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chocosvt · 3 years

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love café

⚬ pairing: jeonghan x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 17.6K ⚬ warnings: some vulgar language, i guess! ⚬ genres: big time nsfw, dirty talk, lap dances, quickies, bath shenanigans, exhibitionism, overstim - you get what i mean. big ole romance, angst, fluff, jeonghan is very rich and very hot, joshua has a not so subtle crush on you.

✧✎ synopsis: while you’ve spent the last few months pretending the love café doesn’t exist, you realize you need its services now more than ever. this brings you face to face with jeonghan, the son of a luxury fashion designer who’s got money to burn. your exchanges are strictly business. until they’re not.

✧✎ a/n: YES, ANOTHER REWRITE. the original love café was just so unsalvageable that i almost fully wiped its plot, minus the actual concept of the café. so, this should read as fairly new! I HOPE U ENJOY IT !!

It’s not that you were desperate. Because you weren’t.

You were actually more than desperate at this point, and no longer could you sit on that uneven couch with the broken leg, staring at the chipped paint, listening to your neighbours’ screams, believing you should continue like this. More than anything, you were shortchanging yourself. There was no point in holding onto that little string of hope in which those employers might phone you back. It would be impossible to contact your family when you had affirmatively cut ties with them ages ago. And, it was becoming increasingly foolish to ignore your one saving grace, just a street over from your rundown complex.

But, could you really commit to it? Would anyone even be able to look at you and think you were someone desirable enough to reward?

Those thoughts often hung over you like a dark cloud, and poured down so heavily that you were metaphorically drenched, in your own pessimism. However, on that day, you were beyond patience with the cards you’d been dealt. Such a despairing apartment, with all its bugs and drafts and horrible neighbours, could not be your brightest and most fortunate future. There had to be something you could do.

Even if it meant going to the Love Café.

In other words, an easy gig to financial heaven, in exchange for sexual pleasures of course. You walked into your bedroom and sat down in front of the wooden vanity, clicking on a dim, flickering bulb to help illuminate your face as well as its lifeless expression which stared back at you. It didn’t take more than ten minutes to pat your skin with some emptying makeup and thinning pans of eyeshadow. Then, you fixed up your hair and chose a simple, mute-coloured dress from your closet, immediately swallowed by the large winter coat you cozied into.

You hurried quickly down the corridor, ignoring the muffled shouts from your argumentative neighbours bleeding through the nickel-thin walls, past the barking dog which jumped against the door, scratching its nails whenever you waited for the elevator, and you didn’t even spare one glance at the very strange man who always hovered in the central lobby and watched you ignore his coos every single day. By the time you arrived outside the Love Café, you were breathing like a marathon runner. Despite the cold weather, you felt a sweat run like a breeze down your temple as you wiped your face before heading inside.

The space felt warm. Everything was red, pink, or white. And when you inhaled, the air smelled like a note of rose petals and candy. It was surprisingly easy to sign up for a ‘Love Card’ at the front desk.

“This card has twelve punches per service with your partner. If, by the end of the twelfth punch, you’re not looking to pursue something serious with this individual, you can pay for another Love Card. If you do manage to find, ‘the one’, then congratulations, and well wishes. Since you’re a first-time client, you get twenty-five percent off your first card.”

Whoever the lady was, she seemed less than enthusiastic as she pushed a cherry-red paper across the counter with a finely manicured nail. You thought she must have given this spiel so many times, the script probably haunted her in her sleep. Nonetheless, you thanked her, and heeded her direction when she advised you to choose any of the free tables, marked with a pale rose. For some reason, you picked the very last table amongst the row and slid yourself onto the uncomfortable, white chair, the metal back moulded into the shape of a heart.

Whoever reserved the table wasn’t exactly punctual. About half an hour after being seated, ordering yourself a tea, and examining the different clients who filtered in and out the café, you were beginning to assume the worst. That they cancelled. Flaked. Decided to pull from the service and direct their affluence elsewhere. As you titled the last few droplets of tea around the base of the cup, feeling utterly depressed and bored, you heard the little bells clink above the door, followed by a gasp from the employee at the front desk. Considering her microscopic range of emotion, you figured whoever entered must be some flawless rarity.

“Jeonghan!” She fixed her slouched position. “I wasn’t aware you made a reservation today. I haven’t seen your name in the system.”

“No worries. I set an anonymous appointment the night before. After all the chaos I caused last time, I figured it’s best to stay under the radar. I know I’m late. I was finishing up a term paper.”

“That’s quite all right. Here, I’ll just quickly renew your information. One moment… Okay, Yoon Jeonghan, you’re all set.”

At that, your eyes practically bulged right into the teacup. You’d heard his name in some conversations with a few university friends, before you had dropped your program. His father was an inventive in the fashion industry for nearly a decade, and his brand was considered high-end luxury, with people forking up the big bucks just to wear a piece from the collection. His mother recently begun a perfume company. In fact, you had a bottle from her Sunrise series sitting on your vanity, though you used each spritz very sparingly considering its outrageous price point. According to the most recent gossip, Jeonghan had ended his relationship with a model who’d been strutting his father’s cloths.

You couldn’t believe he was here.

No – even worse, you couldn’t believe he was making his way toward your table. It had to be some sort of mistake. How could it be that you chose to sit here? Was the universe attempting another cruel joke?

His visual seemed even more daunting outside his photographs in the magazines. Beyond a glossy page, he was softer. Thick hair, shiny and dark brown, which swooped beneath his ears and parted smoothly at the forehead. His lips were the same shade as the windowsill roses, as well as the high arches in his cheeks. But then, he was sharper too, with a trim, angular jaw and such a defined yet judgemental brow. You had expected anyone else but him. And now, this esteemed, much too beautiful man had come to the very last table, wearing an expression of waning curiosity. Or, as you interpreted it, clear-glass disappointment.

Before Jeonghan seated himself, he untucked his phone from his coat pocket and clicked a side button to check the time. He then sniffled, looked straight at the wall, and sighed. Despite your now devoted wish to disappear, you attempted to begin a conversation that wouldn’t backfire.

“Yoon Jeonghan. I’ve heard the name. It’s nice to meet you.”

He settled one arm on the table, tapping his fingernails.

“Yeah. I’m guessing you’re not a regular here—” he then peered over at your bright red Love Card placed by the teacup to say your name.

Bouncing your leg underneath the table, you nodded. “No, not really. I’ve been debating for a while if this was a choice I should make, but I can’t seem to have ends meet doing anything else. So, I came here.”

Already, Jeonghan looked painfully bored. He stopped tapping his fingers and leaned his chin against the hand instead. You knew it was the insecurity barking. Unnecessarily, you apologized to him.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m probably not the woman you’re expecting and I get that. I wouldn’t be all that offended if you wanted to save the Love Card for someone else or—”

Out of the blue, Jeonghan laughed, though he attempted to mute the sound by digging the bend of his index finger between his teeth. Your sentence trailed off with an awkward, dying breath. He suddenly leaned back in his metal seat, shaking his head apologetically and pulling back some of the soft hairs from his eyes. You felt utterly confused.

“Sorry, sorry,” he smiled, “didn’t mean to discourage you there, sweetheart. I’ve just never had someone apologize for—well, their looks.”

“I-I don’t know,” you lunged for damage control, “I just thought you seemed disappointed and I… Well, I haven’t done this before, so I don’t really know all that well how it works. I… I should stop talking…”

It felt as though someone had swatted both your cheeks in an iron-slap, because the skin was stinging hot like never before. You knew he was staring at you, probably thinking to himself that you were a train wreck waiting to happen. Afterward, an employee visited the table to collect your emptied teacup, and asked Jeonghan if he’d like anything to drink. Refusing to look elsewhere but the clenched fists in your lap, you waited for the employee to leave once Jeonghan rejected the offer. He’d pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket. Uncapping the pen with his teeth, you watched him sloppily scribble something down.

“My number.” He said, sliding it across the table. “Listen, I’ve gotta go home and proofread that term paper before I submit it. Just send me a text, okay? I won’t be free for a few days, anyways.”

“Oh, okay.” You sniffled.

Quite frankly, you couldn’t comprehend that he was still interested in pursuing something venereal, even when you had embarrassed yourself like a circus act. He rose quickly from the table and wrapped the waistband of his coat tight around his small waist.

Staring down at the paper, you blurted out, “are you sure?”

Jeonghan titled his head. “Am I sure of what?”

“Never mind.” You answered. “I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.” He nodded, on the verge of walking away when he abruptly stopped himself. “Are you always this nervous?”

Caught off guard by his question, your elbow whacked the edge of the table and you meekly stuttered, “I-I don’t know…”

You were more than positive he was going to ghost all your texts.

To a degree, you were correct.

Over the course of the following week, you sent Jeonghan at least three texts, each on separate days, only to be rewarded with a demotivating lack of responses. You knew he was a busy individual who probably didn’t have much time to waste on promiscuous affairs, let alone a committed relationship. So, you tried very earnestly to not feel upset or unimportant at his methods – even despite the series of required payments glaring you down from those white envelopes scattered atop the kitchen table.

And then, during the black, late hours of a snowy Friday, you received a reply. A surprisingly urgent one which detailed that you make it to the downtown Opal Studio before eleven o’clock, as there would be a backdoor entrance left unlocked for your access. He mentioned a storage closet underneath a staircase, worded very sternly as: … Wait inside, and do not make yourself known. I’ll see you there shortly, and ensure you leave without being spotted. Uncertain of what the situation would entail, you phoned a cab and payed the driver using some remaining funds from a paper note purse. The studio’s front was a smooth, velvet black, with a wide window which illuminated several mannequins wearing Mr. Yoon’s newest issue. Each outfit cost a pretty penny.

Like you anticipated, Jeonghan was late to meet you in the storage closet; however, you were at no point going to scold his blatant disregard for scheduling when he’d pressed you tight against the door looking the way he did. Buttons popped down the chest of his unwrinkled dress shirt, sleeves cuffed to his elbows, and his neat, styled hair beginning to dishevel around those intense eyes. He braced his hand beside your head, studying your lips as though they were glittering.

“Can I kiss you?” Jeonghan asked. The question seemed to rumble from deep in his throat and you felt your knees weaken.

You nodded immediately, allowing his hand to frame the side of your cheek as his warm, soft mouth nudged against yours. It was gentle for a fleeting touch, and then there was pressure, teeth, a slick tongue running across your bottom lip and leaving you in such a sensual daze that you just stood there with a parted mouth. Jeonghan definitely knew what he wanted from you in that moment. And he wanted it quick. You were flipped around, chest pushed against the door, skirt hiked up impatiently as the fabric ruffled around your hips. His hand slid between your thighs to rub you through the thin pair of underwear, pressing firmly enough that you could feel the cold, thick rings on his fingers.

Eagerly, you began a slow gyration of grinding against Jeonghan’s touch while simultaneously biting down hard on your bottom lip, knowing embarrassingly well that you were already sticky and soaking and ready for him to use you like a designated fucktoy. He was rather flush to your backside as he dug the heel of his palm against your clit, so much yet not enough between the cotton. Something about his scent was beyond arousing, and it gripped to him like a web. An expensive cologne no doubt, mature, raw, and ocean-fresh. You heard the sound of his belt being whipped open, followed by a zipper.

“Alright,” Jeonghan hummed, passing a hand up his length, “let’s make this quick. Gotta be back upstairs in five to finish the measurements and tapering and all that boring shit. Now, just be a good, quiet little girl for me, sweetheart, and this’ll be a cake walk.”

Your mouth stretched into a low, whiny groan as Jeonghan held your underwear aside and began to sink inside of you, his hips stalled against your skin. His light breath then fluttered at your ear, “bet you’d make such a perfect toy to keep my cock nice and warm. Feels so perfect, being this deep inside you, sweetheart.” He shuddered against you, thrusting once, twice, slowly and teasingly dragging himself out before ramming right back in to pinch you against the door.

“Fuck,” he cursed between his teeth, “life would be so much easier if I could just keep you right here on my cock, wouldn’t it, baby?”.

Undoubtedly, that smooth-talking tongue of his was going to be an impending problem. You don’t know where he got off exactly on such scandalous thoughts, but you were too consumed in your own lust to care. The way he fucked you against that door with one hand scraping at your hip and the other wrapped up your throat, fingers pressing hot into your drooling mouth to keep you quiet, it was more bliss than a one-way ticket to Eden. Jeonghan timed his orgasm appropriately, slipping himself from your warmth at the last second and finishing himself off using the hand which had been maintaining your silence. His breaths were slow but husky in the aftermath, his fingers painted in cum.

“You wouldn’t want to use that pretty mouth of yours to clean this, would you?” He laughed.

Before you could respond, Jeonghan had grabbed some paper towels left to sit on a shelf and cleaned the mess himself. Then, as though nothing had happened, he asked if you were carrying that damn Love Card before you could even flatten down the wrinkles in your skirt. You grabbed the small note purse you set down next to the paper towels and revealed the obnoxiously coloured card. Jeonghan smiled.

“That’s the one.” He took a dry erase marker from the shelf and wrote his initials in the first circle.

“Here,” Jeonghan proceeded to offer back the card, “one session down. I need to scram. The hall should be clear at this hour, but have a cab ready just in case you need to bolt fast. Oh—before I go, you got the money to pay the driver? It’s no problem if you’re short. I can cover.”

“N-No, I should have enough.” You answered.

“Cool. I’ll transact you tonight.” Jeonghan nodded, tucking in his shirt rather poorly before slipping past you to exit the storage closet.

One week later, you were at the entrance to the library, pulling open the door with a big, cold huff. It was much warmer inside. You were beginning to feel the tips of your stiff fingers again.

Despite your service at the Love Café, you wanted one last time to test your luck on a receptionist position at the downtown hair salon, simply because you would think better of yourself if you weren’t relying chiefly on Jeonghan to pay your bills. His last transaction had been more than you anticipated. Finally, you were able to erase that huge electricity bill, and you still had enough of the money left over to supply some warm meals for the next few days. If you could just submit your newest resume to the salon, then you might be able to permanently cover the groceries.

Except, you needed access to a computer.

Ever since you tipped over a glass of water onto your old laptop, it had stopped working properly, and the library was the only place close by which let you use the computer room without fees. However, as you peered in through the backroom window to find an open space, you realized just how crammed full it was. Judging by everyone’s intense typing and unblinking eyes, you weren’t going to steal a seat anytime soon, which pulled out a frustrated sigh as you fiddled with the USB in your pocket. You thought about heading home, until you saw Jeonghan.

He was seated at the distant left corner, leaned back comfortably in the chair while he examined something on his laptop. A gym bag was slid underneath the table, and he was dressed as though he had some sort of sports practice; quite the contrary to his usual crisp, ironed shirts and heavy winter coats courtesy of brands you couldn’t pronounce. He seemed concentrated, chewing on his thumb nail while he tapped the touch pad. In fact, he didn’t notice that you had approached him until you said his name quietly from across the table and his eyes flickered.

“Uh, hey.” Jeonghan replied, sounding bothered while he pushed his thumb harshly against his bottom lip. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“And I didn’t expect to see you.”

He shrugged, maintaining his uninterested glance on the laptop screen. “Well, I’m looking over some notes. Last minute stuff.”

You nodded. “What’s with the duffle bag?”

“My friend Joshua – he’s been making me coach this Peewee soccer team with him at the Greenfield Dome.” Jeonghan puffed out his chest, letting an arm fall loosely to his side. “Those kids are insane. They have too much energy. I shouldn’t have let that bastard sweet talk me.”

At that, you giggled, though immediately hushed yourself when the librarian came by with a metal cart, filled with books to shelve. You stepped around the table to move out of her way. Jeonghan pulled out the chair beside him using his foot and nodded that you take a seat.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the USB.

“I need to upload my new resume. I mean, I probably won’t hear anything back from this place, ‘cause that’s how it usually goes. But, whatever. Thing is, I busted my laptop, and now the computer room is filled up. I’ll just come back later and hope it’s cleared out.” Staring down at your shoes, you avoided Jeonghan’s gaze. “I know I’m doing this Love Café stuff, but it would still be nice to have my own income, you know?”

“I get that.” He replied, scratching at his collarbone. “I’ve already got my laptop here and everything. You can use it, if you want.”

“Really?” You smiled wide. “Thanks.”

Jeonghan closed a few tabs that he’d been rotating between before sliding his laptop over to you. Wriggling the memory stick into the small slot at the side, you logged into your email account through the main search engine. As long as you could send your resume to the salon before they closed their application deadline, then you would hope for the absolute best, even if it was an unstimulating, lacklustre gig answering phones and scheduling hair appointments all day. Just as you went to drag the file into your email, Jeonghan’s laptop froze.

“Uh, Jeonghan,” you whispered, “nothing’s moving. Do I just wait? Does this normally happen? Did I screw something up?”

He shook his head and laughed. “Relax, relax. It’s been doing that a lot recently. I figured out if you hold down these keys—” Jeonghan suddenly scooted his chair in very close, his thigh pressing against yours as he reached a hand underneath your arm, the other lightly nudging your fingers off the keyboard, “then it goes back to normal. See?”

“O-Oh, yeah. It’s working.” You stuttered, not all staring at the specific keys he clicked because the side of his face was much too pretty.

Granting you access to the keyboard again, Jeonghan leaned away, though he didn’t move his thigh from yours even an inch. It was almost concerning how flustered you felt. Jeonghan had literally pinned you against a closet door and fucked his own hand right in front of you, and yet, your heart was fluttering tenfold. In a much different way. And it lit this spark of fear and adrenaline at the core of your chest like gasoline hitting a wicked flame. You detached the USB stick, logged yourself out from the email account, and moved quickly off the seat.

In a hurried breath, you said, “thanks so much!” and proceeded to leave the library as though someone were trailing you with a pitchfork.

While it was embarrassing, you knew it was necessary. There was no way you were going to crush on that boy. It was strictly business.

Tired. Aching.

Uncomfortable moisture covering the slopes and divots of your body. You didn’t think there was anything left inside you for him to so commandingly take, like his name were inked to your each and every limb. And yet, Jeonghan wasn’t ready to let you rest. The mattress dipped behind you, the heat of his chest sticking to your back, the weight of his erection pressed right at your tailbone. While his lips kissed softly up your neck, Jeonghan slid his hand in between your thighs to continue pleasuring you, ignoring the responsive whimpers attached to your sensitivity. He’d already brought you to two orgasms, though you were sensing the overbearing rush of a third.

An index and middle finger slid down to your entrance, the contact beyond slippery, a sort of wet velvet, and you hardly recognized the sensation unlike the first time he’d touched you. Jeonghan hooked the digits deep, using the heel of his palm to rub a thorough friction against your clit. Working faster and faster, his laboured breaths fanned hot across your neck while he sharply concentrated on making you starry-eyed. It was pain. It was bliss. It was exactly what you wanted most and everything you couldn’t endure at the same time. You came heavily, screamed as the pulsation at your core felt almost violent.

Unable to fully ride out the pleasure, you attempted to curl away from Jeonghan, hiding your face in the pillows and further tilting your hips. However, the boy followed your movement. He stayed snug to your back, practically leaned over top you with the latter arm braced next to your head while his hand pounded and pounded. The amount of liquid gushing onto his fingers and spilling down his wrist felt almost comical, and you were certain that you had never orgasmed so intensely in your life. To make matters worse, it seemed as though he’d taken that little memory box in your head filled with all your language and tossed it right out the damn window. You couldn’t form one word other than sobs.

Jeonghan breathed a light, shaky chuckle beside your ear. “Trying to run from me, sweetheart? When I can make you feel so good? Look at how much you can take, honey. Such a good girl when you cum so fucking hard ‘round my fingers I can barely move them.”

The sound of his digits sliding out from your entrance was the most impure, salacious noise you didn’t know could exist. Rolling slowly onto your back, you saw the immediate coating on Jeonghan’s hand and the drops beading down his wrist. He caught one with his tongue, licking all the way back up like he was cleaning the juice from a melted popsicle, and you almost couldn’t watch him. In fact, you were exhausted. There wasn’t anything left for you to offer, and the thought of moving from his bed when your core felt this utterly sore and your muscles this tight set a perfectly timed cue for your eyes to fall shut. It was heavenly.

Nonetheless, Jeonghan had a very specific rule. There was no staying past your session, and he was often strikingly clear about it. But this was the first time you’d been pushed to such a degree. He must be able to recognize that it was only a short nap you needed, and perhaps a quick minute under the shower to rid your skin of the sticky sweat.

Out of the blue, something was tossed onto your face. It was your t-shirt earlier stripped and thrown to the floor by Jeonghan. Cracking an eye open and peeling away the fabric to hang loosely from your grip, you sighed. He had already slipped back into his exercise pants.

“Seriously? I’m exhausted.”

He threw a loose flannel over the long, beaming red scrapes that you had clawed down his back, shaking his head with a huff.

“I’m not saying you need to get out right now. I’ve got a dinner with the parents at eight.” Jeonghan proceeded to drop the rest of your undergarments onto bed. “So, you gotta be gone by a quarter to, alright?”

Swallowing dryly, you nodded.

“Alright.”

The next morning, you were seated on the edge of your bed, staring with bleary eyes at the smooth, red Love Card that was initialed to its fifth circle, leaving only eight more sessions with Jeonghan. Though you approached the café with nothing more than an intention to earn money (even if the sex would be inexplicably dull), you were beginning to presume that there was more to this business than you thought. Because the sex wasn’t dull. It was concerningly amazing. And the very man who you had sworn to maintain a no-strings-attached type relationship with was throwing you for a loop. But he was boundary driven.

Be ready to go by this time. No sparkly clothes. Leave nothing in the washroom. Don’t show up here. Don’t show up there. Don’t text me unless this. Don’t call me unless that. Jeonghan knew very explicitly that you were a simple trick to relieving his stress and fulfilling his sexual desires, yet, anything further than that was laughably impossible. And, besides, it’s not like you needed to be in love or have this dazzling, perfect boyfriend. There was too much on your plate already.

You had gone to bed in a thick wool sweater, layered with the heaviest comforter you had due to the broken heating. Ignoring the cold, your next-door neighbours had found themselves in another drunken argument, forcing you to hear the unnerving crack of beer bottles and an outrageous number of insults, ranging from the very straightforward, ‘ridiculous bitch” to the audacious, “go fuck yourself, narcissistic prick.”

Thankfully, the dramatics ended just before three am.

You set the Love Card back on your nightstand. After you splashed mild water onto your face from the sink, you started multitasking, attempting to brush your teeth and remove your pyjama bottoms at the same time. Then, there was a knock at your door. You spared a glance through the peephole while the toothbrush hung from the corner of your mouth and the frigid air hit your bare legs. Upon recognizing the face reflected through the fisheye lens, you nearly choked on the mint-flavoured spit collected at the back of your throat, which forced you to unpleasantly compose yourself at the kitchen sink.

He knocked again, and you pulled the door open almost immediately, probably appearing as though you just hiked through the wilderness. Jeonghan’s eyes widened as he smiled at you.

“Damn. Sleep well?” He remarked, looking you up and down.

You were in the midst of a yawn as you answered. “Um, yes. I-I mean no. Wait, I don’t know what I’m saying. What was the question?”

Jeonghan nodded. “I’ll take that as a no.” He then reached into the pocket on his flannel coat. “Anyways, I have your phone. You left it on my bedside table the other night. Figured it’s kind of useful, I guess.”

“Oh my god. I did that?” You winced, realizing you must have been so tired and discombobulated from Jeonghan blowing your brains out that you forgot. “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

Leaning your temple against the door, you sighed. “How was that dinner thing with your parents? Was it any fun?”

The boy shook his head, pulling out his car keys and tossing them from hand to hand. “No. It was all business bullshit. What they want me to do with my future after I graduate uni. How to be responsible with my money since they think I’m gonna blow it in a few years. Trying to structure my life around stuff I don’t really give a damn about.”

“O-Oh…” You frowned, “well, was there at least good food?”

Jeonghan stopped playing with his keys and titled his head at you. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes gentle, “they had great red velvet cake.”

Unfortunately, your neighbours must have woken up and decided it was a little too peaceful at such an hour, because you heard a loud, clanging thump echo from the room beside yours, like someone had dropped a metal pot or pan on the ground. Of course, the yelling started.

It didn’t last nearly as long compared to the night before, just a few scolding comments which were ultimately muffled. You wondered what Jeonghan was thinking as he blinked at the neighbour’s door and realized how despairing the narrow, dimly-lit hallway looked. After visiting his high-end apartment numerous times based in the luxury core of the city, with its beautiful architecture and sparkle, you were frankly a bit humiliated he was witnessing this drab part of your life – the reason you were seeking his service in the first place. You apologized through your teeth for the commotion, though Jeonghan merely shrugged.

“It’s better than nothing, right?”

“Yeah, that’s true. But those two next door can be a handful sometimes. I don’t get it. If they hate each other, then just break up. Get divorced. It’s like they want to be miserable on purpose.”

“Bet you wish you could get the hell outta here, huh?”

“All the time.” You replied wistfully. “I’m thinking of going to the mall today, actually. I need a new bath towel. Whatever gets me away.”

“You want a ride there?” Jeonghan asked, shaking his keys.

At that, you smiled a little too wide. “Maybe.”

Carefully, you picked up a thin, glass bottle of pink perfume from the display counter, tilting the liquid back and forth as the lights gleamed off the gold nozzle. Everything inside the store was diamond bright and almost blinding, while the air smelled strongly of expensive floral. The employees were tailored in smooth, sophisticated suits, which made you more petrified than usual to touch anything, hence your very delicate inspection of the perfume as you waited for Jeonghan to finish his conversation with the front clerk. Since his father’s collection was sold at the boutique, Jeonghan seemed to have a cordial relationship with the staff, and they had recognized him almost immediately.

As most of their merchandise was quite expensive, you always ignored the boutique until Jeonghan suggested you stop by. It didn’t help that there was actually some cute clothing begging to be bought, though you knew one swift glance at the price tag would change your mind. You brought the perfume bottle close to your nose and inhaled lightly.

“What does it smell like?” Jeonghan asked.

You sniffed again. “It’s sweet, though it’s not strong.”

“Let me smell.” He said, and so you raised the bottle up to his nose. Jeonghan wrapped his hand around yours as he took a breath, shaking his head in disapproval. “That’s all wrong. I don’t like it.”

“It is kind of high schoolish.” You told him, setting the test bottle back onto the counter as though you were laying down a jewel. “I just need a new scent, you know? I actually love that one bottle your mom did, the summer tropic one. It’s so peachy but mild. I’m running out.”

“For real?” Jeonghan laughed, his eyes skipping over the different shaped containers. “You use one of my mom’s perfumes?”

“Um, yeah. Have you even smelled the tropic one? It’s amazing.”

“I don’t hang around her laboratory too often.” He replied. “It gives me a big fucking headache. Smells like this place times a hundred.”

You shrugged. “I guess that’s understandable.”

Suddenly, Jeonghan had latched his hand around your elbow, pulling you around to the opposite side of the counter. He grabbed a tall, slim bottle that was made from foggy glass and a chrome silver pump.

“C’mon, give me your wrist for a second.” He said. “Try this scent. I don’t know why, but it reminds me of you.”

Pulling up your sleeve, you stuck out your wrist and allowed him to spray a thin layer against the skin. Then, you sniffed the area. At first, your forehead crinkled as you attempted to decipher its concoction of notes. There was something a little fresh and cool, but then there was this oddly mature hint of a distinguished floral scent. You couldn’t pinpoint the flower, but it was certainly addictive and very intriguing.

“It’s called Orchid Night. Smells great, right?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, rolling your sleeve back down “just don’t tell me what it costs. It has to be at least fifty bucks.”

“Try sixty-nine,” Jeonghan corrected, “plus tax, don’t forget.”

Immediately, you grabbed the bottle from his hand and returned the perfume to its small podium on the countertop.

“Well, let’s put it back before we break it.”

Jeonghan smirked. “I could buy it for you.”

For a split second, you were tempted to succumb, though you snapped from the thought at the last second and shook your head.

“No way. I wouldn’t let you, anyways.”

He buried his hands in his pockets, rolling those gold-copper eyes of his. Jeonghan made sure to purposefully bump into you as he walked down the bright aisle toward the clothes. “Honestly, you’re so boring, man. That scent, on you? It would be sexy.” The boy then turned around to smother you with a burning gaze. “But, fine. Have it your way.”

You hurried after him, scoffing lightheartedly to camouflage the fact your heart was beating like a broken pendulum. Jeonghan had stopped at a rack of neatly pressed clothing to sort through the hangers.

“My way is the better way,” you smiled, “always.”

Jeonghan moved the long-sleeved button-up he’d been eyeing back onto the rack, merely blowing out a puff of air.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Besides, I still need to get my bath towel.”

“We can find it on the bottom floor. At the new essentials store that just opened up. The Shower Duck, I think.”

“The Shower what?”

