low murmur. He takes a step forward and you instinctively take a step back, feeling a little guilty when he stops dead in his tracks and something like hurt flashes across his features. You know something that makes Bucky wince is when he feels someone is afraid of him, and you can only imagine how he must feel now if you’re the one displaying apprehension.

You shake your head and turn away from him to the doorway.

“Hey...” You startle as you feel his grip on your forearm, gentle, but firm. “You’re not leaving.” The words are said in a sincerely concerned way, but the fact the statement came off as more of a command than a suggestion really triggers something in you.

“Bucky...” you groan as you uselessly try to pull away, feeling weaker than you otherwise would, even against him.

He doesn’t have to give too sharp of a tug to make you stumble into his arms, his hold on you steady, and, at any other time, safe, but now it feels more certain, somehow, almost possessive. You try to protest but you’re practically babbling incoherently under him, head lolled to the side as he adjusts his grip from under your arms to pick you up bridal style.

“Just lie down for a second...”

And you’re too out of it to notice he’s passed his bedroom door.

***

It’s difficult to open your eyes again, your lashes stuck together as you turn your head over. When vision slowly comes back to you, you’re met with a midcentury wooden bedside table you don’t recognise. You prop yourself up on your forearm and squint into the room, looking for any signs of familiarity, and the only thing you recognise is the thing you dread.

“What…” you begin to mutter, and Bucky looks up from the book he’s reading with a smile.

“You’re up.” He stands from the chair positioned by ‘your’ (this isn’t your bed) beside and moves to sit on the edge, placing a hand to your forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

You weakly slap his hand away as you start to really wake up and realise what’s going on.

“I’m not… this isn’t… what…” you can’t really find the words to ask the questions you need answers to.

“It’s your Christmas present!” he says with a grin, standing to make a grand gesture with his arms, out to the room. I’ve got your favourite books here, I remember you telling me you used to want a four poster princess bed.” He points to the ceiling and sure enough, pretty curtains hang over your head. “But if you don’t like it I can change it.” He shrugs and stands somewhat nervously as he waits for you to react.

“What… the fuck.”

He tsks and swings his arms back and forth, rocking on his heels.

“I set it up for you a few weeks ago, I didn’t know if you’d be comfortable sleeping with me every night, I know you like your space.”

“Are you out of your mind!?” You throw the sheets off of you and manage to stand, even though your head feels a little heavy.

He sighs and steps forward. “I know it feels like–”

“Oh, you know what it feels like? You know what it feels like to be ostensibly kidnapped by your boyfriend?”

He blushes. “So I am your boyfriend.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” You throw a pillow at him (ineffective but it was the nearest thing) which he catches with ease and turns over to reveal an embroidered flower. “I made this,” he says, proudly.

“What the fuck!?” you shriek as you throw another pillow at him, this one he dodges easily.

You’ve never seen him like this, nearly giddy and, in this context, borderline delusional. It makes you grip onto your hair and bunch your fingers into the locks. “Oh, my god, you’re insane!”

“I’m not the one yelling and throwing things,” he mutters, and your eyes snap up to his.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you begin, exasperated. “I’m so fucking sorry I don’t react well to crimes committed against me.”

“You came into my house.”

“Yes, but I didn’t come into this room! Do you really expect me to believe I can just leave anytime? That that door isn’t locked. You think I’m fucking stupid?”

He gently tosses the pillow back onto the bed and winces. “I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

“Bucky,” you begin, carefully, voice dangerously low as you step up to him. “I don’t know what in god’s name has gotten into you, but I’m not having it. I’m leaving.”

“Sweetheart, you really don’t intimidate me.” And the way he says it with such sincere pity makes you shove at his chest. He doesn’t stumble, but he takes a step back for your benefit.

You match his step and poke your finger in his chest, glaring up at him with more fury than you thought you had and trying your hardest not to wrap your hand around his throat. What really pisses you off is his patronising speech; you can tell he genuinely thinks he’s doing good, and that he honestly feels bad that you can’t appreciate it, that you’re weaker than him, and it boils your blood. Apathy or even mockery would be better than this condescending way he’s deluded himself into believing this is for your benefit.

“Don’t call me sweetheart, you piece of shit. If that door is locked, you’re gonna unlock it, and you’re going to leave me the fuck alone.” You practically spit the words at him through gritted teeth, seething to the point you can feel heat radiating from your body and wouldn’t be surprised if there was literal steam coming out of your ears.

“Sit down, angel.”

“Talk to me like that again and there will be nothing angelic about what I do to you.”

“Your mother called.”

That gets your attention and your anger dissipates for a moment. “Really? What did she say?”

When he guides you to sit down, you’re not really in the space to fight him off, waiting to hear any news from your family.

“They’re coming down in a few days, for New Year’s, and, they’re bringing your sister–they say she’s stable enough for travel.”

You feel your eyes begin to water at the thought of your sister being that strong, of being able to talk to her like you used to, before she got sick. But you snap out of it, and that swelling in your heart turns to something close to anxiety, but closer to suspicion. “Why are you telling me this?”

He scoffs as if you’re asking him if the sky is blue. “Because I know you want to see them. I told them they could stay with us for a few days.”

“With us?”

He just blinks. “Yes, with us.”

“You must be out of your fucking mind if you think…” And the next few hours are spent with you screaming in his face, swinging punches which he easily dodges, but sometimes he humours you and allows you a hit–not like it hurts anyway. His calm demeanour and ‘care’ makes you infuriated beyond belief, and by the end of the night the room has been trashed, there are scratches on the door from your desperate clawing and pounding, your voice is hoarse from all the yelling, and you’re exhausted while Bucky is no more beaten than when you first woke up.

Eventually, you’ve physically exhausted yourself so much you can’t even push him away when he climbs into bed next to you and holds you in his arms, placing your head against his chest and caressing your hair, which he knows always relaxes you and helps you fall asleep.

***

You only know it’s morning when you wake up because Bucky greets you with it, but it doesn’t take long for your attention to fall to the walls, noticing there aren’t any windows.

“We’re in the basement, you know.” Bucky comments, watching your eyes dart around the room and catching on to what you’re doing. “I don’t have a spare room, you know that.”

You’re nearly tired of glaring daggers at him seeing as he doesn’t really feel it–if anything, it seems to spur him on, like he doesn’t really care what you do as long as he gets some kind of reaction out of you. If you remained as stoic as he did, maybe that would give him pause for thought, but you really can’t resist the urge to attack him, and he somehow sees it as endearing, like any attention you give him makes his heart swell.

Initially, you refuse his invitation for breakfast upstairs, but when that morning grumpiness subsides, you let your stubbornness fall away in favour of opportunity. This really solidifies in your mind Bucky is so convinced you’ll stay that he doesn’t really worry about turning his back on you as he flips an egg.

“Where’re you going?”

You stop dead in your tracks, shocked he had heard you get up when you were practically sneaking like a cartoonish villain.

“To the bathroom,” you lie, to which he responds with a simple, “Okay.”

It’s too easy, but you’d rather take your chances than wonder if this is some kind of setup. You have to get out of here as soon as possible, so you don’t have time to look for your car keys, but you hesitate at the door. It’s beginning to snow, and you’re not dressed anywhere near enough to make it to a neighbour–the only thing that had kept you warm before coming up to see him was that nice coat, but it’s not on the rack anymore.

There’re only a few locks you have to turn to quietly open the door, your teeth chattering as a cold breeze hits you so hard it’s painful, like your skin is literally freezing onto your bones. You’re barefoot, no less. You can’t kid yourself into thinking you won’t lose a toe or some extremities in the process, but you can not stay. It really has only been one night, but something you’ve never liked in your life is being trapped, makes your skin crawl to the point you’d rather shed it than be deprived of freedom, especially when you’ve got the chance to see your family soon. And besides, it’s really not that long of a walk to the next house, you won’t die out there, but you can only vaguely make it out through the snow, and if you scream, it’ll surely be drowned by the harsh winds. With one last glance behind you, you step into the snow, and instantly regret it, your feet set close to frozen in just a few seconds, and goosebumps rising so quickly across your skin it feels like you’ve suddenly broken out in hives. And just as you consider turning back, you’re shoved forward, and you shriek as you land face first in the snow, afraid of crying at the impact lest your tears turn to ice right on your cheeks.

You’re gripped by the arm and pulled upright, before being again pushed further away from the house you can feel radiating warmth just through the open door. You gasp for air as you manage to bring yourself to your hands and knees, fingers curling into the snow and slowly becoming numb. A harsh gust blows, nearly knocking you off balance, and you squint to look up at the door, Bucky standing before you in little more than a long-sleeved t-shirt (he’s more underdressed than you) and sweatpants, hair still a little messy with sleep, but the look in his eyes, it’s a look you’ve never been on the receiving end of–in fact, you’ve never even seen it, but you can recognise it immediately.

“You forget I’m the Winter Soldier.” You’re not sure how his deep growl manages to carry across the howling of the winds, but you don’t have time to figure it out before a metal hand grips a fistful of your hair and you’re dragged through the snow, instinctively trying to plant your feet in the ground to stop him but even if you could match his strength, the cold is unbearable, and your legs are starting to feel numb, yet still stiff.

You don’t have time to be grateful that you’ve been thrown back into warmth as you slide across the floor and Bucky kicks the door shut behind him. From a hallway table, he pulls out a wrench, and you struggle to get your arms and legs to move away from him as he approaches you, menacingly.

You don’t know how such slow and heavy footsteps manage to catch up to you so quickly, but soon he’s got his boot pressing down on your ankle, preventing you from doing more than thrashing around. He leans down and grips your face roughly, forcibly pulling you up to meet him, and his eyes are so void of emotion he nearly looks dead. He doesn’t look angry, he looks like he just can’t feel.

“I do all this for you, and you can’t even offer me a pretty little smile.” His large fingers reach into your mouth, pulling your lips and teeth apart wide, wide enough for him to shove the wrench into your mouth and attach it to one of your teeth. “You don’t know what you have until it’s gone. Maybe you’ll appreciate it more if it just wasn’t the same.” You feel your gum twist and let out a cry, gurgling through your throat. Your frail fingers grasp onto his wrist as you desperately try to shake your head, but his strong hold prevents you from it. He twists a little more and you squeeze your eyes shut, holding your breath, before he eventually pulls out and you gasp for dear life, tears stinging your vision.

He roughly tugs you up and practically throws you into a nearby chair, before taking your hand with surprising gentleness, caressing your hurting fingers with the back of his for a moment before adjusting his grip to bring the wrench back forward.

“Now this is no good…” he remarks, moving his head to see more of your frostbitten marks you’re sure will leave scars. “You know what happens to these?” The wrench attacks itself to your index finger and Bucky adjusts its width so it’s threatening to chop your finger right off.

You scream at him to let go, kicking at his legs gets no reaction out of him, but don’t dare to move the hand he’s still holding.

“What if I just…” He twists only slightly and your skin breaks, blood seeping down from your frayed skin and dripping onto your thigh.

Just as you’re about to let out an unstoppable shriek of pain, Bucky’s metal hand presses to your mouth, stopping the sound going any further than echoing off his palm for only you to hear again. He twists more and you move your wrist with it, trying anything to stop him from twisting your finger off. He notices this and removes his other hand from your mouth to hold your wrist firmly in place.

“Bucky, please–”

“Shut up!” he shouts, his hold on you tightening even further. He lowers his face to yours with wide eyes, jaw clenched impossibly tight, and speaks in a dangerously low register, his voice trembling with fury as he tries to hold it together, at least in demeanour if not in action. “You really fucked up, and if you don’t have any fingers, you won’t be able to open my door ever again.”

✪

[my beloved taglist: @cowboysnbugs, @keito-123, @vogueprincess, @cjand10, @mybabygirllove]

[princessbrunette]

okok line cook jj who is absolutely obsessed with the new doe eyed pretty smile waitress. she’s always so nice and patient with the crew even if they’re behind, getting yelled at ect. they flirt and she always gets all blushy and shy, and he just loves it. one day she ends up in the kitchen teary eyed and covered in coffee from an angry customer and jj just looses his shit cause his girl is obviously upset and even possibly hurt and how dare they.

this anon had my tummy hurting and everything like omg i love it sm .

he’d fall for you as soon as he’d lay eyes on you.

jj definitely didn’t have a type and his track history was living proof— however, with all the girls he’d hooked up with in the past they tended to be a little on the sassier side, confident, bites back and can handle the loud mouth that belongs to none other than the man himself— but he’d never felt deeply for any of them, happy to part ways with them when the fun was all over. you however, you were something else entirely.

it was like watching a baby deer trying to learn how to walk when you were brought into the restaurant as the new waitress hire. clearly you’d had no idea just how busy the beachside restaurant got, but you’d tried to adapt quickly. for the first few weeks you were skittish, dropping the occasional plate, tripping over extended legs from tables and forgetting a couple of orders — but surely enough the customers took a liking to you anyway. of course they did, you were adorable, polite, pretty and young — you could have set the place on fire and your manager would probably have let you off with a slap on the wrist.

jj was dead set on getting to know you, hell— he’d even consider himself your guide, befriending you and helping you out whenever he could. he’d have your order ready first everytime, greeting you with a wink that flustered you as he’d carefully hand you the plate and watch you shuffle off to find the corresponding table. he’d gently manoeuvre you out the way with hands on your hips when he needs to get behind you in the busy kitchen on chaotic shifts, smirking to himself at the way you get all doe eyed and embarrassed whenever he did it. it never took much to fluster you, and your sweetness had apparently been just what JJ had craved.

he noticed you started to come to him for everything, and it made his heart swell with pride. toeing nervously into the kitchen during a quieter shift, not many of the staff around that evening. “excuse me, jj?” he remembers your polite voice calling from behind him as he chops some bell peppers. he’s wiping his hands on his apron as he glances over his shoulder at you before turning around fully, giving you his full attention.

“yeah?” he breathes, almost silenced by how pretty you are.

“sorry to disturb you but theres some guys arguing really loud in the restaurant and i think they’re gonna fight and the security guy isn’t in today… dont really know what to do…” you shrug, clammy hands subconsciously playing with your work uniform. he could tell whatever had happened out there has made you uncomfortable, not a fan of confrontation or big scary men yelling. he’s quick to nod, tossing the dish-cloth he was about to wipe the surface with over his shoulder and placing a hand on your arm, looking down at you reassuringly.

“hey, you’re good, i’ll handle it, yeah?” he nods, brushing past you briskly and out the kitchen doors into the restaurant. it was night time, so the restaurant overlooking the beach only had a few customers dotted around eating their meals, equally disturbed by the loud quarrel the two seemingly tipsy men were having. you follow him to the door, watching him saunter out toward them without a care in the world. you liked that about jj, he wasn’t scared of nothing.

“alright ladies, pack it up. go kiss n’make up somewhere else, bein’ waaay too loud and i don’t think these people paid for dinner and a show.” he waves them off, the two men standing at their table having their argument.

“stay outta this kid, i ain’t going nowhere ‘til he gives me what he owes me!” one of them barks back, slamming his fist down on the table making you jump as the cutlery clatters. JJ doesn’t flinch in the slightest, stepping up closer.

“yeah, i wasn’t asking. you’re disturbing my waitress and quite frankly you’re pissing me off, so again, i’m gonna have to ask you to leave.” you pushed down the way ‘my waitress’ made you feel, knowing he was likely just throwing it out there without meaning.

“you think i give a fuck ‘bout how ‘ya waitress feels? we’re doing business here. why don’t you go back to the kitchen, huh?” the other man waves him off, and you see his eyes flutter in irritation a little at the mention of you. he locks his eyes on the man, oddly calm and steps closer, staring him down.

“i’m not askin’ again. leave.” JJ warns.

“or what, blondie?”

“or I beat the shit out of you and your little friend.”

you were happy your manager wasn’t in that evening, because JJ would have gotten in lots of trouble. like that one day, a few weeks later during an afternoon shift, patrons from the nearby golf course having swarmed in for their lunch. JJ had been chatting away with another cook in the kitchen at his post, laughing and swatting eachother with the dish rags when the doors swung open, making him double take when he’d clocked on that it was you. your eyes didn’t find his with a bright smile and fluttery eyelashes like they always did, in fact you didn’t look at him at all. upon further inspection, your uniform was drenched with brown liquid, assumably coffee even dripping from the ends of your hair. your bottom lip wobbled as you headed toward the cloakroom through the back.

JJ’s smile fell off his face and he chased after you, skidding to a stop infront of you as he places both hands on your shoulders.

“hey, hey what happened out there?” he speaks gently, gentler than you hear him speak with the other cooks anyway.

“some guys coffee was cold, so— so he dumped it on me. i’ll be fine, just— just need to change my clothes and go and clean up the mess out there and—” youre wiping your tears off your cheeks, mortified, and when you open your eyes again JJ’s no longer right there, the only sign of his existence being the sight of the kitchen door swinging. you curiously follow, standing in the doorway like you did last time. his eyes had scanned the room, quickly honing in on the older, sweaty Kook in an ugly polo loudly complaining about the ‘help’ with a puddle of coffee beside his table.

he didn’t think, striding over, lips pressed in a firm line. he grabs the man by his collar and yanks him with such a force out of his seat that his chair tips back and falls, skidding along the polished wooden floor. gasps ring around the restaurant, an imaginary spotlight shining on the blonde as he grips the man with white knuckles, looking down his nose at the flailing Kook struggling to get his footing.

“you think it’s okay to humiliate my waitress, huh? you think that shits all sweet? someone oughta teach you—” he’s hissing between grit teeth with a trembling voice when the security guard runs over to tear him off.

“maybank.” the officer warns with a knowing tone and JJ lets the man go, not without shoving him back by the chest first, a spiteful, quick adrenaline fuelled laugh leaving him as he did so.

“yeah, nah, we’re all good. get this asshat out of here though.” he backs off, letting the guard escort the shaken man away to the exit, probably profusely apologising on JJ’s behalf. he pants, watching him leave before looking around at the entire restaurants eyes on him, staring in shock. he scratches his cheek before holding up his hand. “hope y’all are enjoying the food.” he calls out, making eye contact with your manager who stands leaning against the bar with her arms crossed, shaking her head at him. he swears under his breath, before storming back toward the kitchen, not even glancing at you as he storms past you, knowing he’s in trouble.

he heads towards the staff cloakroom, yanking his apron off and beginning to punch the code into his locker, clearly deciding the best way to deal with this was to take off. you follow him, standing in the doorway.

“jj, you shouldn’t have done that.” you scold him softly, watching him screw up his apron and stuff it into his locker, rooting around for his stuff.

“yeah, well i did, so…” he doesn’t turn to acknowledge you, still out of breath with a noncommittal tone.

