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worldsover · 5 months

Text

Completeness ft. Yeseo, Mashiro

length ✦ 13.7k

genres ✧ gf!Mashiro, virgin!Yeseo

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

"Hey, what do you think of Yeseo?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She doesn't.

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

"Ah, Shiro," you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that what opposite—"

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

You sigh. "Fine, fine."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It was?"

"Yes!"

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

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

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

No, whiplash fucking snaps your neck in half.

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

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

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

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

"It's just a handjob."

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

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

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

This is what you want.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Am I doing good? Yeseo mutters.

You nod, eyes still tight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeseo giggles. "I can imagine."

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

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

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

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

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

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

You replied, "Okay, fine.")

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So?"

"Yeseo." Your voice is calm yet stern.

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

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

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

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

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

She nods forcefully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The toothy smile says it all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hello there, dear," Mashiro whispers.

Your heart is caught in your throat.

"I love you," she says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you cold?" you ask.

"No. Smells bad."

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

Here's the answer.

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

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

The pendulum swings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeeees..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeseo is your fucking whore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really?"

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

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

She giggles. "Thanks, Daddy."

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

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

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

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AO3, AFF

#kpop smut #kep1er smut #reader insert #male reader

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rainyinautumn · 1 year

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there's a parallel in last life that I don't see talked about as much as it deserves and so I'm going to dissect the ever-living hell out of it. remember the ghast farm incident? everyone remembers the ghast farm incident. Grian turns red, he starts knocking blocks of a bridge out from under Mumbo, "there's a way we can still be friends," etc etc etc. it's fantastic. WELL. two sessions earlier, there's a similar confrontation between Scar and Joel after Joel turns red, except the roles are reversed. Joel approaches and it's Scar who starts breaking blocks of the bridge, trying to put distance between the two of them. HOWEVER, the interesting difference here is that Scar is doing it not because he doesn't want to be Joel's friend anymore, but because he still wants to be. lets take a look at a transcript of part of that scene, shall we?

[Scar breaks several blocks of the bridge.] Joel: Scar, what are you doing? I know you're not my friend anymore, but come on, Scar. Not the bridge. Scar: I wanted to make an arrangement. Are- are we not friends? Joel: We can't be friends, Scar. We can't be friends.

Scar knows that Joel is a red life and that he might hurt him, but he still wants to be friends, so he's providing a way that they can be near each other while he isn't in any danger by putting a gap in the bridge. he even breaks it again when he comes by to chat later. during that chat, Joel reminds him of how dangerous he is, Scar says he "gets it," and then proceeds to let him continue living under magical mountain. Scar doesn't "get" that he needs to be cautious of Joel—what he "gets" is that he's taking a risk by letting him stay and that he's already accepted something might happen. and he's OKAY with that. Joel is red. he gets it.

now compare that to this excerpt from the ghast farm incident:

Grian: Y'know, Mumbo, there's a way we can still be friends. Mumbo: Yeah? Grian: Yeah. [he starts breaking blocks at of Mumbo's feet] You could join me.

with Joel and Scar, it's a red life choosing to step away from his friend in order to protect him, while said friend tries to find a way that they can still be near each other without placing himself in danger. with Grian and Mumbo, it's a red life choosing to try to take his friend down with him so that they can be near each other because he can't accept not being his friend. the fact that in BOTH scenarios the friendship is symbolized by a bridge being broken is a perfect illustration of one of Grian's lines from the ghast farm incident: "it was a bad idea for the wrong reasons." those friendships should have been a good idea, those bridges should have been a good idea, but now they provide a connection that isn't safe, and they all know that.

and I'm not done talking about this. no no no no no. this offers a FASCINATING insight into why desert duo is Like That. Scar would sooner let Grian kill him than have to stop being his friend. Grian would sooner kill Scar than have to stop being his friend. which is all kinds of perfectly fucked up and explains exactly why 3rd life ended the way that it did. it also makes the cactus scene from double life very interesting to think about. remember the cactus scene? it's a doozy.