He couldn’t help but cackle while repeating himself. “The Shower Duck. You thought I said something else, didn’t you?”

When you were too tongue-twisted to reply, Jeonghan decided to place his fingers softly on your chin, holding your head still as he leaned in very closely to whisper, “you’re such a dirty girl, you know that?” You almost hated how casually he pulled away and continued to examine the clothing, as though he hadn’t just murmured a lascivious comment into your ear while the employees were standing a mere few meters across the store. More than anything, you desired the courage to deservingly tease him in return, to break that relaxed little shtick of his. Except, you weren’t confident nor subtle enough to attempt anything in public.

But when your eyes landed on that brand-new lingerie set wrapped primly on the nearest mannequin, you had a wonderful idea.

“No, are you being serious? Why? Why?”

His blunt fingernails sunk into the leather arms of the desk chair, scraping upward, as equally frustrated with your cruel antics as he was aroused and impatient. Maybe it was somewhat meanspirited to strut the thin, beautiful lace and ribbons curled around your body in a baby pink, and indeed, there was a moment where you pondered leniency, though, you severed the thought, because Jeonghan would surely tear each garter and bow from your outfit like it hadn’t cost anything at all. Pursing your bottom lip, you smiled, sinister and cold.

“I am being serious,” you stated firmly, nearing closer to his desk chair, “your hands won’t touch a single part of me, Jeonghan.”

He glared up at you with a dark, flickering fire in his eyes, as if he were already weighing the consequence to breaking such rules. You began to sit comfortably on the boy’s lap, curling your arms around his neck while maintaining the intensity of the stare.

“And, if you do, I’ll grab my things and leave. It’ll just be you and your hand, for the rest of the night.” Purposefully, you brushed delicate lips, featherlight, along his warm, red-tinged ear, to which you could practically feel him harden underneath you upon the whisper, “and there’ll be nothing you can do other than remembering how good it felt when I was in your lap, grinding down on you, baby boy, just like this.”

Slowly and with focus, you rolled your hips in a deep, smooth gyration, ensuring Jeonghan felt the heavy pressure against all the right places. His hands keened for your waist, so you immediately reminded him of your unnegotiable rules, forcing them to settle on the arms of the chair. He drew in a sharp breath. And then, he started to laugh, like a beaten protagonist receiving their first, acrid taste of defeat. Jeonghan titled his head back to smile very lazily at you.

“Evil.” He said. “You’re fucking evil.”

“Mmhm,” you agreed, continuing the unhurried, steadfast pace of your hips rolling back and forth, observing with poorly hidden glee as the boy lost his smile, “but you’ll still cum, won’t you, Jeonghan?”

Before he could sneak in a clever rebuttal, you adjusted yourself even lower onto his lap, digging your nails down the back of his neck as you circled a thorough motion against his erection. Admittedly, it was difficult to maintain the domineering act. Even through the black material of the slacks, his cock was managing to create a friction with your lace underwear, a friction so rough yet fruitless that you were already tempted to take him, full and aching inside you. In order to distract yourself, you licked the tender side to Jeonghan’s neck, looping your tongue in a messy, warm pattern overtop a sensitive vein.

“Ff-fuck,” Jeonghan stuttered, scraping harshly along the chair, “you devilish little girl, c-can’t believe you’re g’nna make me cum like this—b-but it feels so damn good the way you’re moving, baby.”

You suckled until you’d drawn a shiny, wine-coloured hue to the surface of Jeonghan’s skin, to mark a dark bruise as a keepsake. He kept breathing through a parted mouth, each exhale shakier and more erratic than the last, his knuckles hard like stone while they gratingly tensed and betrayed his frustration at not being able to touch you. With slow, teasing hands, you began to drag them down his chest, nails clawing at the expensive fabric of his dress shirt. Jeonghan squirmed. He clenched his jaw and cursed rough under his breath. You focused on where his cock was poking you to apply the most dizzying pressure thus far, rolling your hips until something inside Jeonghan snapped and you felt him cum.

“Jesus—fuck!” He shouted, the loudest you had ever heard the boy, and there was a notable tear in his usually soft voice. “Keep going, keep going,” Jeonghan panted, squeezing his eyes shut, “keep fucking moving just like that, sweetheart. A-Ahh, ff-fuck, feels s-so good—"

At the pulsating sensation right beneath your core, you submitted to Jeonghan’s wish and continued grinding down, even if you were beginning to tire at your lack of stamina. However, there came a point where you were too breathless to maintain such a pace, so you trickled to a halt and steadied your hands on his firm shoulders. He tossed his head back, neck leaned against the edge of the chair. The hazy, glass look to his brown eyes and the rose glow smeared on each cheek made it appear as though he’d just touched down from heaven. As you shifted slightly in Jeonghan’s lap, you noticed the white stream of cum that had soaked through his pants, and that somehow, he was still hard.

“I didn’t know you could beg, Jeonghan.” You remarked, grinning, meanwhile attempting to catch your breath.

He shook his head. “Don’t expect it too much.”

“Well, I can tell you’re satisfied, either way.”

He chuckled, brushing some of the loose hairs from his face. You felt his hands settle upon your waist’s bare skin, warm and squeezing. In that moment, you just didn’t possess the same acuteness to scold him.

“Almost,” Jeonghan huffed, “but, what do you suppose you’ll do to please yourself, sweetheart?” He leaned forward, until his forehead was just a sliver away from bumping yours, the boy sliding a hand down your abdomen and beneath the lace underwear. As he stroked the tips of his fingers along your slit, he smirked. “I’ve never felt someone so wet before, dripping all over my fingers and I’m barely touching you. Did it turn you on that much, sweetheart? Feeling my hard cock right underneath this needy pussy of yours?” Jeonghan teased with a smirk and a low, calm tone. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to duct tape his mouth shut or allow him to keep talking, as there was something about his honeyed voice which wound you up like clockwork.

Yet, before you could even start the syllable of a response, Jeonghan pushed you strongly from his lap, his hands glued to your waist as he guided you to stumble against the bed. Your back hit the mattress, the sheets puffing up around you. And then, Jeonghan was kissing you, lips clashing messily while he took advantage of the switched power dynamic to run his hands over your every inch. One second, they were cupping your breasts overtop the baby pink bralette. Another second, they were grabbing at your ass and kneading so desperately. You were being ravaged. It was overwhelming, it was gratifying, it was needed beyond belief.

“Hey,” Jeonghan said, separating his mouth from the side of your throat to stare at you with an oddly sentimental eye, “before I get all up in your guts and everything— you look beautiful. Even if you did choose this outfit to be a big fucking tease.” His fingers brushed down the edge of your jaw, and he smiled at you in a way that wasn’t clever or teetering on sarcasm. Your heart leapt like a little frog in your chest.

“Really?” You questioned him, not because you didn’t believe the lingerie suited your figure, but rather, you weren’t expecting this sweetness from someone who was always so quick to get rid of you.

He nodded, raising a suspecting eyebrow. “Yeah, really. What, you think I’m lying to you or something?”

“No, I don’t think that,” you answered quickly, curling your fingers into the bedsheets, “I just—I wasn’t… Uh, never mind.”

“Alright,” Jeonghan laughed, lowering his head to delicately kiss your cheek, and then your neck, “you’re a bit strange sometimes, you know that?” He mumbled against the sensitive skin, even daring to dig his knee between your thighs to make you increasingly pliable.

“I-I know,” you stuttered, unable to help your embarrassing voice crack. But you still smiled, letting Jeonghan explore and pleasure your body with an uncharacteristic tenderness for the remainder of the night.

Twelve am.

Usually, at this time, you’d be at the bottom floor of his apartment complex, seated by the lobby water fountain. You’d be examining your face with a pocket mirror, awaiting the yellow taxi cab, and trying to avoid eye contact with the wealthy businesspeople filtering from the elevators in glamourous congregation.

However, tonight was different.

Tonight, you were in Jeonghan’s bed, with a white sheet covering the lower half of your bodies, an ear pressed to his bare, warm chest while you breathed him in like the wind on a bright summer’s day. You felt his fingertips trace long figure eights down your spine and then dance back up to the subtle curve of your shoulder blades. Sometimes it tickled, other times it was a touch so soft it was hardly there, and in between you thought he might have been tracing words. The room was quiet. But good quiet— the comfortable quiet. And then you heard Jeonghan speak into the crown of your head while his hand stilled at your waist.

“Did that salon ever call you back?” He asked.

You sighed, focusing on your thumb which brushed a small freckle on his pectoral muscle. “They emailed me, and said their position was already filled, but that they’ll try to look for another opening.”

Jeonghan rubbed your hip. “That’s good, right? I mean, they didn’t just flat out reject you. They’re gonna keep you in mind.”

“It’s better than what I’m used to getting,” you answered, pressing your lips together and tilting your head up at him.

And, that’s when it struck you, like someone had just clanged a bell right beside your head. You were still in Jeonghan’s bed. You were still in Jeonghan’s apartment. You were still with Jeonghan. Feeling as though you’d broken some vastly significant cardinal rule, you operated on a strange basis of panic and autopilot, already seated at the edge of the mattress while you tucked your underwear back on.

“I’m sorry,” you spewed, reaching for your shirt next and straightening it out frantically in your lap, “the time escaped me. I-I know I have to go. And, my Love Card, I think it’s in my purse or—”

“Can you slow down?” Jeonghan laughed, casting a hand through his loose, disarrayed hair which you had admittedly tugged earlier in the night like your life depended on it. The boy’s arms circled around your midframe, hugging your back to his chest. “I don’t care about that stupid card right now,” Jeonghan hummed into your ear, “stay.”

At that, you almost choked. “Stay? You want me to stay?” You repeated dumbly, dropping the inside-out shirt back onto your lap.

The coldest shiver split down your spine as Jeonghan buried his face against your neck, taking a breath of your scent, kissing your skin.

“Yeah,” he purred, now pecking the soft spot behind your ear, “I want you to stay. Or, if you really want to go home, I won’t stop you.”

“No,” you replied almost immediately, melting into his voice, his touch, his body, “trust me, I’d rather be here.”

Jeonghan’s arms relaxed their snug grip.

“I figured that.”

Even though you had strongly protested the idea, Jeonghan succeeded at wearing you down akin to an ocean tide forming whorls into rock, and now you were seated before your vanity with an array of makeup scattered at your fingertips as you prepared for a dinner. His parents were going to be there, in addition to some business partners and close friends, which sounded like something from a hellish nightmare. In fact, Jeonghan himself didn’t seem all that eager to attend. He’d been sprawled across your bed for the past half hour, with the long drapes of his coat fanned around him, as he flipped through an old magazine. You were certain he just didn’t want to tough another dinner alone.

After focusing a spritz of perfume to your neck (the orchid one, bought by Jeonghan, because he was very insistent that you not smell like his mother) you shut off the vanity lights and sighed.

“I think I’m ready… Physically though, not mentally.”

Jeonghan yawned, tossing the magazine aside before he pushed himself to sit upright on the bed. He rubbed at his eye.

“Trust me, it’s not going to be the big, royal midnight ball that you’re picturing. My parents have these dinners all the time. You’ll be the centre of attention for a few minutes, and then it’s pretty much just business central from there. You’ll be lucky if you can even get a word in. I stopped trying months ago.”

You smiled at him, feeling slightly better about the situation, and took one last, scrutinizing glance in the mirror. The dress was simple yet elegant, a mute shade of dark blue with a beaded, crystal belt that you had forgotten about, as you discovered it laying behind a stool shoved in your closet. The fabric had an elastic tightness to it and was hemmed shorter than you remembered, just above your fingertips. You tried not to judge or overthink the figure which reflected in the vanity glass, or what Jeonghan’s parents might assume upon their first introduction to someone who was so clueless on their accolades. It was merely a dinner.

“Stop worrying so much,” Jeonghan hummed, sensing that you were at the forefront of a spiral. His hands settled to your hips and he caught your eye through the mirror. “No one is going to judge you, or poke fun at you, or say anything mean. I promise.” He then grabbed your winter coat off the bed, helping you slide into the arms, and even doing up the buttons. “You’re gorgeous.” Jeonghan said, tapping your chin.

It didn’t help that he could fluster you so easily.

Joshua wasn’t at all who you expected him to be, while simultaneously encompassing everything you would indeed expect from the position of Jeonghan’s closest friend. He was a juxtaposition personified. Slick, ash blonde hair combed into a handsome wave, eyes which twinkled like the restaurant’s diamond chandelier, and a soothing voice which could be a cup of warm milk on a frosty day, though his interactions with Jeonghan portrayed him as childlike and frivolous. He greeted you, at first with a quick hug. You heard him exhale deeply.

“Wow,” Joshua commented, retreating to shake your hand, “you smell amazing! I mean—well, I hope that doesn’t sound weird.”

You laughed, and wondered how someone could smile with such a prettiness. “Thank you! I’d be upset if you didn’t notice, actually.”

Joshua continued to shake your hand. “Oh, yeah, agree. It’s wonderful to meet you. Jeonghan’s been trying to hide you, it seems.”

“Go shove a break stick in your mouth,” Jeonghan scoffed, blowing a loose piece of hair from his eyes, “and stop shaking her hand like that. You’re gonna snap her whole arm off.”

Finally, Joshua released his grip, and your arm fell back to your side like a limp noodle. His cheeks were starting to turn pink.

“I was not. Anyways—” he nodded at you, “like I said, nice to meet you. I hope we’ll talk more tonight and I’ll pick your brain.”

“Sure thing,” you answered, waving the boy off as he returned to the dinner table before facing Jeonghan. “He seems nice.”

“And totally into you. I haven’t seen him shake someone’s hand like that since I introduced him to Elouise from France. He’s gonna turn into a lost puppy all over again. Bet he’ll try to sweet talk you later.”

“Can’t wait.” You grinned, already giggling through your teeth.

Jeonghan c0nsquently thwapped your forehead with his finger.

However, meeting Jeonghan’s parents was starkly different than the good-humoured Joshua. They both appeared cross, and firm, and before you had even shaken their hands you were forced to wipe yours against your dress. The father was a bit softer around the edges, showing you a pleased smile that reminded you instantaneously of Jeonghan, while the mother was stone-faced and seemed as though she hadn’t slouched since birth. Even when she complimented your fragrance, there was a tartness to her voice which made it sound disingenuous.

“Well, Jeonghan,” she said, clasping her hands together, “I’m glad to finally see you with a lovely lady on your arm. I didn’t think it was possible that you could settle for someone after being with Baejin.”

“Oh?” The father piped up, “you’re my son’s girlfriend?”

Before you could respond, Jeonghan had beaten you to it.

“No, she’s…” he bit his lip hard, “she’s just a friend. Mom kept nagging that I always come to these dinners alone, and she was down.”

For some reason, it felt like someone had pierced a pin straight through your heart – a very tiny hole which shouldn’t hurt all that much, yet stung like flesh to orange, glowing metal. In fact, there was a visible shift in your countenance, from a nervous smile to a sunken frown, but you were able to veil it very quickly and pretend nothing was wrong. Why should you feel so disappointed that Jeonghan had introduced you as a friend? The promiscuous nature of your relationship didn’t immediately loop you two together as soulmates, or lovers, or even the mildest beginnings of boyfriend and girlfriend. You tried to refocus yourself.

Jeonghan’s mother nodded. “Even if she isn’t your next Baejin, it’s nice to meet a new face. The dinner talk might bore you no doubt.”

“No, not at all—” you forced a smile, “I’m just excited to be here.”

It was easier to endure the night than you thought, because true to Jeonghan’s word, the conversation was a bunch of business lingo that you didn’t exactly understand, with the occasional question flitted to you by Joshua who sat across the table. You had completely emptied your glass of ice water, and were halfway through your wine when two fancy, tuxedoed servers stopped by the table to collect everyone’s dishes. A distant relative was seated to Jeonghan’s right, and they had swept him into a discussion of whether or not he was interested in pursuing his current degree or if he would abandon it to work fulltime for his father’s brand. Meanwhile, Joshua had whisper-shouted your name.

You raised an eyebrow, “what?”

“Are you getting dessert?” The blonde asked, already shoving a small, plastic menu to his face. “I can’t decide what I want.”

“I guess so,” you picked up an extra menu sitting by a purple wine bottle and started to browse the list of decadent food.

Joshua sighed, “I usually get the cheesecake… but, I’m torn. What if I want the caramel apple baked pudding with black truffles?”

“The caramel apple baked what?” You questioned, laughing from the absolute mouthful that Joshua just worded so effortlessly.

“I know, I know. It’s a jumble. But my family and I come here all the time so I’ve gotten these names down pat. What are you thinking?”

“Um, I’m not sure. I’ve never been here before, actually.”

His eyes, glistering and delighted, locked with yours. “Can I recommend you something, then?” Joshua said while smiling. “Red velvet cake. It’s right at the bottom. Not to mention the slice is huge so there’s always leftovers for the next day. It’s a favourite here.”

The relative responsible for dragging Jeonghan into another trite conversation concerning his future had excused themselves from the table. He was finally able to return his attention to you, and you slid over the dessert menu so he could pick something. You noted that Jeonghan’s hand had fallen onto your thigh, right at the hem of your dress, and you could only surmise that trouble was brewing. Joshua took a sip from his water glass, then settled it back on the table while subtly eyeing you.

“So, I’ve never seen you around before. Are you in school?”

You tapped your nails against the white table cloth, shaking your head, “no—I had to drop my program. It just wasn’t what I thought it would be and, well, I took a huge hit financially. So, no school.”

“Not everything is going to be a bullseye,” Joshua said, “I’m sure there’ll be more opportunity down the road. This other friend of mine, his name is Mingyu, he does this thing called the Love Café—” the boy then gestured to Jeonghan, “and I know he’s done it once before. Have you heard of it? Maybe it’s not up your alley, but I hear it’s good money.”

The suggestion had quite visibly stunned you. It seemed that Jeonghan was intent to keep the foundation of your relationship as covert as possible, which prompted his ‘friends’ comment before dinner, therefore you had no choice but to follow the rouse, even if the boy was currently sliding his hand further up the inside of your thigh, pushing inch by inch under your dress. Jeonghan didn’t contribute a single word.

“Um, the name sounds familiar. I’ll have to look it up.” You then glanced at him, hanging his head over the menu like a child who forgot their glasses, probably hiding some million-watt smirk.

“Are you having dessert?” Joshua asked his friend.

Jeonghan sat up straight, nodding, “I am.”

“The red velvet cake?”

“Vanilla ice cream. The one that comes on the skillet.”

“Oh, that one’s seriously good,” Joshua groaned, “ask them to put a chocolate chip cookie on the side. It gets all warm and—”

“Joshua,” the young lady beside him, probably in her late twenties, with petal-shaped, twinkling eyes similar to his and ice-like smooth skin, suddenly wrapped her hand around his arm, “can you come outside with me for a few minutes? I think I left my wallet in the car.”

He pushed out his chair. “Sure thing—guys, I’ll be back in a few. I need to help my cousin. If the waiter comes, order for me please.”

While you might have promised Joshua to follow through on his unnecessarily complicated apple pudding, such thoughts were quick to be discarded the moment he’d left the table, as Jeonghan had given you much more to think about. The boy’s hand was wedged between the apex of your thighs with two fingers pressed flat against your underwear. You felt heat, and the faintest burning of pleasure, one that yearned for you to start a gentle undulation against his hand because your unruly body was already eager for stimulation. Jeonghan picked up his wine glass.

“What are you doing?” You tried to shelter the whisper from the table’s guests, hoping the business speech was too engrossing.

As laid back as an ironing board, Jeonghan took a long gulp from his drink, swishing the wine from cheek to cheek before he swallowed. He set the wide-rimmed glass back down and wiped his mouth.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing?’” He said, raising an eyebrow at you as though you’d conjured a make-believe tale. However, the instant he started to slide up his index finger so it could push firmly against your clit, a smirk penetrated that complacent expression.

You grabbed his wrist, stared him dead in those honey-brown eyes. “Are you insane?” the whisper was harsh, “we’re in public.”

He tilted his head indifferently. “What’s your point, love? I get to play with your pussy whenever I want. It’s mine now. Remember?”

The dirty-mouthed comment split a fire beneath your cheeks like a flint cracking steel. Not only that, but Jeonghan studied each minor contort of your face as he slipped two digits beneath your underwear, brushing his fingertips ever so softly around your sensitive clit. You gulped, dry and gritty, hating that your thighs were starting to spread.

“Jeonghan!” A voice called his name from down the table.

Fear gripped your poor heart like latex glove. It was an older relative, asking him to pass down the remaining bottle full of wine.

“Oh, such a nice boy!” She chirped.

You nearly gawked at the remark considering the immoral placement of his hand and what he was doing. On the contrary – as much as you wanted to be embarrassed for allowing Jeonghan to touch you in public viewing– he knew his talents much too well, and the manner in which he used your own arousal to lubricate the massaging motion of his finger to your clit was an astounding bliss. Your legs fell wider apart, inviting him to explore a more rigorous touch, and that’s when Jeonghan curled his two fingers inside of you until his knuckles couldn’t fit.

Before your pinched expression could be caught by anyone at the table, you looked straight down at your lap, watching his wrist work beneath the navy-blue fabric. In fact, very faintly, you could hear the squelch from his digits pumping deep and slow into your warmth. Your bottom lip was quivering as he drew them out, now running the long length of his fingers upward to graze beneath the hood of your clit. He repeated a stroking gesture. It triggered the nerves to swell and pulse.

“I see Joshua walking back,” Jeonghan murmured, an arrogance thick in his voice, “and you don’t want him to find out about this, do you? Or, maybe I’m wrong.” He slid his entire hand beneath your underwear and cupped your centre, squeezing like he owned it. “Maybe you want him to know you’re such a whore of a girl that you’ll take my fingers anywhere. I mean, look at how much you’ve opened your legs, and I didn’t even ask you to. I love when you behave just for me, honey.”

Joshua collapsed back at the table with a huff, combing some snow flurries from his hair. “We found the wallet.” He said.

Yet, you couldn’t even bring yourself to face him. Jeonghan had spread your lips with his index and ring finger, using his middle digit to make rhythmic, deep circles around the bud. An erotic whine escaped your teeth and Joshua’s eyes widened; his face tinged with concern.

“Are you alright?” He questioned. “Did you get a Charlie horse?”

“N-No, I’m fine, really.” You composed yourself with a weak smile, and took a sip from your wine. “I got one of those rib pains.”

The blonde boy winced. “Ouch, those hurt big time.”

Honestly, you didn’t think it was possible to endure dessert without revealing to some degree that you were being, well, stretched open by Jeonghan. It was sheer torture staring at the waiter while he took your order, knowing the boy was lazily pumping his fingers inside you with a half-smirk seated so comfortably to his face. When that huge, delicious slice of cream red velvet cake was placed before you on the table, you could only fork a few pathetic bites, and when Joshua offered you to try a spoonful from his warm apple pudding, you nearly squealed the word no as Jeonghan rolled your sore clit between his fingertips. The most egregious aspect to the entire daubable was that the boy stripped your orgasm from you at the very last second, like stopping a rollercoaster just before it tips over the downhill plummet.

“How was the ice cream?” Joshua asked him innocently.

You observed with horror as Jeonghan brought that sinful hand to his mouth, lapping his tongue against his two fingertips as though he were actually savouring a sweet and flavourful vanilla.

“Delicious.” He grinned, catching your mortified stupor from the corner of his eye. “I’d taste it again in a heartbeat, Shua.”

Dropping the slice of bread into a shallow bowl, you used the spatula to submerge it underneath the milk, egg and cinnamon mixture until it was completely coated. Then, you slid the bread onto your buttered frying pan to let its surfaces crisp and brown. Since you began utilizing the service granted by the Love Café, life at your depressing excuse for an apartment was becoming more bearable, though your ultimate goal would be to ditch the paper-thin walls and insult-spewing neighbours once money was no longer a prevalent issue. You were still insistent on supporting yourself too, if you could ever score a job.

You flipped the bread onto its opposite face, pressing it down with the spatula as the pan sizzled and the butter popped. A few days had passed since your last intimacy with Jeonghan, and the proof would have been stamped to your Love Card if the boy had actually written his initials like usual. The thing was, Jeonghan – who had always been so firm and unwavering on the rules of the café – was now skirting about the regulations as though they were optional. There were days when he didn’t even initial the card, but still delivered his transactions. In fact, you were almost positive that sex had happened more than twelve times and that you could be renewing your card if wanted (you didn’t).

As silly and cliché as it sounded, you liked Jeonghan. You constantly thought about him and missed him and wondered what he was doing while you were trapped in bed listening to another argument between your spiteful neighbours. There was always a deep, electric pounding in your chest upon weaving the tips of your fingers along his skin, touching him, exploring him. Yet, when he held you close, tucked your body tight against his like there was nothing surrounding you but ice, comfort found a home in your belly like a warm, homecooked meal.

After spilling some icing sugar and strawberries across the toast, now fried a delicious shade of golden-brown, you took a seat at the counter and dug in. There had been an occasion where Jeonghan brought you breakfast after warping your legs into complete gelatine (you had no idea that kitchen table sex could be so fiery and passionate), which proved to be a pleasant morning, where you could still feel the softness of his thumb as he kindly brushed some whipped cream from your bottom lip. You sighed, sticking a strawberry into your mouth. How foolish it might be to fall this far and this devotedly for someone like him.

But you didn’t want to stop yourself.

In fact, you reached for your phone across the counter, swiped into your messages, and decided to be bold. You texted him.

[ 9:29 AM ]: Hey! I know that I’m not supposed to send you anything unrelated to our business lol, but

[9:29 AM ]: Just wondering if you’re available to grab a coffee with me or something along those lines?

Setting the phone down and turning it over so you wouldn’t be tempted to helplessly wait for a notification, you continued eating. After scraping the last few pieces of toast and syrup around the plate, there was a vibration and a quick, ding! Strangely, you were starting to sweat.

[ Jeonghan | 9:34 AM ]: Sorry. In a lecture rn.

Of course, your surge of bravery immediately dehydrated, and you decided it was best to pretend that you hadn’t asked him anything at all – for your confidence’s sake. The next two hours were spent cleaning the kitchen, taking a short walk outside the complex to feel the Northern air refresh your face, and finally, a long bath, in which you nearly fell asleep and drowned as the steam lulled your eyes shut. While wrapping your body snug in that new, hot pink bath towel, you heard a knock at the door. You assumed it was the painter who occupied the room directly below yours, as you had borrowed his vacuum the night before, though you weren’t exactly raving at the thought of answering him in a towel.

However, by squinting through the fisheye lens, you were shocked (and greatly relieved) to discover that it wasn’t the middle-aged painter dressed in his splattered, dirty overalls, but Jeonghan.

And he was holding a drink.

You unlocked the door.

“Uh, hello after all. What are you doing here?”

He smiled at you and held up the cardboard cup, “my lecture ended, and I thought I’d do you a solid. Couldn’t remember if it was two sugars-one cream, or two creams-one sugar. So I tossed a coin.”

“What exactly was the result?” You giggled.

“Heads,” Jeonghan answered, “two sugars-one cream it is.”

“You’re lucky that’s correct.”

Accepting the warm cup from his hand, you set it carefully on the kitchen counter. When you returned to the door, Jeonghan was evidently ogling you. He really suited the image of a casual university student when he wasn’t dressed to gems and jewels in his sumptuous clothing.

“I knew the hot pink towel would look good on you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not dropping it, so forget it.”

“Whoa,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “I didn’t ask you to drop it, sweetheart. I’d rather you not actually, with this door wide open and everything.”

“Did I really just hear that from you, Mr, Dinner Table?” Folding your arms, you stared him down with an accusing expression.

He held up one finger in defense. “First of all, that was under the table, so unless someone bumped their fork or something, then we were pretty much safe. This is you dropping your whole towel right in the doorway like there isn’t a weirdo probably peeping you across the hall as we speak. And I’m not letting anyone look at you like that, ever.”

“Fine,” you sighed, hoping he couldn’t spot the flustered heart pumping your chest beneath the towel, “you’ve made your point.”

Jeonghan checked his silver wrist watch, “fuck. I gotta get going, need to be at the studio so I can be a taper dummy again.”

“Oh, okay,” you nodded, “talk to y—”

Suddenly, the boy was cupping each side of your face in his hands, and his lips pressed soft but quick to your forehead. Jeonghan then pinched your thigh under the towel, a gesture which felt oddly endearing rather than sexual, before he left the corridor.

“Later!” He’d called.

Shutting the door, you returned to your seat at the counter, holding the coffee cup up to your mouth as you took a small, nervous sip.

How could you let yourself fall this easily for him?

Jeonghan’s washroom was somehow nicer than your entire apartment, and you were fairly certain that your eyes had never seen so much white-grey marble, all squeaky-clean and aglow with lights. He’d shot you a text roughly an hour ago, right after he was released from the painful effort required to keep Joshua’s peewee soccer players in check, wondering if you were available to come over. Of course, the innocence to the term ‘come over’ was nothing more than a euphemism, a means of sugar coating what Jeonghan actually intended: to be inside you no doubt. And since the boy was so drained and unwilling to instigate any work himself, Jeonghan decided that a steaming, hot bath should do.