“you’re… you’re gonna get in trouble. i don’t want you to get fired.”

he suddenly turns to you when you approach at his side. “you think i want that either?” he snaps before softening, seeing the way your eyes widened in hurt confusion. “i’m sorry. i… i just don’t like how these assholes get to roam around and do what they want. they can direct all that shit towards me, i don’t care, i can take it…” he takes off his backwards hat, raking his hands through his hair. “but… but not you! they don’t get to talk to you like that. someone’s gotta show them, you know?” he rants and you soften, stepping closer.

“thank you.” is all you say, pressing your hands to his shoulders and standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. you offer him a small smile, before turning around and heading back toward the door. you turn before you leave, his body still twisted towards you as he watches you in awe, suddenly a lot calmer. “no one’s made me feel safe like you do, jj.” you state before heading away.

he sighs, turning back toward his locker and leaning his forehead against the cool metal, screwing his eyes shut for a moment just breathing. when he turns back around, you’re gone, replaced by the disapproving glare of your manager.

“you wanna talk about what just happened?” she tilts her head.

“well, no— but i feel like i don’t really have a choice.” he forces a fake smile. it was gonna be a long day for jj.

[hellodropbear]

like she used to (VI)

alexia putellas x sister

part I, II, III, IV, V

~~~~~~

When I asked, Aitana told me there was nothing wrong when she followed Alexia outside. She told me that Mapi hadn't been out there and that she really did need help with her dribbling. 

It was a lie, of course. I am not naive. 

She told me that I was staying at her house tonight, and tomorrow she will call Alba. They were not lies, that much I could tell. 

I don't want her to call Alba, but I don't think I have a choice in that decision.

Aitana and Mapi don't think I should be alone at the moment. Apparently, I have not been taking good enough care of myself to be trusted by myself in my own house.

Their thought is supposed to make me feel comforted, loved. But really, all it makes me feel is frustrated. Weak.

Weaker than I already am.

I am almost 16, I should be able to take care of myself.

I don't tell them that I miss Mami, or that I wish she didn't work until late every night, because I don't want her to pull away from her job. She loves it there, it gives her time away from her children and she can earn money for her future.

I don't tell them that I wish Alba would realise that something is wrong, without having to be told. I can't pull her away from her friends, her job. Her life that doesn't really involve me anymore.

So I don't tell them anything, falling back into the silence as I get into Aitana's car, ignoring her eyes that seemed glued to the side of my face.

"I miss you, Elena."

Her words are almost silent, and if I hadn't strained my ears I wouldn't have been able to hear them.

I know what she means, she misses the person I used to be. I don't know how to tell her that I miss her to, but I just can't seem to find her anymore.

For some reason, her words trigger a sudden swirl of anger, of frustration within me and I am replying before I can even think about what is coming out of my mouth.

"Then leave me alone!"

Aitana recoils and looking back, I can recognise that my words were too harsh. Too harsh to one of the few people who had actually been looking out for me.

But my sadness has morphed into concealed anger over the past few days, a raging fire inside me that is fighting to escape, fighting to explode in the worst way possible.

There is not enough water to put the fire out, my weak attempts only making it grow and grow.

It is just unfortunate that Aitana was the one who had to witness the explosion. If you can even call it that.

Because the tsunami wave is growing, I can feel it building inside of me. It is only a matter of time before it crashes and I feel tense as I wait for the inevitable destruction.

"Elena-" Her voice was soft, too soft. Too kind and too even.

They always were. Mapi and Aitana were always too nice, too caring and too nurturing, even when all I wanted was for someone to scream at me. Someone to yell, to tell me this was all my fault just so I could have someone to blame.

It is too hard to blame Alexia because I love her too much.

It is too hard to blame Alexia because I have been grieving her like she is dead. You do not blame a dead person for dying.

I want to be punished, to be screamed at. I want someone to tell me that I should be like this, to tell me that this is all my fault. I want someone to watch as I cry, to allow me to just release every single thing that is inside of me so I can stop feeling like this.

Stop feeling the sadness, stop feeling the hurt, stop feeling the anger, the loneliness, the isolation.

Stop feeling at all.

Because it all hurts so much, feeling hurts me so much and I want to stop hurting. I want to be safe, comfortable. I want to be loved, to be warm.

I want to be held in Alexia's arms like she used to.

Her hand combing through the knots in my hair, allowing me to fall asleep in her lap.

They were the times I felt most comfortable, right there on the couch, in her arms.

Because she was the sister I went to when I needed comfort, when I needed to cry about all of life's problems. To be frustrated, angry. When I didn't want to be cheered up, when I didn't want to be positive.

To just be miserable.

But it was hard to be miserable when I was consumed by her smell, her touch. The love I could only find in my sister.

And I wish I could get that same comfort from Alba. From Aitana or from Mapi. From anyone that was willing to give it to me.

But I don't think it is that simple.

"I just... I can't do it any more."

Aitana frowns, as if debating inside her what to do.

"What do you need, Lena?"

Her voice cracks. She doesn't know what to do anymore. Similar to how Mapi didn't know what to do with me.

All I need is Alexia, her love and affection. But it is one of the only things I can't get.

So I don't respond, because I can't give her the answer that I want, but there is nothing else that will suffice.

"I don't know why I asked that question. You want Alexia, no?"

I look out the window as I nod.

"Of course I want Alexia!" A tear falls from my eye, although my words do not sound sad, they sound angry.

Because I feel angry, with everything.

But I also feel everything, every emotion giving me whiplash as I finally feel myself breaking.

Aitana hesitates, placing her hand on my shoulder.

"Hey. Hey, Elena, look at me."

I don't turn my head immediately, first trying to shrug her hand off my shoulder but giving up when her grip stays firm, her hand not even budging.

A strangled cry leaves my mouth and I slowly turn my head, my eyes meeting her wet ones.

"What is wrong with me?"

We are in a car, so it is difficult for Aitana to hug me, but she tries her best, reaching over the centre console and wrapping her arms around my trembling body.

"There is nothing wrong with you, Elena. You are going through such a hard thing, but there is nothing wrong with you."

"Why does she hate me so much?"

I whisper through my tears, but Aitana hears me loud and clear.

"She doesn't hate you, not at all. She loves you so much but sometimes it is just hard for her to show it."

"It shouldn't be so hard, it never used to be like this."

~~~~~~

August 23, 2012.

Papi's office door has been closed for too long.

A few months ago, Mami told me that he had died, that he was never coming home. I didn't believe her, so I sat by his locked door, waiting for him to come home and play the piano with me.

But he never did.

Things changed a lot around the house too. Mami started working more and Alexia also started playing more football. Often, it was Alba and me alone at home.

I would sit by the office door, Alba would lie on the sofa, staring at the tv. I don't think she was really paying attention to what was happening because, like Ale and Mami, Alba has not really been doing much at all since Papi left.

But now he has been gone for ages. A long time.

A time that has been so long that I find myself believing Mami. Papi will never come back from heaven.

They say that heaven is a good place, where everyone is happy and everyone gets what they want.

But Papi is in heaven without me. Does that mean he is happy without me? He doesn't want me any more?

The thought crosses my mind over and over, day after day. But I do not tell Mami, because she misses Papi too. I don't want her to think that Papi doesn't want her anymore.

Because why else would he stay there without us.

Alexia cries when I tell her my suspicions. I am sat in the back of her car as she drives me to her training after kindergarten, but she pulls over when the words spill out during my long ramble about my day.

I had been telling her all about the arts and crafts that we had been doing, what I ate for lunch and how I couldn't sleep at nap time. She asked me why, and I told her that it was because my brain was moving too much and I couldn't get the wriggly creatures out and get to sleep.

"What were you thinking about that was so wriggly, pequena?"

She had glanced at me through the rear view mirror, so I could see her frown. I saw it deepen as I explained the reason and watched her indicate and pull over to the side of the road.

She was quick to get into the back seat with me, easily pulling me into her arms and allowing her fat tear drops to fall onto my head.

"That is not true, Elena. Heaven is not a place people want to go to. They only go when they have no choice. Because if Papi had the choice, he would be at home with us. At home where he belongs, teaching you to play the piano, giving you cuddles and kisses, giving you baths, feeding you dinner, singing you to sleep. He is not happy without us, without you, but he is always up there, watching us and making sure we are all happy, making sure that we are all ok."

That was the moment that I realised what death meant, and that was the moment that I started to cry.

"Papi is gone forever? He can not come home, Mami said. But why, Alexia? Why can't he come home?"

Her arms tightened around me and she exhaled quietly before speaking.

"He was sick, p, very sick. His body couldn't handle the sickness and one day it stopped working. You can't live without a working body, so he went to heaven. He died, Elena, and we can't do anything to bring him back."

I didn't have a response for that. All I could do was cry, sobbing into my sisters arms in the back seat of her car on the side of the main road.

Her keys were still in the ignition, the engine still running as my body wracked with sobs, apparently contagious as Alexia dissolved into quieter cries into my hair.

I think I fell asleep there, because the next thing I knew, Alexia was carrying me into the house.

My eyes stung and my face felt dry, but as soon as we walked inside the house, I knew where Ale was taking me.

The chestnut door had not been unlocked in months, but I remember that the key was kept in the top draw of the shelf in the lounge. I couldn't reach the draw, but I grabbed the key as soon as it was in Alexia's hand, reaching down from where I was balanced on her hip as she walked silently down the hallway.

I could feel her breath catch when the door opened and my own stomach filled with butterflies as she sat down on the piano stall, sitting me right in her lap.

"Do you want to play your song?"

I shook my head. It didn't feel right playing without Papi beside me. His study felt haunted, almost, like he should be right behind me, ready to scoop me us and cover me in kisses once I finished my song.

But deep inside of me I knew he would not be there, yet it would be impossible to prepare myself for the disappointment that I would feel when he wasn't there.

So I curled up into my older sister who easily wrapped her arms around my trembling form, planting a soft kiss on my hair.

"Papi loves you so much, Elena. So, so much. He will always be up there looking out for you and I will help him out by being the one to look after you down here. I will always love every bit of you because you are my best friend, pequena."

I had nodded, responding meekly.

"You are my best friend too, Ale. I love you as well."

I fell asleep in her lap again, but the next time I woke up, it was beside her in her bed.

And I was comfortable, because my sister means everything to me.

She is the person who will be there for me forever.

~~~~~~

I was angry for the next few weeks, despondent when Mapi or Aitana tried to get anything out of me.

But they had gone over me and decided that even though I didn't want to, they would call Alba to at least let her know that I wasn't ok.

I had listened to them on speaker phone to each other from the other room, although I didn't want anyone to realise how much I actually cared. How nervous I was of rejection, of Alba not caring.

But to say she cared was an understatement.

"What do you mean, 'she's not doing well?'" Alba's voice was frustrated, that much was clear. "Is it because of Alexia? The pressure in the first team? She promised she would tell me if she needed me."

It was Mapi who responded, knowing Alba better than Aitana.

"It's everything, Alba. It is obvious when you see it, so we've been looking after her for the past two months."

"Why didn't you call me earlier? I would have been there immediately!"

She was frustrated by them, but I dread her reaction when she is told why they didn't call her earlier. Because it, like many problems in my life, is all my fault, a decision that I made. A decision that Mapi and Aitana did not agree with.

But when Aitana responded, she did not say what I expected her to.

"We didn't realise how bad it was. But she does need you, Alba, please come at some point."

"I am in the car, driving now. Where are you?"

She was clearly annoyed, her voice was very telling.

"We are at mine." Mapi's voice was soft, and I could hear her sigh as Alba hung up.

I sat back down quickly as they returned to the lounge room, not noticing Ingrid's eyes on me from where she was in the kitchen.

"Alba is coming now." Mapi spoke softly, sitting down on the sofa, leaving a large distance between us.

"I am going to go home now." I looked at Aitana as she spoke and nodded. She waved to Mapi and Ingrid, grabbing her bag and heading out.

Alba arrived not long after, practically storming inside, concern etched into her frown.

"Elena." She gasped softly, sitting herself down right beside me and wrapping one arm around me.

"Elena, what has happened?"

I shrug nonchalantly, not volunteering any information. I watched as Mapi cowered under Alba's strong glance, apparently not sure what she should say.

Ingrid was calm as she entered, however, placing a cup of coffee in front of Alba and then her girlfriend.

"Elena has been staying here for a while, some nights she's been with Aitana."

"Have you been sleeping? You look tired. You are also pale, Elena. Why didn't you tell me? Even if Maria and Aitana didn't think it was necessary, why didn't you say something when we were on the phone?"

Alba studies me closely, stress evident in her voice.

It reinforces my decision to not tell her anything until I am ok again, because now she will be everywhere.

I can't live with her because she lives far from the training ground and doesn't have the time to take me to training, but she will be everywhere else.

There is another uncomfortable silence, broken again by Ingrid.

"She didn't want to be a burden on you. She kept saying how you have your own life and you shouldn't have to look after her."

Alba just shakes her head, her arm securing around my waist and facing me more directly.

"You were wrong, Elena! I am your older sister. Just because Ale and you are not getting on does not mean you ice me out as well."

My face remains blank as she reprimands me, barely registering her words.

"Are you even listening to me? Elena! Please, just let me in."

Her voice breaks and Ingrid looks at Mapi, nodding out of the room. They exit and Alba seems glad to have some privacy.

"Why have you not been staying with Mami?"

"Not my choice."

I am embarrassed about how weak my voice is, but I can't muster any more strength.

All of my strength is used up at training, ensuring I am improving, proving my worth. I have to be good enough to stay there.

It is when I get home that things fall apart, so tired, so emotional. It is easier to be emotionless than emotional.

"Was it lonely at home, when Mami was working?"

I nod.

"And when did you start staying with Maria and Aitana?"

I shrug.

"Couple months ago. Soon after the first game. I told Mapi that I felt confused and lonely so she said I would stay with her."

Alba nods, frowning softly. When she speaks again, her voice is soft.

"I wish you would have told me. I am sorry for not noticing. It's still bad with Ale?"

I can't blame her for not knowing, she said months ago that she was going to stay out of our drama.

"We barely look at each other. It hurts, everything... hurts."

I don't cry because I don't think there are any tears left in me.

"And I don't know what to do because she was always the one I went to when I was feeling confused or when I needed things to make sense. You would cheer me up, but she would clear things up."

She nods, looking at me intently, clearly listening.

"And now I can't talk to her and nothing makes sense anymore. I don't understand anything and I just feel so... full. Like I could just burst at any moment but I'm not going to because I don't think I would deal with that very well. And I can't sleep at night because my thoughts won't stop. It's like as soon as I rest my head on the pillow they just start going and I can't stop them and I can't clear them out because-"

She interrupts me.

"Because Alexia was the one who used to get rid of the wriggly thoughts, no?"

I nod and lean my head on her shoulder.

"Have you played the piano much in the past few weeks?"

She knows that it was my way of releasing my emotions.

I haven't, so I shake my head.

"We will change that, ok? I am going to take you home for the afternoon and we'll get some of your clothes, some things you want from home because I do think it is good that you are here with Ingrid and Mapi. And you can play your piano. It'll make you feel better, I'm sure."

I nod, standing up from the sofa and walking out onto the balcony to where Ingrid and Mapi are waiting.

"Alba is taking me home." I probably should have given some more explanation, because Mapi seems confused.

"Her house is too far from here, you can't stay there, Elena."

I nod.

"She's not taking me to hers, she's taking me to my house for the afternoon. I want to play my piano and I need some of my own stuff anyway."

The Spaniard seems to understand. She nods, standing up and pulling me into a hug.

"Call me if you need anything at all."

I nod, rolling my eyes in amusement. She is too good to me. I tap her head when she releases me from the hug and she laughs, moving to sit back down with Ingrid.

"You haven't used it because it's not great, but you can use my keyboard in the study whenever you want."

"Thanks, Ingrid."

~~~~~~

It was weird walking into my bedroom after such a long time not being here. Alba helped me pack clothes into suitcases, telling me over and over that this was all ok, that everything would be ok.

I think she was mainly trying to reassure herself; Alba has always been most effected by anything that breaks our once strong family unity.

But I am only 15. Almost 16 now, but I shouldn't be by myself every night.

Because they were right, I wasn't feeding myself, I wasn't taking care of myself. It wasn't good and it wasn't healthy.

And I will never forget the kindness that both Mapi and Aitana have shown me, stepping in like sisters when Alexia wasn't there like she should have been.

I think about them as I play my piano, my fingers easily falling back into rhythms that are like second nature.

I feel my tense body relaxing as the song flows on, transitioning between fast and slow, loud and soft. My head spins with thought, but the tears do not fall.

Despite the emotions raging inside of me, my face remains stoic, focused only on the intricate patterns my fingers are creating as they hit the keys so hard that there is a slight ache in my hands. My song is full of my emotions, yet it feels like they barely skim the surface of the raging ocean inside of me.

The ocean that keeps producing waves that crash and fall at any chance they can get, usually quelled by the piano, by the rhythms that hold the meanings and secrets of my life. The notes that have written who I am and what I stand for.

But today they do not stop, they barely even slow down and the lack of the release I am hungry for leaves me unsatisfied. The song doesn't explode as usual, instead slowing down to a anticlimactic ending, my hands recoiling from the keys as I frown down at my hands.

Because why is this happening?

The piano is supposed to make me feel better, but all it has done is make me feel more confused, more worried about everything happening outside.

And I feel betrayed. Betrayed by the piano, but betrayed by my father.

Because the piano connects me to him, and I always thought that as long as I could play the piano, he would be there watching me, guiding me. My connection with him is why the piano means so much to me; it is why I can release everything into the music and calm whatever negativity I may be feeling.

But today it feels like he is not here. And as my eyes rest on the picture above the piano, all I feel is disappointment.

Alexia told me that he would be there to watch me from above and she would be there to love me from where she would always be right next to me.

And I knew that if I had them everything would be ok.

But now... Now I have neither and my whole world is going to slowly fall apart. Piece by piece until there is nothing left but me and those stupid emotions that I can't stop thinking about.

The stupid emotions that I have begun to detest.

The stupid emotions that have ruined my life.

Apparently, I have a never ending supply of tears, because they begin to fall again, my arm slamming on the keys with a sob.

I always thought I would have my father there in my piano, that I could rely on the simple instrument for that love that I so deeply desired. And he has never once failed me. Not when I needed him, not when I wanted him. He was even there when I just wanted to play, to learn, to perform.

But right now, when I need him the most, he decides he won't be there.

And it must be my fault.

For the first time in months, I feel completely empty, void of any of the emotions that have consumed me for so long.

The air becomes blurry as I cry, my mind hazy and my senses obscured.

I don't know what is happening to me, but I can feel myself slipping away as my senses disintegrate into nothing.

I think I have broken myself. Because everything is all so confusing, things rushing through my mind and out so quickly that it feels like everything is falling out of me.