Grian starts session by dropping a stalactite on Scar's head as a prank and (unintentionally) taking them down to two and a half hearts. Scar then retaliates by leaning against a cactus until Grian breaks it. he then leans against Yet Another Cactus until Grian breaks that one too, at which point they are at only one heart. a question I've been asking since that day is this: if Grian hadn't broken the cactus, would Scar have stepped away before it was too late?

using bridge theory, we can find an answer to this.

the answer is no.

this isn't necessarily because Scar is actively trying to get them killed—it's more because he knows with absolute certainty that Grian will break the cactus. he's not prepared to step away because he isn't worried he needs to. see, the difference between Grian and Scar is that Grian is willing to throw around the lives of other people to get what he wants, and Scar is willing to throw around his own life to get what he wants (the fact that what they really want out of all this is often the other's trust is an issue I will dissect another day). once again, last life is the perfect example of this. Grian steals a life from Scar right off the bat and gets another one out of him by force a few episodes later. meanwhile, Scar makes a business out of selling his soul and threatens Team BEST that he'll kill himself in order to go red life crazy on them. and they don't doubt him! and they SHOULDN'T doubt him, because Scar is the kind of guy that would do that! the same way that Grian is the kind of guy who will drop a stalactite on his soulmate's head but break the cactus he's leaning against.

Grian is willing to risk Scar's life, but he's not okay with Scar risking his own life, because he knows that he's completely willing to stand against a cactus until he dies if it makes a point. so Grian breaks it.

but Scar knows Grian as well as Grian knows him. Scar knows that this is hardly a risk at all. so he leans against the cactus a third second time.

#normal about desert duo #normal about last life #normal about how the life series is a tragedy of epic proportions but is also just a block game that some guys play for fun #these two are so integral to each other's demise it is unbelievable #desert duo #grian #goodtimeswithscar #last life #double life #overrainylyzed

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barcaatthemoon · 13 days

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end of an era || jenni hermoso x reader ||

things don't always get better, but jenni tries to help you.

major angst warning, like implied/mentioned suicide attempt angst. proceed with caution.

everything and everyone went silent the moment you fell. it was daunting to watch back as you replayed the stream of your last game over and over again. jenni sighed as she glanced over at you. the two of you had been waiting in the doctor's office for hours now to see how your surgery had gone. both of you knew that it was going to be a long and hard road back, one that you honestly weren't even sure you'd have the chance to attempt.

"will you turn it off please?" jenni asked you. she was beyond trying to be nice about it. you got upset every single time that you watched it, and jenni hated hearing you get hit and go down again and again. she hadn't been there for that game, and it was one of her greatest regrets.

your teammates had told jenni how you had been immediately following the game. jenni almost couldn't believe it, not until she saw for herself that every ounce of happiness had been sucked out of you. you had become obsessive, attempting to figure out where you could have done something to reduce the damage. rather than listen to the countless people who had assured you time and time again that it was a freak accident, you still searched for an answer.

"it's not like i have anything else to do," you grumbled. jenni was really starting to get on your nerves. she was always a little annoying, but it had gone from being endearing to infuriating. "they're just going to tell me that i'm finished. my career is over, even if i can make a comeback. it will be too fucking late, jenni."

"no. no, stop talking like that. you're gonna be fine," jenni told you. oh how you wished that the doctors hadn't made her out to be a liar. jenni believed her words right up until the surgeon came in with a team of people that neither of you had ever seen before.

you felt numb as they gave the time frame of your possible return. it would be well over a year since you required multiple surgeries to fix the tears and breaks. you didn't understand how you had fucked up your body so badly, and it was obvious that jenni didn't either. however, you weren't left wondering for very long. the doctor mentioned old injuries that hadn't healed properly, claiming that your leg was a ticking time bomb that had been resting for nearly a decade.

"that was a waste of fucking time," you grumbled as you rushed towards the car. you were on crutches, so you weren't really moving that fast. jenni had slowed her pace down signficantly to keep up with you. she was carrying your bags, something that you only let her do today because she normally did it for you anyway.

"no, we have a timeline now. that's a good first step towards getting you back to where you need to be." jenni sounded so optimistic still, but you knew that it didn't matter. you'd miss the olympics, and you'd definitely have to retire by the next world cup. your time was running out, and it had essentially been cut in half by your injury.