Well – a bath which involved you seated on his dick. The tub was dark grey tile, square-shaped, and practically the size of a small jacuzzi. It even had a bench to sit on. While it had been difficult at first to simply cockwarm the boy – when all you could feel was how deeply he spearheaded into your sensitive spot and how this shock would ripple from your abdomen at even his gentlest movement– you knew he wasn’t looking to make things quick and temporary. Therefore, you settled into his lap, wrapping your arms around Jeonghan’s neck while his circled your waist beneath the water. Both of you were starting to fall asleep.

“Jeonghan,” you whispered, lifting your head from his shoulder, only to remember that you were indeed naked and this heat lapping around you was definitely not a blanket, “can I tell you something?”

With his eyes still shut, he nodded, his fingers digging appreciatively at your hips. “Of course you can, baby.” He replied, his voice sounding deeper than usual as he orientated on the edges of sleep.

Smiling, you combed through the damp hairs at his nape, your voice reverberating like a musical instrument off the marble. “Remember the salon place? They called me two days ago, said they had an opening for me and that I could start next Monday. I… I wanted to text you about it, like, as soon as it happened. But I wasn’t sure if I should.”

“What? Really?” Jeonghan was staring at you now, his head straightened from its leisurely position against the edge of the tub and cocked with interest. The fact he seemed so intrigued, that you could read the genuine excitement building up in those brown eyes, had almost made you happier than the salon’s phone call. “Congratulations!” He leaned forward to kiss you, pecking your lips chastely the first time, and then slower come the second, his hands squeezing your thighs.

After a tiny laugh, you sighed contentedly. “Thank you. It’s going to be so nice having my own cashflow and everything. And if I can work my way up and become like, a kickass hair stylist? Can you imagine?”

“Should I grow my hair out more so you can practice cutting it? You’ve got a steady hand, don’t you?” Jeonghan asked, mostly teasing, as you could imagine his parents harping him during his next session at Opal Studio if he looked as though he’d ran through some hedge clippers.

Returning the affection, you kissed the rosy tip of his nose. “I think my hands are pretty steady. We’ll find out I guess, and we’ll know for sure if a huge chunk of your hair falls to the floor.”

Your laughter immediately mingled, and you hid your smile against the boy’s neck, a very moonstruck, loopy smile which felt like riding a blazing comet between the stars. If you were legitimately able to climb higher amongst the business, then you could picture a life in which you didn’t need to lean on Jeonghan and the Love Café for financial support. In fact, there were moments where you felt rather dirty using his money even when he was completely insistent on such matters, like buying food and paying off bills. You held tight to a certain hope, that you could become independent again, and maybe, just maybe, be able to keep this beautiful boy whom you once thought would hate you.

His fingers tapped up your spine, urging you to face him.

“Seriously,” Jeonghan said, “I’m happy for you.”

“I know,” you answered, so quietly he could hardly hear it.

And then, you decided to kiss Jeonghan, placing your damp hand upon his cheek while your mouths slotted together. The contact had lost its grace almost instantly, and the kiss turned from a sweet gesture to a sensuality so thick you could feel it swelter the air and pool between your legs. He offered his tongue for you to suckle by sliding it smoothly into your mouth, and from there, Jeonghan’s intended relaxation had vanished. His hands grazed to the front of your body, reaching up and sliding back and forth over each breast. It wasn’t until Jeonghan began massaging his thumbs in circular motions around your nipples that you moaned into his mouth, a sound which flicked a smirk to his face.

Once his lips were shiny and slick with your saliva, he moved each kiss down the side of your neck, now pinching at your nipples, even twisting gently and making sure to ease the dull throb by rubbing them afterward. It was becoming unbearable. You needed to move. However, the second you started a rhythm in Jeonghan’s lap, he shook his head.

“Be still,” he told you, lightly gripping your chin.

The desperation in your whine was horribly apparent, almost soaking each word. “No Jeonghan, I-I can’t do that anymore—” ignoring him, you continued to grind your hips and move the water around you, feeling his engorged head tick against that one spot of insane pleasure, “I need t’cum now, all over your cock.” With every bounce in his lap, you begged, “please, please, please.” This prompted Jeonghan to grab your waist much tighter than usual and slam you down, holding you still.

“No, not like that,” he grunted, and you wondered if his control was simply otherworldly or if he was just that talented at hiding how good he felt. “I’ll make you cum, sweetheart,” Jeonghan nodded, “but you can’t move. I just want you to sit there, all the way down.”

He then leaned in close to your face, nearly pressing his forehead to yours, and that’s when you felt his thumb brush with a featherlight, fleeting touch across your clit. The sudden stimulation jerked your body. Jeonghan bit his lip and grinned while continuing the sensitive touch, the pressure becoming heavier with each minute that passed. Your thighs started to tremble, and your moans were echoing around the washroom.

The honeyed dirty talk crawled up Jeonghan’s throat. “You’re such a cute little cocksleeve, sweetheart,” he purred, titling his head as he rubbed his thumb faster, “oh, look at you, baby. Shaking and crying and taking it like it’s the only thing you’re good for—” a messy kiss to calm you down, thin strings of saliva hanging in the air each time your mouths separated, “I bet you’re gonna cum for me soon, right?” The boy encouraged, keeping his forehead flush to yours so he could observe with utmost clarity the beautiful contortions of your face. “I know you are, sweetheart. Because it feels so good, right?” You nodded frantically, digging your fingers into his neck like a cat sinking in its claws. Jeonghan’s thumb pushed beneath the hood of your clit, directly massaging the soft bud, and the pleasure inside you leapt to a new high which made you dumbly lose all sense.

“Cum.” Jeonghan commanded so gently, his gaze burning against your eyes, squeezed shut. At the straightforward word, you allowed the sensation to swallow you like a current, and the hot, teary cry you mewled had been quickly snuffed as the boy pushed his lips to yours.

“Can feel you clenching so fucking tight around my cock,” he chuckled, digging his nose into your hair and speaking warmly beside your ear, “and how much you’re throbbing right under my thumb. Must feel so good, sweetheart, cumming all over me like such a good girl.”

You slumped against him, overwhelmed, emptied, and breathing so heavy that you were afraid the oxygen might dwindle completely from your lungs. The fact Jeonghan could remain so composed while buried to the hilt in your heat was something else that frightened you, though, in the moment, you preferred not to think about it, instead concentrating on the distant sensation of Jeonghan drawing galactic shapes to each your shoulder blades.

Hopefully, he’d let you stay the night.

Once you started the receptionist job at the hair salon, you had bumped into Joshua on a Friday evening. While his platinum blonde look was indeed enchanting and princely, he complained that it was difficult to maintain the roots, and that he often found himself back in the stylist’s chair for a touch up. He’d come in on a whim. Luckily – due to the late hour – there was an open seat, and Joshua puffed a great sigh of relief as he hooked his jacket onto the salon coat hanger. Curious if there was more behind the reason to his abrupt appearance, you conversed with him while he waited for the stylist to tidy up her work area.

That’s when Joshua informed you of the Opal’s Galleria Night, a fashion exhibition which would display Mr. Yoon’s newest edition for his upcoming Spring line. Joshua seemed surprised that you hadn’t known about the Galleria, or, that Jeonghan hadn’t mentioned it to you. Oddly enough, Jeonghan had been radio silent the past three days; not a phone call, or a voice memo, or even a text. Yesterday you had hoped to catch him stuck in the books at the library, but the area where he usually sat was occupied by a study group of freshman. It concerned you a little.

An ungraceful quickie in the washroom after his three-hour lecture ended on Tuesday was your last encounter. Not to mention, there was only one more opening left on your Love Card.

“He didn’t say anything,” you told Joshua, pretending to act indifferent “so… I don’t think he wants me there. It’s not a big deal.”

Yet, that’s not how you truly felt. There had to be some reason for the boy’s keeping you in the dark. Did he not want to explain the ‘friends’ trope to all the Galleria members, like at the dinner? Or, was he thinking that you wouldn’t be interested? It wasn’t easy to seem unphased.

“Jeonghan doesn’t need to invite you,” Joshua had said, “cause I’ll invite you myself. Mr. Yoon said it was more than fine if I brought someone along. So, why not you? It’ll make the night more fun.”

At first, you vehemently rejected the invite, no matter how sweetly Joshua attempted to rope you into a night of free perfume samples, delicious catering food and a chocolate fountain perfect for dipping strawberries. However, when the hair stylist pulled Joshua away to fix his darkening roots, you had much time to mull over the offer, and even the fact you felt poignant about dismissing it. As you tapped a pen against the desk, staring out the window into the grey, dulling sky, you convinced yourself there could be no harm in attending the Opal’s Galleria Night. Besides, you and Jeonghan weren’t cast in stone. He probably wouldn’t bat any eyelash anyways, knowing his eased nature.

And so, you caught Joshua just before he left.

You told him you’d changed your mind.

When Jeonghan first saw you at the Opal Galleria, it was from across the ballroom that had been temporarily converted into an exhibition space, stood next to a mannequin draped in a cherub-pink slip dress. Almost comically, he gagged on some sparkling champagne held in a thin and tall glass, though he recovered smoothly as to not interrupt the conversation his father was sharing with the dense crowd. You waved at him, not too noticeably of course, but he either didn’t catch it or had decided to ignore the gesture. Shrugging, you tried not to overthink it.

Mannequins were lined up along both sides of the ballroom, adorned in the mild tones baring semblance to Spring, with the blips of baby blues, clementine oranges, and cream violets transforming the Galleria into an acrylic painting. Jeonghan’s mother took the opportunity to offer some spritzes from her most recent line, which had both you and Joshua smelling like a tulip garden. While exploring the room with the blonde boy, you stopped to examine a mannequin dressed in a relaxed, high-waisted pant and a lace camisole that seemed breezy and flowing. This collection was definitely tamer compared to the usual extravagance you had always seen through the store windows and in magazines.

“Would you wear it?” Joshua asked, chewing on a strawberry that he might as well have plucked from thin air.

Tilting your head and squinting, you took a moment to contemplate. “If it was my size I might, if I could find a price hanging off somewhere. But I don’t want to even touch it. Mannequins are weird.”

“No prices are usually displayed at the Gallerias,” Joshua informed you, “though, I will agree. It’s probably a Toy Story thing where they all start moving at night when no one’s here. Spooky, huh?”

You sighed at him, “thanks for the nightmare material.”

Suddenly, there was a tap to your bare shoulder, and you nearly yelped like a cat with a stepped-on tail as Joshua laughed between bites from his juicy strawberry. Turning around, you were met with Jeonghan, who had this flat-lined, unenthusiastic smile hardly touching the corners of his mouth. He looked rather agitated in fact, and you felt cold inside.

“Hey!” Joshua exclaimed, punching his friend’s arm. “Finally escape your dad’s novella-length speech on the pink slip?”

The crowd once gathered around the mannequin had started to disperse, with the visitors now exploring the rest of the outfits.

Jeonghan hardly payed any mind to his friend, throwing out an impatient, “yeah, it was whatever,” before he began questioning you. He started with a rather inhospitable, “why are you here?”

“I invited her,” Joshua announced, “since I ran into her at that salon place. I thought it would be nice and everything. The Gallerias can get pretty stiff if you come alone. Plus, there’s chocolate fountains.”

He appeared nettled, like he’d woken up and spilled coffee on his favourite shirt. You couldn’t place the exact emotion, nor could you identify the reason behind Jeonghan acting as though there were one-hundred choice words waiting to zap off the tip of his tongue. For an instant, you wondered if it would be worthwhile to question him, though there was a shout of the boy’s name and you spotted his parents beckoning him over from across the exhibition. Jeonghan merely rolled his eyes, disappearing just as quickly as he’d arrived to accompany them.

You folded your arms concerningly. “Do you know if something’s wrong? I haven’t seen him like that before.”

Joshua dropped the rest of the strawberry into his mouth. “He’s probably stressing over something. I wouldn’t worry too much. He’s not really one to blow up or get all in your face. I’ll talk to him later.”

Seeing as there were others who wanted to examine the camisole mannequin, you and Joshua seated yourselves at a tiny table right beside the chocolate fountain and catering foods. Though, you were unable to quell the curiosity at what Jeonghan was needed for, prompting your eyes to wander as unnaturally as possible in his direction. He’d just pulled a young woman into a hug, and she was positively gorgeous, dressed in a silk-fabric dress, form fitting and ruby red, with an elegant slit parting up to her right thigh. Her ponytail was slicked shiny as though her hair had been styled professionally, and she flaunted a dreamy smile that reminded you of a vintage female heroine.

And then, like a slap to the face, you realized she must be the woman whom Jeonghan’s parents seemed to be obsessed over.

Baejin, his ex-girlfriend.

She mentioned something into his ear, and they became giggly, the two pulling in again for another short hug. Jeonghan’s father gestured back to the pink slip mannequin, and the four walked over to discuss it for the umpteenth time. You wondered if she was going to be modeling some of the clothing. The assumption felt correct as Baejin touched the dress’ delicate fabric and the beaded, glimmering string tied around the tiny waist. Quickly, Jeonghan fetched the girl a champagne glass, the two drinking together while the father appeared to be entering another in-depth explanation. And, perhaps dignifiedly so, you were feeling mislead and upset. You speculated if this could be the reason for him to keep the Opal Galleria a secret – Jeonghan didn’t want you to catch even a glimpse of him reuniting with Baejin.

They hardly portrayed two ex’s who were now settled on different chapters to their lives. The longer you stared, the angrier, yet, more confused you felt. As you thought before, the odd relationship between you and Jeonghan was not set in stone, and it certainly didn’t ignite with the intention of actual love taking a blossom to your doorstep. It could be that you were jumping to conclusions, misreading things, or disillusioned by your tendency to wishfully think. Nonetheless, the sight still hurt.

Joshua bumped your elbow.

“Are you hungry at all? The scent from the catering tables is getting to me. I can grab a plate for you, if you want.”

With a sigh and a fragile smile, you shook your head. “No, I’ll come with you. Besides, you don’t know what I like anyways.”

“Fair enough.” Joshua agreed.

He stuck out his hand for you to take while rising from the chair.

Grabbing a small plate, you started at the end of the catering table and began making your way down, using the plastic tongs to serve yourself some spring rolls. Joshua filed after you, instead taking a bowl and scooping up some of the fresh zucchini pasta. Admittedly, you had lost your appetite after watching Jeonghan act so cordially with Baejin, though you were determined to not let the plight sour the otherwise enjoyable night you were having with Joshua. Once you reached the chocolate fountain, you swore a sparkle jumped into his eye.

“Why are you so obsessed with the fountain?” You had tried not to laugh as you asked the question.

The blonde boy looked aghast. “Because, it’s beautiful!” He picked up a strawberry arranged neatly around the base, dipping the edge briefly beneath the chocolate. “I mean, how can they make it so delicious and velvety? When I came to my first Galleria, I spent like, half my night just standing by the fountain, eating the fruit.”

You couldn’t help but think Joshua was adorable, and you grinned at him, “well, maybe I don’t have as much of a sweet tooth.”

“Just shush up and try this.”

He held out the strawberry, inviting you for a taste. At first, you paused, wondering if there was some flirtatious intention behind the gesture or if Joshua was just being his overtly kind self. And then, you held onto his wrist and took a bite from the strawberry, the warmth of the melted chocolate satin-smooth against your tongue.

Wiping the edge of your mouth, you nodded. “It is pretty tasty, actually. Let me try dipping it. You make it look weirdly fun.”

After setting down the catering plate, you took Joshua’s strawberry while he picked up a new one. Together, you pushed your fruits beneath the streaming chocolate, twisting it at the green leaf to fully coat the sides. So it wouldn’t drip, you immediately took a huge bite with a hand placed just below your mouth, humming contentedly.

“Okay,” you mumbled, still chewing, “I can see why you like this so much. I think I could get addicted to chocolate strawberry dipping.”

“Me too,” Joshua chuckled, “oh! Look, there’s whipped cream here and I didn’t even see it!” He set down his plate beside yours and grabbed the bottle like an eager little child. Popping off the cap, Joshua shook the can and pressed his fingertip against the nozzle, spraying a white-frosted peak onto the top of another strawberry. You copied him, though you had accidently sprayed too much. Once you licked the cream off your finger, you poked the entire fruit into your mouth like a funfetti-sized cupcake. For some reason, Joshua started giggling at you.

“What?” You glared at him playfully. “What’s wrong?”

Rosy tinges flushed to the arch of Joshua’s cheeks. “Uhm… Well, l-let me just—” he stuttered, cupping his hand gently to your face, his thumb brushing at a spot right below your bottom lip. “You had some whipped cream on your… chin slash lip. Sorry about that.”

“O-Oh, it’s okay.” You were stumbling yourself, tongue darting out instinctively to ensure there wasn’t anything still there.

At random, you felt this prickle tiptoe up the back of your neck, a sensation that was hardly perceptible yet singeing enough for you to notice it. Gulping, you peered toward that faceless mannequin draped in its pink slip dress, toward Jeonghan, Baejin, and his parents who were enthralled in a conversation with her. Jeonghan was glaring so blatantly at Joshua that you’d forgotten how to speak, and you couldn’t even pronounce a single word of warning as the boy started storming his way across the ballroom.

His grip was on your elbow like a viper’s teeth.

“Geez, where’d you come from?” Joshua said, though he was able to note the tension this time, and Jeonghan’s surly behaviour.

“I need to talk to you,” Jeonghan murmured by your ear, ignoring Joshua yet again, “in the hall just outside the exhibition.”

You didn’t want to agree. Strangely enough, you felt this urge balloon inside you, an urge to cause a gigantic scene with screaming and thick tears and unnecessary curses, because as much as you wanted to dismiss your anger, there were jealous, wronged feelings inside, on fire and itching to escape from your gut. Miraculously, you held your composure, and announced to Joshua that you’d talk to him later.

Jeonghan then tore you into the empty hallway.

It was like a lightning bolt, how quickly he exploded.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jeonghan ranted, pacing back and forth as the distant echo of music bled through the wall. “Seriously, I don’t text you back for like, three days, and you’re already going on a date with my best friend—” he softened his voice in a purposefully mocking way, “letting him get all delicate with you, feeding you all lovey-dovey style and wiping that cream off your lip. Did you think I wouldn’t see it?”

“Excuse me?” Your brow instantly creased like a folded map, and you felt an intense ache hit the front of your skull. “Um, you’re one to talk! How come you didn’t tell me about the Galleria? Because you didn’t want me to see you with your arm around your ex’s waist? Because you don’t think I’m good enough to show off to your parents?”

Jeonghan gawked at you. “Baejin? For real? You think I’ve been secretly dating her behind your back or something?”

“How am I supposed to know?” You barked, tucking your arms defensively across the chest. And, while it might have been too early into the argument to pit such a statement, you had already started bubbling, and you knew there was nothing to snuff your fire. “Besides, you hardly ever get back to me apart from when you want to fuck!”

At that, the boy was momentarily stumped. What sounded like a rebuttal fizzled at the back of his throat, though it faded away. The silence worried you, because it echoed a confirmation that Jeonghan might’ve actually never seen as you as anything more than an outlet to alleviate his carnality. That, once the Love Café ordeal was finally over with, he could forget you had ever existed like erasing a mistake of smudged lead. The thought made you glassy-eyed and thus, terribly vulnerable. However, you also craved the truth to your relationship.

“Just admit it,” you beseeched him, “admit that you want me only for sex and nothing else. Is that why you didn’t bring up the Galleria? Because you think it’s easier to shove me in the dark when it’s convenient for you? Is that why you were acting so mad?”

He skimmed a hand exasperatedly through his hair. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not dating Baejin behind your back, I have never once thought you weren’t good enough to show off to my parents, and I didn’t purposefully hide the Galleria from you.”

“Right,” you scoffed, “but you’re fine with labelling me as a friend and pretending like we don’t hook up every week.”

“It’s…” he clenched his teeth and growled in frustration, “it’s complicated, alright? Can’t you just accept that?”

“Complicated?” A shudder coursed down your spine at having to repeat the boy, and the tears sprung from your eyes with such a sharp sting that it became impossible to hold them back. You felt each drop, cold and runny, drip along your face. “That’s the word you’re going to use? You’re going to look straight at me, after the entire span of our relationship since the Love Café, and tell me we’re summed up best as complicated?” Again, the word struck you like a stiff punch. If he was going to regard your connection so trivially, then you didn’t care whether or not he knew the verity of your heart. Like it would affect him anyways.

“I would’ve said we were in love,” you shrugged, watching his expression drop in a mere instant, “but—sure, let’s call it complicated.”

And, with the tears shining like salt stars on your face, you stalked out the building into the softening winter weather.

You didn’t know it could be so difficult to ignore someone, especially when you were supposed to hate them. The effect Jeonghan had on you was almost phantom-like; a constant lingering, even if the boy himself wasn’t palpable and poised right before your eyes.

It had been three days since the outburst at the Galleria. That night, you cried, and wept, and broke out the amber bottle stored beneath your sink which was only sipped from in occasions of complete misery – very well suited to the situation at hand. You had questioned calling the Love Café’s customer service desk to issue a termination of your card, and, at one point, you were standing drunkenly by the toilet contemplating your decision to rip up the red paper and flush it. Though, nothing ever came of either idea. Instead, you faceplanted onto your bed and allowed the intoxicated dizziness to fade black. The next morning, you were faced with multiple texts from Jeonghan, missed phone calls, voice notes. But you didn’t listen or respond to anything.

Complicated. That was the word you kept hearing.

Absolutely not, you had thought that morning, you weren’t ready to speak with him, even if the temptation seemed like it could be promising. The air was still too bitter. And you couldn’t handle another argument.

On the second day after the outburst, you were seated at the receptionist desk in the salon, flicking through a magazine while you became increasingly mindless to the humming of the blow dryer and the potent fragrance of the hair products. When you glanced out the window, you nearly combusted, as both Joshua and Jeonghan were about to enter the salon together, hurrying in from the melted snow and winter’s final downpour. You hid in the breakroom until they left, forcing your co-worker to take your position at the desk. Joshua was apparently getting his hair trimmed while Jeonghan had asked about you at the reception.

“He’s gorgeous!” Your co-worker had immediately gushed to you in the breakroom. “Why are you avoiding someone like that?”

“It’s complicated.” You’d phrased it simply.

Dang it. You hated the fact you’d used that stupid word.

But, on the third day, most of your bitterness was gone.

After breakfast, you were back at the vanity mirror to prepare for work, and while you buffed some makeup to sit seamlessly on the skin with your puffy foundation brush, there was a knock at your door. This time, you didn’t bother peeping through the fisheye lens, because you knew exactly who it was – damn his persistence. Jeonghan’s brown hair had been slightly mused in the wind, and there was a glow as soft as a peach to each his cheeks. But that easygoing, relaxed smile was by far the most heart fluttering. He extended a coffee cup to you. When you reached out, Jeonghan suddenly pulled the coffee away with a tsking sound.

“You can have it only if—” he held up his finger, “you agree to let me in so I can explain myself. Yes, I’m bribing you. And yes, I’m an asshole from time to time. But five minutes at least. That’s all I need.”

For a moment, you wavered, only to mutter a resounding, “fine.”

Despite Jeonghan’s company, you still had work to get ready for, so the boy followed you into the bedroom. He took a seat on the edge of your mattress while you settled back into the vanity chair. Picking through your jar of makeup brushes, you plucked a round, oval-tipped one to apply your eyeshadow. Jeonghan was silent at first, watching you through the mirror as you hurried about the look. It wasn’t perfect, in fact it was a bit sloppy and rushed and there was already some fallout sitting like a glittered dust on your cheeks, though Jeonghan was staring at you with such fondness, you wondered if the mirror was reflecting the same image. Of course, the Love Card was sitting on your desk too.

“Well,” you spun around in the chair, pressing your lips together, “I’m waiting for you to explain, y’know. Like you said you would. Technically, you’ve lost a couple minutes, and I should really try to be at the salon early, but I’m still going to give you full time since—"

“I love you.”

“… What?”

“I love you,” Jeonghan repeated himself casually, a slow smile spilling from each corner of his mouth, “I’m in love with you, as deep as I could be, I think. Anyways, you want me to keep saying it? I love you.”

It felt like someone had taken a picture with the blinding glare of its flash, a picture you couldn’t be more unprepared for, the dots still dancing and fumbling across your vision. The moment was disorienting, but you experienced a very fulgurant warmth take shape inside you. It was comforting yet daunting, a sugar rush and a hangover, something so alive you knew you wanted it more than anything else in the world.

Yet, “you… are in love with me?” was all that you could express.

Jeonghan fiddled with the coffee cup in his hands. “You’re a funny girl, you know that? But I can say it a fifth time if you want.”

“N-No, I—I just, I wasn’t expecting—”

“Yeah, I can see that, “ he’d laughed, though it quickly fell into a sigh and suddenly Jeonghan’s temperament had shifted. “Look, I know that night wasn’t pretty. I know I ghosted you. I know I didn’t tell you about the stupid Galleria,” the boy glanced up, catching your eye, “but… I didn’t say anything because I was confused. I knew your Love Card only had one signature left, and just like that… you could be in my bed for the last time. If we’re really gonna get sentimental about it,”

Jeonghan chuckled, scratching his chin a bit shyly, “it could be my last time holding you, and kissing you… I just, I didn’t want it to be like that. But I didn’t know how to confront you about it, so I hid. And I stressed myself out, and I got so stupidly jealous and angry when I saw you with Joshua. That was my bad. I should’ve been upfront.”

Tucking your hands together anxiously in your lap, you nodded, beginning to understand the missing pieces.

“Thank you for saying that.” You murmured, tapping your feet in a nervous rhythm against the floor. “I… I was being unreasonable and jealous too,” you subsequently admitted, “I was assuming things about you and Baejin when I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what I was expecting anyways, that you act like she doesn’t exist? It was dumb, and I was adding pressure. I’m sorry too.” Wanting to lighten the tone, you smiled at him, “I guess we both have our flaws, huh?”

He returned the tender glance and held out the coffee cup.

“I guess we do.”

You grabbed it politely.

Turning around in the chair, you grabbed the bright red Love Card off the vanity, initialed until its last circle, “what should we do with this? I mean, we kind of messed up their rules, fooling around more than twelve times. And, well, I’m not gonna renew it.”

“Oh, let me see.” Jeonghan said.

As soon as you passed the card to him, he ripped it clean in half, crumpled each piece, balled them together in his hands and tossed the shreds into the trash can sat in the corner.

“Well, that was fucking easy,” he smiled, getting up from the mattress, “aren’t you late for work? Do you need a drive?”

You looked at your alarm clock.

“If you can get me there in the next ten minutes, that’d be great.”

Jeonghan headed to the front door while you hurriedly grabbed your coat from the closet and snatched your bag off the floor, resting the strap over your shoulder. With the coffee still in hand, you headed into the living area, looking around in one final swoop to make sure you had everything packed for the day. A sheet of sunlight spilt into the room from outside the window, pale, like the morning sky, yet filling every crevice of the cheap apartment with a dull shine. And for a very fleeting moment, you thought this place wasn’t so abhorrent. It had been your home, your stepping stone, a thumbprint which identified a period of hardship and growth. But, despite this bittersweet taste on your tongue, you couldn’t envision yourself staying.

“Come on,” Jeonghan pinched your hip, “at this rate I’ll get a speeding ticket trying to get you to work on time.”

Turning around, you stuck a kiss to the boy’s cheek, just catching the cool beginning of a smirk on that dazzling face of his as you interlaced your fingers and pulled him into the corridor.

No, you could not stay here.

Not when your future was with Jeonghan.

✧✎ a/n: yeah, so this was clearly A LOT longer than the original love café teehee. i remembered the plot vaguely therefore i refused to reread my first version weufhewif PLS IT MAKES ME CONVULSE SO BAD !! i just had to rewrite the plot and do it some actual justice! i hope this version is a lot better and that you rly enjoyed it! i wish yjh would give me money but i guess we can’t all live in a fantasy world!! thx for reading!!

#caratwritersclub #jeonghan scenarios #seventeen scenarios #svt fanfic #jeonghan fanfic #seventeen smut #jeonghan smut #seventeen jeonghan #svt smut #yoon jeonghan #svt x reader #jeonghan x reader

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frenchrebelfries · 3 years

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Fury’s Daughter

AN: Idk wth I just wrote... I just got this idea so yeah... Happy Reading!

You are the adoptive daughter of Nick Fury, when you were 5 he adopt you when your parents died on a plane crash that was cause by Hydra, your parents and Nick were good friends that’s why he took you in.

You were a smart kid, always analyzing things, Fury told everything to you and never lie. To protect your identity Nick made you a new one as you volunteer to be an agent of Hydra to gain information and was branded by the organization. You did dangerous mission and always getting out alive.