Maybe the tsunami wave has grown big enough that it is ready to crash. Maybe it is already crashing, washing away everything in it's path.

But I don't know if I dislike it, because for the first time in a long time, I feel peace. I don't feel so confused anymore because there is nothing left to be confused about.

It is just me, none of those emotions that sent me into constant overdrive, exhausting me but simultaneously preventing me from resting.

None of the emotions that I used to feel coming back to haunt me, no memories of what my life once was there to mock me, a heartbreaking illustration of everything I have lost.

It's all gone.

Everything has slipped away from me and I am finally calm.

It's just me, my piano and my tears.

So I close my eyes softly, my body folding over onto the piano as my sobs soften to quiet cries. A broken chord rings through my room as my head falls onto the keys and I allow myself to just sit there.

Just me, my piano and my tears.

My door opens, but I can't hear the voices that enter my room, or the footsteps that move towards me.

I don't register the bodies that sit on either side of me on the piano stall, or the worried words that escape from their mouths.

It all sounds like a distant murmur. My skin is numb to any contact.

I don't even register Alba grabbing my face and lifting it to stare into my tear-filled eyes. I don't register the soft slap she leaves on it and there is no way for me to notice the terror that is painted all over her face, even evident in her posture.

But another pair of arms wraps around me and everything comes crashing down.

Because they are arms that I will never not recognise. A hold that is tight enough to comfort me, tight enough to make sure I can't escape, but not too tight to choke me or make me feel trapped.

I used to say that Alexia's arms had some sort of magical powers, their innate ability to calm me down and set me straight was an ability that nobody else possessed.

And Alexia was right there, right next to me. A tear stained face that likely matched mine, her voice shaky and worried as she whispered my name over and over again, her tears falling onto my head.

But Alexia was right there, and everything that she has done came flooding back to me, so quickly that I didn't even have time to register it before her touch burned me, my body instinctively recoiling and standing up.

"No..." my voice was a raspy whisper but could be heard loud and clear by both my sisters.

"No, Alexia. No!"

I stepped out of the hold that both the piano stool and my sisters had on me, backing up to where my bags were, picking them up and fleeing the room.

Because I can't deal with this.

I can't deal with the tears that stain Alexia's face, the terror that was clear on Alba's.

Because this all is my fault.

And there is nothing I can do at this point to fix everything I have ruined.

~~~~~~

hope you enjoyed :)

part VII

[e-nonsense]

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗨𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗟'𝗦 𝗞𝗜𝗧𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗡 - 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵. 𝘻𝘦𝘳𝘰

prev / next | masterlist

pairing. batfam x batsis!reader + platonic!matt murdock x batsis!reader

warnings. swearing, child neglect, mentions of an accident that makes you blind, canon/typical violence, nothing goes with comics

series masterlist

You got to Gotham city when you were five, you didn't want to go but you had no choice your mother was dead, and had left you in the care of your father.

But even at five years old your father had no time for you. Always busy with the public, or with Batman.

At the time Dick was fifteen, he had no reason to care for a little sister, but Jason. Oh Jason Todd, to you he was an angel.

Your big brother who at eight years old you deemed cooler than Dick Grayson.

Everyday after patrol, he'd come up and check on you, tell you a story usually a more child friendly version of his missions.

You kept him grounded, you made all his anger go away, an anger you blamed Bruce for because when you two first met he wasn't angry he was a happy kid. Everytime you called his name, the soft mutter of "Jay" would knock some sense into him.

But after the accident, the one you went blind, you were nine nearly ten and Jason would stay fifteen, in that year you had lost two things.

Your sight, and your big brother.

You were often met with pity than concern because of it. Everyone always asking if you were alright, but never truly caring about the answer.

You heard about the headlines when it happened, "Y/n Wayne, gone blind" or "Gotham's little princess now Gotham's latest victim"

It's not like they actually cared, no of course not they only gave a shit about the publicity they'd get from selling stories like this.

You were only nine years old, you'd think five years would be enough to adjust.

Apparently not..

"Miss Wayne" you heard a gentle knocking at the door of your father's office- well it's your office now. Bruce signed Wayne Industries off to you, because it would make everyone's lives easier if you (someone they deemed quite useless) were actually doing something important, it gave them more vigilante time. Besides you finished school already, you were a smart kid, always top of your class you managed to skip a couple of grades and graduate early like super early.

You were a disappointed when nobody but Alfred turned up, then again you'd stopped caring about that a while ago. Jason - your beloved zombie brother - wouldn't stop apologising, and he took you for ice-cream and hung out with you for the rest of the night as an apology. You couldn't stay mad at him.

"Yes?" you'd been running the company for a few weeks, Alfred was usually helping you. Reading out things that weren't in braille, but since the first thing you did when you got Wayne Industries was buy braille embossers mainly 'cause you knew Alfred would always be there to help you with everything.

"Sorry to disturb you Miss, but y'know that guy that you fired last week?"

"Yeah, the one that was caught uh- having sex in the storage room right?"

"The very same Miss" if you could see right now Tani's face would be littered with pink on her cheeks, "He wants to sue"

"And?" you groaned, that came out harsher that you intended, you could sense that she understood.

"Well he's got a pretty compelling case against the company. When your father owned it that is, very incriminating"

"shit" you muttered under your breath, mentally thanking any godly being out their that Alfred wasn't there to hear you.

"how hard is it to get a good lawyer?"

"No" Matt's voice was firm, he didn't want to take the case and nobody could make him.

"no what do you mean, no" Foggy didn't get it, I mean he sort of did but you were offering a nice pay- like more than what's in their pay grade- but it had nothing to do with criminal law, sort of.

"I don't want to do it Foggy, it has nothing to do with my job or qualifications"

"I'm going to do it then"

"No" Foggy wasn't even listening, he had already walked out of the room and went to reply to the email your secretary had sent to him and various other lawyers.

Foggy stepped up to Tani's desk- Matt beside him- and smiled, eying to the elevator that led all the way up to your office, two security guards on each side. You had put them there for Tani because when she didn't let people up they'd harass her.

"Hi, we're here to see Miss Wayne" Foggy's voice only slightly louder than the crappy music in the background. Tani looked up, "name?"

"Nelson, Foggy Nelson"

For the first time since they arrived Matt talked, but only to utter his name.

"Through the elevator please"

They walked as silently as possible, neither in the mood to talk to one another. Once they were inside and going up Matt was talking.

"Y'know kid’s probably just gonna be another spoilt rich kid, who's daddy running the business behind their back because they can't do shit"

Foggy only let out a sigh, and walked through the elevator doors when he saw it open, only to reveal another door, one he assumed led to your office.

He was shocked to hear laughter coming from inside the room, what ever happened to professionalism?

"Alfie, I swear this guy was high-"

Matt heard a this 'Alfie' guy chuckle "Miss Wayne you can't say that about them, they're lawyers that came hear to help you"

"I know I know, but you should've seen them" you exaggerated the word seen and it made Alfred laugh.

But the laughter stopped when Foggy knocked on the door and Alfred cleared his through smiling while gesturing for them to come in.

"Oh my god, she's blind Matt" Foggy whispered, as he watched you move from leaning on the desk and stood up straight.

"Sorry I'd shake your hand but I'm not exactly sure where you are"

Matt smiled at that "Don't worry 'bout it, 'cause I don't know where you are either"

"He's blind" Foggy not so discreetly whispered to you.

"I can see that" you whispered back with a chuckle, you cleared you throat "now onto business then?"

"Of course"

Okay maybe Matt was a little wrong about you, alright very wrong about you. You were nothing like he imagined, but then again he hadn't put much thought to what you might be like.

He could tell that you could handle yourself, and that impressed him a lot. He could also tell that you were still grasping the ropes of being blind.

And well he wanted to help you, to train you. He thought it was funny, him training someone but he wanted to try. Maybe you could be the next Daredevil.... scratch that he didn't want that for you.

Now how is someone supposed to reveal a secret identity to a complete stranger?

ᴛᴀɢ/ꜱ: @fandxmslxt69 @jaguarthecat @bxdbxtxh15 @byebyeeye @8-29pm

© e-nonsense. do no copy/steal/translate. do it and I’ll bite your toes off

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕋𝕠: Notice

Jungkook knows the effect he has on people. So why won't you look at him the same?

Main Tags/Warnings: Model!Jungkook, Actor!Jungkook, Stylist!Reader, strangers/enemies to lovers, mentions of toxic beauty standards

Length: ~4k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

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Jeon Jungkook.

He's not really what you see every day visually in the modeling industry, and from what you've heard, he's also quite the charmer. Clearly he has to have something going on if his constantly changing partners are anything to go by- one google search of his name giving you several articles about different names he's allegedly participating in the sensual bedroom tango with. Not that you're surprised- most male models tend to make use of their name in order to get what they desire.

Kill or be killed- you can't really blame anybody for using what they have.

"Did you know he apparently has a yacht?" Lea wonders, eating her sandwich your brought her this morning, as she sits on a table close to you. "I've never even been on a fucking yacht before. Apparently those things are like, 500 thousand coins! Imagine!" She sighs, making you laugh along with her. "I can't believe someone just spends that much money on a boat of all things." She mumbles, trying not to get her new acrylics dirty with the sauce.

"Maybe once you have too much, you just don't care?" Haru wonders, setting up his camera equipment close by. "I've heard that money loses it's worth to those who have a lot of it." He offers, shrugging his shoulders as he adjusts some cables.

"I mean, probably." Lea agrees. "With all the brand deals he has, he's got to have his bank account packed with doubloons." She huffs. "Can't he spare us a million each? He won't miss it, I'm sure.." She whines, finishing her breakfast while you shake your head, laughing.

You're all joking around, but at the end of the day, you'll all probably stay where you are financially and career wise until the end of your days. And you yourself are fine with that- you've accepted the fact that the life Jeon Jungkook for example is living isn't something you yourself would want. That man get's snapped by paparazzi almost daily, he's got no privacy from what you can tell, and he can't even say his opinion without being destroyed for it.

No thank you, you rather stay a nobody than have your entire life displayed for the world to judge.

"What's the concept anyways?" You mumble, looking at Lea who shrugs.

"They said he wants to play director today." She jokes. "So I brought a little of everything, really. We'll see what he wants to do."

You frown. You don't like being so unable to prepare anything- to be put on the spot like that. What if he wants something from you you can't pull off? You don't want to be shit-talked by someone with a name as big as his- that would be absolute career-ending for sure, and you can't have that. You've got nothing else than this.

"I heard he's kinda difficult." Lea sighs, picking up her coffee. "They always only look nice.." She huffs disappointed, before she takes a sip.

You just stay quiet. It's all the same anyways.

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Jeon Jungkook is, indeed, difficult.

Not only is he way too tall for you, but he also moves around constantly, talks over your head as if you're not there, and most of all seems to love making fun of you for no apparent reason other than to piss you off. You're not sure why exactly it has to be you- but it seems like he's chosen his victim, and he won't let go anytime soon.

Just do your job, you tell yourself.

His jokes about your height honestly suck, but no one's brave enough to say it, clearly. Everyone laughs at them and praises his good looks and professionalism while you're just trying to get through this whole ordeal. "A bit tired, huh?" The model looks up at you as he sits on the chair provided, your hands fixing his hair in place just the way he wanted it to. You're glad he's sitting. You hate when he's standing upright, not even trying to bend down a little to offer some help. "And not much of a talker." He chuckles, boldly letting his eyes roam over your face and body while you work.

If he's as observant as he wants to make himself to be, then he won't be too surprised if you don't answer now, either.

And he isn't- he just laughs softly to himself, nothing more than that, and you honestly don't want to know what he's thinking. He's probably judging your no-name branded clothes, ripped tights from having gotten your keys caught on them earlier, and your clear lack of makeup.

You're not the model here, so why bother?

You leave him quickly after finishing up, letting Haru and the others guide the model on where to look and how to pose- though honestly, Jungkook seems rather shit at following directions, always doing somewhat of what he wants instead of what's being suggested.

Why even bring a director when you're gonna do what you want anyways?

"I hate how good he looks." lea hisses at you from where she's standing right next to where you are. "He's so mean! Like, childish-mean!" She whines towards you, and you can't help but snort to yourself because that's hitting the nail on the head for you.

He does act like a spoiled child rather than an adult man on the road towards his thirties.

"Jungkook-ssi, please look at the camera!" One of the directors ask, and only now do you notice that the model looked your way- probably having heard you laugh. Does he think you were laughing about him? Hopefully not, even if it's somewhat true.

You can't have him yap about you to other magazines or whatnot.

So you instantly wipe that smile off your face and go back towards professionalism, and at that, he alerts his gaze as well, going back to what he's been hired to do.

"Do you think there's guys out there who look like him but are nice too?" Lea wonders now that you've both walked a bit morenout of hearing range, avoiding his radar as you hide amongst the other staff and equipment. "Like, I want a hot dude with piercings and tattoos too. But with the old-guy gentleman flavor, you know?" She dreams, stealing a snack from you.

"Dont think so." You huff out, stretching your arms high up to arch your back and legs, even going onto tip-toes as your muscles release all the tension you've been accumulating already. You sigh out in bliss after finishing, your body seemingly reset-

A smirking Jungkook walking right past you, probably having seen you throughout the entire ordeal.

What's that stupid half-smile for, though?

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You shrug. "He looks the same in every photo to me." You tell Haru, who looks at you a bit lost.

He sighs as he clicks through the photos himself, unsure. You know he knows you're right- but at the end of the day, people like those sultry eyes and that cocky expression that man makes in every picture. You're not sure what exactly makes it so appealing- but you're just here to make him look as good as possible. And his hair looks perfect in almost every shot- so that's good enough for you.

That's your job. Nothing more, nothing less.

"It's his signature look." Haru tries to justify, his soft voice unsure, however, as if he needs to tell it mostly to himself to be convinced of it. He's never been a fan of shootings like these- he's good at them, sure, but he doesn't enjoy shooting those pictures. He's too soft to say it, but you know he finds them boring and uninteresting. It's basics, nothing exciting, nothing new. But he's being paid for this- so he doesn't complain.

That's his job- nothing more, nothing less.

"Well, then his signature look is boring." You say, leaning back against the table behind you, sipping your can of sugary caffeinated soda- the energy drink by now the only thing keeping you somewhat concentrated. Hopefully Jungkook stops complaining so much so you can all go home soon- he's got the whole week anyways, so why is he so whiny?

Brat. It's only the first day and he's already getting on your nerves- acting like someone pissed in his breakfast, rolling his eyes and staring people down just for the fun of it. And women actually fuck that guy? Nepotism must be crazy.

He probably has sex in front of a mirror just to watch himself.

"Boring, huh." Jungkook's voice chimes up, and you spot him walking closer, now wearing a new set of clothes. The leather pants look awfully tight, especially in his private region- that can't be comfortable, can it?

You frown at him. He got his hair all chaotic again- but it's fine. It fits the theme. You won't retouch it for now.

"She didn't mean it like that-" Haru instantly tries to defend you, the young man intimidated by the model as always. You wonder how he can even operate the camera when he constantly shies away from him so much. Maybe when he looks at him through the lens he can detach the person from the picture? It would make sense. After all, you do the same.

You don't see Jungkook. You see Jeon Jungkook, brand ambassador and model- and it should stay that way.

"I did." You disagree with him, however, before you look back at Jungkook. You don't need to be protected- not for your own opinion. It doesn't have any weight anyway, you doubt that someone like you can hurt this man's ego either. It's at least as big as himself, if not taller, which is a lot, considering that he towers over you despite not even reaching the standard 1.80m height usually desired. Then again, there's quite a few things you could count as not being the standard of beauty. But he makes up for it in confidence- even if he seems to have a little too much of it for your taste. "I did mean it like that."

"What am I supposed to do instead then?" Jungkook challenges, crossing his arms next to you.

The hell were you supposed to tell him? You're neither a model, nor very fashionable. He should ask Lea about that, not you. He's trying to argue for no good reason, and that attitude is starting to piss you off.

"Nothing. It's good like that." You shrug, keeping your cool for now at least visually.

"You said it's boring." He bites back almost immediately. Your distaste grows.

"I did, because to me, it is." You respond calmly. Is he trying to pick a fight with you right now? He really is acting like a child beneath all that fake politeness and forced friendly tone he puts on. "But that's my personal opinion. I'm sure people will like those pictures despite that." You explain.

He plays around with his piercings, and gives you that odd look that you can't distinguish from hatred or being offended.

Unbeknownst to you, he's been trying to figure you out for the entire shoot- wondering what you're really like. Do you like softer guys like Haru more? You seem to have some edge to you, if the glimpse of your bellybutton piercing and the few lines of a tattoo poking out the waistband of your pants would be anything to go by. Maybe you're just someone who likes to be in charge.

He can't offer that, at least not sexually.

He's opening his mouth to say something, before he moves when the director claps, and tells everyone to get back to their respective spots-

Jungkook sitting in front of the camera once more, woth the same signature look, because that is his job.

Nothing more, nothing less.

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If it wasn't for Lea and Haru, you wouldn't even be here.

Sitting in a restaurant, special VIP part that's secluded for the rest of the people here, eating together with stupid Jeon Jungkook, who's busy crawling up your boss's ass. He's sitting right next to you too, which is just as ridiculous- it makes it impossible to have a proper conversation with either of your friends. So you just eat, casually, mostly whatever Lea puts on your plate for you.

You really hate social settings like this. You don't like being reminded that you can't even hold a proper conversation for longer than two sentences.

The moment he puts a piece of meat on your plate instead of Lea, your chopsticks stutter. You don't like this. He just tries to appear friendly- probably because everyone else is watching. You know how this goes, after all, you've been through shit like this before. He'll lure you in, be all nice and sweet, use you as his dirty little secret before he leaves you behind for someone that looks better at his side. Someone of his own profession, most likely- or maybe a singer, or an actress. Someone pretty, tall and famous, someone useful for his career. Someone beneficial.

Someone that's not you.

"You're really not much of a talker, hm?" He asks, sitting next to you with his head on his hand, elbow perched up on the table. He honestly looks a little tired without all the makeup Lea had put on for the shoot today- eyes a bit dull, darkness underneath them shadowing the glimmer they had during work today quite a bit. His skin is also not really as clear as it looked in the pictures taken. He's got a few beauty marks, a noticeable little scar, and some redness around his nose.

He looks like a person from this angle. Not like a model.

"…what am I supposed to say." You shrug, eating what he's offered, because why not? He hums a reply, everyone else at the table conversing with one another, Lea currently seemingly in a heated debate about the height of heels with another staff member across the table.

"Why do you work this job when you hate models so much?" Jungkook asks, catching you off guard as you look at him again. "Or is it just me that's your issue?" He challenges, and you sigh, shaking your head before you occupy yourself with your food once more.

"Was my work okay?" You ask him instead, not looking at him but rather his hands, because you can't stand those eyes he has.

"More than okay- it was just what I wanted." He replies a bit caught off guard, and you shrug.

"Then there's nothing to talk about." You simply reply. Because that's the way you need to keep things, that's how you'll protect yourself and have been for the last few years. You're there to work, not make friends, and especially nothing more than that.

"Oh I think there is." Jungkook chuckles next to you. "I heard you and Kim Yongsun had something going on a few years back when he was shooting for Dazed." He says, and suddenly, you put your chopsticks down, even Lea looing over at you, an expression of both anger and worry on her face. You get up and leave with a respectful bow to your seniors, leaving the restaurant and Jeon Jungkook behind, who's looking at Lea next to him as if to ask what's suddenly wrong with you-

but even she shakes her head, turning back towards Haru next to her, no longer interested in talking to him.

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Kim Yongsun is, at the moment, a very successful actor. Having starred as a leading role in several dramas, he's right now shooting for a full length movie, though the news aren't really as interested in his career-

but more so in his love life, and the baby on the way.

Articles about this perfect and untainted lovestory are all over the place whenever you search up his name- this picture-perfect dream he's created about how he only ever loved his now wife Jane, how he's never looked at anyone before.

Such a liar, but then again- he's an actor, and that's what he's pretty talented at.

Having all of those memories revived made you nauseous yesterday, and it also made you dread coming to work today. But this is your job, nothing more, nothing less.

"There's my pretty bestie!" Lea instantly hugs you the next morning, swaying you around a little childishly, pressing her cheek against yours. With her tall body and a few years above your age, she feels like an older sister that you can trust, years of working together having glued your souls to one another it feels like. "Did you get home safe yesterday?" She wonders, and you nod.

"Went to bed right away." You explain, getting out your breakfast, another one for her as well. She tends to get up late, so you always buy her something on the way- otherwise she would constantly forget to eat.

"I'm gonna have to try so hard not to poke an eye out of that guy today.." The makeup artist growls, pouting as she picks up her sandwich.

"It's natural that he knows though.." Haru softly buts in. "It's not really his fault?" He attempts to justify.

"Yeah maybe, but ever heard of being tactful? I don't tell everyone that you had a crush on Alice either even though that was hella' weird." She bites back, causing Haru's cheeks to flush red. Though she's right- even if Jungkook knows about it, there was no reason to bring that up, especially if he knows the full story of it all. Is he really that mean?

Could be. After all, he's not been exactly kind up until now.

The moment he enters the workplace, he seems almost surprised to see you there as well- greeting everyone on set with a nod. He's here early this time, and you're not sure why he'd do that. He's got almost two more hours until you're supposed to be shooting- so why is he here already?

"I'll protect you." Lea threatens, suddenly pulling you close to sit you on her lap, glaring at Jungkook.

"Lea!" You hiss at her, worried she might get into trouble. She can be a little too 'out there' for her own good- and someone like that guy is not one to mess with. One bad article about your company, and she'll be blacklisted from ever working in the industry ever again.

It's how it works, beneath the surface. Most agencies don't want staff that are not loyal dogs.

"Good morning." Jungkook offers, walking closer with a slight saunter you've come to realize he has almost all the time he walks around. "Can I talk to you for a second?" He asks, and Lea buts in before you can say anything at all.

"No, I'm sorry, Jungkook-ssi." She snarls almost. "We have to start working soon. Please talk to the directors if you have any questions." She says, making Jungkook eye her a little, before he sighs.

"Alright, then I'll do it like this instead." He tilts his head a bit irritated, crossing his arms in front of him. "I'm sorry for speaking out of line yesterday. I didn't mean to upset you." He offers. Lea scoffs.

"Well, you still did." She mumbles, and it seems like now the beast shows it's real face as he looks at her.

"I don't think I've talked to you at all yesterday, so I'm not sure why you're barking right now." He challenges, making the makeup artist visibly surprised at the way he addresses her. "I believe she's old enough to talk for herself." The model argues, and you can practically feel Lea's rage beginning to buzz inside of her, and to avoid any sort of crime soon about to happen, you stand up, and push at Jungkook's shoulder to lead him towards the restroom area where you're a bit more secluded.

"I don't care about your apology." You tell him right away. "Neither do I care if you're truly sorry or just trying to appear that way. We're both here to work, and that's it." You say, while he stands in front of you listening with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Please do not invite me to anything you might want to do for the staff. I'm not interested." You finish your small rant.

"I always wondered what really went down, you know?" Jungkook says. "With you and Yongsun, I mean. He said that you hooked up with him, but honestly, looking at you, I can hardly believe that. No offense-" He waves off any potential anger you might have over the hidden message in that sentence. "-but you don't look like someone who fucks around." He shrugs.

"What do I look like then?" You challenge, now your arms crossed in defense. You don't like this situation in general. You just want him to leave you alone.

"I'm not sure." He admits. "But just between us-" He leans in a bit closer. "Yongsun is a cunt anyways. He drinks straight up coffee creamer- I mean, who the fuck does that?" he says, and at that, you actually have to laugh.