You were then sent back to and joined the Avengers initiative but the avengers were suspicious of you as you came out of nowhere, no files, no nothing but a name and Fury’s trust.

No one knew who you are to protect your identity in recon so the avengers treated you coldly but you didn’t care, you didn’t tell it to your father about the situation you are in because you were train to adapt and you did. You were kind to them and all as you and Natasha got closer… like really close. Out of all Natasha Romanoff is the one you have trusted the most.

You got out from the elevator after a short report you did to Nick about the information you got for the Winter Soldier when you heard the laughing of the team as they sat in the living room with pizza on the table as they talked and laugh at each other.

The laughter halted when they all noticed you and silence came… you knew you were never welcome her but your father trust them so you really had no choice but to put up with it, sensing their discomfort you just gave them a nod greeting them.

“Good evening Avengers” no one answered as you expected and left and went to your room, you heard a light foot steps following you and a hand holding your wrist and seeing a familiar red head you have fallen with for the past few weeks.

“Hey Y/N, I’m sorry about the boys you know how hard headed they are” she sincerely apologized to you as you gave her a soft smile

“it’s ok Natasha, I know they still don’t fully trust me and I understand why, so it’s cool” you replied to her as she looked at you suspiciously searching your face for any lies but you being good at hiding your emotion she immediately gave up when she didn’t find one.

“So… Movie night?” she asked cheekily at you as your brows furrows

“what about the others?” you asked her as she started pulling you towards her room as she shrugged

“they can take care of themselves, come on!”

One day when you were alone practicing in the gym at 6 am of the morning you accidentally took off your clothes leaving you in your sports bra forgetting that Steve Rogers is always awake at that time and saw your Hydra mark on your chest and thought of you as an enemy and told the team as they planned to eliminate you on the next mission.

To eliminate the Hydra scum.

“can I get a hand over here?” you heard Clint said in the coms as you took down the last guy from your floor inside a hydra base that you’ve been recon last week

“I’m coming on your way” you answered running to Clint’s direction knowing the base like the palm of your hands as you shot a Hydra soldier who was sneaking behind him

“Thanks” you nodded at him you continue your pursuit taking down agents as you skillfully glide yourself on the battle field.

The battle had stop when Clint finished the last guy as Steve and Natasha immerge from the control room with a case on hand.

They must have gotten the information

“Mission complete, how’s the perimeter Tony?” Captain said on the coms as you get close to Natasha scanning her for any injuries and sighted in relieve when you found none.

“Perimeter is clear as the sky Steve were ready to go home” you smiled at the thought of home… Fury promised you a dinner with Maria and Coulson when you get back since things have been busy these couple of week and you were really excited about it since it’s going to be your first dinner with them again since you got back from recon.

“time for phase 2 then, Romanoff” you frowned at Steve’s word

Phase 2? You never heard about it when at the briefing

You were still in confusion when Steve called Natasha and you felt a searing pain by your side

You wiped your head to your side seeing a knife… a knife you gifted to Natasha lunge by your side.

You looked at her eyes full of betrayal and so as Clint and Steve who was in there with you.

“Phase 2 complete, were leaving, now die you Hydra scum” Steve said voice full of spite hearing a ‘good job’ from Tony and a ‘let’s go’ from Clint as you fall down on your knees looking at their retreating figure leaving you.

The last one you saw was the red headed assassin taking one last look at you as they close the door as your whole body fall down on the cold ground.

You shakily grabbed your phone dialing your father’s number as he answered rather cheerful

“Y/N why are you calling me? Is your mission done?” you heard your dad’s voice making you tear up a bit

“D-dad…”

“get your ass here kid Maria and Coulson just arrived here and im about to finish cooking these turkey”

“c-can I have a rain check on the dinner dad… I kinda messed up…” your voice was now shaking and you are feeling colder than usual the blade may have a poison as you felt a burn and getting light headed faster than normal.

Fury must have sense that there is something wrong by the way your voice sounded

“Y/N what happened? Are you ok?” you can hear his voice full of worry as you heard Maria and Coulson from the background asking what’s wrong.

“I-I think I was the p-phase 2 of S-Steve’s plan dad… it’s really g-getting cold here ya know” blood tricked on the ground from your wound

Your vision darken as flashes of memories filled your eyes.

You can hear the shuffles from the other line saying they are tracking my call and will be sending medical help

“I’m s-scared d-dad… I still d-don’t wanna go” you cried,

“Help is on the way Y/N keep holding on I’m here for you kid” you can hear the shakiness of your father’s voice, you kept trying to keep your eyes open and now seeing dark spots forming.

“T-thanks for everything dad… tell Maria and Coulson I love them…” your voice was barely audible hearing their cried for you to wake up.

“Keep your eyes open for me kid… please”

“I-I think a need a nap… l-love you dad” and you were gone.

They kept calling for you but you never answered back.

Fury along with Maria and Coulson with a medical team arrived at the base eyes redden because of crying as they found you on the cold ground with your phone by your side and a stab.

Fury cradle you like a baby as the medic announced your death with Maria and Coulson crying by the side.

“Did you check the monitors?” Fury’s cold voice echoed in a quinjet as your cold body layed beside him with your head on his lap stroking the hair that is covering your face.

“you’re not gonna like it boss…” Maria said with blood shot eyes as she played the video of Steve ordering the Phase 2 and Natasha Romanoff stabbing you as they left you.

“call them up at SHIELD… they would pay for what they did to her” Nick ordered as Coulson took his phone out to call them.

Nick glanced at you as he swiped some blood by your mouth hugging your corpse closer to him.

They avenger’s arrived at SHIELD seeing Fury holding Y/N’s hand as she lay dead on the table with Maria and Coulson by the back holding back their anger.

“what is this Fury?” Steve stepped out in confusion to why they got the body of Y/N

“What is the phase 2 Captain” Nick’s voice was colder than usual

“… to eliminate the Hydra-“ Steve answered as the other’s stayed silent

“and who is the Hydra?”

“Y/n…”

Then there’s silence, the team were uncomfortable with the silence but Steve was getting impatient with all of it.

“Look I don’t know what is your point here but you should thank us for killing the mole here Fury”

Fury looked at them as Coulson held Maria who was about to attack Steve as Fury spoke…

“I see no dead mole here Rogers… all I see is my dead daughter”

The team’s eyes widen as they froze from there spot

“W-what?” Bruce asked

“Y/N Fury... is my daughter who you called a Hydra scum”

“B-but she had the brand-“

“She had the brand because she was undercover inside Hydra that gave her the mark to extract information for your missions that is saving billions!” Fury angrily shouted making them all flinch.

All of it dawned to them as Natasha fall into her knees realizing she killed a hero… she killed her friend who trusted her… she killed the person who loved her…

“I pulled her out of the recon to keep her safe knowing her all her covers were blown, I put her into your team so she can be protected thinking after all those years of being away we can have a normal dinner like she wanted for years, I trusted my daughter in your hand yet you are the one who killed her…”

Fury stood up tears streaming down on his face

“Avenger Initiative’s termination is effective immediately, all of you would be put in maximum security prison for killing Y/N Fury” Agents entered taking their weapons and cuffing them

“Nick… I’m sorry” Steve’s voice filled with regret rang out as Fury looked at him coldly throwing a file on the ground in front of him as the content spilled revealing pictures of the Winter Soldier.

“Y/N wanted to give you this information from the last recon she was put in to, James “Bucky” Barnes is alive and now known as the Winter Soldier who is working for Hydra and has killed thousands”

Steve’s face was full of shock knowing his best friend Bucky is alive…

“Nick-“

“I’m sorry to cap…” Fury cut him off and coldly apologies to Steve who is now confuse to why as everyone in the room looked at them in silence.

“you took someone dear away from me… and now I’m taking yours, Good Bye Avengers and thank you for your service” before Steve and others could react they were all tranquilized knocking them out cold and only waking up in a glass cell with Ross smirking at them as they sat there in silence thinking the things that they have done for you.

“welcome to your new life Avengers…in prison!” and a loud laugh erupted from Ross as he walked out as ex-heroes gazes followed his exit.

#nick fury #avenger #natasha romanoff x re #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff angst #steve rogers #tony stark #bruce banner #clint barton #maria hill #phil coulson #nick fury dad #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #angst #avengers angst #reader

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tomurasprincess · 3 years

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Kinktober Day 31: Sexual Slavery (Vaulted Bonds)

Day 31: Sexual Slavery Title: Vaulted Bonds Pairing: League of Villains (Shigaraki, Dabi, Spinner, Kurogiri, Muscular) x Reader Word Count: 6k Warnings: Noncon, dubcon, branding, marking, degradation, misogynist Dabi, double pentration (two cocks in one hole and two cocks in seperate holes), praise kink, soft marking and biting, cumflation, size difference, belly bulge, mist bondage, mist tentacle sex, orgasm denial, daddy kink, pet play (of the puppy variety), watersports, overstimulation, rough sex, creampies Note: Sequel to Vault 68, Kinktober Day 1 gangbang. Thank you so much for everyone’s patience while I finished this. Kinktober was an exhausting, wild, but incredibly amazing experience and I’m glad that I can say I finished it! Even if it’s in March, don’t judge. Also thank you to @tamakisbunnygirl for talking this over with me and reading it over for me!

Kinktober Masterlist

Life was so very easy lately.

No fighting for survival, no worrying about radiation, no bandits, super mutants, or anything else to avoid.

No, you simply had to please the villains you were locked up with, allow them to use whatever holes they wanted to use whenever they wanted to use them.

You were unimaginably sore for the first week, something that Spinner noticed instantly. He was always the kinder one, the one who soothed your abused cunt with various creams he found. Dabi laughed, of course. He enjoyed seeing you limp around the vault after a particularly rough session with him.

Muscular did too, although he typically bent you over with a boast of seeing how much more sore he could make you.

Kurogiri was one of the kinder ones as well, although his concern always had a mocking, manipulative flair to it. You could never quite figure the man out, and his lack of expressions on his misty form did not help you read him.

Shigaraki would whisper words about how sorry he was while tracing patterns along your skin in an attempt to soothe you., You would almost think he was acting nice, until he whispered that you still have a mouth you can use, and wasn’t he just the best for letting you use that instead of that currently useless cunt between your legs? Or that tight asshole, it hadn’t been used as much, right? He could use it instead.

Currently, you were in Dabi’s bed waiting for him to get back from grabbing food. He hadn’t touched you yet, and you’re enjoying the peace and quiet until he comes barging in. He has a cruel glint in his eyes, erection already straining against his pants and you can already tell this is going to be a rough time for you.

“Why do you have clothes on?” Dabi instantly says, looking with distaste at the long t-shirt and panties you’re currently wearing. You cringe at the tone in his voice.

“I - I got cold,” you mutter quietly, hoping that he won’t use this as an excuse to be even rougher. But you know Dabi by this point, and you know that punishment is awaiting you. “I’m sorry.”

“Not fucking sorry enough,” he growls, palms lighting up with blue flame as he advances towards you. You instinctively crawl backwards from the fire, wanting to avoid it. But he grabs your ankle and yanks you towards him.

His hand touches your shirt, catching it on fire at the same time as he rips it off your body. He tosses it to the side, pulling your panties off too. He isn’t careful with his flames, and you hiss at the pain, the smell of burning flesh rising up and hitting your nose. You glance down and see a small, singed mark on your flesh to join the rest of the bruises and burns on your body from the rest of them.

“Your skin looks so beautiful with burns, doll,” Dabi snorts, “I dunno why I haven’t covered you with them even more.” He holds you down with one hand as he unzips his pants, although holding you down isn’t necessary anymore.

You’ve already learned what happens when you resist Dabi.

He guides himself to your already wet pussy, lining up and snapping his hips to fill you with one sharp thrust. You let out a gasp, still unprepared for the Jacob’s Ladder running up his length despite how many times he’s fucked you at this point.

“You like that, whore?” He chuckles as his hands wrap around your neck. “This is all you’re good for.” He sets a fast pace, barely giving you any time to get used to him. “You’re nothing but a fucking hole for me to use.” You choke and splutter as his grip tightens around your throat, hands reaching up to claw at his arms as you try to get air into your lungs.

The Jacob’s ladder piercing grinds against your g-spot, and despite everything, you feel the tension building up inside of you as your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your lungs burn with the need for air, black spots appearing at the edge of your vision. “You look so fucking good like this,” Dabi laughs sadistically.

Just when you think you’re about to pass out, he releases your throat and you take deep gulping breaths. The lack of oxygen and the insistent grinding of the piercings against your inner walls has your orgasm even more intense as the tension inside of you snaps.

You moan as your pussy flutters and clenches around Dabi’s cock, and he snickers. “Fucking whore, getting off to me choking you.”

His hands reach up to grip your breasts, kneading the soft flesh roughly as he tweaks your nipples. They’re quickly hard and standing at attention as he continues to pound into your now dripping pussy, and you whine as you feel yourself building back up to another orgasm.

“Dabi, please - “

“Please what? You want to cum again, whore? I already gave you a freebie, so you better fucking beg like your life depends on it.”

“Please, I want to cum, please let me cum!”

“Tell me you’re a whore, that the only good thing about you are these fucking holes. You’re nothing but something for me to fuck, a cum dumpster”

You cringe at the words, knowing that he’ll punish you if you don’t do what he says. And as much as you hate it, you know you want to cum again.

“I’m a whore! I’m nothing but holes for you to fuck, Dabi!”

“Be more convincing,” he snarls as his hands heat up on your hips, causing you to scream as he singes your skin.

“I’m nothing but a whore for you to use! I’m a cumdumpster, I’m a useless whore only good for you to fuck!”

His hands heat up even more as his finger comes up to trace patterns on your skin. Tears run freely down your face as you smell burning flesh yet again. You don’t want to, but you find yourself glancing down anyway, wanting to see what he’s doing.

When you see the letter D, you know exactly what he intends to do.

You try to hold still as much as you can, not wanting to make this even worse. But the pain is so extreme, and he continues to fuck you even through what he’s doing. The conflicting feelings has your head spinning, unsure whether to feel the pain or the pleasure. Ultimately, you decide to focus on the pleasure. It’s shameful, but at least it’s not agony.

By the time he finishes his name, you’re cumming again with a choked sob as you squeeze his cock. “Fuck, you really are a little painslut aren’t you? Good, because I fucking love hurting you.”

His pace stutters, becoming uneven as he thrusts right against your cervix and shoots hot ropes of cum against it. You whimper as you feel the heat spreading through your core, body trembling from both pain and pleasure.

He pulls out abruptly, stroking himself out the rest of the way as he shoots cum on your new burn. You sob as it hits the wound, stinging like fire as you writhe around on the bed.

Dabi stands up, throwing your t-shirt at you as he points to the door. “You can get the fuck out now, whore. Don’t want you dirtying up the place any more than you already have.”

You give a nod as you stand up on shaky legs, pulling the shirt over your head as you wobble towards the door. You’re able to make it outside before you collapse on the floor. Spinner just happens to be in the hallway, and he rushes over to you.

“Oh god, are you okay?” He leans down, lifting your shirt up as he stares at the burn on your hip. “That brute,” he whispers quietly, picking you up in his arms as he carries you to his room. “Let me take care of you.”

He lays you down in the bed as he looks for one of his many soothing creams and a washcloth. He dabs at the burn as gently as he can, trying to get as much of the now dried cum off your skin as he can before applying a burn cream.

“Does that feel better?” He asks a bit shyly, only now noticing how undressed you are. He’s always been on the shy side, the one most hesitant to take advantage of you. Although that hadn’t stopped him.

“Yeah, it does. Thank you, Spinner.” He preens a bit at the praise, one of his claws tracing a light pattern down your stomach.

“Can I - “ He trails off, unable to finish the sentence as he glances away. You know exactly what he’s asking, and you give a soft sigh as you nod your head.

He blushes a bit as he lifts your shirt up, making an angry noise as he touches each of the bruises and burns Dabi left on your body. “He is so rough with you,” he admonishes the other man, “you should be cherished like the jewel you really are.”

He slides down your body until he reaches your thighs, leaning down between your legs as he tentatively licks your folds. “You taste so good,” he moans as his tongue dives into your heated flesh.

Spinner’s tongue works its way inside of you, causing you to let out a choked moan as you lay back and let take care of you. He takes the back of his knuckle as he rubs your swollen clit, careful not to touch you with claws.

His tongue fucks you like a cock would, getting far deeper than a normal man’s tongue as the tip grazes your cervix. The feeling drives you mad, and you already feel the pressure of your muscles tightening up. “Spinner, don’t stop - “

He hums against your skin as he keeps tongue fucking you, quickening the pace as he feels you clench down around his tongue. His knuckle works against your clit, only increasing the pleasure as you finally topple over the edge. He licks up your juices as you gush around his mouth like he’s starving before pulling away.

In no time at all, you hear clothes beginning to shuffle and two cocks spring up from his pants. They’re both huge, and you always have a moment of doubt that they’ll fit inside of you.

But despite how kind Spinner is, he’s always determined to make them fit. You briefly wonder if he’ll put one in your ass and one in your pussy, or if he’ll simply fill you up with both of them. You don’t know which one you prefer.

When you feel him rubbing his cocks along your slick, you instantly know what he intends to do. A secret thrill runs through you at the thought of being so completely full.

He begins to push inside of you gently, your wetness aiding him in moving. You let out a broken moan as you feel your pussy stretch to accommodate him, head thrown back as your legs shake. He gets past your tight outer ring of muscle and keeps going, the ridges and scales along his cock pressing against your walls in such an amazing way that you cum just from the feeling alone.

“Fuck, Spinner - “

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re doing so well, sweetie.” Your previous orgasms have loosened you up enough that he’s able to bottom out inside of you relatively easily, stilling for a while to allow you to adjust. “So beautiful,” he murmurs as he strokes a claw down your face. “So amazing, you feel so good around me.”

You preen at the praise, always loving how kindly he treats you.

He waits until you give him a quick nod to indicate you’re ready before he begins to move, and you let out a wail as he starts to thrust. You feel so impossibly full, so amazing that you wish you could always feel this full.

“Spinner, please, faster!”

He instantly obeys you, grabbing your hips to force you back onto his cock. His heavy balls smack against the curve of your ass with every sharp thrust, and you can hear the wet noises of your bodies joining as they fill the room.

“So damned good, so tight for me - you’re squeezing my cock so well, sweetie.”

“I’m going to - “

He moves to start rubbing your clit as soon as the words leave your mouth. “Then cum for me, I wanna see how pretty you look when you’re cumming around my cocks.”

The tension snaps as you clench down around him, gasping and moaning as your body convulses. “It - feels so good - “

Spinner groans as his teeth sink into the meat of your neck, marking you just as surely as Dabi did. Feeling you squeeze around him is more than he can handle, and he follows you into orgasm. Both cocks shoot ropes of cum into you, and you can feel it leaking out around him. Your belly bulges just a bit, a sight that leaves Spinner feral as he thrusts his way through his own orgasm.

Finally his cocks become too sensitive, and he pulls out as he collapses beside you. He pulls you into his arms, cooing sweet words at you as you curl up against his warm scales. “You did so well for me, sweetie.”

He brushes the bite mark on your neck, wanting to feel bad but loving the sign of possession that he left on you. He traces over the bite mark with a claw.

You smile at the tenderness, needing this after Dabi’s rough ministrations. You could stay like this for hours, if it weren’t for Muscular bursting through the door.

“It’s my turn with the toy,” Muscular instantly demands, and Spinner reluctantly releases you as Muscular grabs you. He throws you over his shoulder, carrying you out like a caveman dragging you into his lair.

He takes you immediately to his room, throwing you down on the bed and wasting no time unzipping his pants. “You had Spinner’s cocks shoved up there, so I don’t need to prep you, do I?” Muscular snicks as he frees his massive cock from his pants, not even bothering to get fully undressed before he’s lining himself up with your entrance.

“Wait, please go easy on - “

But it’s too late, and he’s already buried inside of you. Muscular’s singular cock is still bigger even than Spinner’s two, and you feel like you’re going to tear without preparation. He doesn’t bother to let you adjust, pounding into you instantly and drawing tears from your eyes. You feel so fucking full, almost painful in the fullness and he’s only just started.

“Such a good cunt,” he growls out as his fingers dig into the plush flesh of your thighs. He lifts you up onto his lap so that he can thrust up into you faster, getting even deeper and causing you to squeeze around him. “So fucking tight, I can barely move. But I can fix that.”

You feel his cock begin to expand inside of you, and your eyes widen in fear and terror. “Please, no!”

But it’s too late, having already activated his quirk to make his cock bigger. Your walls stretch even more, and you howl as you’re thrown into a sudden orgasm. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, body convulsing as you’re fucked ruthlessly through your orgasm. “Please, too much - “

“I’m not done with your fucking cunt yet,” he snarls as his cock shrinks just a bit, leaving more room for him to thrust even harder. “Going to fill you up so fucking well, gonna make sure you can’t walk for a fucking week.”

You don’t doubt that, having experienced this many times already. You whine and whimper as he jackhammers into you, not even bothering to touch your clit in a mad rush to cum as quickly as he can.

When he finally cums, he forces his way up to your cervix as he cums directly against it. There is so much cum that you can feel your belly begin to bulge, see the little pocket of cum that he’s filling you with. You cum one last time, screaming out your orgasm. Your fluttering walls force some of his cum out of you, causing it to make a mess of the bed underneath you and coating Muscular’s thick thighs.

He pants a bit, relaxing for a second before you can feel him begin to harden inside of you again.

“No, please, it’s too much, I can’t -”

“I fucking say when it’s too much, slut,” he growls at you as he begins to thrust again. This time, he manages to be even rougher with you, fingers digging bruises into your skin as he fucks up into your tight heat. “Wanna fill you up, see that belly bulge even more.”

You whimper as you feel him begin to twitch, relieved that he’s going to cum so quickly while also dreading what happens afterwards. He cums with a grunt, even more cum shooting from the head of his cock. The skin of your belly stretches lewdly, the bulge becoming even more noticeable as the cum is trapped inside of you, unable to leak out around his cock.

He pulls out and strokes himself off the rest of the way on your stomach where the bulge is, coating your skin with hot cum. He reaches down to press against the bulge, laughing sadistically when his cum gushes out of you and soaks his bed. He drops you almost instantly onto the wet spot, standing up and walking towards the door.

“I’m done,” he declares before simply leaving the room. You take a few minutes to recover, rolling out of the bed and collapsing to your knees, unable to hold yourself up on your legs. But you find yourself not needing to walk as a portal opens up underneath you, dropping you into the arms of Kurogiri.

“I think it’s time that you spend some time with your daddy, don’t you?” The man muses, cradling you in his arms as he lays you down on the floor. Mist springs up around you, wrapping around your arms and holding you down. It also swirls up around your legs, forcing you to spread them open and reveal yourself to his gaze.

“That was a question.” Kurogiri says in a dark voice, and you know that means he wants an answer.

“Yes daddy,” you whisper to him, face flushing at having to call him that.

“Good girl,” he praises you, and you feel warmth rise up in you at the praise. “Be good for daddy and he’ll be good to you. Do you understand?”

“Yes daddy.”

You feel one of the cold misty tendrils probing at your ass, and your eyes widen as it begins to push inside. Kurogiri chuckles as he lowers himself to the floor, hand coming down to unzip his dress pants and pull his cock out. You can never tell just how big he is because of the shadows and mist around it, but you know how big it feels inside of you.

Your legs are spread even wider as he settles himself in between them, sliding easily in because of all of the wetness down there. He bottoms out almost instantly before setting a slow but steady pace. One of the tendrils attaches itself to your clit, sucking and pulling at the sore bead and causing you to let out a broken moan.

“It feels so good - “ you moan before remembering to add, “daddy”

“You can’t cum without my permission, do you understand?”

“Yes daddy, I understand.”

But you can already feel the tension at the insistent suckling of your clit by the mist, and you squirm as you try to think of anything else but the pressure building up inside of you. You throw your head from side to side, legs shaking and quivering at the strain of trying not to cum.

“Can I cum, daddy? Please let me cum!”

“Hmm, I don’t think you’ve been a good enough girl yet. Should bad girls cum before their daddies?”

“N-n-no,” you whisper.” Your nails dig into the palms of your hands, hoping the pain will distract you from the need to cum. But it only adds to the pleasure, causing you to almost topple over the edge.

“Daddy,” you whine, “I can’t hold out - “

The wet smacking of his balls hitting the curve of your ass fill the room as he roughly fucks you, pulling almost all the way out of you before slamming back inside. “Yes you can, you’re such a good girl.”

You really want to be a good girl, and so you distract yourself as much as you can. You think of anything and everything, trying to ignore the tendril still attached to your clit. Just when you think you can’t hold out anymore, you feel him begin to throb inside of you.

“Cum now! Cum along with daddy!”

You wail as you obey his command, body shaking as you’re thrown over the edge. Your orgasm is intense and powerful, and he simply fucks you harder through it. You feel warmth spreading through you as he finishes along with you.

“You were such a good girl, daddy is going to reward you.”

You know what his rewards can be, know that sometimes they don’t feel like rewards at all. And this time won’t be any different, as you feel a tendril of mist push against your ass and worm its way inside.

“Daddy, I don’t -” You trail off, not wanting to finish your sentence. Refusing a reward would result in a punishment, something that you did not want.

“Yes? What was that?” His voice takes on a dangerous tone, and you shake your head.

“Nothing. Thank you for a reward, daddy.”

His chest rumbles with laughter. A larger tendril comes to your abused cunt, pushing inside of you as well. “Good girl, don’t fight this.”

The tendrils take turns thrusting inside of you, one pulling out while the other one thrusts inside. The rhythm has your head spinning, stomach tightening up as you near an orgasm. In a near panic, you begin to beg.

“Daddy, can I cum? Please let me cum!”

“This is a reward, little girl. You may cum.”

You breathe a sigh of relief as you’re thrown over the edge, screaming out your orgasm.

“Hey, Kurogiri, I need - “ Shigaraki pauses, laughing in amusement as he sees you cumming around Kurogiri’s mist tentacles. “Oh, I see you’re busy,” he mocks.

“No, we were almost done if you want a turn.”

“I think I do, actually. It’s been a while since I’ve had a turn with my puppy.”

You cringe at the term, knowing exactly the degrading things Shigaraki is going to force you to do.

“I actually got you something, puppy.” He laughs sadistically, pulling out a leash and collar. “Isn’t it cute?”

Your eyes widen with horror, not wanting that to go around your neck. But Shigaraki’s eyes narrow at your lack of response. “Am I going to have to punish my puppy already?”

“N-n-no, you don’t have to punish me!”

“I think I do, since you left off the master,” his voice takes on a dark tone, and you wince.

“I’m sorry, master! You don’t have to punish me, master!”

“So you’ll wear the collar like a good puppy?”

“Yes master,” you say, defeated.

“Good puppy.” Kurogiri’s mist dissolves, leaving you on the floor in a destroyed heap. Shigaraki reaches down, showing you the collar and what it says.

Shigaraki’s Puppy. If lost, please return.

Tears run down your face as he attaches the collar around your neck, locking it in place and pocketing the key.

The key? You realize instantly that it’s not something you can ever take off yourself. You’re stuck with it for as long as Shigaraki wants you to be stuck with it.

He attaches the collar to the leash, yanking you upwards with it. “Get on all fours like a puppy.”

You obey, sensing his volatile mood already and not wanting a punishment. “Now, I’m going to take you for a walk.”

“Can - can I get dressed, at least?” You hated the thought of being paraded around the vault with absolutely no clothes.

“No. Puppies don’t wear clothes.”

You sniffle a bit as you walk on all fours, feeling absolutely humiliated. You trail behind him as he leads you to his room, slamming the door shut behind him. Your stomach growls, not having eaten, and he instantly hears. “Oh, that reminds me. I got you another present.”

He pushes two bowls towards you on the floor.

A food and water bowl for pets.

“If you want to eat, then you better eat like a good little puppy. You glance up at him to see him smirking at you, almost daring you to refuse. You let out a soft sob as you crawl towards the bowls, reaching to pick one up before he snaps at you.

“Puppies don’t pick up their bowls.”

More tears run down your face as you lower yourself down, beginning to eat from the bowl as best as you can. Everything you have been through so far, all of the abuses, and this was one of the worst. Your body absolutely burns with humiliation as you lean down to get water from your bowl.

Once you’re done, Shigaraki drags you up, throwing you down onto the bed and climbing onto you. “Now, I’m going to fuck you and you’re going to be a good puppy.”

You give a quick nod, glancing away as you try to mentally prepare yourself. He wastes no time after your agreement, thrusting deep inside of you with one quick snap of his hips.

You realize something instantly.

You have to pee.

“Master, I - I need to pee,” you whisper quietly, hoping against hope that he’ll stop long enough to let you go to the bathroom.

“Oh? Then fucking go. Puppies don’t use toilets.”