You remember that, years back.

"Listen-" Jungkook sighs. "-I know you probably have trust issues now, I'd have them too if I had to be with someone like that-" He tries to joke, "-but let's try and at least be civil with one another, okay?" He offers.

"You talk as if I was the one constantly picking fights." You bite back, a little annoyed again at the prospect of him victimizing himself right now.

"Yeah- it's a bad habit, sorry." He rubs the back of his neck. "I try and make jokes whenever I get awkward- and they don't land sometimes."

"You mean most of the time." you say, and he presses his lips together.

"Touché." He clicks his tongue, before he sways a bit on his feet. "Anyways, let's work well together, alright?" He offers his hand, and you shake it-

though you feel like this could be a terrible mistake.

[darling-i-read-it]

Party Outfit

Homelander x supe!fem!reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: the reader basically dies, grief, maybe some ooc homelander, canon type violence (death/gore is descriptive), I think that’s it but please let me know if there are more! 

Author’s Note: I gotta admit, I struggled with this one a bit! I wasn’t sure how to start and it isn’t my best work so I may come back to it again later but I didn’t want to make you wait! I hope you enjoy it regardless love! Homelander is such a tricky dude. Love him though. He’s so crazy. I love that in a man. 

Requested by anon: May I request a slow burn homelander x superhero! Reader, who has basically super healing powers like wolverine, so she’s probably the third strongest compared to homelander and Maeve. Homelander and reader are friends, because reader is one of the few people who took the time to care about him enough to look past the mask, and isn’t afraid of him. Something happens in a fight with a new supervillain, who’s power weakens everyone else’s around them. Reader saves homelander from a kill shot, but is killed themselves, and homelander just shatters and breaks down sobbing and clutching their body, after killing the villain. The Seven don’t know what to do to make him let go of the reader’s body, when she suddenly coughs and gasps back to life, shocking everyone and especially herself. It seems reader’s healing ability is stronger than anyone ever thought.                                                        I feel like homelander would be the clingiest person after all of that, lol.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

“Are you ready?” 

Your voice sounded suddenly very close. Homelander turned around and jumped a bit at the sight of you. You were standing just beside him in your ‘party’ outfit. Vought thought it was better if you had two costumes, one of ads and one for actual fighting. It allowed them to continue the belief that they were all in on feminism while also marketing off your more ‘easy on the eyes’ outfits. Homelander only had one. Sometimes he wanted to have two, just to get some sort of diversity. Plus, you looked oh so nice in your party outfit. 

“Yup!” he exclaimed. You smiled briefly, taking a deep breath. After he and Maeve had broken up in the public, everyone had been hoping the two of you would finally call it and start dating. It would be perfect. The two most powerful supes in The Seven, a sublime situation for marriage and kids. The perfect American dream with the perfect American boy. 

You knew Homelander though. You knew that wasn’t exactly who he was. 

You also knew that he was your friend. 

“Is the President gonna be there?” you questioned, adjusting your corset. You looked at yourself in the mirror of Homelander’s apartment. His practical penthouse had become like a second home to you. You even helped him decorate it with some things he liked. You had to veto the baby bottles on the fire mantle and he agreed, it was in poor taste. 

“Likely,” he admitted. 

“Well then I’ll hide behind you. That okay?” 

“Always.” 

“Did they tell you about that new guy causing a fuss? The guy they sent The Deep after?” He rolled his eyes. 

“I’m sure a lot of killing happened then and no octopuses were assaulted.” You scoffed. “No. What guy?” Usually he tried to stay in the loop but there was a lot going on. A lot being, so many superheroes and not nearly enough Homelander in his opinion. 

“Apparently he can weaken everyone else's power around him,” you observed. You stayed beside him, adjusting his cape. He looked down at it, observing you. 

“Well he hasn’t met me yet.” You hummed, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. You put your hand on his arm. 

“The car will be here soon. Ashley still thinks I’m in my room and if she sees me in here then our engagement is gonna be all over the papers,” you joked. He nodded, taking your hand off his arm and squeezing it. 

“Prepare for the President to ask to see your power.” 

“He can catch it on the news,” you grumbled. “See you downstairs.” He nodded once and let you go. He watched himself in the mirror, allowing himself to think about you a bit longer than your presence required. You knew him more than anyone else in the world. He wondered if it would be so bad to spend the rest of his life with you. He could’ve done it with Maeve, he could have made it look good. But with you, he might be able to be happy. Be himself, whatever that was. 

He turned, adjusting the cape as he walked out the door. He had a banquet to attend. 

-

“It’s better if just you two go. I’d send Maeve but I know you’ll just end up fighting and it’ll be on the news and we can’t handle another goddamn media break!” Ashley was standing in front of you in her office. You had never actually seen her sit down at the desk, she was always so stressed. Homelander stood beside you.

“That was one spat,” you argued. “We’re over it now. I like Maeve.”

“I don’t wanna risk anything,” Ashley said. “After the…incident with The Deep, I expect full obliteration of this guy.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Homelander stepped in. “We’ve got him.” 

You both knew that the best chance of a win was the two of you. You were the strongest of The Seven. Homelander could pack the punch and you could be the shield. You worked together well. 

“Any advice on how to dim his light a little?” you questioned. She shook her head. 

“Didn’t exactly get the best information from the guy who fought him before,” she grumbled. “But it was near water and we all know who lost the fight. Be careful. If either of you die…I mean it would make for a great swing of the media’s likeness of us but I would rather not have to deal with the funeral proceedings.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Thanks Ashley.”

“I’m also sending Noir and Starlight 30 minutes after you land. Just in case.” 

“That’s insulting,” Homelander said. He had his hands folded behind his back, ever the good soldier. “We don’t need them.”

“Then they’ll just be your extraction. Now go.” Neither of you moved. She made a waving gesture with her hands. “Go. Go!” 

-

“I can’t stand the show outfit,” you muttered. You adjusted your neck in your soldier outfit, which wasn’t exactly comfortable either. It was too tight in the wrong places but at least it provided you more protection from oncomers. Homelander was walking in front of you, scanning the area with disinterested eyes. Another job. At least he was with you. 

“It’s easy on the eyes.”

“And this one isn’t?” He shrugged. “I like your outfit. It’s bold. It’s iconic.” He smiled a bit, awkwardly, at the compliment. “I need a cape.”

“It’s a nuisance.” You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“You love that cape.” The cape was his thing though and you knew he didn’t want you to stumble onto his territory. “But I digress. Do you want to get dinner after this?” 

He always had food by himself, on the road, going from one meeting or killing to another. Dinners with you were sacred and special to him. You always asked and you watched a silly movie he pretended to hate and he could tell you about his day and you listened. He couldn’t remember any other person who listened like you. 

“As long as there are no noodles.” He always got them stuck in his throat. It was embarrassing. 

“No noodles. Duly noted. We could always-” Your sentence was cut short by you keeling over. You clutched your stomach. It felt like you were being drained, like all of the sudden you were far more tired than you had been in years. It reminded you of being run ragged, like you had run a marathon you weren’t prepared for. 

“What? What is it?” Homelander grabbed your elbow, holding you up. It was like you hadn’t even seen him, let alone felt him touch you. You stood up straight, giving him a pained look. 

“He’s here.” 

Homelander turned around, searching the warehouse the two of you had entered. It was abandoned by city records and vast. Not many hiding places. Homelander’s eyes turned red with anger and concentration. 

“Come out, come out wherever you are!” He called. He let you go, not being able to focus on your pain. You stood up straight, trying to allow your body to adjust. You tried to keep up with him but he was walking with purpose. You looked around, a blur of pain around your eyes. You had never felt so weak. 

“John,” you murmured. He didn’t turn around. 

“What? Scared?” 

There was a crack behind you. You turned on your heels, watching, waiting. The pain was getting bearable as your body started to adjust to it. Perks of fast feeling. High pain tolerance. 

Homelander shot his lasers at an abandoned car. It exploded into fire. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. 

“I don’t see anything!” he exclaimed. He turned to you. Just as he turned around, you saw someone come from behind the car, a gun in hand. Your eyes went wide. “You see-” 

You shoved him aside, taking the bullet intended for his head. 

It hit yours. 

It was like slow motion. He was stumbling and then you were down, a bullet between your eyes. The blood started to trickle down your forehead as you fell over onto the ground. He watched you fall backwards, eyes open in surprise. There was nothing going on behind them. 

He rushed forward to grab you before you hit the ground. 

On the bottom level of the warehouse, Starlight and Noir walked in. Ashley had sent them in only 10 minutes after the two of you. She was nervous, understandably so. Didn’t want to lose all four of you if you were separated and she knew that sending them afterwards was better for Homelander’s ego. 

“Do you hear that?” Starlight asked. She slowed to a stop as she listened closely. Some kind of whimpering. “It’s above us.” 

Noir looked up. Starlight started forward quickly, being followed by her Noir. 

When they reached the top floor they found a decapitated body at the feet of the stairs. A man with a gun was dead, two red dots between his chest burned through the skin. He still had his spinal cord dangling from his neck, clearly removed with force. 

In the middle of the room Starlight could see Homelander’s cape, sprawled on the ground. She could see your limp legs from behind him. He was shaking.

Annie had never seen him cry before. 

Noir approached before she even thought to. She wanted to call Maeve and ask her to come down in case Homelander decided to lash out but realized there was no time. If he hadn’t taken you somewhere…there was no pulse. 

She shared a glance with Noir. This was unsafe. 

“What happened?” Starlight asked quietly. There were tears streaming down his red cheeks. She wasn’t going to get a coherent answer. “We need to get help,” she said, even though she didn’t mean it. She just needed to say something. 

She had never seen The Homelander so broken. She thought about all the times before she saw him on the TV screen when she was growing up. Even now that she knew what he was, she held onto that shred of hope that he was like he had been on TV. She had never seen that in person, genuinely, until that very moment. When his shoulders shook and he was holding his only friend in his arms, wondering if she was really gone, if she was going to leave him alone. 

Annie never felt for Homelander until then. 

She shared a glance with Noir. He gave her nothing, he never did. 

“It should’ve been me,” he whispered. As Annie slowly approached she saw the bullet between your eyes. Your expressionless face was haunting. Annie saw dead people but she never saw those she cared about. She was reminded of Hughie. Homelander was holding his Hughie. “It was meant to be me.” 

Annie could give him no solace. She worried he would level the city for you. Maeve would try to remove him completely but she wasn’t strong enough for that. She would just have to let him stand there until your body got cold or he came to his senses that you weren’t going to wake up. 

Then you woke up. 

It was subtle, a slight breath. He hardly noticed it over his own drama but Starlight saw it. Her eyes went wide. Then you coughed, the bullet falling onto the other side of your head. Your head had healed itself, just like that. You squinted up at Homelander, unable to remember what had happened and why he was holding you. 

Your movement startled him. He tried to find a clear vision in his eyeline, something to blur away the tears. You brought your hand up and wiped them away. 

“I’m okay,” you said, voice dry. “I’m alright.” 

“But-but you-” he stumbled. 

“I’m okay.” It hurt, sure. You could feel the remnant of pain in your head, like your nerves hadn’t quite got the memo you were alive. You sat up and he threw his arms around you. The superstrength almost suffocated you but you were content with putting your arms around him too. 

You saw the big bad dead on the  other side of the room, between Annie and Noir. You shared a look with them. Annie was wiping tears from her eyes. You must have been dead for longer than you thought. 

“I’m okay,” you said again, this time for the two of them. Annie nodded. Homelander needed a moment. She gestured for Noir to follow her out. They collected the remaining body parts of the villain and left. 

Homelander let you go just enough to see your face. 

“I thought you were dead.” 

He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure. 

“Can’t get rid of me that easily big guy,” you whispered. He wanted to cry some more, now that the floodgates were open. But he took a deep breath, allowing himself to even. You were still in his arms and that’s where you wanted to remain for the moment. It was safe here. “Are you okay?” 

“Fine,” he promised. He stood up, much to your dismay. He helped you stand, which took some wobbling. It was like you had just been born again. 

“Can you fly us out of here? I don’t know if I can walk,” you admitted. He nodded, quickly. 

“Of course. Hop on.” You made a sly smile and he rolled his eyes. You let him pick you up and carry you away, through the sunlit sky. 

-

Vought confirmed that you were okay. They triple checked your vitals but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. You had sacrificed yourself for Homelander and you had lived. It was a curious thought, one not many people understood. They wanted to test your limits further but you vetoed it for the moment. You would rather not die over and over for the sake of science. 

Homelander decided he wanted to be on every mission you were on here on out. He would make up for that mistake time and time again. 

Sitting in his apartment, a place you were used to and practically lived in, was homey. Your ‘recovery’ was spent here. He had brought you some blankets from your room. The kindness from him was uncharacteristic but welcomed. 

He vowed if he couldn’t protect himself from Vought he would protect you. 

He would protect you and your silly movie nights and matching banquet outfits. 

He would have his life with you, Vought or not.

[miniscule-meow]

Isabell and the Lads (17)

Masterpost Wordcount: ~2.9k Warnings: angst, swears First Part | Last Part | Next Part (eventually)

It has only been two days since her… incident with Marcus, but Zeke seemed to pick up on the disconnect instantly. He came home after class that day, and it was like he could smell that something was wrong. He’s regarded her cautiously ever since, but he hasn’t said anything about it. His gaze has just lingered between her and Marcus, his brow knitting together as if he’s trying to silently solve a puzzle. To their credit, the humans seemed to realize that she needed some space, and they didn’t push the issue. Marcus has hardly even looked at her since that day, and he absolutely refuses to hold her.

Frustratingly, she has mixed feelings about the whole ordeal. She doesn’t know why part of her twists uncomfortably when Marcus pointedly avoids her. Getting a human to leave her alone should be a major victory. There’s just something so bittersweet about the whole thing, she can’t figure it out. It can’t be that she likes these humans. Tolerating them is one thing, but actually liking them? Looking forward to spending time with them? Craving the warmth of being held- No. That’s not it. The fact that she’s even considering it makes her insides cringe with the sense of her own betrayal. She doesn’t belong here, and she doesn’t plan on getting attached. As soon as she’s able to, she’s going right back home and all the entrances to this apartment are getting her signature big black ‘X’ across them.

That day can’t be too far off. Her leg has been slowly getting better now that the stitches are out, but she’s still stuck here for the time being.

She’s been taking stock of everything that she has and everything that she needs to get together in preparation for the journey back home. She wants to bring as much as she can carry back with her, so that when she gets home, she can finally have a respite from humans before having to turn around and go borrowing again. And since she’s in a position nowadays where she has humans just willing to bring her whatever she wants, it would be foolish not to get what she needs. It’s just a matter of figuring out how to gather supplies without them figuring out what she’s doing. If they suspect that she’s getting ready to leave… They’ve been nice so far; she’s just not convinced that they’ll let her go so easily. She can easily imagine what they might say:

Why don’t you just stay a little longer?

Do you really have to go? You’d be much safer here anyway.

 Of course, we think of you as a roommate, you just can’t leave.

Just let me take care of you.

Absolutely not. They’ve been nice enough, far nicer than she could have imagined, even despite the bumps along the way. But she’s not going to let herself become some little pet for them to keep. She just has to wait a little while longer, just until she’s ready.

The movement around her snags her attention, pulling her away from her planning. She’s out on the kitchen counter, Zeke had suggested they all watch a movie together. Marcus had tried to get out of it, but it’s growing apparent that both of them have a hard time saying no to one another. Hopefully, they can all just watch the movie, and things will smooth over on their own. Zeke is the sort of person who just seems to be able to fix things. It might be a lot of pressure to put on him, but to her, that’s what he does. He must have a plan, so she’s confident that things will be fine.

“Why don’t you two go pick out a movie?” Zeke suggests. He steps aside to let Marcus scoop her up and whisk her off into the living room. Judging from his previous track record, he should have leapt at the chance to hold her. Instead, he gives a noncommittal hum.

“You go ahead, I always pick. I’ll just make popcorn this time,” Marcus responds quickly. His words are so nonchalant, one might think that nothing was wrong, but it’s his quick movement across the room that betrays him. It’s as if he’s putting as much distance between them as the kitchen will allow. He’s not a very good liar, she observes. She shares a look with Zeke, both of them clocking the oddity of his actions before she just shrugs.

“Okay,” Zeke says finally, freezing Marcus in his tracks. “Would someone like to tell me what happened?” He leans against the counter in front of her, “Isabell?” he prompts.

“It’s really not a big deal, you don’t need to be upset or anything,” she responds simply.

“I’m not upset, I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. You two have been weird the past couple days.”  She looks away, unwilling to respond. He blinks down at her slowly before turning his gaze over to his roommate. “Alright. Marcus?”

For a moment, Marcus remains silent, leveling his own stubborn gaze to meet Zeke’s. She can’t see the look he’s giving but she can see his jaw flex. Even from her extreme angle she knows, he’s displeased. Eventually, Marcus succumbs to his measured stare.

“I hurt her,” he says fiercely, “that’s what happened.”

Slowly, Zeke’s eyes drift down to find her again. As they do, the atmosphere in the room freezes. She avoids his gaze while he inspects her. She can’t even begin to chisel through the wall concealing his thoughts. Perhaps he’s wondering why she didn’t tell him sooner. Perhaps he’s just checking to see how hurt she might be. Maybe he’s just irritated by the tension that’s been sparking between them for the past few days and that’s all.

She can’t help but feel as though he wants something from her. She just shakes her head, unable to find any words that might satisfy him. His eyes narrow in response.

“Like, visibly? Or…” He turns back to Marcus, prodding for more information.

“Yes, Zeke,” his voice is clipped with irritation. “She’s bruised all over, and then I freaked her out so bad that she tried to jump out of my hands. I yelled at her when I caught her, so I probably traumatized her too. It wasn’t cute.”

Zeke’s stare finds her again. There is a dangerous intensity in his eyes now, and all of it is focused on her. She wants to tell him that it’s okay, everything is okay. It doesn’t even hurt, and she knows he didn’t mean to do it. But the nerves sparking through her make it impossible for her to speak. Not while he’s looking at her like that. She’s seen Zeke look at Marcus like this before, and she swore that if she was ever the focus of his ire that she would simply disintegrate on the spot. Now that she’s finally found herself on the receiving end, she can confirm it is every bit as uncomfortable as she imagined it to be. Her mind is static, her tongue is ash, and her lungs feel as though they have filled with water.

“May I see?” He leans towards her, keeping his voice even with notable effort.

Isabell knows that Zeke won’t respond the same way Marcus had, grabbing her and taking a look for himself. Or at least, she thinks she knows. That small seed of doubt is enough to confirm for her that it’s not a risk she is willing to take right now.

She knows how he got when he saw her bruise from before, the one that had convinced her that she had a broken rib. That one wasn’t even caused by one of the lads, and yet the way he stilled around her… the way he held his breath as his eyes took in every sallow green and blossoming purple that had printed itself against her side…. his rugged voice whispering, ‘is that from me?’ That bruise has since faded, and she would be almost back to normal if it wasn’t for the small smattering of purples and blues that have replaced it. She’s certain she just bruises easily. Marcus hasn’t been that reckless with her. Besides, she spoke to him about it already. She can fight her own battles, even if they’re against humans. Sure, the conversation was a disaster, but admittedly it had results. You can’t bruise someone if you refuse to even look in their direction.

She shakes her head insistently, gripping the hem of her shirt so tightly that her knuckles turn white. It’s fine, she wants to insist, but her throat constricts, refusing to let her generate any sound. Zeke studies her for a moment, long enough for her to fear that he’ll override her choice, and he’ll make her show him the bruises after all. Instead, he eventually breathes a small sigh.

“Okay,” his massive fingers drum against the countertop in front of her. “Marcus,” He finally turns his attention back to his roommate, his tone is deeply disappointed.

“I don’t need a lecture from you, alright?” Marcus snaps back, “I know what you’re going to say.”

“Well, it’s just that I’ve told you to be careful, I keep telling you to—”

“I know, Zeke. I know!” Marcus interjects, growing louder. Zeke doesn’t yield, his own voice raising to match him. Isabell’s hands clamp over her ears quickly. Zeke is always so collected, part of her didn’t think it was even possible for him to raise his voice. She was wrong.

“You don’t listen! She is the size of one of your fingers. Seriously, can you imagine how terrifying that must be for her? She’s already putting so much trust in us, you can’t—”

“I know!” Marcus repeats himself, finally fully shouting. “Step off! You’re being overbearing.”

“Over—” Zeke echoes with a sputter, visibly taken aback by this.

“Yes! You’re overbearing and you’re controlling. I know I fucked up, but at least I treat her like she’s another person.”

“Excuse me?” Zeke hisses the words, and the air feels like it’s been sucked from the room.

“You hover over her like she’s going to break if you look at her the wrong way,” Marcus presses on, apparently not at all concerned that he’s winding Zeke tighter than a spring.

“First of all—”

“Like, she’s an adult, dude. She’s survived this long on her own, do you think she needs you?”

“No. No, you don’t get to do that. This isn’t about me! You hurt her. You can’t just—”

“I know! I feel awful. She told me I was hurting her; I’m trying to be better. She doesn’t need you cooing over her all the time like a mother hen.”

“I do not—”

“Yes, you do.” Marcus plows on, hardly letting Zeke get a word in edgewise. “Yes, you do! What do you think you’re doing right fucking now?”

Their voices continue to overlap. Marcus punctuates his words by talking with his hands, slamming things around. Zeke remains anchored to the counter, his hand balled into a tight fist.

And then there’s Isabell. Stuck, as is becoming the pattern lately. She’s stuck right in the middle of this shouting match the humans are having about her. They’re fighting about her like she isn’t even here. She feels so bottled up, she finally just bursts.

“Stop it!” She shouts, maybe louder than she ever has before in her entire life. It has to be fruitless. How could a little borrower possibly cut in on a fight between humans? But to her surprise, they both stop. Right in the middle of their sentences, they just freeze. Zeke jolts, his hand that was resting nearby on the counter jerks away, as if she’s burned him. “You are fighting over me like I’m a toy! Just stop,” breathing heavily, her voice already feels raw. She was not made to be loud.