“I - oh no, I can’t, please don’t make me - “

“Here, I’ll even help you.” He begins to press down on your bladder, and you squeal as you feel a bit of pee leak out. You clamp your muscles down, desperately trying to hold it. But it’s no use, and you squirm to try and relieve the pressure.

“Please stop, I don’t wanna - “

“Do it, puppy. Piss all over me.” He presses down harder, and you can’t hold out anymore. You wail as your bladder releases, pissing all over Shigaraki’s cock as he fucks you through it. He thrusts your piss back inside of you, the disgusting sloshing noises of your pussy causing you to wince and want to die with embarrassment.

He reaches down to smack you across the face. “Bad puppy, messing like that in the house.”

You whine as he continues to fuck you, smacking your other cheek as well. It’s humiliating more than it hurts, only being a small sting as he puts no real force behind it. But you still feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“I’m sorry master, I’m so sorry, please - “

“I should make you lick it up,” he growls, and you panic at the thought.

“Master, please no!”

He snorts as he flips you over onto all fours, forcing your head down to the bed as he begins to slam into you. His balls hit your clit and cause you to squeeze around him, and he laughs. “You like being my puppy, don’t you?”

“Yes, master,” you say quickly, not wanting to anger him. He aims for a spot inside of you that makes you see stars, reaching around to take your clit in between two fingers as he strokes you. You whine as you push back to meet his thrusts, seeking your own orgasm. “It feels so good, master!”

“Yeah? Then cum for your master.”

You finish at the same time as he does, feeling warmth spreading through you yet again as he cums inside of you. You whimper as your body trembles, collapsing against the bed in sheer exhaustion.

“Now what do you say?” Shigaraki prods at you, seeking only one answer.

“Thank you master.”

“Good pet.” He pats your head like he would a real dog, and you’re shamed to find yourself enjoying his attention.

“Now come on,” he demands, pulling on your leash. You wince as you slide off the bed, getting on all fours as you crawl into the main area of the vault. Everyone is there, and you burn with humiliation at all of them seeing you like this.

“Now that’s how all sluts should be,” Dabi snorts at the sight of you on all fours. “Naked, with cum dripping from their filthy little cunts.”

Spinner scoffs. “You don’t have to always be so crude, Dabi.”

“I wouldn’t have to be so crude if she wasn’t such a fucking slut.”

Dabi seems to get an idea in his head as he says that, smirk coming across his face. “You know, I have an idea.”

Your heart sinks into your chest at Dabi having any sort of idea that causes that smirk to be across his face. You know you won’t like it, not one bit.

“It’s been a while since we’ve all shared her, isn’t it? I think the little slut deserves to be completely ruined.”

He walks over to you, grabbing your leash from Shigaraki who allows it, watching with deep interest. He sits down on the floor, picking you up by your waist and prodding at your still tight asshole. “I think I wanna fuck you here,” he murmurs as he lowers you down on his cock. You whimper and whine as he slides into you balls deep.

Shigaraki already has his hard cock out, pressing the tip against your mouth. “Open wide, puppy.”

You open your mouth and he instantly shoves himself in, aiming for the back of your throat immediately. You barely remember to breathe through your nose, preventing yourself from gagging around his length. To your horror, you see the rest of the League walking over to you with purpose.

Muscular gets down on the floor facing Dabi, moving you to his massive cock. “I didn’t get her pussy last time we shared her, so it’s mine this time around.” Dabi snorts as he slows his movements, allowing Muscular to line up and begin to push inside. You’re already stretched out from everything else, but the sting still hurts as he slams against your cervix.

You want to complain, ask them to go slower, but Shigaraki begins to face fuck you, balls smacking aganst your chin with every thrust. “Fuck, puppy has gotten so good at sucking cock,” he grunts out as he feels his balls tighten.

“This cunt feels pretty fucking good too,” Muscular laughs as he activates his quirk, causing your eyes to widen in alarm as you feel him begin to grow inside of you again. Your walls stretch and stretch until you think they can’t possibly stretch anymore, but finally he stops before he tears you.

“Fuck, Muscular, the fuck did you just do? She got even tighter, holy fuck,” Dabi manages to grunt out, still pounding into your aching ass. “Keep it up.”

Muscular begins to move, slamming into you with powerful thrusts that has your head spinning. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Spinner take his cocks out and begin to stroke them furiously as he watches you be ruined by the other villains.

Kurogiri also stands nearby, cock out of his pants as he fists his length roughly. “My little girl does look so good like this,” he muses out loud.

Muscular groans as he nears his end, usually the first to cum as he never bothers to savor sex, instead choosing to seek his own orgasm. “Gonna fill this little cunt,” he manages to say as he shoots ropes of cum into you that leak out around his cock. “Fuck yes, so good - “

He pulls out when it becomes too much, and Spinner eagerly takes his place. “I want this pretty little pussy,” Spinner says as he enters you easily due to how much Muscular was able to stretch you out. “Feels so good to have both cocks inside, shit!”

“This dirty ass is pretty good too, so damned tight. You were fucking made for this, little cockslut,” Dabi grunts out, his pace becoming more erratic. “Gonna cum,” he manages to say before he follows through, causing warmth to spread through your ass.

Shigaraki is close too, as you can feel him begin to twitch inside of your mouth. He pulls out however, painting your face with white as he strokes his orgasm out. “Gotta love a facial,” he chuckles as Dabi snorts.

Kurogiri nears his orgasm as well, cumming on your tits as he lets out a soft groan. Only Spinner is left inside of you, and he goes feral on your pussy as he begins to pound you. He lifts up your legs so he can penetrate you deeper, and you cum with a strangled cry as you squirt around him.

You collapse completely, unable to hold yourself up anymore. And what’s when you all hear it.

The loud, clanging sound of the vault’s locking mechanism disengaging.

“The hell?” Dabi says as he sits up, walking over to the door and swinging the vault door open. It swings easily, revealing the stairs that lead to the outside world. “Guess it’s already been a month, huh.”

Hope blooms within you. Maybe they’ll let you go now, maybe you can be free of the hell they’ve put you through.

Shigaraki must be able to read the thoughts on your face, as he speaks up. “You know, puppy...you could just stay with us. Surely you don’t want to go back outside with the raiders, super mutants, and ghouls?”

You freeze for a second. You’ve been in a bubble of safety, having almost forgotten about all the dangers of the outside world. “I don’t - I mean, I was able to protect myself before - “

Dabi scoffs. “You’re a weak little slut who was hiding out in this vault instead of protecting yourself outside.”

Kurogiri joins in. “It wasn’t so bad being with us, was it? We’d protect you if you stay with us.”

Muscular shrugs. “Seems fair enough to me. We protect her and get to use all those holes anytime we want.”

“I - I really like you,” Spinner begins shyly, “and would love for you to stay with us.”

Now that you’re finally given a choice, the first one you’ve truly had for the past month, you are paralyzed.

The choice to leave the men behind, or to tackle the outside world. The vault isn’t sealed anymore, and there’s no guarantee of safety. Raiders take over vaults all the time, after all, and who is to say that won’t happen to this one?

But really; maybe they aren’t so bad. The fact that they are willing to let you go is more than you thought possible.

When you say the words that will seal your fate, everyone is happy.

You; because you made a choice of your own free will to stay with them.

And them; because they knew their broken little toy had no choice at all.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚❋ ❋ ❋˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Kinktober: @thewheezingwyvern, @vixen-scribbles, @hisoknen, @trafalgar-temptress, @wings-flames-and-ashes, @bakugotrashpanda, @kittycatkrissa, @reinawritesbnha, @dabilove27, @anxietyplusultra, @angmarwitch, @nereida19, @babayaga67, @fromsunnywithlove, @bakugos-cumsock, @yumeneji, @the-grimm-writer, @iwaizumi-chan, @slashersheart, @bunnyywritings, @bakarinnie, @angie-1306, @lalalemon101, @videogameboiwhowins, @f4nficbaby, @bbyspiiice, @thirstyforthem2dmen, @blissfulignorance2000, @bluecookies02-main, @aryjaa, @theodora3022, @raekah, @ineedmorefanfics, @serosmissingtoe, @deathmemeiverse, @miscellaneous-bnha

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strangelysamantha · 3 years

Note

hey, i have a jj maybank request! fem!reader, possible angst!

so basically, y/n is a pogue and gets along with the other pogues (john b, pope, sarah, kiara & cleo) except for jj. y/n is always bright, a total sweetheart and bubbly and jj…hates it.

john b recently opens up a surf board shop on that stranded island that they’re on?? and he leaves y/n and jj alone to polish some boards hoping that they’d get along. jj complains about every little thing y/n does and starts calling her names. she gets really upset and storms out the shop to clear her head. she goes by the water for a swim but a dangerous tide picks her up and jj notices and saves her?? hopefully this makes sense!

the deep end ☆

jj maybank x fem!reader.

warnings: mentions of drowning, jj being an asshole, swearing.

words: 1,674.

summary: jj somehow finds everything you do annoying to the point he criticizes everything you do. john b thinks of a plan that will ensure his two friends will befriend each other. it was working at first, until it wasn’t.

request? yes!

a/n: y’all have such good ideas what the?! thank you for the request! if you enjoyed please like and comment. this is angst with fluff at the end. <3 BTW i am from missouri and have never surfed so i hope i got the polishing of the surfboards correct. :)

my masterlist

——————————————————————————

john b always had a plan, well usually he did. if two of his friends were fighting, he would always find a way to get them to get along. he knew that stranding kiara and sarah on a boat together in the middle of nowhere would force them to fix their friendship. so, with that knowledge, he knew that he could do the same thing with jj and you.

you were always nice to jj, he just seemed to get annoyed with you all the time. you didn’t know what you had done, if you had even done something. he just always felt the need to critique you. it became harder and harder everyday to ignore him.

since washing up on the abandoned island, john b was ecstatic for his brand new start. unsurprisingly to anyone, his first idea for creating a new civilization would be a surf shack. he started building it right away. you would occasionally help, but he was determined to do it on his own so he would always send you away.

“okay! john b what would you like my help with? i can do anything you need. just let me know.” you smile brightly at john b, while he stared at you. “listen, i love you. but, i don’t need your help at the moment. you should talk to everyone else.” you frown at his words, “fine. but you better get me the minute you need assistance.” he nodded. “will do.” and with that, you left joining the others.

jj was talking to cleo before silencing upon your arrival. “hey everyone!” you smile at the group in front of you. “hey! how’s john b?” kiara asked. “i think he is good, he’s actually pretty much done.” you play with the bracelet on your wrist. kiara nods, “that’s great.” pope smiles, “statistically speaking, we can’t ensure that his shack will be entirely safe as he built it all on his own.” you stare at pope. “true… we’ll let’s hope it doesn’t collapse on him.” pope smiled at you, glad you listened to his random fact.

jj groaned. “awe, how sweet pope!! you found a girl who wasn’t disgusted by your weird and useless knowledge.” you gasp in shock, “jj! shut up you are so rude.” jj laughs, “it’s just a joke, why do you always have to be so offended?” you glare at jj. “jj it’s not funny, you’re just a dick.” pope sighs. “it’s okay, don’t worry.” you frown in popes direction. you quietly pull away from the group. you walk to an area of sand, plopping yourself down. that’s when john b approached you.

“hey, remember when i told you i would come get you when i needed help?” john b smiled at you. “yes! do you need my help?” you tilt your head to the side, waiting. he nods. “i need you to wax up some of the boards i made.” you nod. “okay! sure.” he walked you to his shack, helping you set up. you began waxing the board, paying attention to the direction and the amount of wax you were applying. john b waits a minute watching you, before he decides to leave.

after a minute, you see jj approaching the shack with john b who held a smug smile on his lips. you shake your head, confused. “friends.” he looked between you and jj. jj held an unamused look on his face. “as my close friends, you will wax these boards for me. you can’t stop until you guys fix whatever feud is going on between the two of you.” john b stands his ground. jj scoffs, “we don’t have a feud.” you nod your head in agreement. “jj is right, his hatred is definitely one sided... it is not a feud.” you laugh softly seeing jj send a glare your way. “yeah okay. whatever guys. just fix it, and if you even try and leave, i’ll send cleo after both of you.” your eyebrows lift in shock. you mutter a quick okay, returning your attention to the board.

jj stares at you, watching you apply the wax. he couldn’t help but get upset. everything you did just made him annoyed. he grabbed the wax, working on the board right by yours. silence falls over the two of you. it’s not awkward or weird, it actually feels quite normal. until jj interrupted it so he could judge you.

“youre doing it wrong. i mean come on.” you stare at jj, “jj please just focus on your own board.” you shake your head, continuing to polish the surfboard. he glares at you. “whatever. just keep doing what you are doing, and then john b or i will fix it after you.” his attention turned back to his board. you rolled your eyes. “i will, thank you.” he breathes in, inhaling the waxy scent. “you are so annoying you know that?” you ignore jj’s words, focusing on the board. he continues, “i mean everything you do. everything you say, it pisses me off.” you nod slightly. “you done?”

“no, actually i’m not.” you bite your lip, fixating on the wax that is spreading along the smooth surface. jj stops waxing the surfboard. you look up to see he is already staring at you. “you know, you act like you are better than us, i mean why do you hang out with us anyway?” jj waits but continues when he realizes you won’t reply. “you are fake, you are so upbeat and bubbly that it’s annoying. you are a double sided two faced bitch who says anything to get in good graces.” you inhale, looking up at him.

“listen jj. we are stranded on this fucking island. TOGETHER. so either drop it and move on, or just shut the fuck up and stay away from me.” you place your hands on your hips, breathing slightly staggered from anger. “everyone speaks so highly of you saying how great you are; but the only jj i’ve met is a total douche. if you hate me so much then just stay the fuck away from me. if you continue you’ll just be wasting your breath and energy anyway.” jj holds back a laugh at your sudden outburst.

“you really think if i had the choice, i would want to be here? especially with you?” jj asked, you already knowing the answer. you stay silent. “exactly. no one can deal with you for that long anyway.” you roll your eyes.

“whatever jj. you win.” you toss the wax to the side, frowning. you don’t turn back to him, you just ignore him. you start to walk towards the beaches seashore. it was getting slightly hot, so you decided to take a dip into the water.

you were salvaging the few moments of freedom you had, before you got john b’s and cleo’s wrath from leaving the scene before mending the friendship with jj. it was practically impossible. what did jj have against you? you tip toed into the water, getting deeper and deeper. you floated at the top of the water; the coolness feeling great on top of your hot skin.

jj truly had the biggest nerve, your mind was overwhelmingly clogged. you felt seaweed scratch against the bottom of your foot, this caused you to jump, your adrenaline levels rising since you thought it was a fish. you try to remain afloat, but the high tide caused the waves to crash right over you repeatedly, being faster and higher than ever. you went above water trying to shout for help, but your mouth was filled, causing no sound to come out. you thrash against the water, kicking to stay afloat. your throat was burning, your legs tired from kicking, and your lungs filled with liquid.

a pair of hands wrap around your stomach, dragging you out the water. you were placed on the warm sand. “shit.” jj stared at you. your head felt light. jj’s hand began pumping your chest, curses falling from his mouth. “come on, just breathe. please.” you cough, the salt water exiting your lungs, and dropping onto your neck. you gasp for air, opening your eyes to be met with jj’s face. you breathe heavily for a minute.

“jj… thank you.” you sit up, pulling him into a tight hug. your hands wrap around his neck, one of them grabbing his hair. his arms held tightly around your waist. his chest was heaving heavily, shaking slightly. “i hate to be so cliché j, but you genuinely saved my life.” he frowns at you. “i almost lost you.”

jj’s confession confused you. “what?” you say softly, your hand combed through his hair. “look. the reason i’m so mean to you, is because i knew that if i was nice to you, my already intense feelings for you would only amplify.” you frown at him. “you’ve had a crush on me this whole time?” jj nodded. you went to talk, but your friends interrupted the moment.

john b rushed to your side, kiara and pope swiftly behind him. “what happened!! we were watching from over there.” john b pointed in a direction farther away. “one minute you were swimming… the next you we’re gone!?” you wipe your neck, trying to dry it off. “jj saved my life. i almost drowned.” you frown, the group in front of you nodded. “im so glad you are okay.” kiara bent down pulling you into a hug. “i’m glad you are safe now too.” pope joined in on the hug; as well as everyone else.

sarah, kiara, and cleo bend down, reaching for your hands. they help you up, dragging you to your feet. they walk you away from the crowd, bombarding you with questions. “so when you were drowning what did it feel like??” you turn around watching jj, you smile slightly before turning to them. “oh get ready for the amount of details i’m going to give you guys.”

possibly a part two…??? not sure yet :) <3 also!! i’m proofreading this tomorrow since i’m not entirely sure if it has errors or not! ily!!

#jj maybank obx #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader angst #fiction #writing #jj maybank x fem!reader #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank angst #jj maybank imagine #outerbanks fanfics #outer banks imagines #outer banks story #outer banks angst #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank obx fanfic #jj x fem!reader

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bananonbinary · 3 years

Text

Time for a Salty Meta Post about Martin!

people who’ve followed this blog for a bit know that spending six hours combing through text for some goddamn sources is my specialty, so i compiled every time jon ever talked about martin’s work in season 1. which for the record, he stopped complaining about all the way back in episode 26, where he was angry that martin of all people got hurt.

things jon gets mad at martin for:

not being able to find records that don’t exist

not being able to find someone based only on a first name

the Dog

not wearing trousers in his off-hours

being the one that got caught up in the jane prentiss thing

mag 004 and mag 012 both have jon taking potshots at martin over research that was proven accurate by outside sources

things jon has never once complained about:

martin not understanding the filing system and just putting stuff away at random

martin being clumsy, constantly ruining things, spilling tea everywhere everyday, etc

martin turning in incompetent, poorly-edited, or badly formatted reports

martin not understanding the terminology used, skills expected, etc., and generally being extremely new to the field

please for the love of god stop making martin the silly bumbling idiot who can’t do anything right just because he doesn’t have a formal education. there’s zero evidence for it in the text, and it’s really weird to act like a 4 year degree would outweigh the *10 years* of job experience he has, not just in academia, but in the institute itself by season one. my boy has worked there longer than ANY of the rest of the main cast. screw you guys.

tl;dr: martin is never once shown to be bad at his job, jon pretty much only ever gets mad at him for the really stupid first impression and also not finding stuff that no one else was able to find either. after martin got hurt, jon talks about his research basically the same way he talks about tim’s or sasha’s work.

fucking proof under the cut:

(i didnt include the s1 finale or martin’s statement bc that’s just...two entire episodes of them talking to each other, but there isn’t really any notable Martin Complaints in either of them imo)

I swear, if he’s brought another dog in here, I’m going to peel him.

[pre-launch trailer]

Well, technically three, but I don’t count Martin as he’s unlikely to contribute anything but delays.

[...] Alongside this Tim, Sasha and, yes, I suppose, Martin will be doing some supplementary investigation to see what details may be missing from what we have.

[MAG001 Anglerfish]

Martin couldn’t find any records of Ex Altiora as a title in existent catalogues of esoteric or similar literature, so I assigned Sasha to double-check. Still nothing.

[MAG004 Pageturner]

I had Martin conduct a follow-up interview with Mr. Woodward last week, but it was unenlightening. Apparently there have been no further bags at number 93 and in the intervening years he has largely discounted many of the stranger aspects of his experience. I wasn’t expecting much, as time generally makes people inclined to forget what they would rather not believe, but at least it got Martin out of the Institute for an afternoon, which is always a welcome relief.

[MAG005 Thrown Away]

Martin was unable to find the exact date the original house was built but the earliest records he could find list it as being bought by Walter Fielding in 1891.

[...]

We cannot prove any connection, but Martin unearthed a report on an Agnes Montague, who was found dead in her Sheffield flat on the evening of November 23rd 2006, the same day Mr. Lensik claims to have uprooted the tree.

[MAG008 Burned Out]

According to Martin, who was here when they took this statement, it was at this point in writing that Mr. Herbert announced he needed some sleep before continuing. He was shown to the break room where he went to sleep on the couch. He did not awaken; unfortunately succumbing to the lung cancer right there. Martin says the staff had been aware of how serious Mr. Herbert’s condition was, and had advised him to seek medical aid prior to giving his statement, but were told rather bluntly by the old man that he would not wait another second to state his case. I can’t decide whether this lends more or less credibility to his tale.

[MAG010 Vampire Killer]

“Veepalach” might also be a mishearing of the Polish word “wypalać”, according to Martin, which means to cauterize or brand. Admittedly, if Martin speaks Polish in the same way he “speaks Latin,” then he might be talking nonsense again, but I’ve looked it up and it appears to check out.

[MAG012 First Aid]

I sent Martin to look into this ‘Angela’ character - not that I want him to get chopped up, of course, but someone had to. Apparently, he spent three days looking into every woman named Angela in Bexley over the age of 50. He could not find anyone that matches the admittedly vague description given here, though he informs me that he had some very pleasant chats about jigsaws. Useless ass.

[MAG014 Piecemeal]

Martin declined to help with this investigation as he’s “a bit claustrophobic”

[MAG015 Lost John’s Cave]

There simply aren’t enough details given in this statement to actually investigate, short of Martin confirming that Mr. Vittery did indeed live at the addresses he provided.

[MAG016 Arachnophobia]

Oh, he’s off sick this week. Stomach problems, I think.

Blessed relief if you ask me.

[...]

I asked Martin to try and hunt down Mr. Adekoya himself for a follow-up, but have been informed that he passed away in 2006.

[MAG017 The Boneturner’s Tale]

MARTIN

Well, I need to tell someone what happened, and you can vouch for the soundness of my mind, can’t you?

ARCHIVIST

…

That is beside the point.

[MAG022 Colony]

Martin! Good lord man, if you’re going to be staying in the Archives, at least have the decency to put some trousers on!

[MAG023 Schwartzwald]

Martin found one other thing while combing through police reports for the Hither Green area. About a month after this statement was given, on May 15th, 2015, police were called out to once again investigate the chapel.

[MAG025 Growing Dark]

I know, but it would have to have been Martin, wouldn’t it? I mean, anything goes wrong around here, it always seems to happen to him. Anyway, we’re getting off topic. Why didn’t you report this?

[MAG026 A Distortion]

Martin made contact with the son, Marcus McKenzie, but he declined to talk to us, saying that he’d “already made his statement.”

[MAG027 A Sturdy Lock]

Tim and Martin had a bit more luck investigating Tom Haan, though only really enough to confirm that he seems to have completely vanished following his departure from Aver Meats on the 12th of July.

[MAG030 Killing Floor]

Martin’s research would seem to indicate the place employed a reasonable number of international staff they preferred to keep off the books

[...]

TIM

Ah well, that’s actually what he was asking, huh! Um, apparently Martin, uh, took delivery of a couple of items last week addressed to you. Did he not mention it?

ARCHIVIST

No, he… Oh, yes, actually. I completely forgot. He said he put it in my desk drawer, hold on.

[MAG036 Taken Ill]

#the magnus archives #LISTEN #i am once again asking people to remember that martin has MORE job experience at the institute than literally any other character #(except elias or i guess maybe rosie)#he's the goddamn veteran not the newbie #fan wank /

1K notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 3 years

Text

the clock is ticking, running out of time

characters: shigaraki tomura

genre: smut and angst

notes: AAAAAAH HAPPY BIRTHDAY TOMURA!!!!!! sorry i seem to write angst for all of my faves birthdays ehehe. this is technically set in the touya-nii universe!! | title cred: birthday by katy perry

warnings: 18+ minors dni, cheating, implied stepcest/pseudo-incest, toxic relationships, the slightest hint of degradation, noncon/dubcon video recording, extreme feelings of guilt

words: 4.4k

synopsis:

“It’s fine—”

“It’s not,”

“I didn’t come here to talk about Touya,” you say gently, letting your dress drop down as you straighten up. “Let’s—Let’s not think about him right now, okay? Today is your day, and I want to focus on you. Forget about Touya,”

A deep frown mars his face, his nose twitching again. It looks like he wants to say more, but then your hands are on him, roaming across his bony chest and sliding into the tufts of silvery-blue hair at the nape of his neck.

“It’s hard to buy a gift for someone who already has everything,” you’re continuing softly, gazing up at him through your lashes, so close your noses nearly bump together. Sweet breath wafts over his face, a tongue darting out to lick at his lips, as if he’s trying to taste it. “So I thought…I thought the best gift I could give you is me,”

And suddenly, Touya’s wiped from his mind.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

That’s the thought that’s been looping through your head for the past forty-five minutes, for the entire bus ride from Touya’s apartment to Tomura’s, for the walk from the bus stop to his condo complex, for the thirty-seven seconds it takes him to answer the door.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

But you want to.

It’s been months since you’ve seen him last, months since you spent the night with him, months since you’ve spoken to him at all.

4:06. The glowing numbers glare up at you from the screen of your phone, unable to stop obsessively checking your phone, mentally calculating the time you have left over and over again, even though you’ve already meticulously planned this outing down to the very second.

It’s rare for Touya to be out for an exact amount of allotted time, but when he mentioned that he had a three hour full body check up with his doctor that just so happened to be scheduled on Tomura’s birthday…Well, it was too convenient for you not to seize the opportunity.

The door swings open, breaking you out of your thoughts, and your name leaves his lips in a gasp, crimson eyes searching your face in disbelief. A beat of silence passes before he speaks again. “What’re you doing here?”

“Wanted to see you for your birthday,” you say simply with a shrug and he blinks several times, still staring at you incredulously. “You didn’t think I forgot, did you?”

And for a moment you’re terrified you’ve made a grave mistake, terrified that he doesn’t want you here, that he thinks the risk is too big—Touya will murder the both of you if he finds out—too dangerous, his body gone rigid in the doorway, breathing stopped.

But then a brilliant smile is splitting his face, and he’s pulling you into his arms, crushing you to his chest as his fingers curl in the material of your dress.

And you—you practically collapse against him, sighing out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. He still smells exactly the same, just as you remember—like cheap cigarettes and watermelon bubblegum.

The scent evokes thick unfurling remorse, sinking heavily in your stomach, the mantra you’ve been repeating to yourself for the past few days immediately flowing through your mind, a desperate attempt to reassure yourself, to reason with yourself, to justify this decision.

Because you both deserve closure, don’t you? After everything that’s happened? After leaving him without a trace, without so much as a phone call or a quick text to at least let him know you’re okay?

Because Touya’s cheated on you how many times throughout the first six months of your relationship? One more teeny tiny instance of infidelity—the last one, you promise yourself—shouldn’t hurt, so long as he doesn’t know about it.

Right?

Really, this does nothing to dispel the culpability churning in your chest. No, Tomura’s bright boyish smile does that all by itself, sincere in the way it’s stretched across his face as he tugs you inside.

And...And suddenly, none of it really matters. Not in that moment, at least. Suddenly, all of those statements are rendered true; Tomura does deserve this. Suddenly, you realize just how much you’ve missed him.

“I have to be quick, I’m sorry,” your voice cracks under unexpected emotion, but Tomura doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, ecstatic over the fact that you’ve come to visit at all.

“That’s fine,” he’s saying as his hands roam your body, kneading and squeezing with surprising gentleness, eyes shining and wide as they follow his touch, as if he can’t believe you’re here, can’t believe you’re real.

It has your heart shattering in your chest, jagged shards puncturing your surrounding organs, burying themselves deep within you, never to be dug out. A lump lodges itself in your throat, voice frail and full of spit as you speak around it.

“I missed you so much,” the words rush from between your lips without your permission, and Tomura pulls back, smile fading as his gaze searches your face.

For a moment, you can tell that he wants to berate you for disappearing without any contact at all, can see it shining clear as crystal in his eyes as they narrow, as eyebrows knit and his nose scrunches, and you nuzzle your face into him. Guilt, a different kind than that which Touya evokes—this type lighter than the dense acidic guilt that sticks to your insides like thick tar any time sapphire sears through your mind, this type bitter and saturated with melancholy—roots in the pit of your stomach.

“I—I’m sorry I haven’t been able to text,” you mumble meekly, tears pricking your eyes. “Touya—”

“It’s okay,” he cuts you off with surprising softness, fingertips still trailing up and down your spine. “I figured. Uh, how is he? Like, how…How was he?”

The brand of those five letters, now fully healed, scald your flesh, blistering bright and hot as if you had just been branded again. With your bottom lip sucked between your teeth, you contemplate just outright telling him—he’s going to see it eventually either way, but you’re worried about ruining the mood a little too early.

No.

Better to rip it off like a band-aid, to get it out of the way now, instead of interrupting your birthday festivities later.

Your chest swells with a deep inhale, exhaling the words slowly.

“He was…” Livid. Furious beyond belief. Deeply hurt—distressed, distraught, dismayed. Visibly shaken up. In more pain than you’ve ever witnessed before. Terrified. “Upset. Naturally.”

Tomura waits for you to continue, speaking after a few moments of silence. “And?” he prompts, knowing Touya didn’t let you get away with a mere verbal warning, knowing you have more to say.

“A-And—” you bury your face against his neck, hot tears leaking from your eyes and staining his skin as they squeeze shut tightly, forcing the quivering words from your throat. “And he—He, um, he branded me,”

“What?” The word is just a huff of breath as large hands curl around your shoulders, yanking you from the sanctuary of his body so he can scrutinize your face, flashing crimson flying across your features. “He what?”

“His name,” you whisper, eyes still shut, face screwing up in distaste, the words bitter on your tongue.

“Where?”

“My ass,”

“Let me see,”

Eyes snapping open, your head begins to shake, motions cutting off when your stare meets his glare. Reluctantly you turn, flipping your dress up as you bend over a bit, pulling your panties down just enough to show him the slightly raised letters etched into your flesh forever.

Save for the soft, choked noise that sounds in the back of his throat, silence blankets the room, atmosphere suddenly stale and suffocating.

You glance back at him after a few beats, when your chest is beginning to burn from holding your breath in your lungs, and the sight that you are met with has your chest tearing itself in half, ribs caving in, giving way to the deep, dark ache swirling at the very core of your body.

Crimson eyes gleam in the setting sun, a thick layer of tears catching in the golden rays streaming through the window. It’s almost pretty in a way, brilliant ruby that shimmers and shines in the waning beams, practically glowing. But those beautiful, beautiful eyes are transfixed on your bare flesh, unblinking stare etching itself into your skin much like the letters Touya left behind.

His chin trembles just a little, front teeth sinking into his bottom lip in an attempt to halt it, head nodding in minuscule motions, barely noticeable, almost as if he’s confirming something to himself, affirming some unsaid thought sailing through his mind—almost as if he’s blaming himself.

“Fucking bastard,” he spits, though the words are wobbly, lacking heat and coated in sticky saliva. Using the sleeve of his black shirt, he wipes at his nose almost aggressively, quelling it’s twitching as he exhales harshly, nostrils flaring, before he sniffs twice and rolls his shoulders back, gaze finally meeting yours.

“It’s fine—”

“It’s not,”

The glittering scarlet lace barely obscured by your thin dress singes itself into your flesh as his palms cascade over it, tracing every dip and curve of your body as they slide down to grope your ass.

You had bought the set for this occasion specifically—using cash you had stashed away, of course; Touya regularly checks your bank statements and credit card—with the intention of letting Tomura keep it, as a present.

“It’s hard to buy a gift for someone who already has everything,” you’re continuing softly, gazing up at him through your lashes, so close your noses nearly bump together, sweet breath wafting over his face, a tongue darting out to lick at his lips, as if he’s trying to taste it. “So I thought…I thought the best gift I could give you is me,”

And suddenly, Touya’s wiped from his mind.

He surges forward, foreheads bumping together from the strength, and crushes his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, nimble fingers curling in the hem of your dress and yanking, pulling the material from your body in one erratic motion.

He’s just as enthusiastic as he was all those months ago, large hands settling on your lace-clad hips as he guides you—back, back, back, stumbling over your own feet a little as he shoves forward, teeth clacking as his tongue tangles with yours, interspersed drool pooling at the corners of your lips.

A soft cry of surprise leaves your lips as he roughly spins the two of you so he’s the one reversing, collapsing in the overstuffed gaming chair abandoned near his desk and hauling you down with him, wheels rolling against the hardwood from the force.

His lips are plush and chapped, kisses messy with strings of viscous saliva, and you’re reminded of how fun kissing Tomura is, playful giggles spilling from one mouth into another consistently breaking the flow as eager hands paw and pull, snapping the clasp on your bra and haphazardly discarding it, your fingers toying with the silver button of his charcoal jeans.

“Get on with it already,” he groans, impatient and entitled as ever, exactly how you remember, hips rutting up into you clumsily as hands travel up your torso to knead your breasts much too hard. And even though it shouldn’t, his predictability inspires a burst of intense warmth in your chest, burning bright like a tiny sun, heat seeping into your blood and flooding your veins as more involuntary giggles pry their way out of your mouth and into his.

“Think that’s funny, huh?” he asks, and although his eyes are fierce and sharp as they scrutinize your face, there’s a playful little grin decorating his lips, slender fingers tweaking a peaked nipple and snickering at your resulting yelp.

“Just missed you, s’all,” you mumble against him, lips dragging along his jaw then trailing down his neck, tongue peeking out to give kitten licks at self-inflicted scars and tugging pathetic little half-whimpers from deep in his throat, rough and uneven as he tries to swallow them back down.

There isn’t enough time for thorough prep, your only form of foreplay consisting of his cock being rammed down your throat—just get it fucking wet, he had demanded—hips stuttering as he desperately tries to keep from bucking while your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in spit.

“Fu-Fucking stop, or I’m gonna cum,” Large fists tangle in your hair, trying to yank you off his cock with a pathetic little whine. Gaping pupils outlined by a fine ring of scarlet observe the way your shining lips pucker around his girth as your mouth slides up, grip on your strands already loosening as his chest heaves, completely absorbed by your actions, breath escaping slightly parted lips in sweet little puffs.

A little tongue flicks against the slit as you reach the tip, placing an obscene openmouthed kiss to the head before pulling away completely. Your mouth hovers an inch above it, allowing a large glob of sticky saliva to dribble from your mouth onto the head, then kissing it again, pressing slippery lips to heated silky skin.

“Jesus Christ,”

The curse is nearly a moan, and you look up from your place between his thighs, batting your eyelashes and offering him a tiny smile. His eyes glitter as he gazes down at you, chest rising unevenly under the force of ragged breaths, a thumb swiping across your cheek in a manner that’s almost awestruck, as if he can’t believe you’re here.

“Get on my cock,” he orders a moment later, when the aching between his legs draws him back to reality, hips jerking up in reflexive, instinctive micro-movements, gleaming cock bobbing with the action. “And take your fucking panties off,”

It’s a little awkward and a lot uncoordinated, trying to maneuver yourself onto his lap while he slouches in that ridiculous gaming chair, unable to quell the way his hips prematurely thrust the moment you’re hovering over him, legs folded and cramped on either side of his thighs.

Pathetic little whimpers leak from your lips as his slick cock stretches your ill-prepared hole, cunt stinging as it struggles to adjust to the sudden breach, your nails digging into the lean muscles of his shoulders as a hiss is spit between clenched teeth.

But the moan he emits, deep and satisfying as you sink down on him, how his eyelashes flutter shut and his head knocks back against the headrest as he bottoms out, long ivory neck and prominent Adams apple on display, and the way massive hands grip your hips, fingertips digging into your soft flesh as he forces you to begin bouncing almost immediately, make it all so worth it.

Because he’s still so pretty, lids lifting a moment later to reveal dazzling ruby gazing at you in an almost voracious manner through thick dark lashes, glued to your face as he memorizes every micro-expression that transforms your features, the way your eyes roll back and eyebrows twitch, the way your mouth forms around those cute little gasps of his name that his rough thrusts punch from your chest.

“Did’ya miss my cock?” his breath is already coming out in short little pants, hips grinding urgently against yours, lacking any kind of finesse or rhythm. “B-Bet’cha did,”

“Uh-huh,” your head nods jerkily, hips rocking just as desperately into his as if to confirm your statement. His cock is pretty, too—a darker pink than Touya’s, half an inch shorter but just as fat, thick veins snaking around the shaft like vines.

“Dick drunk already?” he teases, and you’re positive his voice was meant to be more rancorous, but the large grin it’s spoken through, as if he’s proud of himself, chest nearly swelling with it, dilutes it, disintegrating the bitter shell that was supposed to coat the words. His tongue clicks, fluffy tufts of hair bouncing a little as he shakes his head. “What would your precious niichan think?”

You don’t answer—can’t answer—because it’s already so much, uncoordinated thrusting almost teasing in a way, the head of his cock unintentionally grazing that spot buried deep inside of you, the fleeting sensation mixing with that of the taboo, of the naughtiness of the situation, mewls spilling from your lips.

And you wish, so desperately, that you could take your time, that you could enjoy such amateurish gyrating, crude movements giving way to sloppy squelching that makes your stomach swoop and cunt throb as your clit glides against his pubic bone, but the mention of niichan reminds you of your finite amount of time and you lean back, soft palms finding the edge of his desk, fingers curling tightly around it.

Tomura’s bare feet planted on the hardwood keep the chair from shifting as you begin to really ride him, starting with slow, hard rolls of your hips that have cute little grunts hitching in his chest, bright eyes darkening as they watch, lids drooping a little, your movements increasingly gaining speed with each rock forward of your hips, leaning back against the desk and using it for leverage.

Blunt nails bite into your skin, and you want to remind him not to leave marks, but the words won’t keep their shape as they gurgle in your throat, evaporating into moans that break with each rough buck of his hips.

He finds a rhythm with you quickly, though, your lust-hazed mind dully noting that he’s better than before, the thought conjuring sudden, fierce spears of jealousy that slice through your chest, jaw clenching.

“Fuck, you—you’re still the best I’ve ever had,” he practically whines out, like he’s reading the thoughts on your face, but his voice is genuine, strained and hoarse with the confession. “Will probably always be the best I’ve ever had,” his sentence fades into a growl, almost as if he’s angry about it, hands squeezing your hips.

Nevertheless, you’re unable to stop the little smile those words paint across your lips, giggling breathlessly as bubbly warmth tingles in your chest, a sense of shameful pride rushing through your veins.

“Yeah?” he seethes in a huff, eyes narrowing. “Bet you’re proud of yourself for that, little slut,”

You are, you’re nodding, tongue rendered useless as his hips piston into you, cockhead repeatedly slamming against your cervix, reaching deeper and deeper and deeper the further you lean back, until the sharp edge of the desk is cutting into your back.

“I know you are,” he sneers, callous tone emphasized by his brute force as he fucks you. “V-Vain little bitch, happy she’s ruined me—ruined sex for me, forever,”

It’s getting harder for him to speak now, words punctuated by half-baked whimpers and swallowed, stifled moans, the sentiment under his speech accentuating pleasure for the both of you, dirty humiliation only making everything that much more intense, heady and addicting as it intoxicates your bodies, your minds, your souls.

“S-So the least you could do,” he begins in a keen, pace faltering as he squirms under you, yanking his phone from his back pocket. “Is give me something to—ah, Christ—remember you by,”

You should tell him no. You should cease all bouncing on his cock the moment he presses that little red button on his screen, the moment the flash next to the camera turns on, signaling it’s recording. You should.

But you don’t. You don’t, because he’s right. Because that guilt returns, seeping up through the floor of your stomach and spreading to your other organs, chest tightening as it reaches your heart. Because you took something from him, something he’ll never be able to get back, purely for your own selfish gain, just to get back at the man you love, and that isn’t fair. That will never be fair.

Instead, you look straight into the lens, hips beginning to ride him almost viciously, pushing out your chest further, bouncing tits on display as they heave with your lewd moans of his name, begging him to fuck you, begging him for his thick cum, and oh please, Tomura, please, give it to me, want your cum so bad, need your cum so bad, please!

He chokes on his own groan, the hand holding his phone beginning to shake slightly as the other finds its place on your hip again, his own thrusts pumping wildly as he spits expletives through gritted teeth, your pathetic little mewls egging him on.

“G-Gonna cum?” he whines out, almost as if he’s begging you to say yes, the needy canting of his hips indicating that he’s about to, too, crimson searing into you as you nod messily. “Fucking do it, then, cream all over my cock like the good little whore you are,”

And you’re powerless to stop the loud cry that rips from your throat as your cunt clenches around him, only half of his name escaping in a yelp before your own shuddery gasp cuts you off, choking a little on the intense inhale, air sharp as razors as it rushes down your throat.

He follows less than a second later with a ferocious growl of your name, potent cum filling your aching little cunt, phone clattering to the floor as both hands grip your hips and force you to continue milking him until both of your bodies are shivering from the overstimulation.

You collapse against him, sweaty body melting into his, muscles quivering in exhaustion. Long arms encircle you, cradling you to his chest in a way that’s almost tender, phone laying forgotten a few feet away.

It’s just as nice as it was the first time, being swathed in his embrace, a gentle sigh slipping from between your lips. Nimble fingers trail up and down your spine, pressing into the notches, tracing the smooth, soft plains of your skin.

“Wish you could stay,” he mumbles into your hair, so quiet you nearly miss it—would have missed it if not for the vibrations in his chest.

Me too.

You want to tell him, want to express the same sentiment, to make it known that you desire the same thing, but the words tangle in your throat, that sticky brand of guilt that is specifically Touya refraining them from leaving your lips, yanking them back down into your chest with painful hitching breaths every time you try to speak.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Tomura coos, pulling back a little to cup your face and tilt it up, big thumbs swiping across your cheeks as they catch glistening teardrops.

He doesn’t say anything—there is nothing to say—instead dipping his head to press his lips chastely to yours in the softest kiss he’s ever given you, mumbling his thanks for the birthday present a moment later.

There’s so much more you want to say, so much more you want to ask, but there’s no more time, opting to kiss him again in response, praying that it conveys all the things you can’t, all the things guilt won’t let you.

And then you’re scrambling off of his lap, collecting your dress off the floor and hastily pulling it over your head, turning back to find Tomura standing, holding out his hand, soaked lace in his grasp.

“Keep them,” you whisper, curling his fingers into a fist around the dainty material. “Happy birthday, Tomura,”

✰ ✰ ✰

You have forty-five minutes before Touya arrives home—that’s cutting it close, you were supposed to have a full hour, but Tomura’s arms were so warm, his gently rising chest so inviting, his entire aura so comforting, that you had allowed yourself to indulge, just for a moment, to let your eyes slip shut and exhale a soft sigh of contentment, snuggling into his embrace and inhaling his distinct scent deeply, holding it in your lungs for a moment, wishing it would stay, wishing it would stick to the gummy walls, take root and find a home there, wishing you could keep a piece of him with you, always.

The water scalds your skin as you step into Touya’s glass shower, hands instantly reaching for Touya’s bodywash and squirting a generous amount in your palm.

You lather your entire body with it, until every inch of your skin is covered in foamy white suds, until your flesh has been scrubbed raw, the sharp scent—something woodsy and musky, like a crackling campfire of burning hickory wood, smoky and sweet—enveloping you entirely, stinging your nose.

It sticks in your throat and invades your lungs, as if cleansing you from the inside out, and you choke on it, are suffocated by it, little gasps and coughs falling from your lips while nails claw at your neck.

That dull ache returns as you rinse your skin, throbbing incessantly at the very core of your body as you watch the last remnants of Tomura swirl around the drain, infused in the soapy water.

It shouldn’t hurt this much, you’re thinking to yourself as your fingers massage shampoo into your scalp. It shouldn’t, but it does, a painful lump lodging itself in your throat, expanding a little more every time you try to reason with yourself until it’s gagging you.

Something stings your eyes—soap from the shampoo as you rinse it from your locks, or maybe the potently fragrant scent from Touya’s bodywash, you try to convince yourself, that lump sprouting tiny spikes and viciously slicing into the gummy walls, that lump forcing saliva still containing traces of Tomura to collect in your throat, that lump reminding you that you’re a fucking liar.

It’s fine. It’s fine. Touya doesn’t need to know everything, does he? What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right? And it was only a one time thing, wasn’t it? It’s alright, isn’t it?

These are the questions that cycle through your mind obsessively, running laps in your skull as you absentmindedly towel off your dripping body in your niichan’s bedroom, the gentle buzz of your phone snapping you out of your reverie.

For a moment, you’re terrified it’s Touya, texting you to tell you that he knows, you little slut, scrambling to snatch it off of the nightstand as trembling fingers hastily unlock it.

It isn’t Touya.

It’s Tomura.

best birthday present of my life, hands down. thank you. i love you.

The resounding slam! of the front door has your entire body flinching violently, the heels of Touya’s heavy boots thumping against the tile as he kicks them off mingling with his smooth voice as he calls your name.

It’s with watery eyes and painful little sniffles catching in your chest that your quivering thumb jabs at that tiny little trashcan in the corner of your screen, watching through blurry vision as the entire conversation disappears into the ether, gone forever—though those three glowing words that concluded the text are etched into the very tissue of your brain, where they will remain, forever.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki smut #shigaraki tomura #eeeeee happy birthday baby boy ilysm #hehehehehe #ENJOY ENJOY ENJOY

671 notes · View notes

literaila · 4 years

Text

flick, flick, burn

spencer reid x reader

request: Can i request a fic where the reader and spencer are dating and the reader believes that spencer if in love with jj so she distances herself from him??? and garcia finds out and reassures her?? sorry if this doesn’t make sense but thank u if you do decide to write it!😊

warnings: none.. theres lots of mentions of fire.. and jealousy...

a/n: lovely lovely request, i’m sorry if i butchered it.

It started with text messages.

The stupid text messages.

Spencer and Y/N were sitting on the couch, practically on each other's lap, watching some documentary about ancient Greece when Spencer got a text.

Which was unusual.

Every one of Spencer's friends knew that he hated texting, and hated using his phone in general. Which is why his pocket was constantly buzzing out of soft ringtone, instead of insistent messages.

But he had gotten a text.

Y/N didn't think of it until later.

Later when he started taking long phone calls late at night.

When he started taking phone calls when he thought she was asleep. When Y/N laid in bed and wondered, wondered where he went, wondered when he was coming back, wondered why he had left.

He never took phone calls that late.

She pretended it wasn't happening, after all, he always came back to bed, always came back and always wrapped his arms around her waist, and she always pretended to be asleep, she always listened to him breathe into her neck until he was asleep again.

He didn't know she was awake.

Phone calls didn't mean something was wrong.

Everything else was the same, Spencer still woke Y/N up with soft kisses in the morning, he still called her ‘love’ and reminded her to be safe at work. He still got flustered at Morgan calling them “lovebirds” and he still waited until everyone looked away to kiss her. He still brought her coffee at her desk, still read to her at night before they slept. Everything else was exactly the same.

And if Spencer wasn't going to say anything about the phone calls, neither was Y/N.

It wasn't until later, later when he seemed more distracted, later when he had to skip out on dinner, “I just have to- have to go get this book. I’ll be back later.” he had said, it wasn't until later when he didn't get back for several hours, it wasn't until then Y/N really started paying attention.

Something was going on.

It didn't take a profiler to see that.

It wasn't that he had to tell her everything, no she didn't expect that from him, but she also didn't expect him to start leaving the house almost every time they were home, and she didn't expect him to get back when she had already gone to bed.

So she started paying more attention.

And the texts, and phone calls, and the leaving at strange times of night, they all continued.

Y/N thought about asking, thought about telling Spencer what she had noticed, but she didn't want him to think she didn't trust him. She didn't want him to feel like he wasn't allowed to have his own things.

And then she noticed something else.

Near the end of the workday she had been walking to Hotch's office to turn in her case reports, she was exhausted and on her 6th cup of coffee, she walked by JJ’s office when she noticed something in the window.

JJ and Spencer.

Talking.

That wasn't weird, it wasn't unusual. Since Y/N’s first day of work, she had known about the strong friendship the two of them shared.

It wasn't them being together that she noticed.

It was the way Spencer was looking at her.

The way he was standing in front of her, smiling, a far off look in his face.

It was the way JJ was smiling back.

It was the look, a look Y/N had seen so many times, a look Spencer only used when he was looking at her, it was the look that she’d fallen in love with.

It was the look he was giving JJ.

She felt her heart racing as she thought of the prospect that Spencer was looking at JJ the way he looked at Y/N. She felt gasoline fill her stomach, and then her lungs, and she felt it when the gas was ignited in her brain.

She was on fire.

She stared and felt her mind turning. She remembered something Spencer had told her, years ago, when they were still just friends. She remembered the dazed look on his face and the smile in his eyes. She remembered the words that he said, the words that she repeated in her head even then

I think I’m in love with her.

She was burning.

She remembered the way he used to stare at her, used to be amazed at everything she did. She remembered him trying to act more mature, less awkward, around her.

Her chest was burning.

She remembered how innocent and lovestruck he had been.

Her stomach was burning.

She remembered watching as he went to invite her to the football game.

Her mind was burning.

She remembered how crushed he’d been when the date hadn’t gone as planned.

She was burning hot, and stuck in place, and frozen staring at them. She was being melted from the inside out. She watched and she watched and eventually, when she felt like it was almost over, when she could almost feel her body turn to ash, it was then that she walked away.

It was then that she walked into the bathroom and gasped, and cursed at herself for thinking the way she was thinking. She shouldn't have been thinking that Spencer would never do that. She trusted Spencer and she shouldn't have been thinking that.

How could she ever think that?

Even though she reassured herself, told herself, over and over, Spencer would never do that, even though she repeated that in her head, and out loud in front of the mirror, even though she said it over and over again, it didn't go away.

The flame in her body had died down, it stopped scaring her from the inside, but it wasn't gone. It was only a sliver of a flame, barely big enough to be noticeable, but it wasn't gone. No, it didn't leave.

In fact, the fire, the blaze in her body, it had only just begun.

***

“But, Pen! I saw it.”

“Sweetheart, you’re making stuff up.”

Y/N walked -paced- around Penelope’s office. She was holding a ball in her hands, which she threw in the air over and over again as she thought about JJ and Spencer.

It had been almost two weeks since she first saw them in the office, two weeks since she had started obsessing over JJ and Spencer.

She noticed everything now.

She noticed Spencer smile at JJ whenever he looked at her, she noticed how JJ smiled back, she noticed how Spencer always seemed to focus all his attention on JJ when she was around, she noticed the way they teased and laughed together. She noticed how Spencer was always waiting after something he said for feedback from JJ, and how JJ always gave him it. She noticed how empty her house was when Spencer was gone and thought how lonely she felt when she had no idea where he’d gone. She noticed the constant text messages and hour-long phone calls.

She noticed how the flame inside of her only got bigger anytime any of those things happened.

Y/N couldn't keep it to herself, couldn't keep noticing all these things, and keeping them ingrained in her head.

She noticed how distant she had become from Spencer, choosing to watch him instead of being with him, and she noticed the fear of living in her body every time he was around. She didn't want to talk to him about it, didn't want him to get the wrong idea- didn't want to hear the truth.

So she talked to Garcia instead.

“No. No.” Y/N walked over to Penelope and sat down in the spare chair next to her. “He looked at her like he looked at me.”

“Did he really, or are you making it up?” Penelope said, dubious, as she typed something.

Y/N could feel herself getting more and more annoyed. She knew what she saw.

“Penelope. I know that look. It's the look he gives me.”

It was then that Garica looked at Y/N, really looked at her. What she saw was a panicked girl, who looked like she hadn't been getting enough sleep. She saw a panicked girl who looked scared.

Garcia turned to face her, deciding that what Y/N needed right then, more than anything, was someone to listen.

“Okay cupcake, tell me what happened.”

And Y/N explained, she explained what she saw in the office, she explained the words Spencer had explained so long ago, she explained the texts and the phone calls, and the late night's Spencer was gone. She explained and she kept going, kept thinking, overthinking. The flame inside her was flickering higher and higher.

Garcia listened to everything, and after Y/N was finished she looked at her and sighed. “Are you sure we’re thinking about the same person?”

“Penelope.”

“What? The genius I know loves you, with his entire heart.” she paused, “besides, Spencer would never do that.”

Y/N quietly mumbled, “yeah I know…”

“Okay, then what's still bothering you sugar?”

“I just.. I feel like something is going on. I can't explain it..” Y/N said desperately, the heat in her chest branding her. “And I don't want to talk to him about it, actually I’m not even sure when I could get a chance!” she said and threw her hands up “It's not like he's been home recently…”

“Pumpkin I’m sure there's a reasonable explanation…”

“Yes, I know. I know that! But I just, we haven't even had the time to talk about anything these past couple of weeks and he’d rather go out and do something than spend time with me…”

“Oh, sweetheart.”

Burn baby, burn to the ground.

***

Another week passed. Another week of Y/N avoiding talking to her boyfriend, the man she was infuriatingly in love with. Another week of watching from the sidelines as JJ got more smiles than Y/N got glances. Another week of spending hours in bed waiting for him to come back, and then pretending to be asleep.

It was another dreadful week.

It was a bit different this week though, this week Y/N had been actively trying to avoid Spencer. It wasn't because she didn't want to see him, she wanted to see him so much it killed her, it was because she was tired of feeling alone with him. She was tired of cuddling with him at night but barely talking to him the next morning. She was tired of watching him talk with JJ, tired of watching the two of them leave the room together, not knowing what either of them were doing. She was tired of him not being home, tired of it all.

So she avoided it.

And that included avoiding Spencer.

She didn't wait for him to bring her coffee, set her alarm to wake up to- earlier than him -sat on the opposite side of the plane, reading her file instead of going over it with him.

She got the feeling that Spencer noticed, based on the reassuring smiles she got more often than not from him, which she assumed were messages asking if she was okay, messages promising he was there for her.

She ignored them.

She just looked away.

Y/N knew it was childish, avoiding him instead of talking out their issues, instead of talking to him about what was bothering her. Most of the time she felt ridiculous doing it, but she couldn't take any more of the exhaustion that came with being present all the time.

It was the night after a short case, one that had worked out in favor of all of them, when Spencer asked her if she wanted to go to dinner.

“Um, I don't know if I can,” she replied, not looking at him, “I think me and Pen are doing something tonight…”

She didn't see the way Spencer frowned, his almost nervous, almost hopeful stance deflating.

“Oh. I um-” he cleared his throat “its.. kind of important.” his face was tense and his eyes were staring right at her, hoping she would look at him and see how important it really was.

When she didn't answer, instead choosing to continue unpacking her bag, he tried again.

“Y/N… I really need to talk to you,” he said teasingly.

“Can't see why you would need to talk to me now.” Y/N mumbled under her breath, the past couple of weeks flying through her head. Why did he need her now? What about JJ?

“What?” Spencer said, stepping closer to her.

“Nothing Spence..” she sighed. She was going to have to run out of the house and barge into Garcias without any warning. That's what I get for lying, she thought. “I really have to go though.” She said walking past Spencer, who now had a frown on his face.

He had noticed the distance between them in the past couple of weeks, noticed how little he had really seen her, but he figured it was only because he started it, he figured Y/N was just trying to leave him alone.

He didn't think she didn't want to spend time with him.

Just as Y/N was about to walk out the door and go crying to her friend, she heard her boyfriend speak from behind her.

“Are you trying to avoid me?”

Y/N jumped, surprised he had followed her to the door. It took a couple of moments before she processed the question.

Was she actively avoiding him? Yes. Did he need to know that? Probably not.

“No,” she said quietly, cursing herself for not being more convincing.

“Y/N, we haven't spent any proper time together in…” he paused for only a second, just a second, “23 days. I miss you, love.”

She stayed silent. She missed him too.

Flick, flick.

Fire.

“Y/N?”

Burn. Fire. Burning her. From. The inside out. Talk to him. Say something.

Y/N shakily let out a breath. If she could just breathe, maybe it would be enough for the fire to burn out, maybe it would just be enough for the flame inside of her to extinguish.

Flick, flick, higher.

Her head was running, running away from Spencer away from it all. But her body was there, she was there, and she was running closer.

“Y/N? Is there something going on?”

Maybe Spencer had been talking this entire time, maybe she just hadn't noticed it, maybe she had missed something. She didn't know, she only caught a couple of words, a couple of words between the insistent voice in her head, between all the worried thoughts that came to her, burning the fire up her throat.

Why haven't you been home? Where have you been? Why are you getting so many text messages, who is texting you? I’m going crazy. Is there something happening with JJ, is there some rational answer to all my questions. Why am I still here? Why am I burning. Why do you look at JJ like that what is going on-

Flick, flick, flame.

“Is there something going on with JJ?” she said finally. Quickly. Quietly.

She didn't even know if Spencer heard her.

“What?”

He did.

“I saw you.” burn. “A couple of weeks ago.” burn. “In her office, you were,” burn “you were standing with her and- and it…” a flash. “And you were... You were just.” just burn. “You were looking…” swallow. breathe. Burn.

She paused. She paused because she didn't know what to say, didn't understand why it hurt her so much to talk to him, didn't understand why she couldn't just say the words, why it was so difficult for her to tell him, she didn't understand why she was talking at all.

She didn't understand why she was burning alive.

She heard Spencer say something behind her. Something that sounded like encouragement to go on. She didn't realize that he was standing in front of her, she didn't look up to see him, he was standing in front of her, staring at her, wondering what was wrong.

“You were looking at her,” flick “looking at her.” higher “like you look.” and “like you look at me.” higher.

The fire had reached her brain, had scarred her entire body, had devoured her whole, had left her with no mercy.

Burn, baby, burn.

And Spencer was thinking, he knew what his girlfriend was saying, he knew her inside and out. He was trying, trying to remember, trying to recall a time where he had ever looked at JJ, a time where he had looked at anyone, like he had looked at Y/N, trying to remember what had happened in her office a couple of weeks ago.