A muscle twitches in Zeke’s cheek as his jaw clenches. His sharp eyes bore into her now. He throws a glance back to Marcus, then with a breath, his expression smooths. His shoulders straighten, and it’s like a wall slides evenly in place over his feelings.

“I’m going to take a walk,” he grumbles coldly. She feels like she just watched him pack all of his stray emotions into a tidy little box. Before anyone can stop him, he’s gone, slamming the front door behind him.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Marcus breathes a heavy sigh in response. Then, the room settles into a thick silence.

“Marcus?” She calls out to him tentatively. Part of her expects him to storm off too, leaving her forgotten on the counter.

“What.” His response is sharp and dry.

“I just- I’m- I didn’t mean to—”

“Isabell, I swear if you fucking apologize to me right now—” he cuts himself off. Obviously on a jittery high from his fight with Zeke, he pushes his blonde curls back away from his face.

“Can you- Can you just let me get through what I have to say? Please?” There is a quiet desperation that leaches into her voice. If Marcus starts yelling at her too… Having humans yell over her is bad enough, she doesn’t want him yelling at her. Not again. He just nods, clamping his jaw shut and crossing his arms. She takes a deep breath, hoping she can actually manage to say everything she needs to. “I got scared, and I overreacted,” it’s a good start. Maybe most of her life could be described that way. “I know you don’t want me to say it, but I’m sorry. I am.” Now that she’s begun sorting through the words that have been jumbling around in her brain the past few days, they just keep coming.

“I mean, it’s hard. I’m afraid of humans. Obviously. I always have been, and for good reasons. But I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of either of you, really. Not anymore at least. It’s just weird, because I keep feeling like something bad is going to happen. Like something really bad, worse than a fight or a couple of bruises, but it just never happens. You and Zeke, you literally saved my life. It’s not fair to you that I just keep expecting you to do something to hurt me. Logically, at this point, I know you’re safe. It’s just that I’m fighting every instinct I have to even just talk to you. Sometimes it just takes my brain to catch up with me, to go from, ‘Danger! This is a human!’ To, ‘Oh, this is one of my humans, it’s okay.’ I didn’t mean to make anyone upset. I didn’t want to start a fight. I’m sorry. Can we just be okay now? Please?” She didn’t mean to say that much, but it feels good to finally get some of that off her chest.

The enormity of what she said catches up to her like a freight train.

My humans.

She looks up at him, wondering if he noticed. Marcus is finally, finally, looking at her. His eyes are misty, and his lips are pulled into a wobbly smile. One thing she’s grown to appreciate about him is that you can always tell exactly what he’s thinking when you look at him. He blinks, and two tears roll down his cheeks, with more soon to follow. He definitely noticed.

Wordlessly, he offers her a trembling palm. She climbs into his hand without hesitation, hugging his fingers tightly. He pulls her right up to his face, holding her against his damp cheek.

“Bleh! Don’t cry on me!” She laughs, halfheartedly pushing against him. He turns his face, nuzzling his nose right into her middle.

“Sorry, sorry,” the world trembles around her as he laughs and as he cries. He moves her down to his chest, holding her close.

“Are you okay?” She rubs his thumb comfortingly. The irony of someone so small like her being able to offer any comfort to someone as big as him is not lost on her.

“Me?” He says with a laugh, though it’s followed by a small sniffle. “Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’m pretty tough.”

“And Zeke?” She asks cautiously, “I’ve never seen him so upset.”

“He’ll cool off eventually,”

“You really know how to push his buttons, huh?”

“Well, I’ve had a lot of practice,” he takes her over to the living room as he speaks, reclining back on the couch. “Zeke and I pretty much grew up together.” As he shifts, she goes from sitting in his hand to laying against his chest with his hand just resting around her comfortably. She settles into him, it’s like the bubble of fear that had been clinging to her has just suddenly popped.

Thinking about Marcus and Zeke growing up together makes her think about her brother. Her heart squeezes in her chest, leaving behind a hollow ache. If he could see her now… He’d have some strong words for her, that’s for sure. She really hates how big this world is, how she’s too small to fit in properly, how it’s separated her from the people that she loves, and how unlikely it is that they’ll ever find each other again. But right now, with Marcus’ warmth surrounding her, it doesn’t seem so bad.

She realizes that she might be incredibly touch-starved. Before all this, when was the last time she spoke to anyone else? Never mind the last time she hugged anybody. She has grown so accustomed to being completely alone that she hadn’t realized that this was something she was lacking. Of course, now that she knows, her resolve to escape back to the walls slips from her grasp, just ever so slightly. Enough for new, dangerous questions to creep at the edge of her mind.

Can she really go back to living all alone?

What have these humans done to her.

[fleurhcss]

Hii, so I saw you take requests soo I guess here is one🫶🏻: lee know x fem reader who is a roommate of a former/or still employed coworker from jyp (like make ip artist or stylist) and the friend is still in touch with skz and they are really good friends still and reader gets to meet Minho and rest and Minho is like really enchanted (not that obvious, but visible to the members) and wants to know more about reader. Idk they hang out as a group a few times and he is like trying to leave hints that he likes her but she doesn‘t get it and is oblivious (even though she totally has a crush on him too…which he knows) so he gets like frustrated and asks her out eventually after a group activity and she is like…mE?! You could ask everyone and you ask ME?? Hahahah idk and then it‘s like a cute date or something…

Well I hope this sounds great, if not that is fine too, thanks for taking req and have a wonderful dayyy💕

♫₊˚.🎧 ✩｡☕ 🤎 HONEY SATURDAY NIGHT - Minho Imagine !

Your best friend and roommate was a sunny and friendly person, unlike you, and managed to maintain a firm friendship for years. It was amazing how she didn't care how long she hadn't seen a person, especially one she didn't like, she still managed to sneak into everyone's heart and make them love her, you were incredulous to see how many people she knew and asked out to dinner. You hadn't had that many friends since kindergarten, so much so that your only friend now was actually your flatmate, who was working and older than you while you were still a college student. You used to go out together in your spare time and watch her stop every ten steps and talk to everyone - hallucinating.

You could somehow understand her, as she had worked for many years at one of the biggest music companies: JYP Entertainment. And it was quite unexpected when one day you found her at the foot of your bed begging you to go to a group gathering with her. As fate would have it, it was with one of the most famous and successful bands: Stray Kids. You knew the band well - who didn't? Heejin had been their stylist and hairdresser for years, apparently enough to form a nice friendship bond that she wanted to pull you into. But she was well aware of your interactions on a social level. And you didn't want new friends, even if they were eight Adonis. Too bad no one could really resist Heejin. "Please, Y/N, I haven't seen them for a long time, they were so nice to ask me to come and invite a friend of mine because they were afraid I would feel uncomfortable since they are all male," she said with folded hands, begging you for the umpteenth time. "But look at you, how considerable! Too bad I don't care, and besides, if there are two of us, it won't change much," you told her, throwing a pillow at her.

"I'll buy you the latest Vivienne Westwood that you like so much if you go out with us." But unfortunately, as you had said, it was impossible to say no. Especially to a proposal like that, especially when you collected fashion items and your favourite was Vivienne herself. And so you had found yourself that Wednesday night preparing for this night out. Heejin had checked your wardrobe because, according to her, you had to be perfect in the eyes of the boys. You wondered why, especially since your best friend seemed to be planning a combo date. You looked like one of those debutantes who had to make a good impression on her way into society. She had bought you a little white St Gallen lace dress with balloon sleeves, paired with Camperos boots and a black leather jacket, and carried your usual handbag.

Standing in front of what looked like eight Adonis, you were struck by how much better they looked in person. But one in particular was particularly attractive and interesting in your eyes, even if he was very taciturn compared to the others - yes, these guys were always fooling around. What you did not know was that this same man was so enchanted by your beauty that he had to have his companions call out to him several times because he was staring at you too much. Strangely enough, you hadn't even tried too hard to interact with them, they had made you feel comfortable right away, and their sweetness towards you was endless, so much so that you struck up a friendship with Seungmin and Felix right away - the two of them were a strange duo, so sweet but almost devilish, especially Seungmin, who was always throwing strange spicy mixtures at Chan that he almost had to be beaten. What you did expect, however, was to become Minho's favourite prey. The way his friends described him, he was a real devil with feline features - more like a panther than a cat.

All this in an evening that lasted eight hours.

What you didn't expect was that you wouldn't go out with them several times and get on well with them, but that you would fall in love with Lee Minho. Yes, because after going out with them so many times in the last two months, you had become quite interested in the grey-haired guy and destiny wanted you to be his favourite prey. You were very close and he took every opportunity to tease you. Maybe that was what made you crazy about him. Not knowing that it was totally reciprocated from day one. Minho had a crush on you. Seriously - maybe you were a bit stupid - but you didn't take any of the hints he left you every time you went out with your friends. And he would say things about it, take advantage of every situation to sign with you, and you were the only one who didn't get it at all. He, on the other hand, was so curious that he always found a way to find out something new about you.

"Please Hyung invite her out, I can't stand all this tension every time we go out," Jeongin complained with a pout on his face. Minho laughed. "Seriously, how could she not see that you have a crush on her? Hannie figured it out too," Hyunjin said, clutching the arm of his best friend who made a fake offended face - he knew it was the truth. "Everything has its time guys, I want to tease her some more," the boy said, earning a dirty look from the rest of the group. On the other side, you lay despondently on your bed with your best friend, who was now tired of hearing your complaints about him. "But why don't you stop feeling sorry for yourself and just tell him that you like him like normal people do," Heejin said to you. But you were not normal and you were too afraid of the rejection that was so obvious in your eyes. "I'd ruin our friendship and therefore the group," you said, sinking your head into the pillow.

"I don't give a shit, I can't bear to see you in a state of self-pity. You're pathetic. And move that ass, we have to go out with the boys tonight" from bad to worse, you thought. Too bad you hadn't imagined that tonight, because of a stupid game suggested by Felix - who did everything in his power to get you and Minho together - you would find yourself locked in a room with Minho himself staring at you with his mega-brown eyes. "So, your idea is to keep silent and stare at me, or?" he asked you, making himself comfortable on the bed. You frowned at him and flanked him on the bed. Maybe Heejin was right and you needed to talk to him, this was a good opportunity. "Listen, I need to tell you something," you started and got his attention. He had his usual grin on his face, that slapping expression.

"Me too, will you go out with me?" her brain went into overdrive. What had he just said? You almost couldn't believe your ears. Was it a joke? It had to be. "So?" he asked again, expecting an answer. "Are you serious? I mean, you want to ask me out, just the two of us - a date?" you asked, still in shock. "Do you see anyone else in this room by any chance?" he asked in his usual sarcastic tone. "Really?" you asked again. "Really, Y/N," he said, giving you a shove. "Sure...I just wanted to tell you that...in short, I like you," you lowered your head. He raised it with his forefinger, then planted his lips on yours in a kiss that made your head spin. "Finally, I thought you'd never tell me," he chuckled. "What? You knew?" you asked in shock - what a fool you had been. "Yes, I just thought you'd be more awake, that you wouldn't notice my signals," she laughed, "Oh come on, was he teasing you? "Signals?" "Yes, signals, I've liked you for two months."

You really had been an idiot.

Your crush had always been sending you signals and you hadn't been able to pick them up - who knows how long you would have been together if you had... .... Now it's time to redeem yourself. At least as much as you can. "Ah, um. Well, you know, I'm looking forward to going out with you," you said shyly to your boyfriend? You still didn't know what you were. "Perfect, that's pretty much reciprocated. I'll pick you up on Saturday and we'll go camping for our first official date. Make sure you bring everything. I'll be there around ten in the morning. And to clarify your thoughts I have read so far...yes, you are my girlfriend now," he said, stealing another kiss from you and then sneering back at your friends. When Heejin saw you he knew immediately what had just happened and you laughed heartily.

The evening, like the week, flew by and you and Minho were in his sports car, ready to go camping. His hand was caressing your bare thigh and your mind was flickering all over the place. He was singing along to the songs on the radio and you just looked at him and smiled, thinking how lucky you were to have a man like that by your side. Who wouldn't want a Lee Minho to be their boyfriend - this boy was a dream on earth. When he turned to look at you, you always blushed like an idiot because he would catch you, but it was impossible not to, given the look he gave you every time. When you arrived at the campsite you smiled like a fool, you looked like you were on your honeymoon. He took you like a bride and carried you inside, into the bedroom of your tent. You pulled him to you, kissed him gently and nibbled on his lower lip, which turned cherry red each time.

"Princess, I have to get the things in the car, the food is in there too, you don't want it to go bad, do you?" he tickled you and then walked away to arrange your things in the tent, as if he was used to all this, and from there your mind began to wander a little too much. You imagined what he was like as a husband, surely perfect as he cooked for you or entertained your children. At that thought you couldn't help but smile and think what it would be like to make love to him day and night, to feel him close to your body - skin against skin, cold against heat. "You know I love coming here, I always come here when I want to be alone and I'm too stressed. But today I'm sharing it with you, because you're my favourite person," he chuckled, hugging you, throwing himself on top of you. "More than Jisung?" you giggled, knowing what a soft spot Minho had for that little squirrel - after all, everyone had a soft spot for Jisung, that guy was sweetness personified as well as being extremely adorable. "I should think about it," he said laughing, and you pretended to be offended and threw a pillow over him, straddling him and filling him with kisses.

"You're beautiful, do you know that?" he smiled, then began to kiss your neck slowly, but there was no malice in it. "Never as much as you, mister," you smiled, ruffling his hair - Minho was gorgeous, you could feel the warmth emanating from his body as it clung to yours in a gentle embrace. You had never been good at relationships, nor had you had ideal partners, but it was as if all the forces of nature had been concentrated to give you Minho. The boy had just the right amount of sweetness, sympathy and kindness, and you could go on like that for a long time. The only thing that was serious and overwhelming about him was his beauty, Minho seemed to have been sculpted by the gods.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, waking you from the trance-like state you had fallen into. "I was thinking about you, I'm wondering if this isn't all a dream, ready to disappear when I open my eyes," you confided, seeing him staring at you as if thinking about something. "I have a way of letting you know it's real, sit down and wait for me here," he told you, disappearing from the tent and returning with a small bag. "Open it, it's for you," he said as he stood next to you. You opened the bag and then your smile widened as the gift appeared before your eyes, you looked at it almost in disbelief. "It's the same as my bracelet, I wanted to give you something special that we could share together," he smiled, you were almost speechless and motioned for him to help you put on a small necklace with a blue pendant, it was a lapis lazuli. "It's wonderful!" you cried and then catapulted yourself onto him and began to plant sweet kisses on his lips.

Kisses that became deeper, more mischievous. You wanted to make love to him all day long.

This did not displease the older man, who worshipped your body by filling it with kisses and caresses, you only stopped to eat and to feel Minho's hands on your naked skin had driven you as crazy as your hands on his chest had driven him crazy. It was late in the evening by the time you really stopped, too tired and sticky - you took a bath before going to bed. The older's hands ran through your wet locks as you listened to his heartbeat through his chest.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

⋆.˚

a/n : i hope u will like it!! i love sweet minho as a boyfriend 🩷🩷 I opened a ko-fi account, i will post there some stories and drawings, if you want to support me i will be grateful to anyone who wants to give me tips, ITS NOT OBLIGATORY

TAGLIST 🎀 : @yongbokkiesworld @gloomy-k @raindropsondragons @linocvp1d @iiamthedramaa @snowyquokka @pynchkilledme @y4kie @ihrtlix @hyunjinnnsgirl @sugarsweetsugarsweet @reader1221 @bubblebisk

[spotlightlowlife]

The plot HAZBIN lost

The hazbin pilot allowed Charlie to have a socially opposing view point and do something about it with pride. She moved to a new locations and started up her own business, still at any time she could call her supportive parents, one may be more willing to listen, one may have an "I told you so" attitude but either way the impression of closeness is there. She was a hardworking person using her privilege for good.

Charlie's goals complemented the secondary plot of the angels dealing with an overpopulation problem, she was the whole solution to this problem, all she needed to do was start up her business that she had the resources to run, she did that, then, all she needed to do was be herself.

This series no matter was always likely to face the one issue major issue, who are the candidates for reform and upgrade likely to be? Probably nobody of the main cast. Now that we have elitism and animosity, chances are this will only prolong this question.

We had yet to meet any angels but like with the demons, she could have faced adversity, she could have faced support.

The angels were robotic copy pastes of eachother, their was plenty of direction to take them in.

Now they're the leading adversaries who don't just professionally deal with the problem that is a crowded hell, but they slaughter because they fear hell toppling heaven but seems to see slaughter as a form of sport, they fear being overpowered and their fears apparently just come true.

Question.

Why would anyone want to be amungst them?

Why would Charlie want to send those she rehabilitated to heaven, which we haven't been sold on at all.

Before, we saw the destruction left behind after an angel mass slaughter, it fit that Charlie believed residents of hell deserved better and better objectively existed, but a prehistoric conflict and war combined with 'chosen one' Charlie strips her of her goals, they are no longer hers but what is to be expected, which stripped of her quirkiness, she's no longer that bizarrely nice and caring person because there's no reason to believe her behaviour is exceptional, everyone is there because they are a loser. The winner in heaven and loser in hell concept tells us nothing about a person, it highlights corruption which goes well with this new conflict we are now sold on. The political elements take away from wanting to do good deeds for little other reason than wanting better for people, furthermore, since Lucifer is now a depressed and misunderstood figure who created this world and his charming wife as good as run it, throw in what we now know about the angels and what's so wrong with this place?

Her parents have a backstory and she doesn't, she didn't to begin with but after years of waiting for an adaptation, Charlie becomes a byproduct in her own show. Her parents get to be mysterious absent figures while Charlie is simply absent fo the most part.

Maybe she's busy ruining a whole hotel? An easy job that nobody is interested in seeing apparently.

It's like Charlie just wasn't edgy enough? She has lost her stable family, unique perspective and choice. Her status continues to account for nothing even thought technically, it has boosted since her parent now built hell and there hasn't been an involved god figure.

No longer is she someone going into the unknown with nothing really to lose but a lot to gain, now there's war and a whole host of adversaries, taking us away from the hotel, those that check in and those who would upgrade.

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 18: Snake Den

Content warning: description of corpses, mass death, implications of rape, misogyny

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

I Am Stretched On Your Grave - Johnny Hollow Kassidat El Hakka - SEXWITCH

Chapter 17 | Chapter 19

“My Lady, please, don’t do this.”

Ren hovers anxiously beside you in the stables, her voice tightening as she watches you prepare to leave the shrine.

The mare gifted to you by the King of Curses—whom you've named Ayana after your mother—stands ready, her tack fitted. Your small travelling trunk, containing only a few essentials, rests near her flank, secured to the saddle with several straps. Inside, there’s just enough food for the journey and a thin cotton blanket from your wardrobe.

“I’ll only be gone for a few days,” you say, attempting to soothe your attendant’s fraying nerves while fastening the bridle to Ayana’s slender head.

The mare’s ears swivel at your touch. Her skittishness is apparent. You know forming a stronger bond with her will be crucial in the coming days, lest she act unpredictably while riding.

Stepping to the side, you bring her a bucket of water. She drinks, and you tangle a gloved hand in the silver-grey tendrils of her mane. Unlike the silk gloves you usually wear, today, you’ve opted for leather ones to steady your grip for the ride ahead. The material feels rough against your skin, but it’s necessary.

“Please, my Lady. Master Sukuna will be furious if anything happens to you,” Ren urges again.

Isn’t he always furious?

You glance over your shoulder at her, patting Ayana’s dappled coat once more before setting the bucket down.

Ren had caught you just as you left your chambers to change into something more suitable. She’s been trying to persuade you to stay, but your mind is already set. Your sister is the priority—she always has been. You only plan to ride to the Kasai clan compound to lay eyes on her. Then you’ll turn around and return before Sukuna even notices you’ve been gone.

You shake your head, and your hair, tied back at the nape, sways lightly with the movement.

“I need to see my sister, Ren,” you say firmly.

With your back turned to her, your hands move to the saddle’s leather straps, double-checking that everything is secure and ready to mount.

“But my Lady, the road can be dangerous.”

Yes, as a woman, you know this all too well—especially leaving without an escort.

Still, you're not overly concerned about the journey itself. Ren doesn’t know, but if anyone comes too close, you can easily press your fingertips to their skin and watch them rot into nothing but viscous flesh. Although you'd prefer to use your ability from a distance, you're not entirely sure if it's even possible to have long-range control.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” You pull the last strap tight. “Just keep yourself occupied. I’ll be back before you realize.” 

Peeking over your shoulder, you find your attendant has already gone.

You huff at her persistence, but a small sense of relief curls around you. It’s comforting to know that someone like Ren cares enough to worry.

Which, in turn, is nice to feel every once in a while.

After making the final preparations, you mount the mare and guide her out of the stables into the afternoon light. As you cross the shrine’s grounds, a figure steps down from the stone entrance—dressed in white with a dark haori. Uraume.

Well, shit.

They cross towards you, slow their pace, and stop before you.

“My Lady,” they say, tucking their hands comfortably into their sleeves.

You nod.

“Uraume.”

They incline their head slightly, studying you from where you sit atop the horse. Though you are about the same height, the elevated position gives you the advantage.

“Ren tells me you’re heading home.” They study your mare, the saddle, your trunk. “I wasn’t aware that Master Sukuna had permitted this.”

You swallow. There’s an accusation in their words.

“He didn’t... But he’s not here.” You tighten your grip on the reins. “If I leave now, he’ll never know.”

Uraume cocks their chin, considering you.

“That’s if you leave.”