“Do you love her?” Y/N said finally.

And to her, it was as if she couldn't think anymore, she didn't have the room to think with the fire inside her body, her mental block was gone, and all she could say were the words that scared her, the words she wished were not true.

She didn't look at Spencer to see him shocked. She didn't look to see the way his eyes widened.

She didn't look to see him remembering exactly what had happened. He smiled at the memory, at the memory at him and JJ in her office, talking.

Spencer realized where all of this had gone wrong. But his words didn't come quick enough and Y/N continued.

“You’ve been gone. You’ve been gone a lot, and you’ve been taking phone calls late at night” the fire was getting hotter and hotter “and I’ve been pretending to sleep, and you haven't been smiling at me and- and I-” her entire body was begging her to stop but she continued, continued helping the flames rise “I’ve been thinking you would never do that- because you- you wouldn't but I can't think of anything else and.”

Burn.

Spencer watched his girlfriend crumble before him. He watched her, and he saw all the things he’d been missing, he saw her eyes break and her body fall, and he wondered when he had missed how alone he’d left her.

“I don't know what to do Spence,” she said finally.

And the flame was in her heart, it was in her heart turning her to ash. She wondered, if she was gone, if her body was finally too tired, too strained to go on, she wondered if she was a pile of char on their carpet, she wondered if the fire had stopped.

She looked up at her boyfriend.

She didn't know what was going on.

Spencer was talking to her, he was trying to explain, trying to tell her, but when he looked in her eyes he could tell that she wasn't listening. He could tell he had to do something else.

They were already running late.

He wondered how to fix this.

“Y/N..” he said.

And she could hear him. She could always hear him. Even over the fire in her ears.

“Y/N love, I need to take you somewhere okay? I need to take you somewhere, and I’ll explain everything I promise. I just need you to come with me okay?”

Y/N nodded.

Maybe the fire would go away soon.

***

It was silent in the car.

Y/N was silent. She was sitting in the passenger seat, trying to breathe, trying to collect herself. She didn't want to be a pile of ash sitting in her seat, she wanted to be there, she wanted to listen, she wanted to listen, she wanted to understand. She was trying her best to breathe.

She wondered where they were going. She didn't recognize anything around her.

Spencer was silent. He was collecting his thoughts, collecting his nerves, he knew right now he should be taking care of his girlfriend, his girlfriend who looked so broken standing in their doorway only a half an hour ago, but he needed to think. He needed to think about what he would tell her how he would explain.

Both of them stayed quiet.

It was 15 minutes later when Spencer made a right turn, into an empty parking lot. They were 45 minutes away from their house, 45 minutes away from the fire, 45 minutes closer to the truth.

Y/N still had no idea what was going on.

Spencer parked the car and unbuckled his seatbelt.

Y/N built up the courage to look at him, she still didn't say a word.

“Come on, we’re almost there,” Spencer said, giving her a hesitant smile. She didn't smile back.

Spencer walked away from the car, and Y/N followed him. She followed him on a light path made in the ground, followed him past a small pond, followed him up a hill, up up the hill where Spencer stopped, where he waited for her to catch up, looking ahead of him.

Y/N made it up and looked with him.

There was a pavilion 10 feet away from them, it sat on top of the hill, lit up with fairy lights, Y/N walked closer. She saw flowers that laid the ground, candles that she assumed were meant for when it got dark.

She saw a plan in front of her.

She still had no idea what was going on.

“What's-” she swallowed her voice almost numb with disbelief “what's this?” she asked.

Spencer smiled, only a little, and grabbed her hand leading her inside the pavilion.

“This,” he said “is what was so important.”

Y/N looked around again. “I-I still don't understand.”

She was trying to breathe. Trying to put out the flame still alive inside of her. She was trying to understand why they were here.

“Let's sit down. I can explain everything.”

“Explain,” she said softly, almost as if a question, as he helped her sit down.

It was silent for a few moments, Y/N could feel her heart racing, burning, as she waited for him to speak.

“I don't- I don't know when I got so caught up..I’m not- I-” Spencer sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He had no idea how to explain it all to her, no idea how to make her feel better.

Y/N sat there patiently with her hands in her lap, she watched Spencer's expression change, she felt her own body buzzing, waiting for an answer.

Flick.

“I needed JJ’s help. I was panicking freaking out, and I needed her help.”

Flicker.

“Why?” Y/N asked softly.

“I couldn't talk to you- you’ll understand more soon but, I have to explain something. I have to make you understand. Alright?” Spencer stopped, and he looked at her, his brown eyes were shining, staring into Y/N’s, and she nodded.

“I may have loved JJ at one point,”

Burn, burn bright.

“I may have loved her, but never, not once in my entire life, have I loved someone as much as I love you.”

I love you, burn.

“And I’ve never looked at anyone the way I look at you. Okay?”

Y/N stayed silent. Fire, deep within her body, flared, bright, hot.

“That day-” Spencer said quickly, grabbing Y/N’s hands from her lap and holding them in his, “That day in the office, I wasn't thinking about JJ, I was thinking about you. She had asked me, a question, about you, and I was thinking about you. And how much I love you. I wasn't thinking about her. I haven't thought about her like that in years.”

Y/N breathed in. She breathed out.

“Then what's been going on?” She asked, she believed him, but she still didn't understand, still couldn't grasp why any of this was happening in the first place.

“I needed JJ’s help. It's proven by research that females are much better at planning and strategy. Males tend to jump into things and be far less organized and thorough and-”

“Spencer.” Y/N cut in, even confused, she knew when Spencer was rambling off-topic.

“Right, sorry. Anyway, I needed her help. About a month ago I panicked and asked for her help, and then she was texting me, and the calling was just so you didn't hear and- the day in the office, it was... We were doing more planning.”

“Planning for what Spencer? I still don't understand.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up at the question. He smiled, and he stared at her for a moment. He looked away and laughed quietly, then looked back at Y/N who had a frown on her face.

Spencer gently moved his hand to grab her forearm and he helped her stand up.

Y/N didn't understand what was happening, all she knew was that no matter how much she breathed, the boiling fire in her chest wouldn't leave, wouldn't leave.

“Y/N… do you remember the first time I told you I loved you?” Spencer said softly.

Y/N nodded remembering very clearly, remembering the case they had been on, remembering how tense Spencer was, remembering how she told him to breathe, to just think, remembering how she reminded him of how smart he was. She remembered pointing something out, just something small, and it was like the dots in Spencer's brain had connected. She remembered how he’d marked something down quickly, remembered how he turned back to her with a breathtaking smile on his face.

She remembered how he moved forward and grasped her face, she remembered his words, his words that had made her feel a million different feelings, and almost nothing at the same time.

I love you.

She remembered every moment after, the shock on his face like he hadn't meant to say it, she remembered kissing him softly, she remembered repeating it back to him.

They hadn't stopped saying it since.

“Well, all I can remember is feeling amazed, feeling amazed that you could make me feel something I’d never felt before. I thought I knew everything, but I was wrong because I never knew how wonderful it would feel to love you. It was you, you were the one that taught me how wonderful being someones everything was, not JJ, not anyone else.”

There was a moment, a moment Y/N almost felt like the fire was gone, a moment she thought Spencer's words had blown it away.

It still wasn't enough though.

Flick, flick.

She still didn't understand completely.

“This is where I wanted to take you tonight, this was all planned, all for you,” Spencer said, leaning down and kissing her forehead.

He must have looked back at her and seen the confusion on her face because he continued. “You told me once when we had first started dating, that you loved sunsets.”

“You remember that?” Y/N answered back, surprising herself with her own voice.

Spencer chuckled softly at her, his smile reminding her of the one he had worn when he’d first said I love you. Everything he was doing was reminding her of little moments in their relationship.

She stared at his chest, her mind practically in the clouds.

“Well technically I remember everything…” he said.

Y/N looked up at him, looked up at his smile, her mind back with her body, she could feel her face contract with the muscles of her mouth.

It felt like the first time she’d smiled in days.

She shoved him back a little, softly, “Don't be a jerk.” she said, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Y/N…” she looked at his eyes. “This.” he pecked her lips, moving back far too quickly. “This is why we’re here. This is why I needed JJ's help, why we were talking about you, why I was panicking. This is why I've been so secretive.”

The fire.

He moved back. Burn.

He pulled something out of his pocket.

Y/N’s chest was flaring, her heart was beating, her head was finally, finally beginning to understand, finally beginning to know what was happening.

Her stomach was still on fire.

He kneeled down.

Too much, too much, too hot.

Flick, flick.

“Y/N.” a flare in her chest “You are,” a flare in her throat “the only person I have ever loved this much.” a flare burning up into her brain “the only person, I think, to be everything.”

Burn, baby burn.

“You are the only person to ever prove me wrong.”

A box.

A flame.

A ring.

“You are the only person who makes me forget everything,” Spencer said, he said as her chest burned, as the fire in her stomach, in her heart, in her head, as the fire flared. Spencer looked at her, he looked at her just as he always looked at her, looked at her like there was no other way he could spend the rest of his life, looked at her like he wanted to look at her forever.

She could feel her heart burn hotter and hotter.

Tears were coming out of her eyes.

She gasped.

“Y/N..”

Burn.

Bright.

“Will you marry me?”

Flick, fire, gone.

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#spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds rp #criminal minds headcanons #emily prentiss x reader #mgg #mgg x reader #mgg blurb

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wkemeup · 3 years

Text

Vengeful Spirits┊By Any Other Name

summary: A year after the fire and the end of Hydra, Brock Rumlow's ghost is still haunting you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 10.7k warnings: PTSD symptoms, nightmares, canon level violence, angst angst angst!!, it's a revenge story babyyyy a/n: This is an alternative future that you can chose to include in your own version of BAON canon or consider as a 'what if' timeline. It was really fun to explore this side of the story and jump back into this world again so I hope you enjoy! ❤️

🌹 series masterlist <- catch up here first! 🌹

You couldn’t breathe beyond the stench of gasoline and cigar smoke. With wrists bound and tied to an old, wooden chair through frayed electrical wires, the exposed copper dug into your skin, leaving behind thin lines of ruined flesh in their wake. Blood dripped down your fingertips and onto the carpet at your feet. Tiny red dots marked into the pattern.

Along the walls, you could hardly make out the distorted image of near empty shelves, broken pots, and your books discarded amongst the soil and ruin. Pools of gasoline leaked into the hardwood floors, soaked into the pages of century old novels; ink bleeding through the paper.

“You are Hydra, baby!” Brock’s disembodied voice echoed throughout the room. You flinched at the sound as if it could cut through as sharp as the wires on your wrists. Your eyes scanned the room to find it empty, and still, his voice lingered down the aisles of your library, his presence haunting you.

“No,” you choked out, throat closing under the weight of the lump building there. Tears pressed against your cheeks. Gasoline burned in your nose.

A figure emerged from the shadows – a faint outline of the man you married, the man you despised, his face hidden by the darkness clouding around him. Still, you could smell the liquor on his breath – always on his breath.

“You are not worthy of redemption.”

You tugged at the bindings on your wrists, adrenaline thunderous in your heart. You wondered if it might push past your chest and spill out onto your lap. If your blood would meet the gasoline at your feet and blend into one.

“Stop it,” you warned, though the fear was evident in your voice.

Brock did not relent as he stepped forward, the shadows clinging so tight to his body you could not make out his face. “You are and always will be Hydra to those feds...”

A sob broke through you as he approached. You had no will to fight, no source of strength to draw upon. All you could feel was the blinding terror coursing deep into your veins with his every step; with each squeak of the floor boards, with every footprint coated in potted soil and gasoline. The cigar hung loosely at his fingertips, ready to set fire to the room around you.

Brock parted his lips, his voice slippery as a viper, “...and they will leave you to BURN!”

His hands slammed down on your wrists, his face only inches away. Your heart stopped beating; eyes blown wide. A single touch of moonlight broke through the shadows on Brock’s face and what remained was a glimpse of horror. Charred skin, ruined flesh. Raw and red and bubbling at the surface. Blistered and oozing.

The mutilated scars around his lips slithered into a sickening grin, his breath hot as flame against your skin. He dropped the cigar. The room went up in smoke. In flame and fire and fury.

A world away, you jolted forward, throat raw and aching, surrounded by the cold embrace of a dark room. It took a moment before you realized that terrible, agonizing sound was your own voice – screaming. You could only vaguely hear your name called, the gentle touch of a hand running lines over your spine. The same hands that guided yours to feel for the silky sheets covering you, to the cotton of your t-shirt, to the steady thump of a heartbeat over an exposed chest beside you.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” the voice eased again. The contrast of it – the kindness and the patience laced in the words – tugged you away from the nightmare you’d escaped from. You followed his request and slowly forced air into your lungs. “Good, honey. One more, okay?”

You nodded, doing as he asked.

Pushing past the haze over your vision, you looked around the room to find the familiar ripple of curtains over the window, the pile of laundry in the corner, your Columbia badge hanging over the doorknob, Bucky’s FBI jacket slung over the armchair.

You gasped. Bucky.

Sure enough, propped up on his elbow beside you, was Bucky Barnes. He wore that same glimpse of a smile you fell in love with but it held a heaviness in it, a sadness. The sheet sat bunched at his waist, exposing his bare chest and the scars littering his skin. Your eyes drew to the mark on his shoulder, the one you were responsible for. It raised pink against his tanned skin, healed over in the last year but still visible. Still a reminder.

“You alright?” Bucky asked slowly. His hand was cautious as he reached out for you. Slow in his movements under your gaze, so that you might have the chance to pull away if you wanted to. You held steady, relief washing through your body as his hand circled around yours.

You nodded, though you weren’t sure whether it was entirely true. Bucky didn’t press you on it as he gathered you in his arms and slowly pulled you down into his embrace. He tugged the covers back up around you, holding you as you stole a glance at the clock beyond his shoulder. You only had a few hours left before the alarm would wake you for work. You didn’t expect to get anymore sleep tonight, but it was a comfort at least to know you had time to lay soundly in Bucky’s arms before morning and responsibility took him away.

“It was Brock again,” you mumbled against his chest. “The library.”

Bucky tensed. This particular brand of nightmare had been plaguing you for weeks now. It had been almost a year now since the fire but the horrors of what you endured that night had yet to leave you. They started with vivid images of Bucky’s body bleeding out in the warehouse, the bullet you shot into his shoulder finding a new home between his eyes or buried into his chest. They centered around Brock hulling Peter into his warpath and leaving him tied and bound to the flames alongside you. But lately, your mind was particularly cruel.

Brock haunted you – taunted you. His ghost made you doubt whether you were ever really safe from him at all, if he was still lurking in the shadows, if his hand could slither out from the darkness and grip tight to your neck and drag you back to his hell. They never found a body within the flames and despite Bucky’s reassurances that he put enough bullets in the man to make sure he never took another breath, it didn’t sway your fears.

“I hate that I wasn’t there for you when you needed me,” Bucky sighed through his teeth, his grip on you holding a little tighter.

“You did everything you could. You still saved me,” you told him. Still, he carried his guilt. You could feel his fingertips run over the faded burn marks on your skin. Bumps and edges over what used to be smooth and soft. He saw them as reminders of his failings despite your pleas against it.

“I should have killed him long before then.” There was no waver in his voice. He shifted under the covers, his lips pressing sweetly to your forehead in contrast to the malice in his voice for the monster who used to share your bed.

“You were trying to do the right thing by bringing him in. Doing what you do, you don’t have a choice but to believe in the system. With all the monsters you’ve put away over the years, you should believe in it but... we both know Brock was never going to tolerate a cage.” You clung a little tighter to Bucky’s chest, settling against the steady beat of his heart.

Bucky’s response was only to curl his arm around you, holding you as close as he could manage. His lips did not leave the crown of your head. You stayed there with him, curled in his embrace, listening to his heartbeat, until the sun rose beyond the mood and light beckoned you to a new day.

***

You were standing in the kitchen washing the dishes when you saw him.

You were walking through the practice your therapist explained for dealing with your nightmares. You closed your eyes and pictured the library, the wires on your wrists, the very beginning and the start of it all. But instead of Brock emerging from the shadows, you conjured Bucky. You imagined Bucky rushing through the doors, freeing you from your chains, hulling you up into his arms and whisking you away from harm. You concentrated on every detail in his face, on the dried blood you remembered he wore along his cheek, on the open scars from Brock’s rings, on the look of relief upon his face because he found you. He found you and he saved you before the flames could take hold. He carried you away from the room that had once been your sanctuary, now only reserved for your nightmares. You held onto that version of the story with all you had.

Sometimes, it helped. Other nights, you still woke up screaming and drenched in sweat. But Bucky was there and he never showed an ounce of anything but the love and patience he swore to you. He’d hold you until your heart settled and you stopped fearing the image of Brock’s burned face when you closed your eyes. Encompassed with Bucky, it was hard to think of anyone else.

Peter was sweeping up the stray shredded cheese that had found its way to the floor in the midst of another taco night. Cheddar, your sweet orange tabby, had little interest in his namesake and was purring soundingly on the armrest of the couch. Bucky had slipped out to the corner store to pick up a few tubs of ice cream in preparation for the movie Peter had been dying to see for weeks now.

All it took was a single glance to the window for the ground to vanish under your feet.

You could only vaguely catch the sound of broken glass as it shattered, the dinner plate in shards near your bare feet. Peter rushed towards you but you couldn’t make out what he was saying. No – your focus was stolen by the figure standing beyond the darkness, hanging within the shadows.

You knew that outline. You knew that face. You’d seen it in your dreams – your nightmares – for almost a year. Disfigured and burned. But still, covered in shadows like a monster within a child’s closet. Not close enough to see details of his vicious smirk but real enough to set terror into your veins.

Peter was yanking on your arm, his voice louder now. You couldn’t move. You were stone.

“Y/n?” Bucky called the second the door swung open, the paper bag quickly discarded on the floor. The panic was etched into his voice, the same way it had been in the months after the fire when you lost yourself to brief moments of fear, when the memory of his cover you’d known as James was all that could bring you back.

He rushed in front of you, obstructing your view of the window and snapping you from your trance. His hands were on your cheeks, his eyes quickly glancing down at the shards of glass by your feet. You could feel him trying to delicately usher you away before you cut yourself, but you couldn’t let the monster escape a second time.

“It’s Brock,” you exhaled, trying to peer around Bucky’s shoulder for another look. “He’s here. I—I saw him! Outside!”

Bucky swung his attention to the window, still holding on tight to you. But when you looked again, the darkness was all that remained. No figures hidden in the shadows. No one lying in wait, taunting you. The monster had vanished in thin air.

“Sweetheart... he’s dead,” Bucky eased. “He can’t hurt you.”

You shook your head, tears brimming in your eyes. You tried to ignore the concerned look that flashed between Bucky and Peter, how their expressions of panic quickly turned to ones of pain, of aching sadness, of pity.

“N-No, I saw him! I swear I did, James,” you argued, pushing past him and rushing out towards the window in search of what you saw. Bucky hissed as you barely cleared the broken glass in your path, though he followed you without question. “I saw him. He was looking right at me!”

Bucky indulged you by taking another look out to the empty sidewalk behind the brownstone you shared together. It was quiet where you lived, away from the rush of the city and the tourists and late-night drinkers. All that remained was the faint buzz of the streetlamp at the end of the block and an elderly couple taking their usual evening stroll. They raised a hand in greeting as they spotted the two of you looking out the window. Bucky forced a smile and returned the gesture.

“There’s no one there, honey,” Bucky tried again, urging you to look for yourself. “Maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you. You know how hard nights have been lately...”

You shook your head. “I-- I know what I saw, James. I’m not—I'm not crazy.”

His face softened. Slowly his hand moved to cup at your cheek, brushing away the tears that had started to form. “I know. I know that, love.”

It hadn’t slipped your notice that it was the second time you called him James. A name that held enormous meaning to you, a name you had promised to leave in the past in favor of the man standing in front of you. Bucky – the undercover FBI agent who saved you from the prison you’d been living in. James – the enforcer to an evil organization who taught you how to love again. One in the same. And still, sometimes calling upon the version of the man who had provided the first sense of safety you’d felt in years, was all that kept you from falling apart.

You stole a glance back to the window as Bucky wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you tight to his chest. It was the same sidewalk you were familiar with, no sinister creatures lingering in the shadows. It's possible you had imagined it. You were focused on rewriting your nightmares...

“Should I head home? Let you rest?” Peter’s voice nervously called from the kitchen. He set the broom back in the closet, already having cleaned up the glass from the broken plate.

You shook your head, wiping tears against Bucky’s shirt. “No, please stay. Let’s watch that movie, okay? I’m alright.”

You forced a smile though the redness in your eyes. You felt Bucky’s hand settle against your back, his fingertips soothing small circles into your spine. His scent calming you as you listened for the steady thump of his heartbeat.

“You sure?” Peter stepped forward, that sweet hopeful look on his face though a hesitancy remained in his eyes. He wasn’t convinced of your word.

“Yes.” You hugged Bucky’s waist, tugging him to the couch. “I think I must have... I don’t know... I was seeing things, I guess.”

Nightmares bleeding into the daytime. Natasha had warned you about that early on. Enduring the type of trauma you did, surviving a home with invisible bars and nearly losing your life to it... it was bound to follow you. Bucky understood how you carried it still and he didn’t shy away in fear of it. You tried to find strength in that, in his unending loyalty and patience. You trusted his word above everything else.

Brock was dead. Four shots to the chest. The fire took his body.

It had to be true.

No—It was true.

And yet, the doubt scratched its nails along the windowpane, begging to be let in.

***

“Hey, I’m not saying that I’m a better actor than Barnes, but I’m not not saying that.” Sam Wilson picked up an apple from the pile and tossed it into the air before take a huge bite out of the center. The juice of it dripped down the edges of grin.

Bucky rolled his eyes as he handed the vendor a dollar for Sam’s snack. You giggled against Bucky’s side as he slid his hand back into his pocket. He was trying to hide his laugh through a bite in his lip, but you could see past it enough to catch the slight lift in his cheeks.

“I’d say he was a pretty good actor,” you smirked. “Fooled me, didn’t he?”

Your arms were snaked around Bucky’s, holding him against your chest as you weaved in and around the busy famers’ market, so you felt it when his body tensed. That guilt complex of his couldn’t take a little teasing, though you tried.

“If he could make me fall in love with a,” you paused, lowering your voice, “Hydra hitman,” you grinned, swatting Bucky in the arm, “then I think he’s a damn good actor.”

“Alright, damn, I concede!” Sam threw his arms in the air, smiling so wide you wondered if it might touch his ears.

“You’re terrible, you know that?” Bucky snickered, leaning into your ear. His breath was warm against your skin, his lips grazing over your hair as you felt the soft brush of his laugh.

“Hush.” You snuck up and stole a kiss from his lips. It was a wonder to be able to kiss him in the open like this, surrounded by people who had little time or patience to care for the strangers standing in love at the center of a busy famers’ market. It was surreal at times, feeling like you were lost in a dream you never wanted to wake up from. But he was real and perfect and wonderful and so incredibly yours.

“Oh! Wait, I forgot the desserts for Peter!” you pulled back quickly, glancing into the busy crowd in search of the vendor with the fresh displays of apple tarts. You’d been meaning to pick one up for Peter after he got his first acceptance letter to college. They’ve been rolling in lately and piling high enough to cover Aunt May’s kitchen table, but you did promise him a new tart for every acceptance and you were about three behind.

“Go,” Bucky laughed, shaking you from his arm playfully. “I’ll babysit Sam until you get back.”

You grinned, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek you knew Sam would mock him for the second you disappeared into the crowd. The glossy imprint of your lips against his stubble was your favorite look on him, and he didn’t much mind it himself.

Shoulders bumped into yours as you squeezed through the rush of tourists and locals browsing the fresh fruits and vegetables displays along the tents. You turned the corner at the smell of cooked apples, cinnamon, and butter. Your stomach started to growl as you approached the vendor: a charming, older man with a twisted grey mustache and a flat cap.

“What can I get for you, hun?” he grinned, hands setting on his round stomach. Flour was still dusted along his apron, little bits of crumbs on his cheeks.

“Oh, I think I’d like—” You paused, catching a glimpse of something unsettling over the man's shoulder. Just a shadow, at first, blocked by the busy hustle of people walking by. You shook your head, tearing your eyes away and forcing your attention back to the vender. He offered you an uneasy smile. “The, um, the apple tart, please. And two of the—of the—”

You lost your trail of thought as the figure appeared again. Covered in darkness amongst a busy, sunny coated street. But he stood completely still, a baseball cap obstructing most of his face, though you could feel his eyes on you. You froze as he slowly lifted a hand, the flesh of it marred and blistered, and he tilted the lid of his cap.

“No. No, that’s not—He's not—” Your breathing was coming in too fast. The distorted image from your nightmares was standing mere feet away; a monster wearing a man’s skin and even that was ruined and burned.

Your dead husband stared back at you, that sickening grin curling up on his face. Your hands were shaking so violently you could hardly grasp the dollar bills as you fumbled with your wallet.

“Miss? Are you alright, deary?” the vendor called, extending a hand towards you but you had already backed out of his reach. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Brock, from the burns on his skin or the murderous look in his stare; the gleeful expression of anticipated revenge. You were stone and marble and ice until—he stepped forward.

“James!” you screamed, leaving behind the money and the pastries as you sprinted in the opposite direction; shoving your way through the crowd, but it felt like you were swimming against the full force of a current. Your legs were shaking, your heart threatening to burst from your chest. You didn’t dare a glimpse over your shoulder to see how close Brock was behind you. “JAMES!”

You barely registered as you slammed into Bucky’s chest. Tears soaked quickly into his shirt, your sobs loud and breaking as he desperately tried to settle you. There was no space to pull you off to the side, no comfort from the busy crowd around you. You clawed at him, terrified you couldn’t get close enough, desperate to hide from your husband, from his vendetta, to protect Bucky from his wrath and—

“Y/n! Y/n, look at me!” Bucky begged, taking a tenser hold of you than he ever intended to use and forced you to meet his eye. The sting of his grip was all that punctured through the terror. You met the sharp blue of Bucky’s eyes, his brows furrowed in concern, worry lines along his forehead. “What happened?”

“It’s Brock! He’s here!” you sobbed, desperately clinging to Bucky as you gestured behind you, certain your ex-husband would emerge from the crowd at any second. “He found us. He found us! Oh God, James— he’s going to—”

“Stay with her,” Bucky ordered to Sam and he began prying your grip from around his waist.

“No! Don’t go!” You felt like a child; small and fearful and terrified beyond belief. But Bucky had that look in his eye, one that warned of danger in his path should anyone dare to cross him. You'd only seen it once – when he was on his knees in the warehouse, at the mercy of your ex-husband.

“Sam!” Bucky warned.

“I’ve got you, kid,” Sam eased the best he could. Bucky kissed your hairline before he rushed back into the crowd in search of Brock. You didn’t dare watch until he disappeared amongst the sea of people. Instead, you clung onto Sam as if he might be the only thing keeping you afloat. Maybe he was.

It was only when your breathing began to slow again with every count of Sam’s deep inhales that you started to notice the whispers around you, how the strangers eyed you and walked a little quicker as they passed by. You couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they were bold enough to hold your gaze as they whispered into the ears of their friends. Pity laced smiles at the crazy women sobbing at the center of the market.

Then, you heard footsteps come to a steady halt behind you. Sam released you from his hold and you turned to find Bucky waiting for you. He opened his arms and you rushed in.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair, apologies for tearing himself from you. It was not one he needed to make, but you nodded anyway.

“Did you find him?” you dared to ask.

When you were met with silence, your heart sank. As you glanced up you caught that same look of concern Bucky had given Peter the first time you saw Brock through the window of your apartment days earlier. Now, he shared it with Sam.

Bucky clenched his jaw, his blue eyes swimming in remorse. “Sweetheart, I—”

“Oh God... I’m going crazy. Aren’t I?” you gasped, tears filling your eyes to the point where you could no longer see the look of agony on Bucky’s face and, maybe, that was for the best. You could only vaguely hear Sam as he ushered the onlookers away, flashing his badge and grumbling angrily under his breath at the tourists who dared to sit in observation of your worst fears.

“It’s okay, honey,” Bucky eased with loving, tender kisses to your shoulder. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

He repeated it on an endless loop. Constant reassurances. Gentle reminders. You could hear the concern etched into his voice, the fear he shared with Sam, the doubt of whether his love was enough to save you from the horrors Rumlow left behind.

***

“You don’t have to stay the night, Sam,” you tried again for the third time that evening. “Please, I don’t want to inconvenience you just because I’m apparently losing my mind.”

“Are you kidding?” Sam smirked, shaking out the long, teal sheet before he laid it onto the couch. “I insist. Plus, it gives me an excuse to guilt Barnes into going easy on me at the annual field test.”

“You’re a good man, Sam,” you exhaled, arms folded tight over your chest. Your gaze drifted to the windows and the dark overcast hanging along the sidewalk. There was only a moment of relief in the emptiness you found in wait.

“Careful, sweetheart, you’ll inflate his ego.”

You turned to find Bucky leaning against the wall behind you, watching your interaction with Sam. He shook his head, a smiling brimming on his face as he approached. His arm swung casually around your shoulders, tugging you to his side before he pressed a short kiss to your hairline.

“Listen,” Bucky started, a more serious tone in his voice, “I appreciate you coming out here last minute. I didn’t feel right leaving her on her own after what happened at the market this morning.”

Sam softened, his teasing grin turning gentle into a thin line. “She’s family, right?” He winked at you, tugging a smile back to your face. “Go find out what Fury wants. I’ll hold down the fort until you get back.”

“And I’ll just be asleep anyway,” you added, though you wondered if Bucky could hear the uncertainty in your voice. You weren’t sure you’d be able to get much of any sleep at all while he was gone, but it helped to ease your mind knowing Sam wasn’t too far away. Even if your mind was playing games with you, the safety of having at least one federal agent in the apartment was a relief.

Still – Bucky’s jaw clenched as he nodded. He was better at reading you than you gave him credit for. He turned you gently in his arms to face him, a finger tilting at the bottom of your chin to hold your gaze.

“I promise I won’t be long. I’m sure Fury just has a new vision for recruit training he wants to run by me and that man’s schedule waits for no one,” Bucky chuckled, trying to sway your tension. It didn’t do much to etch the stone from your muscle, but you gave him a smile. It was enough. He sighed, pressing out one in return though it held a heaviness in it. “We’ll deal with everything else tomorrow, alright? Bruce is a good man, Y/n. He’ll know how to help you.”

You nodded, holding your breath at the mention of the doctor. He was a trained psychiatrist who specialized in PTSD and had worked with the Bureau for years. You figured most of his work was done with the men and women who worked alongside Bucky and Sam, but he knew his way around trauma and the dangerous monsters it carried. He could help, you told yourself. You weren’t crazy. You weren’t going to lose Bucky to this.

“I love you,” Bucky said quietly, though it held a certainty to it that pieced together the frayed edges in your stomach, the doubt and fears that lingered there. It was as if he could read the fears on your face and put them at ease before they could take root as he said, “we’ll get through this together, okay?”

“Okay,” you murmured, pressing your face to his chest. You took a final inhale of his scent, holding it as close as you could manage, before you let go. “I love you, too.”

You tried not to linger in the hallway after that. The apartment felt too big without Bucky around and though Sam did his best to draw out your smile, the exhaustion from the market had drained you. Your head was buzzing, your mind unfocused. Sam had noticed pretty quickly when you started to zone out, eyes fixated on the wall behind his shoulder, and he gently eased you to your room.

“I’ll be right out here you need anything, okay?” Sam reminded you with a soft tap on the edge of your door.

“Thank you, Sam.” You weren’t sure how to apologize for the events at the market, how you’d clung to him and sobbed, terrified that your dead husband was following you. You didn’t dare allow yourself to imagine what he must have thought of you in that moment. Still, the warm color of Sam’s eyes and the sincerity of his smile were enough to sway those thoughts a little while longer.

Then, you were alone.

You pulled the blankets up to your chin, curling against the side of the bed Bucky slept on. You could still smell the faint scent of his shampoo on the pillow. You tugged it against your chest, holding it as if it were an extension of him.

This helpless feeling was not one you were used to. Not anymore.

You couldn’t remember feeling this afraid even when you were living under Brock’s roof. Part of you wondered whether the risk of losing the security and safety and comfort you’d gained in his death was what fed into your fears and accelerated their momentum. When you were married to Brock and complicit to Hydra, you had little to lose, little to gain. You were able to go through the motions and survive.

But now?

Now you had something worth living for. Now, you had Bucky. You had your job back, your friends. You had Sam and Natasha and Steve. You had Peter and May. You had the light of day and freedom and love.

The very thought of it being stolen from you scared you far more than Brock ever could. And still, it was his face that haunted you. It was his face in your nightmares and following your shadows.

You kept your focus on the closed door to your bedroom, watching the flickering of the television light between the cracks and listening for Sam’s muffled laugh through the walls. You waited and waited and hoped that Bucky would return before the demons came for you, but sleep swept you away in luring embrace.

***

You woke suddenly to the sound of muffled gunfire. Jolting up in your bed, you clutched at the sheets, at your pajamas, at your hair, wiping the sweat from your skin. Your hand settled against your heart, trying to focus on the rhythm, but it was too fast. It wasn’t the steady, reassuring pace that Bucky carried. You groaned, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes.

Just a dream, you told yourself. It was just a dream. It can't hurt you.

You turned to the door to find the light from the television still sliding through the edges. Sam must have forgotten to turn it off before he fell asleep. He was known for his love of old detective dramas. The gunshot from the show must have lingered into your dreams.

You slumped back into the bed, heart still pounding. Beyond the door, you could hear the creek of the floorboards under heavy steps. Maybe Sam was still awake. There were plenty of snacks in your pantry and he had teased Bucky mercilessly about eating all of his cheese puffs. The thought helped to ease the panic from your veins as you forced yourself to close your eyes.

Bucky will be home soon. Go to sleep. You’re fine.

But then the footsteps inched closer. They paused right outside the door, their silhouette blocking the stream of light from the television. You rubbed at your eyes.

“Sam?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, the knob began to turn. Slow. The hinges of the door crying as it crept open. The sudden influx of light was harsh against your eyes, forcing you to squeeze them shut. His face was shielded by the backdrop of light and the blur in your eyes. Whether it was from exhaustion or leftover tears from your dreams, you weren’t sure.

“Sam? What’s wrong?”

Again, nothing.

There was something wrong in his movements. He was too stiff, too quiet. He looked like something out of your nightmares – cold, sinister, calculating. The room shifted around you; the safety you’d known in its walls peeled back by the edges of sharp, unyielding claws. Whatever crept towards you in the shadows was not Sam Wilson.

You stared at the figure as it approached, suddenly terrified to take your eyes off of it. Your vision began to burn, unable to so much as blink in fear of what the creature would do. Beyond the door, you heard a faint groaning, nails scraping along the floorboards. Your name was called in a familiar voice, panicked but faded, weak.

The figure lowered his hood.

“It’s good to see you again, baby.”

“No.” You scrambled backwards on the bed, shifting as far away from the distorted figure as you could manage. Your hands were shaking as you brought them to your lips. “No-- This isn’t-- This isn’t real.”

But Brock Rumlow stepped forward into the light and began to laugh. When his hand gripped at your wrist, you felt the nails dig into your skin. You gagged against the harsh burn of liquor and raw flesh. The adrenaline that rushed into your veins was visceral and agonizing – it burned as deep as the flames in your dreams.

Something pinched at your neck as your movements began to slow, your vision doubling. A syringe was in Brock’s hand as he stepped back, watching as you struggled to maintain consciousness.

“It’s... it’s not real,” you murmured again, trying to convince yourself beyond what your mind already knew to be true as you stared down the figure of your ex-husband.

And still, he laughed. It was the last thing you heard before the darkness caved in.

***

Bucky paced along the hallway outside of Director Fury’s office. It had been over an hour since he arrived and Fury had yet to see him. His message had indicated that it was a time sensitive issue. It was the only reason he begrudgingly agreed to leave you alone for the night after what happened in the market. Sam was with you, Bucky reminded himself as he ran a hair through the roots of his hair. You weren’t alone.

Then, when Bucky was about ready to barge his way into Fury’s office, the door opened. Agent Hill walked out carrying a half dozen folders in her arms, her heels clicking against the hardwood floors as she passed by. She seemed surprised to see Bucky waiting, but still, she made a short gesture to let him know the director was free.

“Sir,” Bucky started, stepping into the office. “You asked to see me?”

Fury was standing with his back to the door, facing out to the open windows and the bright lights of the city. Slowly, he turned over his shoulder, eyeing Bucky suspiciously. He took a step forward; his unnerving silence proving a bit too much for Bucky’s present impatience.

“Sir, I don’t mean to press,” Bucky exhaled, “but it’s been a rough day and I’d like to get back home as soon as I--”

“What makes you think I want to see you, Barnes?” Fury scoffed, settling into his desk. He popped the lid off the bottle of bourbon he kept hidden in the bottom drawer. Bourbon poured into the crystalline glass.

“You paged me two hours ago, sir,” Bucky said, setting the small flip phone on the desk. It was the only device Fury had agreed to use to call in his agents when needed; even if Bucky’s latest missions were held behind a desk or on the training field with the new recruits.

Fury cast his single eye at the phone, narrowing on the last message received. He read it over twice before he tossed the phone back to Bucky. He shrugged.

“I didn’t send you that message.”

Bucky froze, the phone feeling heavy within his grasp. “Sir?”

“Our message system was hacked several hours ago,” Fury said. He leaned in over the desk, studying Bucky through a less than unsettling gaze. “That’s why I called Maria in. I don’t know who sent you that message, but it wasn’t us.”

Bucky read over the message again. It was in the same cadence Fury always used in his messages, the same phrasing. HQ meeting 1hr. Short. To the point.

“Why would someone want to lure you back to base, Agent Barnes?” Fury inquired, leaning back into his chair, but Bucky could only vaguely hear what he had said. He was too busy staring at the phone, his grip clenching so tight around the edges he might snap it in half. His heart was pounding so loud, it muffled in his own ears. He could hear the rush of his blood through his veins.

Because he realized in that moment the message had little to do with luring him back to base. No – the sender had a much more terrifying purpose in mind.

To get you alone.

***

“Y/n!”

By the time Bucky made it back to the apartment, he was drenched in sweat. It soaked through his white button down, leaving the material transparent and wet, clinging against his chest. His hands were shaking as he struggled to get the key into the lock, fumbling over it several times before he shouldered his way inside.

His stomach dropped at the first sight of blood.

“Sam!” Bucky sprinted across the room, dropping down hard on his knees and into the expanding pool of crimson red soaking into the cracks of the floorboards. Sam was laid on his stomach, hands outstretched as if he had been crawling. A streak of smeared blood was in his wake. He’d been trying to reach the bedroom before his body gave out.

With shaking hands, Bucky rolled his friend onto his back, desperately searching for damage.

It was then he found the bullet wound embedded in Sam’s stomach. Bucky tore a glance back to the bedroom as he pressed his hands to the wound, stopping the bleeding the best he could.

“Y/n!” Bucky shouted again, desperate for you to appear from behind a locked door, unharmed. But there was no response in his echo. You did not call his name or any other.

“I’m s-sorry, Buck,” Sam’s weakened voice jarred Bucky from his trance. He looked down to find Sam’s eyes on him, though they were heavy, barely focused. Sam’s hand curled around Bucky's wrist. “S-She’s gone. He took her. I... I tried to—”

“I know, buddy,” Bucky eased, his voice breaking in the effort. “I know. It's okay. Save your strength, alright?”

As quickly as he could, Bucky dialed Steve’s number. He didn’t have the energy or the willpower to explain what happened, but he managed to order for an ambulance – one that would ram its way through New York traffic if it had to. Steve confirmed he was on his way and Natasha would be shortly behind. No questions asked.

“Buck,” Sam choked out, blood dripping at his lips. “Tell Y/n I’m--”

“I’m not telling her shit, okay? You tell her when—” Bucky clenched his jaw, tears slipping down past his cheeks, “You tell her when I get her back.”

***

It felt like an eternity before Steve and the ambulance arrived. Sam had faded in and out of consciousness enough times to make Bucky question if he would ever hear his friend ruthlessly tease him again. Still, in every waking moment, Sam did his best describe the intruder. There were few jokes, little smiles; he nearly drowned in his own blood before he could finish.

Sam couldn’t offer any more details beyond the hooded figure that had taken him by surprise. Bucky couldn’t tell if it was Sam’s delirium, but the description he gave sounded like something constructed of nightmares. He described a monster.

He was passed out by the time Steve arrived.

Bucky fell back onto the floor as the paramedics took over. He could only vaguely register Steve’s hands grip tight around his biceps and hulling him up to his feet long after the sirens had faded away and all that remained on the floor before him was the faint outline of Sam’s body. He tried not to pay attention to the blood coating his hands and soaking into his shirt. Sam’s blood. Blood he spilled trying to protect you. A task Bucky had requested.

“I’ve got footprints,” Natasha’s voice called from the hallway. Steve ushered Bucky to follow, though he felt like he was still stuck in a trance. None of it felt real, even as Natasha kneeled to more closely examine the imprint of the shoe outlined in blood.

“What happened here, Buck?” Steve asked, though he knew there was no good answer.

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t know. I—I can’t do this again, Steve. I can’t lose her—I can’t—”

A flash of gold caught his eye. Bucky followed the reflection into the bedroom, almost in a trance. He stilled as he approached the bed, finding a small, gold ring sitting just on the edge of the mattress. Thick. Rusting. An emblem of a skull at its center, surrounded by six long tentacles.

Slowly, he picked up the ring, holding it in the palm of his hand. The tears had faded on his cheeks, replaced only by the cold burn of vengeance growing like fire through his veins. He shoved the ring into Steve’s hands as he approached, answering the question before he had a chance to ask.

Bucky moved on a warpath to the safe. He wasted little time in loading his handgun and slipping it to his waist. A second followed and he strapped it to his thigh. When he stood again, Natasha and Steve were watching silently.

“You going to stop me?” Bucky questioned, a cold determination icing his voice.

“I didn’t last time,” Steve confirmed, stepping back.

Bucky gave him a short nod as he passed by. He didn’t bother with a coat.

“Hey Barnes,” Natasha called just as he opened the front door. He paused for only a moment, a short glance over his shoulder as she approached, her expression as cold and calculating as his own. “Make sure he’s dead this time.”

***

When you woke, you tried to feel for the cool silk of your bedroom sheets. You searched for the comfort of the warm body beside you and the gentle thumping of an easy heart. You sought out the slight dip of the mattress and the brush of air from the fan overhead. Instead, you found your hands were restrained behind you, the skin burned under thick ropes.

You sat up slowly in effort to ease through the blinding headache dizzying your vision. Dirt was caked into your nails and brushed along your skin, grass below your exposed legs. Still in your pajamas, you felt the sting of a twig as it scratched your thigh.

It took a moment before you recognized your surroundings. Away from the comfort of Brooklyn, you realized you were immersed in acres of woods. To your right, just barely through a short clearing, your heart dropped at the sight of ruined remains of a home you had lived in for years. Most of it had been bulldozed away after the fire, but pieces still remained. Enough that you still recognized the proximity to your nightmares.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, baby.”

You flinched at the sound of his voice – Brock's voice – as he stepped out from the shadows. No longer shielded by the distorted visions in your dreams or the promise of safety under the guise of a twisted imagination, there was little doubt that the man who stood in front of you was anything other than the head of Hydra itself.

“Takes a while to get used to, doesn’t it?” he scoffed, gesturing to the burns coating his skin. He was almost unrecognizable; the darkly handsome features on his face obstructed in the fire. What remained instead was a glimpse of the evil he carried in his heart, a sickening display of karma unfolding upon his body and mocking his existence.

You couldn’t help the laugh as it escaped. Perhaps it was shock or maybe you really were losing your mind, but the falter in Brock’s expression was reward enough. He was expecting you to remain in your fear of him, to be able to hold it over you. Your laughter was not what he had been anticipating and it read clear as day upon his face.

“It’s what you deserve,” you spat, tugging at the ropes around your wrists as you rose to your knees. Tiny stones dug into your skin but you urged yourself to feel power in the sting of it. To let it ground you to your strength and remind you of what was real.

“Deserve?” Brock hissed, his upper lip twitching. Anger twisted and consumed the little parts of his expression he still had control over. “You want to talk about what is deserved?!”

You tried not to react when he pulled a handgun from his waist and cocked it. The barrel of it aimed at your head, his finger on the trigger. You tried to keep the cold, uncaring expression Bucky had worn that night in the factory – unafraid in the face of evil. He’d been on his knees then, too. But still—your jaw clenched and Brock grinned.

“How is it that my cheating, whore of a wife and the traitorous son of a bitch who destroyed everything I ever built get to live happily ever after?!” Brock sneered, crouching down to your eye line. He drew the edge of the barrel along your cheekbone, sliding it down your throat, though you tried to pull away. He grinned. “You want to talk about what is deserved? Huh? How about I take back what belongs to me?”

You clenched your jaw, unwilling to meet his eye. Instead, you kept your stare on the tree beyond his left shoulder, the one you could see from the window of the spare bedroom you moved into after you gained the courage to fall in love with James— with Bucky. Its trunk was charred in the fire but it still stood. It still remained. Worn, but still strong.

“Maybe, I keep my promise to our mutual friend? Barnes, isn’t it?” Brock taunted. He used the barrel of the gun to brush your hair behind your shoulder. This close you could see the divots and raised edges of his burns. They coated every inch of his skin. “I told him he’d find you in pieces one day. That his betrayal would follow him the rest of his life and I’d rip you apart just to spite him. But hell, I didn't forget about the part you played either, baby. Maybe I’d like to ruin you a little too... just for myself.”

The barrel traveled alone your collarbone, dipping down to your chest, drawing a line between your breasts and down to your navel. Even through the scarring, you could see the look upon his face – the grin as he licked his lips.

You gritted your teeth. “Fuck you.”

Brock laughed at that, deep and low. Sinister. He wiped away the spit that had landed against his cheek. “I like it when you're feisty.”

You felt for the ground behind you; wrists bound you brushed your fingertips along the grass until you came upon a small rock. A small ounce of relief nestled into your chest; the rest filled with a steady determination. You started to saw it against the ropes.

“How the hell are you even alive? You should be dead,” you said in an effort to keep Brock talking. You could only hope Bucky was on his way to you, if he even knew where you were.

Time was a commodity you didn’t have, but you could stall as long as you could. Maybe... Maybe you’d see him again. It was what kept you going, what gave you the courage to face your demon standing before you.

“Four bullets to the chest and a burning house later, here I am... rising like a fucking phoenix from the ashes!” Brock shouted up to the skies. He stretched his arms out to the side as if he were absorbing the cheers from a stadium worth of admirers. “I’m invincible, baby! You can’t kill me!”

“You're not special, Brock. You’ll die like any other man,” you spat, reveling in the slight shift in his smile. The rock broke through a single piece of twine; a small dent, but it was something. “James will find us and when he does, he’ll kill you.”

Brock’s face dropped to a cold frown. “Not if I kill him first.”

“Would that make you feel like a man?” you jeered, like poking a snarling bear with a short, pointed stick. “To kill the man I left you for? The man I fucked in your house? The man I traded a mansion and millions for just to escape you?”

“Shut your fucking mouth before I—”

“What?” you taunted, shouting out to the trees and the birds and whatever else could hear you amongst the woods. “What the fuck are you going to do to me, Brock!? What else can you possibly take? I am so fucking tired of being afraid of you! I am done walking on eggshells and screaming in the middle of the night and looking over my shoulder!”

“Is that so?” Brock was laughing now, as if your defiance was little more than a show, as if he might peer behind the curtain and find you shaking and crying in the corner. But he’d done more than cage you all these years. He taught you what it was to live with a demon, to know a monster by name, and you were tired of letting it take root in your home. You'd sooner burn it to the ground.

“You’re nothing to me,” you said coldly. “You are nothing but a weak, pathetic little man who didn’t deserve a damn thing from me, so you resorted to taking it. Blackmail and extortion and threats. You got off by making me feel small and alone in that house and I’m done. I won’t live the rest of my life in those fears.”

Brock rolled his eyes, pacing slowly in front of you as he stepped over broken twigs in his path. Snaps like bones under his feet. He ran a hand soothingly over the barrel of the gun, admiring it. “Barnes is a bad influence on you, baby. You think you’re so brave now, don’t you?”

You tightened your jaw, wiling your breaths even. “You can’t hurt me anymore.”

Brock lunged at you, nails digging into your jawline as he forced you up to your feet in his grasp. The rock sawed through half the width of the rope as his nails drew blood on your skin. His breath was hot a flame against your cheeks.

“I’m the one holding the gun, baby,” Brock sneered. “I can still do a whole hell of hurt to you before I end your miserable life.”

You met his eye as if you stared straight into the heart of the devil. You let the fires consume you. “I’d like to see you try.”

The ropes snapped at your wrists and you threw yourself on him, sending both of you crashing to the ground.

“Fucking bitch!” Brock cursed, trying to shove you off of him, but you’d taken enough lessons with Nat to know how to immobilize an attacker.

But then you spotted the gun laying only a few feet away and you realized escape was not your intention. Brock must have followed your line of sight because he jolted enough to sporadically crawl towards the weapon.

You both lunged for it.

***

“Nat, are you sure this is where he took her?” Bucky said as he pulled up to the drive of a home that was now in ruins. He looked around the perimeter and saw nothing save for the acres of woods beyond the property.

“It’s what the profile suggests,” Natasha replied through the car speaker. Bucky could vaguely hear the clicks of her keyboard on the other end of the phone. “Rumlow thrives on drama, Buck. He’s going to bring her back to where it all began. And well, where it ended, too. He wants revenge. Bringing her back to the house puts him on an advantage.”

Bucky slid the car into park. “Keep looking anyway. I’ll call if there’s news.”

He reached for the keys, only pausing when he heard Natasha sigh. “Bring her home.”

Bucky nodded, not sure what else he could say, and turned the car off. He thought you were already freed of your past, thought that you were safe from the demons and monsters in your nightmares. He’d convinced you they were little more than your imagination playing cruel tricks on you. If he’d only listened, if he just believed you... maybe you wouldn’t be at the mercy of Brock Rumlow. Again.

He stepped out onto the driveway, staring up at what remained of the home he fell in love with you in. He shook his head, pinching at the bridge between his eyes, and jogged towards the woods. He didn’t dare call out your name in fear of what Rumlow would do under the pressure. Instead, Bucky concentrated on holding his breath and the warm touch of metal in his hands. His weapon was his grounding point. The bullets inside would not miss their target this time.

Bucky felt like he was starting to run in circles when it happened. Loud enough to jolt his heart out of pace, for the trees to shake as birds flew up into the air.

BANG!

BANG BANG!

BANG!

Four gunshots. Bucky sprinted as fast as he could, following the echo. Leaping over stray roots in the ground and swiping aside branches as they cut his arms.

He emerged into a small clearing to find you standing at the center, a gun held tight between your hands as you stared down at an unmoving body at your feet. Rumlow laid amongst the dirt, on his back, blood pooling at his chest.

“Y/n?” Bucky called gently, though you didn’t look in his direction.

Rumlow’s hand flinched and before Bucky could release his safety, you fired off another two shots. He did not move again after that. His face bore the ghost of surprise, a faded grin turned to shock in the moment you first pulled the trigger.

Bucky took a cautious step forward, your name again on his lips, but before he could get it out, he stepped on a twig, the sharp snap of it startling you as you spun in his direction, weapon now aimed at his chest. Bucky threw his arms in the air.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Bucky said as calm as he could manage, his gaze flickering to your finger still held against the trigger. It was like you were seeing straight through him. “It’s just me. It’s just me, honey.”

It took a moment before the realization flashed behind your eyes.

“James?” You lowered the gun until it hung loosely at your side, your voice nearly breaking over his name. The relief in it was enough to overwhelm him. He nodded, stepping forward and gently easing the gun out of your hands. You released it gratefully.

“It’s over,” you said simply, leaning against Bucky’s chest as you stared down at Rumlow’s body. Six total shots. Five littered over his chest. One planted between his eyes. Bucky let a hand run against your hair, his lips pressing to your crown. Small comforts he could offer.

“Are you alright?” he asked, though his stomach was aching in dread. He knew there was no comforting answer to that question, not after the hell you’d been through tonight, but he hoped nonetheless.

“I am now,” was all you replied. You couldn’t seem to take your eyes away from Rumlow. It was like you were committing it to memory – an image to draw upon when the nightmares came – to remind yourself that he was dead and it had been at your hands.

“Thank you for coming,” you murmured against his shirt and Bucky started to wonder if you were still in shock. You said it as casually as one might after a dinner party.

“Hey, I’ll always come for you,” Bucky promised, an oath he’d never once doubted. Still, he sighed. “Looks like you didn’t need me though, huh?”

“I’ll always need you.” You stepped back out of his hold and this time, you looked more like yourself. You offered him a soft, tentative smile. “But it’s nice to know I can take care of myself, too.” Your gaze flickered to Rumlow. “He underestimated me again.”

“His last time,” Bucky confirmed, pride in his chest.

“I’ll have to thank Nat for all the defense classes,” you grinned. It was a strange kind of normal to be teasing as you stood over the dead body of your ex-husband, who was definitely very much dead this time.

“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled,” Bucky chuckled.

“And Sam! Sam always volunteered to stand in as—” You froze, eyes wide as your hand clapped over your mouth. “Oh my God, Sam. What happened? Is he okay? Is he alive?”

“He’s in surgery now,” Bucky replied quickly before the panic could completely set you over the edge. “Come on, I’ll bring you to the hospital. I want to get you checked out anyway.”

You nodded, leaning into Bucky’s side as he guided you back towards his car. “What about Brock?”

Bucky shrugged. “I’d rather leave him to the animals, but I’ll talk to Steve. We’ll take care of it. You’ve done enough, sweetheart.”

“Can you call Peter?” you asked as you spotted Bucky’s car in the distance. “I know it’s not rational, but I want to make sure Brock didn’t-- that he didn’t do anything to go after Peter, too.”

“Of course. You want him to meet us at the hospital?”

You smiled, a wash of relief in your eyes. You nodded.

Bucky opened the car door for you, helping to ease you gently into the seat despite the hiss of pain you released with the movement. He tried not to pay attention to the rope burns on your wrists. He’d ask the nurses to pay careful attention there. You still had scars underneath from the last time.

Bucky took an extra moment as he closed the door behind you, standing straight and taking in a breath of fresh air. The chill of the cold, starless night around him was almost a comfort as he tried to center himself. There would be time for the guilt complex nagging at the back of his head later. But right now, you needed him. He could be strong for you.

When Bucky slid into the driver’s seat, you set your hand on his right forearm almost immediately. He drove with a single hand on the wheel, his right resting against the clutch. The contact was warm and welcomed and it helped to drive out his own monsters as your thumb brushed along his skin.

“We’re okay, aren’t we?” you asked quietly as the remains of the mansion drifted out of focus in the rearview.

“That’s a loaded question, sweetheart,” Bucky replied. He shifted his arm to let your hand slide down into his. His fingers curled around your own and he brought your hand to his lips. He kissed each knuckle one by one as he kept his eyes on the road. “If by ‘okay’, you’re asking if I’m still here with you, if I still love you as much as I did this morning, or a year ago, or the day I met you? Then yes, honey, we’re okay.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “But if... if you’re asking because I didn’t believe you when you said Rumlow was alive, because I wrote off your fears as nightmares and let this happen to you and—”

“We’re okay,” you told him sternly, tugging your intertwined hands to your own lips. You pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. “This isn’t your fault, Bucky. We had every reason to believe he was dead. This shouldn’t have happened. But it’s not because of something you did wrong. This is on Brock. Only him.”

Bucky nodded. He felt for the slight squeeze of your hand against his; that beautiful, little reminder that you were there with him no matter where his head wandered.

“He’s certainly dead now,” Bucky exhaled. He smiled, catching your eye. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

You laughed and still he was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. “I don’t know if incredible is the right word. Vengeful, maybe. Pissed off. Scorned.”

“Strong. Fearless. Determined,” Bucky countered sincerely. “I know what it took for you to do that. I’m... I’m just really proud of you. You fought with the devil and survived.”

You sat back in your seat, staring at the trees as they passed by with a content look on your face. Relaxed for the first time in months.

“I wouldn’t give Brock that kind of credit,” you shrugged. “He was just a man. He doesn’t get to be anything more. He doesn’t have that kind of power over me. Not anymore.”

Bucky clenched his jaw in an effort to hold in the light beaming from his chest. He stole a quick glance at you, watching as you sought out the stars through clouds. His brave, wonderful girl. He wasn’t sure ‘proud’ was even strong enough anymore.

“You know Sam will hold this over you for at least a decade, right?” you laughed, shooting Bucky a teasing smirk despite the dirt on your face and the leaves still caught in your hair. You’d been through hell and you were still smiling.

“Trust me, I know,” Bucky groaned with a short shake of his head. He couldn’t help but return your smile. “I’ll give him three years and then he’s capped.”

“Three? How generous of you.”

“He’ll survive with almost no serious damage and a new battle scar to show off,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Three is pushing it.”

When he caught your eye again, his cheeks were hurting from how wide he was smiling. There were near tears in your eyes from laughter. He wasn’t sure what god to thank for you, for bringing you back home to him in one piece, for letting you smile and laugh and hold joy in your heart after all that had happened to you. But he would thank them all.

***

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you

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