A breeze tousles their pristine white hair, lifting the red streak that stains it from back to side.

You inhale sharply.

“Please,” you murmur, “just this once. I’ve asked for so little since I arrived here.”

Silence.

They take one, small step.

Something stirs in their expression.

“Are you asking me to be disloyal?” They take another step forward. The air begins to chill, stabbing at your skin. “To betray Master Sukuna’s trust?”

“No... but you know better than anyone that I’ve had no word from my family.” Your teeth begin to chatter. “I’ll come back here. I promise.”

At the word "promise," a whisper of chill rolls up from your feet to your skull, prickling your skin.

​​A distant, unnatural cold cracks the ground as frost begins to form in the mud. The ice snakes upward, invading the fabric of your hakama, winding beneath your kimono, and seeping into your bones. Your mare shifts uneasily, hooves striking the ground, her breath coming out in visible puffs as the temperature plummets.

Uraume stands serene. Still, their deep pink eyes fixed on you, seeing far more than you'd like.

This is their doing.

While the King of Curses is heat and chaos, Uraume is his opposite—cold and calm.

Your throat works to swallow, knowing their strength far exceeds your own—a power you can’t challenge and win.

“Please, Uraume,” you croak, breath turning to mist, swirling in the frigid air like spectres. Ayana whinnies, and you place a hand on her trembling neck to gentle her. “I just need to see my sister.”

The squall surges, and your eyelashes stick together.

“Please…”

The cold snaps and vanishes, retreating swiftly. Uraume pulls their hands from their sleeves.

“Then I shall accompany you, my Lady.”

“What?” Your voice rises in surprise.

They move toward the mare, and Ayana chuffs with anxiety, tossing her head and stamping her feet. Uraume quickly steps back, clearly cautious.

“Easy, girl,” you soothe, then glance at the pale-haired subordinate. “I will return, I promise. You don’t need to come with me.”

Yet, a troubling thought forms in your mind.

If something has happened to your sister—fuck, what if something has—what will become of you? Would your father force you back to the shrine or break this union with Sukuna? Would he even allow it? Or if Uraume comes along and something terrible has happened, will they drag you back here against your will?

There are too many ifs and too many questions.

“I made a vow to Master Sukuna to ensure you’re taken care of,” Uraume states, circling you. “If you’re determined to leave, I will accompany you.” They step closer but remain wary of Ayana. “I cannot allow you to go alone.”

Is that why Uraume has been so attentive? A damn vow? You run a hand through your hair, another realization hitting you. There have been too many of those lately, and you despise it.

“Fine,” you concede, extending a gloved hand toward them. They eye it before reaching out to take it and, with a swift motion, swing their leg over the mare, settling in behind you. There’s a moment of hesitation before they wrap their lithe arms around your waist, a chill falls over your back. You grit your teeth at the contact.

“It will take a three-day ride to travel north.” You peer over your shoulder at them, and they nod.

“I’m aware, my Lady.”

“You’ve been before?” you ask, curling the reins around your hands into a tight fist.

They pause for a moment, their eyes steady.

"Only once."

You fling them a faint smile. But their pink eyes shift away, signalling the end of the conversation.

Turning your attention forward, you give Ayana a gentle nudge. She begins to move, first at a walk, then a trot, before breaking into a full gallop along the dirt-packed road. The faster she moves, the more the trees blur past you.

Faster.

You must get home and back quickly—quick enough to outride Sukuna before he knows you’ve even left.

“My Lady,” Uraume speaks up, their voice almost swallowed by the wind. “Once we leave the shrine’s road, it’s wise to stay off the main paths. If anyone discovers who you are… they won’t hesitate to use that against you.”

Your fingers curl tighter into a fist around the reins.

Right.

The King of Curses’ wife.

It’s not lost on you, not for a second. Everyone in Japan likely wants Ryomen Sukuna destroyed—his name, his legacy, his very existence wiped from the world. Death. Death to the one who has many names and two faces. His presence is a blight on this earth, and as his wife, this stigma will likely extend to you now, whether you like it or not.

If only they knew that you, just like them, need him dead.

Besides, he is a blight on this earth...

Isn’t he?

With that, your mind wanders to too many things.

Has anyone ever truly wanted or cared for him outside of duty, obligation, or fear? Was he always this way, or did the world push him into this pit of cruelty?

Questions that you wish to leave unanswered crawl into your head. They bother you. The enigma that is Sukuna bothers you.

Why has he protected you if he’s nothing more than what others deem him to be? A monster

A sudden dip in the road pulls you from these spinning questions. You suck in a breath as the wind picks up, stinging your face.

With a glance, you look over your shoulder at Uraume.

“All right,” you say, “I understand.”

* * * * *

Later on, hours into your ride, you and Uraume have yet to speak a word. They might as well have been a rock with how lifeless they are behind you. The only time they finally seem to stir is when you direct the mare out of a wooded valley and up a narrow ridge.

In the distance, thick plumes of smoke choke the sky as dark tendrils coil against a fiery sunset. You slow to a trot as you reach the edge of a village, one closest to the shrine. It’s not until a breeze drifts in that—

God, the stink.

The stench of burnt flesh curls into your nose, coating the roof of your mouth with a foul tang. Your tongue swells as if blanketed in blood-soaked fabric.

Guiding the mare a bit further is when you see the first corpse—charred, leathery skin steaming in the setting sun. You press a gloved hand to your nose and mouth, stifling a gag. But a glance up reveals an even fouler sight. More bodies, hills of them. Men, women, and children lie in a mound, with flies and other insects crawling into the warm remains. Some bodies have been bludgeoned to death, soft skulls caved in, and pink insides spilling out. Above, crows circle, eager to peel flesh from bone.

The sight is so gruesome you’ve forgotten to breathe.

As you direct Ayana forward, you notice corpses dotting the village like blemishes covering the ground. A cluster of women have been dragged away to the edges, where they lay brutalized. Their garments torn open. Paths of blood drip between their bare thighs, signs of a struggle, signs that their bodies had been violated.

“What the hell is this?” you murmur, hands shaking as you scan the madness.

Ayana lets out a low, nervous chuff.

“My Lady, we must go.” Uraume's voice pulls your gaze away.

You blink.

“This is the outskirts of the shrine,” you utter, ignoring their urgency. “Sukuna controls this area… doesn’t he?”

Uraume nods sharply.

“He does.”

Bile slicks the inside of your throat.

“Did he… do this?”

Smoke thickens the air. It stings your eyes until they water.

“No, my Lady.” They speak firmly, and hardness cuts over their face. “He’s elsewhere.” Where? Northeast? Further? Uraume adjusts their grip around your waist. “We need to move on. Whoever did this could still be nearby.”

This village is one of many that he subjugated. What would he have done if they pleaded for his aid? Help them?

You can’t help but feel doubtful.

And otherwise, then, who? Who’s attacking his domain?

Your mare whines again, suddenly prancing sideways, her hooves stumbling over rocks and scorched earth.

“Easy, easy,” you whisper to her.

She stops but lifts her head, ears pricking. She senses something out there.

A heaviness clots the air—a pressure stirs. You glance at the bodies strewn across the ground.

“Uraume… where is Lord Sukuna?”

A faint high-pitched howl rises, echoing nearby. The hair on your body pulls up. Uraume swivels their head.

“He’s further north,” they murmur, eyes scanning the surroundings.

“Is more of his territory being—”

“Rider!” A disembodied voice shouts.

Your eyes dart in search of danger—a second howl shrieks.

From your left, an arrow screams through the air, narrowly missing Ayana. She rears, almost throwing you and Uraume.

“We must leave!” Uraume urges as a chill sinks into your back. “I cannot protect you if there are many.”

Another arrow streaks by, closer this time. Your mare tosses her head, the reins slipping from your grasp as you struggle to hold on.

“Shit!” You yank them, wheeling Ayana around as a third arrow buries itself in the spot you stood moments ago.

Squeezing your thighs, you steer her into a tight turn, urging her into a gallop. In an instant, she erupts from the village, dodging debris and bodies.

Behind you, voices shout and the thrumming of more arrows striking earth sound, but it quickly drowns out by the pounding of hooves and the blood rushing in your ears.

“Over there!” Uraume narrows a pale finger toward a forest that rises from the ridge ahead.

Without looking back, you direct Ayana toward it, not slowing until the swarm of dense trees swallows you.

That evening, you and Uraume share a simple meal—rice balls and dried fish—while sitting in the saddle. When the moon rises and fat clouds obscure its light, you set up camp by a river, away from the main roads. After what happened earlier in the day, Uraume stands guard as you sleep on the cold ground, wrapped in your thin cotton blanket.

The nightmare of your mother’s death comes for you through the night, waking you several times, drenching you in sweat, making you gasp for breath. Perhaps the thought of returning home stirs the memory. Perhaps it is something else. Sukuna, too, makes his strange appearance in the dream—watchful, waiting, just out of sight.

The next day, the routine remains the same: you ride, eat, and rest. Uraume sleeps in the saddle, always vigilant at night. The following days are no different. Though you encounter no more trouble, the aftermath of the massacre you came across lingers in your mind.

On the third day, the landscape changes. The ground rises, and the air becomes colder. 

North.

You’re close now.

A little further, and the air sharpens.

The massive estate comes into view, the Kasai clan compound sprawling ahead. Its towering outer walls are unnecessarily ornate, carved with serpentine creatures coiled in masses of scales and teeth. Giant yew trees line the limestone barrier, dotting the expanse like ancient sentries. Beyond that, the estate opens up, leading you into a barren courtyard. It feels as though the land itself rejects any attempt to soften it. Unlike the lush gardens of the shrine, there’s no greenery or vibrant blooms—only neatly trimmed shrubs and stony paths leading to the heart of the compound.

Dismounting, you and Uraume lead Ayana to the stables. You water her and leave her in an empty stall. There’s not a soul in sight. Not one. But after living here for twenty-five years, you know better than to trust that. You know what lies inside. 

Climbing the steps toward the grand oak doors, the air in your lungs begins to empty. Standing before them, you pause to glance at the white-haired monk.

“Uraume… thank you for escorting me here, and—” You pause, curling your fingers until the leather of your gloves creaks in a satisfying way. “For how you’ve treated me this past month. Truly.”

You dip your head.

“I do what is asked of me,” they say coolly.

You nod, reaching for the intricately gilded bronze handles.

“I know you’ll be anxious to return to the shrine. So I won’t be long.”

“I’m coming inside, my Lady,” they state firmly.

You stare at one another, your hand poised for entry.

There is no other way around this.

“All right...”

With that, you push open the doors.

The difference between Sukuna's shrine and the Kasai clan compound is the sound.

The shrine is wrapped in stillness, with its shrine maidens shuffling through corridors, robes whispering, doors rustling. Now and then, the lack of sound is shattered by the King of Curses—the screams of slaughter and death.

But here, there's constant noise and movement—people everywhere, men everywhere, attendants everywhere, concubines everywhere, crowds everywhere. Booming voices, raucous conversations loud and jarring, weapons always sheathed but never out of reach. A cesspool, a breeding ground for powerful families and allies to play.

Stepping into the grand hall, every eye swivels toward you—the room reeks—sweat, alcohol, musk.

Disdain.

The problem with the task your father has demanded of you is that only two people know of it: your father and Onishi. Your sister doesn’t, though she is aware of your gift, and once, so was your mother. Those are the only people. The rest of your clan remain blissfully unaware. And for most of your life, you've been kept relatively isolated, your existence largely tucked away. It's fortunate, really—if the King of Curses knew what you were capable of, you'd lose any advantage you have over him.

As you take a small step inside, it’s only a partial surprise when frenzied whispers ripple through the room. The men make little effort to lower their voices as you catch, "The demon's whore is here." Even though you’re the reason they no longer have to fight that demon, to them, that’s all you are now.

His whore.

Inhaling deeply, you force your feet to move toward a private chamber at the back of the compound. It’s mid-day, and your father is predictable. He’s usually there at this time—either mulling over territory, drinking himself into a debauched stupor before harassing the female attendants, or strategizing with Oinishi.

Either way, that’s where you need to go first. If he learns that you arrived and went looking for Yuna immediately, there might be hell to pay.

As you walk, bodies shift, leaving an empty path.

Keeping your chin up, you notice how the space is filled with strangers, people you’ve not seen before. Robes with unfamiliar crests embroidered into the fabric—symbols not your own. Their attire is richly adorned but styled in ways that set them apart—other clans.

Your father has been quite busy because it appears new alliances have been formed in the last month.

You keep walking.

Heads tilt as you pass, gawking toward you as if you’re nothing more than an animal on display.

“...oni bitch…”

You hear the first of many barbs. They keep coming. Raised eyebrows, twitching mouths, muttered insults, followed by boisterous laughter.

Your heart lurches and falls into your stomach. This place feels little like home anymore. Where is home if not here?

Your skin flushes with heat as a clan member steps forward from a pack of idling men and spits, the glob of saliva splattering just shy of your kimono’s hem.

“Welcome home, cunt,” he sneers, mouth rolling back in a smile.

You want to scream at them, to tell them the truth: your union is nothing more than a ruse, that you’re doing this for a damn good reason.

Without making eye contact, you circle him. With another step, you press down the corridor. The private chamber comes into view.

Nearly there.

You keep walking, almost at the doors, when a man jostles you from behind, grabbing your elbow. You whip around, and Uraume steps in closer.

“Keep your distance,” they hiss.

You yank your arm free, and the man lets go, snickering as he walks away.

You inhale deeply.

“Are you all right, my Lady?” Uraume asks.

“Yes,” you breathe, exhaling and turning, you—

Come face to face with a man whose dark grey eyes and sharp cheekbones stand out beneath a trim of raven-black hair. His lean, muscular frame suggests he's a warrior, and one calloused hand rests on the hilt of an eccentric-looking katana sheathed at his side.

Anyone might find him handsome—once, perhaps, you might have too—but now, he does nothing for you.

Odd. Frustrating.

Straining your neck, you notice he’s tall, towering, but not as tall as Sukuna. 

No one is.

“My Lady.” He bows, though his gaze lingers a moment too long on your face, appraising you. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the second Kasai girl. And just as equally enjoyable to look at.”

Your skin crawls at his compliment, but you manage a smile.

Be obedient, be charming.

“And you are?”

“An acquaintance of your father’s.” He waves the question away.

You nod.

“But you’ve met my sister?” you ask, maintaining a courteous tone.

Lip curling, he steps closer.

“I have. Charming little thing. I can see the resemblance between you two.” He gestures up and down the length of your body. “Your sister has quite a gentle touch and a way with words, too.” He plucks a loose lock of hair from your shoulder, rubbing it absently between his fingers. Your stomach tangles at the unfamiliar gesture from a stranger—not someone else you try not to think about, especially now that you’re realizing only four hands are the ones you might ever long to touch you. Stupid. “The family heirloom turned out surprisingly delicate.”

You have no idea what he’s rambling about, but you nod politely.

“Yes, my sister is lovely.”

His gaze flicks past you, over your shoulder, then back.

“Where’s your husband? Shouldn’t the infamous Sukuna Ryomen be here to protect his newly betrothed wife?”

“He’s…” You’re unsure where the monster is. Further north? “...occupied.”

The stranger clicks his tongue, and a frown draws across a defined mouth.

“That’s a shame.” His hand tightens at the hilt of his weapon, his fingers stroking the small tuft of animal-like hair, wrapped tightly around where the steel emerges. “I would have thoroughly enjoyed meeting him.”

You sense Uraume shifting behind you.

“I’m sorry, perhaps another time.” You step to one side, gesturing to the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see my fath—”

With brutal speed, he seizes your forearm and yanks you toward him. Your head snaps back, body flinching at the sudden, unwanted contact.

“It must be very lonesome without the demon present,” he hisses. “You’re vulnerable, my Lady. I’d be more than happy to offer you protection… among—” His eyes drift downward, lingering on your chest, then lower to where your obi cinches your waist. “—other things.” His broad shoulders sag as if disappointed in what he sees, but a full grin curls at his mouth nonetheless.

Uraume steps in beside you, crowding close.

“You should watch your tongue when addressing Lord Sukuna’s property,” they snap.

His property.

His possession.

His wife.

Your teeth grind at that.

The dark-haired man blasts a humourless laugh, leaning back to gauge Uraume. He looks unimpressed.

"And you must be the King of Curses' most devoted dog.” He cocks his head. "Or should I say bitch? I’m not quite sure what to make of you.” He chuckles at his own crude words.

Your eyes narrow. Your hands prickling beneath your gloves.

“My Lord, or whoever you are,” you say, sweetness dripping from your voice, “as much as I appreciate your offer of protection, what I need right now is for you to kindly fuck off,” you snarl, trying to shake his tightening grip.

His nostrils flare, and his sharp nose wrinkles as if you've just spoken gibberish.

“Oh! Feisty!” He shouts, leaning into your face. “I appreciate eager women. But you should save it for when it really fucking matters.” Somehow, his features darken, brow dropping, eyes slitting until they twitch uncontrollably. “I wouldn’t want you to wear yourself out before the fun begi—”

“Zen'in!” a voice calls from behind. Onishi. “Enough playing. Leave her alone.”

Your eyes dart over your shoulder, surprised to see your father’s chief advisor stepping in. This brute of a man feels cut from the same cloth as him.

The dark-haired man, Zen’in, finally releases your arm, taking a step back, though the look in his eye suggests he’s far from finished with his games.

“My Lady, it was wonderful meeting you.” He glances at Uraume, jaw clenching. “I look forward to seeing you again. And perhaps, meeting your Master someday.”

Zen'in strides toward your father's advisor, and the two step aside together.

Asshole.

Onishi glances at you, beady eyes sharp, as if silently questioning what you're doing here. He doesn’t dare mention your task in front of Uraume, so instead, he claps Zen’in on the shoulder and walks away.

You watch them go.

Finally, able to breathe again, you exhale.

The fact that Onishi gave you that look, not something else, suggests that…

Whirling around, you grip the doors to the private chamber and throw them open.

Yuna’s lashes flutter as she looks up from the map she’s hovering over with your father.

Your heart leaps in your chest.

She’s safe. 

She’s alive. 

She’s safe. 

“Yuna,” you breathe her name with a desperate gasp, as though you’ve finally come up for air after being submerged for too long.

Her head jerks up, eyes rounding before a radiant smile spreads across her face.

“Sister?”

That smile. You’d gladly defy Sukuna a hundred times just to see it.

Only fourteen months separate you and her, with you being the younger. Your father had hoped for a boy the second time, but instead, he got you. Despite that, it only strengthened the bond between you and your sister. You remember rolling in the grass together as children, sneaking into your mother's chambers to try on her kimonos.

But it didn’t take long for everything to start falling apart.

And the fact that you were the one who took your mother away makes you feel like you’ve stolen something important from her. It’s something you’ll always try to mend, to piece back together and make up for what you took.

Yuna circles the table, kimono fluttering around her ankles. You cross the room in a heartbeat. Arms outstretched, you meet her halfway, your gloved hands reaching for her. Her arms come around your shoulders. You crash into each other.

The embrace is warm, grounding.

Safe.

“What are you doing here?” she sighs, leaning back slightly as she gently smooths your hair. “And where’s my brother-in-law?” Her gaze flashes over your shoulder, her teasing smile widening. “I’ve been eager to see him again.”

When you break apart, a laugh swells from your chest—wet and strangled, barely held together. It’s almost a sob.

“He’s... not here.” You lower your voice so only she can hear. The soft smile that stretches across your face is bittersweet, fighting against the sting of tears. “Honestly? I have no idea where the hell he is.”

She cocks an eyebrow.

You laugh a little harder this time, and a tear slips down your cheek from the relief you feel. Your leather gloves creak as you hastily wipe them away.

“You came here alone?” Yuna watches you, her smile gentle, mirroring your own.

You shake your head.

“Uraume escorted me,” you say.

Yuna shifts, peering at the white-haired monk.

“Hello.”

You don’t look back, but you hear Uraume utter a soft “Lady Yuna.”

Over your sister’s shoulder, your father glares at you. You pull your sister in close again. With only so much time to spare, you have questions to ask.

“Yuna,” you murmur, “why haven’t I heard from you since I left? It’s been a month. Have you not received any of my letters?”

Her brows pinch together in surprise.

“I have,” she replies, confused. “And I’ve sent many in return. Father, too.”

Your stomach tightens. So they’ve been writing to you all along. Why haven’t any of their letters arrived? 

Tentatively, you glance over your shoulder at Uraume, standing stoically at the doorway, hands tucked into their haori. Their face betrays nothing, but you know they’ve been truthful about the lack of communication. That leaves only one possible explanation: someone back at the shrine is sabotaging your correspondence.

You turn back to Yuna, smiling.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just happy to see you.”

Yuna’s lip twitches, and her hands slide up to your wrists, fingertips gliding over the tops of your gloves to your skin. She might be one, if not the only person whose touch you tolerate.

“Are you here for long?” She holds on for a moment longer. “We’ll find some time to talk together—alone,” she whispers, her eyes cutting to the side as if indicating your father.

You don’t exactly have time to spare. You’ve laid eyes on her; she’s safe, and now you need to return to the shrine. But your mouth moves.

“Yes, we’ll do that.”

Her face lights up.

“Good. Then you can tell me all about how Lord Sukuna has been treating you.” Her tone turns playful, and you snort.

“Yes. I suppose.”

Absolutely not.

“Daughter.” Your father’s voice breaks the moment, dragging you from this pocket of security. He finally moves from where he’s been lurking in the background. “I’ve missed you.” Liar. “Yuna, darling.” His tone turns smoother than it has any right to be. “Why don’t you take your sister’s escort here and keep them occupied? I’d like to speak with her privately.”

Yuna’s fingers uncurl from you. Releasing her hold, she steps back and nods obediently.

“Of course, Father.”

She steps toward Uraume, but they refuse to budge.

“I’d prefer to wait in the stables, Lord Kasai,” they say, bowing their head.

Your father waves them off, unconcerned.

“Fine. Yuna, leave. Take them with you.”

Yuna glances at you again before leading the white-haired monk toward the door. Uraume hesitates briefly, giving you a long, steady look.

You give a slight nod of reassurance. Only then do they follow Yuna out, leaving you alone with your father and the door sliding shut.

Quietly, your bastard of a father circles you like a hawk, scrutinizing everything—your clothing, hair, face, gloves, the way you can’t seem to make eye contact with him.

While he busies himself with nitpicking your very existence, your eyes dance over to the table where he had been standing earlier, examining a map of parchment.

Stones of various sizes and colours are scattered across it. At first glance, you don’t fully understand what they signify, but your eyes are drawn to the lighter stones—they rest on familiar territories. Northern strongholds. Your father’s land. That much is clear.

Then, your gaze moves to the southern side of the map, where red stones—jasper—cluster, pressing against the borders. Sukuna. There are so many of them, more than you imagined. Some are placed, winding up within the north, then moving deeper. He’s been busy these last seven years.

But what strikes you are the black stones, fewer in number. They rest in strange, isolated areas, mingling amongst both the Kasai clan and the King of Curses’ domain. You notice one lying exactly where that massacre you and Uraume rode through three days ago.

Troubling.

Why the hell was it signified here?

“So—” Your eyes cut back to your father, who has circled you and comes to stand before you. “After a month, here you are. In one piece, I see.”

He sounds displeased by this.

“Yes,” you murmur. 

“And the filthy cannibal still seems to be alive.”

It aches deep in the cavity of your chest.

“Yes.”

“Hmph,” he sniffs, “useless as usual.”

You jerk up your chin.

“I’ve made four attempts to kill him, Father,” you say, forcing your voice to be flat and emotionless. “Like I said before. He’s tricky to pin down and get close to.” You lie. “That hasn’t changed.”

The numerous times you’ve hesitated to end Sukuna feels crushing now.

Your father steps closer.

“Is he now?”

There’s no need to answer.

His eyes narrow.

Your hair had come loose during the ride, but his fingers move to gather the last stray strands, pushing them over your left shoulder. You tense, sensing that he's noticed something you’ve missed while scrutinizing you.

With your hair pushed back, neck exposed, he hums.

And then you realize. 

The scar. The scar that wasn’t there a month ago. The scar Sukuna bit into your neck the first time he touched you, when he had you writhing beneath him, your hands on him, his hands on you. And now, it stands as confirmation that you got close to him—but failed to take his life.

Sweat gathers at the base of your spine and slithers down.

“It seems.” Your father tilts his head, birdlike. “That you’ve gotten closer to him than you claim.”

Your throat tightens.

“I—”

“Has he fucked you? Charmed you, daughter?”

“W-what? No.”

The unbearable need to cower into yourself grows.

Your father’s mouth widens viciously, and his hand lingers near your neck for a moment longer before pulling away. 

“Do your sister a favour.” He walks across the room. “Kill him before it’s too late.”

Silence.

Your heart, no longer steady in your chest, beats louder.

You step forward and stop.

“I need more time.”

Your face numbs as you say the words.

He stops and turns.

“What did you just say to me?”

You clear your throat.

“I said I need more time,” you repeat firmly. “Two months won’t be enough. Lord Sukuna is constantly leaving. There’s unrest in his territories.”

Your father moves to the map, peering down at the scattered stones.

“Yes, I’m well aware,” he mutters, picking up a jasper stone and rolling it between his fingers. “I’ll tell you what.” His tone lightens as he steps toward you. “I’ll give you an extra month.”

What?

You eye him as though this is some kind of trap. It has to be.

You stare at him.

He stares at you, waiting for a response.

You nod, grateful.

“Thank you, Father, I apprec—”

“On one condition.” He steps closer again. “Bring him here for the harvest festival in two weeks.”

You still.

“What?” Convincing Sukuna to set foot on the Kasai compound seems impossible. He’ll outright refuse. “There’s no way he’ll agree to that.”

Your father smiles, gaze sweeping over you.

“Oh, something tells me you can convince him.”

Your mouth twitches at the insinuation.

“Why bring him here?” you ask. “What are you planning?”

Why do you care?

He shrugs and takes hold of your wrist before pulling it towards him.

“I’m not sure it’s safe to divulge that, my daughter.” He places the stone in your hand. “Not when your tongue might wag... or worse.” Your stomach churns. “Unless, of course, you have a reason not to bring him. But… your sister is looking lovelier by the day. And I know there are men here eager to make her a better acquaintance.”

“I’ll do it,” you say quickly. “I’ll find a way to bring him here.”

He smiles, eyes drifting off as he grips your wrists.

“Your mother would be so proud of you.” He squeezes harder until it hurts. “Of both her daughters.”

Fucking bastard.

You fight the urge to scream at him.

He pulls his hands away, leaving the red stone in your palm. It's small, but it feels as though its weight could sink you, burdened by what and who it represents.

“Now run along. Make the most of your time with your sister before you leave.”

You bow, then turn on your heel and leave the room.

Plans are in motion—whatever your father is plotting, bringing Sukuna here is part of it.

Walking down the corridor, you squeeze the small stone into your hand. The smooth red surface reminds you of his eyes.

His eyes.

You turn it over in your hand once.

A long passage leads toward your immediate family’s quarters. You take it.

The stone turns in your palm a second time.

“You must stay…” The stone turns again. “You have to do this…”

Your old mantra dies as you whisper it to yourself. You’re starting to wonder why your body, but more importantly, the space where your heart might sit, feels so incredibly heavy.

🔗 Chapter 19

[fragileruns]

welcome backk !!

request for tasm!peter - peter would always blow off reader on dates because he's busy fighting crime and stuff like that, and reader has always been patient with him and understanding until she finally had enough. peter went to her apartment without thinking ( so he was still wearing the suit ) because he wanted to make up with reader right away and then he reveals his identity to her and they make up ( can end with smut )

i am terrible at making requests, and sorry if it would be hard to understand T T

anywaysss happy that you're back :D take caree

sorry this request took so long, lovely! i hope you enjoy! sorry for not including any smut, i’m just not the best at writing it yet.

summary: peter’s been showing up late, or not at all, for all your dates recently and you’re upset, until you find out why.

content warnings: fluff mainly, very slight angst, peter being a stressed baby, gn!reader (i think, let me know if not!), not proofread

The first time it happened was a study date. You had been struggling to grasp the new topic that had been introduced in your mathematics class and Peter, being the braniac he was, had been quick to offer to tutor you. He was supposed to come over that Friday night and have a movie night, after you finished studying. You gave him the benefit of the doubt, that maybe he was just running late or had an emergency, but then the hours creeped on and he still never showed. He apologized the next day, claiming May needed help with something and he couldn’t get away (apparently, this ‘something’ had kept him from messaging you that he wouldn’t come, as well, but you decided not to bring that up).

The next time was a bit more annoying. It was date night. You and Peter always set aside at least one day every week to be ‘date night.’ It usually just consisted of take out food and really cheesy movies, but it was nice to be able to spend time together, especially when classes filled up most of your schedules. You had a stressful week, with exams coming up and final projects being due, and you had been looking forward to spending a night with your boyfriend. He always knew how to put you at ease. You waited up for him for hours, but he never showed, again. At least this time he did text you, even though it was nearing midnight and it only read ‘I’m so sorry, this huge emergency came up. I’ll make it up to you with an icecream date tomorrow???’

The cycle continued on. He kept missing minor dates, sometimes showing up hours late or texting you that something came up, and other times just going radio silent until the next day. And you had forgiven him everytime, but he could tell you were getting annoyed and feeling rejected. Rightfully so. He knew he had to make it up to you, somehow, and his best plan of action was to scrape together whatever money he could and find the fanciest restaurant nearby (which wasn’t as fancy as he’d have liked, but it had foods he had never heard of, so he figured it was good enough).

“Okay, listen, I know I’ve been really, really bad at showing up to our dates on time, as in, I haven’t been,” he had started one night, coming into your apartment after one of his classes. You were sitting on the couch, surfing through movies to find something to watch, and he walked over to plop down next to you. “And I know you’ve been stressed with exams, and I just… I want to make it up to you and tell you I’m proud of you for getting through them. So, I made us a reservation at that fancy place - the italian one, down the road? Anyway, it’s for Saturday at 7, and if you don’t totally hate me, I thought it’d be nice.”

You glanced over him, furrowed eyebrows and with only a hint of hope. It was hard to keep believing he’d show up whenever he had missed so many. “I don’t hate you. I just… are you sure you’re gonna show up? I’m really tired of embarrassing myself by just waiting around,” you admitted with a doubtful sigh, and Peter’s heart nearly broke. He felt even worse for missing everything, and he wished more than anything that he could just tell you why.

“Hey, I swear, okay? I — I’m really sorry for missing any of our dates, and I’m sorry you felt embarrassed. But, the only way I don’t show up for this one is if I’m dying in a hospital somewhere, alright?” He rushed to reassure you, hand reaching out to cup your cheek and keep your attention on him. Seeing his puppy dog eyes made you give in quicker than you would have liked to, and you just nodded with a small ‘okay’ to agree. He grinned, leaning in to give you a sweet kiss, before turning back to the TV, decidedly picking some action movie that he thought you’d like.

Saturday came around, and you hated to say it, but you were excited. You had dressed nicely, taking over an hour to get ready just to make sure you looked perfect. You even arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early, waiting outside for Peter to show. He ended up texting you that he’d be running a few minutes late and asked that you went ahead to claim your seats, told you he’d still be there shortly. You lost some hope, but still trusted he’d keep his word and went in to sit down.

By 7:30, most of that trust had died and you apologized to the waiter for wasting so much of her time, but you were sure your date would show. She gave you a sympathetic smile that made you want to curl up and die as you ate your complimentary bread.

By 7:45, you had already send Peter a string of texts, letting him know you were about to leave and would talk to him later. You still hoped he’d respond though, but no luck.

Finally, by 8:00, you had given up all hope and just left, apologizing again to the waiters as you hurried out, eager to get away from the stares. You stopped by a small pizza place on your way back, starving as you hadn’t ate since before noon that day, scarfing down the slice before going to your house. Part of you worried that Peter was, in fact, dying in a hospital somewhere and that was why he didn’t show, though you knew that wasn’t why. Knew he just got caught up with something else, like always.

Peter stared down at his phone, mask held in his other hand as he frowned at your string of texts, all consisting of things like ‘this is humiliating, are you showing up??’ and ‘you promised you’d show.’ He felt that deep pit of guilt, and he didn’t think before swinging to your home, only wanting to make things up to you. Only wanting to make things better before you finally just gave up and broke things off with him. He wasn’t at all focused on the fact that he was wearing his tight suit, mask in his mouth now, identity fully revealed if anyone squinted enough.

His heart was beating a mile a minute, but not because of the adrenaline of the fight or the feeling of whipping through the air. Because he could only imagine how upset and angry you must feel right now, and he felt awful for being the cause of it.

He got to your house in less than half the time it would usually take, moving as quickly as possible, tapping on your bedroom window as soon as he spotted you in bed. You had rolled over at the noise, eyes squinting to see what was going on at first before you spotted him. He noticed the split second of anger that came across your features, but it was quickly replaced with wide eyes as you rushed to let him in. He glanced behind him to make sure nobody was about to throw something at him.

“Peter, you’re —” you had started once you pulled the window up, but you didn’t have time to continue before he started rushing to apologize.

“I’m sosososo sorry, I know I promised and I don’t have a good excuse, and I know you must be so upset right now,” he started, his own eyes wide as he climbed in, hands immediately finding your waist to stand you in front of him, ignoring your own shocked look and attempt at getting words out. “Tell me how to make it up to you, I’ll do anything, I swear. Seriously, Do you want a puppy? A cat? A — a lion? Anything?” He was practically begging.

“Spiderman,” You had responded. His eyebrows furrowed, hands dropping from your waist as he took in what he thought was your request.

“You want — you want Spiderman? Like, a cutout? That’s… okay, I didn’t know you were that big of a fan.”

“No, Peter, you’re… you’re Spiderman,” you stated and he was more confused than ever, but then your hands reached out to grab the mask that had dropped to the floor, and everything clicked together. He had never changed.

“Oh, that — um, I was at a costume party,” he attempted to lie, and it was clear on your face that you weren’t falling for his bluff. “Okay, yes. I’m Spiderman. That’s… sort of why I’ve been so late to everything.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me? Did you not trust me?”

“No. No! That’s not it at all. I just — it’s dangerous. For you to know anything. For you to even be with me, but I’m too selfish to end things. I just didn’t want someone coming after you just because you knew my identity,” he admitted with a frown, upset that you were now in harms way just because of his own stupidity.

“You’ve been doing this alone? You haven’t had any help?”

“What?” He questioned, looking at you as if you had asked the most absurd question possible. You were worried about his help when he had just missed his probably fifth date in a row? And put you in danger? “Um, yeah, I’ve been doing it alone. Look, I’m really sorry about tonight, and I promise —”

“Peter. It’s fine, I’m not mad. Anymore. I just can’t believe you hid this from me. I could’ve helped you, you know?” You cut him off, reaching out to rub your hand over a bruise forming near his eye. He hadn’t really noticed it from the fight, used to being punched around and overly focused on trying to get home to you.

His eyes were wide and filled with both worry and guilt. Guilt over missing tonight. Worry because he had no idea what was going to happen now, because it was about to become ten times harder to keep you safe. If anyone found out you knew his identity, they’d come for you, and Peter really didn’t know how to deal with that.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… I was scared something would happen to you. I can’t lose you,” he admitted, his voice small, and your heart broke.

“You won’t, okay? Nothing’s gonna happen to me, I’m here. But I wish you would’ve told me, I hate thinking about you out there, getting hurt. Not having anyone to patch you up. Is that why you’d wear hoodies so often?”

“Yeah,” he looked slightly embarrassed, and he moved to sit on the edge of your bed, keeping a hold of your hand as you went to sit next to him. “I usually heal up really fast, though, I promise. So it’s not that bad. And I’m really good at patching myself up, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Of course I’m gonna worry about you. I worried about you before I knew you were Spiderman, why would you think I wouldn’t worry about this?” You sighed, scooting closer to him as he wrapped his arms aorund you, moving to hide his face in the crook of your neck. You could tell how messed up he felt about it all with how openly he was craving your affection, but you didn’t say anything and instead just put your hands in his hair, scratching his scalp gently.

“Sweetheart, ‘m gonna fall asleep if you keep doing that,” he said, but you didn’t stop and he didn’t stop you.

“That’s fine. Just go to sleep, bug boy.”

He grumbled something out about the nickname, something about being a man and not a boy, but it was quiet, and he almost immediately fell asleep soon after.

[thenextdawn-temporarilyclosed]

Unlucky

Word count: 2.1K

Warnings: blood, angst if you squint, blood, bad writing

Pairing: Tara Carpenter X Fem!Reader

Wrote this before watching Scream VI so don’t worry it doesn’t have any spoilers

———

You didn’t really like living in Woodsboro.

It was a small town, which meant that everyone knew everyone, there was literally just one high school and all the kids your age went there so if anything ever happened or one student did something, all town was going to know, all the kids were going to talk about you and make fun of you. This gets really close to what happened to you.

You used to be Tara’s girlfriend, and it also meant that her friends were your friends too. You’ve actually known Tara your whole life, her sister was your baby sitter and you were really attached to her and even when she left you found ways to stay in contact with her. She was to you the sister you never had, she cared for you like she cared for Tara and that was just good to know. Your parents were both alcoholic, so whenever you went at Sam and Tara’s Place, Sam would always be the one taking care about you, cleaning you up and even feeding you. No matter the countless times you told her she didn’t have to, she always insisted. It nearly was a tragedy for you when she left Town, for obvious reasons.

However eventually you broke up with Tara. Apparently her friends - mostly Amber and Liv - had convinced her that you were too damaged, too far gone to be helped and Tara needed and deserved a better girlfriend than you. I mean how could you blame them? You were indeed as they described you. Your parents had been killed by Ghostface when you were really young and for the first period of time, Sam took care of you like she always did, but then she left and you were put in the foster care system until you were old enough to be able to care for yourself and work and have your own apartment. It was nice you had to admit, being independent and not having to think of anything else but yourself… and your girlfriend.

But then Tara broke up with you, and everything went downhill. You didn’t leave your apartment if not for school or for groceries, it was all pretty a mess. But then ghostface appeared again. You were his first victim. You were helpless already, I mean you had no one, no one who cared for you so surely no one would mind if you were killed right?

You were right, no one did mind after all.

Not Tara, not Sam, no one.

After getting stabbed 10 times, you fell into a coma and when you woke up everyone had left town. Your old friends, your ex, her sister too. They had left and they didn’t tell you anything, they didn’t leave you a message, a phone call, nothing. They had disappeared, leaving you behind in that hellscape of a city and you were alone. And when you went back to school, everyone cheered for you, and gave you the nickname of “last one standing” and you didn’t like that at all. It was a nickname you hated, that would haunt you forever and keep the trauma inside of you alive. And you knew that nothing was over, you knew that every 10 years or so someone would put on Ghostface’s mask again and continue the job that the last Ghostface couldn’t finish…

…only it happened sooner than you ever thought.

You had organized a trip to New York. You had always wanted to go so obviously you agreed. The big apple has always been one of your dreams and even if you were going for a week as a tourist, it was still something, and you were going to make it work. You were going to have a lot of free time so you could go where you have always wanted to go… Central park Times Square, The Brooklyn bridge… yes, you were definitely going to make it work.

You decided to go alone, because ever since Ghostface attacked you, you didn’t know who to trust and to be honest you didn’t want to trust anyone. That’s why all your free time you were walking around NY alone. You were going to the underground train when your phone rang, and you answered it without taking a look at the caller ID “go for (Y/N)” you said, and waited for a reply. “Hello (Y/N)” a too familiar voice could be heard from the other side of the phone “long time no see” he continued, and you immediately got frightened. You looked around, the streets were getting empty due to the day arriving to an end. “W-what do you want from me? Haven’t you done enough?” You asked, speed walking to the station. “Oh no, my game didn’t even start last year. I didn’t finish my job” tears made their way up to your eyes “please leave me alone… I don’t even have a group of friends you can attack” you said, hoping that this would lead him somewhere else

“That’s where you’re wrong, (Y/N). Now I got you here, and Tara and the others already are in town so that’s going to be easy” you could practically see the smirk on his face just based off his voice. You finally got to the underground station. It was empty at this time of night, which only made you ten times more scared “please don’t hurt me” you sobbed and hid behind a wall “oh but I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to kill you, by stabbing all of the organs that I missed last time” at that the call ended, and when you looked around he sprinted towards you, you tried running away but he was quicker. He grabbed you by the air and after pulling you into his embrace, he stabbed you repeatedly in your stomach, as you let out pained screams and grunts, no one could ear you because the station was empty… only you could be this unlucky. He stabbed you five times before you found enough strength to throw your head back and hit him in the face, making him fall down.

He lost his grip on you doing so, and you fell on the ground, face down as you grunted once more, one of your hands covering the wounds as you used the other to try and drag yourself away from him, all with blood spewing out of your mouth. “Where do you think you’re going?” He said after he got up and stopped you by kicking you in your stomach, exactly where your wounds were. You spat out more blood and he towered over you, knife in hand as you closed your eyes and waited for the final impact…

…that never came.

You heard a loud noise, a gun perhaps. And Ghostface, not being armed enough left in a hurry. You laid there, blood spilling our from your wounds and mouth, breaths becoming more erratic and wet as you kept your eyes closed. At some point you felt someone’s hands on you, turning you around to take a look at you and who you were. “(Y/N)? Oh my god what the hell are you doing here?” Another familiar voice… this time it was also another voice you knew too well, but it was… Sam. You opened your eyes, they immediately swelling with tears as you relaxed “S-Sam” you sobbed out and looked at her. “Please help me” you said and for a brief moment you saw her nod. Your eyes were starting to get blurry, and you could feel yourself lose consciousness but you knew you had to stay awake. “Chad, please pick her up”

Within seconds two strong arms were around you and carrying you bridal style, the position hurting you even more… good, at least that’ll keep you awake. You were almost a deadweight in his arms, and he decided to joke about it. “Damn, I didn’t think you were this light” he said. You have always been skinny, maybe too much but it was fine with you. He and his sister were the only ones that even back then never said anything bad about you “oh shut up” you joked back and the laugh made you even more in pain. You didn’t register if there was someone else aside the two of them, as you were swinging from unconsciousness to consciousness and the voices were confused. One thing you were sure of, when you were laying in a car’s backseat, you felt someone hold your hand… a hand you knew too well. Tara, maybe? You weren’t sure because you lost consciousness soon after that.

When you woke up in the hospital, the bright light bothered your eyes, but you squeezes them and rubbed them and eventually you got used to the light. Only Sam was in the room at the moment and she was on her phone. “I think I’ve been in this position before” you giggled as you tried sitting up, also letting out a grunt as Sam looked up and smiled at you. “How are you feeling?” She said and put her phone away. “Like I’ve been stabbed 5 times… for the second time” you joked again, and saw how she smiled slightly. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better… I’m sorry for, you know not getting there sooner” she said and you shrugged “it’s okay, at least I didn’t fall into a coma this time” you shot your arrow, looking away and making Sam look down, out guilt. “(Y/N) I’m sorry-“ she tried to say but you interrupted her: “Sam why didn’t you leave me a note or something, a voicemail… why didn’t you wait for me to wake up” you said

“Because we couldn’t! We had to leave for Tara’s sake and for our own safety and we couldn’t leave any trace back or he was going to find us-“ “he found you anyway. Tell me what did that change? You knew he would have found you either way yet you just had to keep me out of everything like everyone always does!” From all the yelling, the stitches on your stomach had popped and you were bleeding again. “Fuck-“ you said and pressed on the bandage. “I’m going to call a doctor” Sam said and left the room for a brief moment, and soon enough a doctor came in and did your stitches again, along with everyone else who looked at you worriedly. this time Mindy and Tara were there too, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at them.

“Hey guys” you said, your voice kind of low and shy, different to how it was moments ago with Sam. You had all grown up, surely they didn’t “hate” you anymore… right?

“Look, I-“ you were about to continue speaking when Tara made her way over to you, hugging you tightly but avoiding the stitches. You didn’t know how to react at first, but you saw Sam and Mindy give one of those “finally” smiled and you knew that this was something good. You hugged her back and breathed in her scent, god did you miss her. You never stopped loving her, you knew that it wasn’t either of your fault that the two of you broke up… Tara had been basically brainwashed. “I’m so glad you’re okay” she whispered and you smiled slightly, when she pulled back you both smiled at each other before you gave her a nod and a small smile, as if to confirm her you were okay.

“So uhm… back to my question… what are you doing here in New York?” Sam asked and you scratched your head. “I always wanted to come as a tourist. Guess I’m safer in Woodsboro…” you said and Sam immediately replied. “You should stay here. He’s after you and he’s after us as well, we can help each other and I can protect you. I couldn’t protect you a year ago but I can now. Stay.” She said and you couldn’t help but nod at her proposition.

They had defeated Ghostface once, surely they could protect you.