"jenni, i'll be lucky if i ever get to step foot on a pitch again. let's just get home. i need a fucking drink." you got into the car, ignoring the look that jenni gave you. she was worried about you, despite you technically not doing anything worrisome yet.

you were depressed, and rightfully so. jenni had hoped that the doctors would have some good news for you, but they hadn't. your mood reflected that in the coming weeks as you moped around until you were cleared to start your physical therapy and rehab. your schedule for that was pretty light, especially since you had at least two more surgeries before you were in the clear.

jenni was great, and despite it being her off season, she didn't go back to spain. instead, she had moved temporarily to america to take care of you. you could tell that the move was hard on her, but she couldn't think of letting you stay by yourself. she was afraid that you'd do something stupid or dangerous if she left you alone.

you hated it, and because of that, you started to hate her as well. you hated that jenni kept looking at you like you were made of glass. you hated that she touched you so gently whenever all you wanted was for her to hold you down against the mattress and make you forget the past four months of your life. you hated jenni, and even more so, you hated that she never showed any resentment towards you.

there was always only ever going to be so much that jenni could handle. ten months out of your injury with only one more surgery to go, it all came crashing down around the two of you. the cracks in jenni's patience with you were starting to show, so she had taken a little vacation to spain without you. it wasn't for more than a few days, but it was long enough for your anger to betray you and turn into complete despair.

you had a family history of being fucked up. addiction, depression, anxiety, and a long list of other issues had plagued nearly every other member of your family for as long as you could remember. your parents had both tried to prepare you for the worst of it, and for a time, you thought that you had seen it. you had forgone taking your pain medicine because you had been terrified fo getting hooked on it. there never should have been so many pills in the house, but jenni knew she couldn't have just taken your extra ones with her to spain.

you wanted to call jenni, but she'd talk you down. you didn't feel like you deserved it. you had treated her so badly for nearly a year, to the point where she left the continent to get away from you. however, you believed that you owed her at least a text. something to thank her for taking care of you and apologize for being such a piece of shit for so long.

the time zone different meant that jenni should have been fast asleep. you didn't count on jenni being wide awake at 2 am. how could you have known that she hadn't been sleeping well since you got hurt. the vacation to spain should have been relaxing, but jenni couldn't quiet the voice in the back of her head warning her that you still weren't doing any better mentally. that was why she hadn't even finished reading your text before she was calling some of your american teammates to check up on you, hopeful that it wasn't too late.

…

"i'm here! i'm here!" jenni was nearly tripping over herself as she ran into your hospital room. she stopped when she saw you. you had expected her to start yelling at you or something, but instead she just broke down in front of you.

"i'm sorry," you apologized. jenni tried to tell you not to be sorry, but she couldn't get it out. all she could do is kneel by your bed and cry as your hand weakly ran through your hair. "it should have worked."

"i-is that how you really feel?" jenni asked you. you realized that wasn't at all what she wanted to hear, and suddenly you were filled with guilt. all of that hate and anger that you had felt before came back, but this time it was fully directed towards yourself.

"yes," you whispered. jenni wiped her eyes and stood up as she stared down at you. "i've been awful to you. how can you still love me?"

"are you fucking stupid?" jenni regretted her words as soon as they left her mouth. for the first time in months, jenni finally saw you cry. "shit. shit, shit, shit, c'mere. i'm sorry, i didn't mean it like that. i love you, i want to see you get better."

"jenni, i'm not sure that there is a better. what if i come back and this happens all over again? i think that i need to retire and take some time by myself," you told her.

"a-are you breaking up with me?" jenni asked you. there was a flash of anger in her eyes, one that completely overshadowed the hurt. "i took care of you for almost a year. i waited for you to get better, to be yourself again because i love you so much. you can't just make a decision like this by yourself, not when you aren't in the right headspace."

"jenni, they're keeping me here on a hold for a while until i can prove that i'm okay. i'm selling my place here. i don't want us to be over, but i think that if you can find someone who actually deserves you while i'm gone, then you should go for it. and if you don't by the time that i'm better, then i'd really like you to consider letting me come back to you," you told her. jenni didn't like the sound of that, but it wasn't a clear breakup. it was a break, if anything, and jenni knew for a fact that she wouldn't find someone else unless you actually forced her to. "i've already been let out of my contracts, they're just waiting to make the announcements."

"i wish that you'd reconsider this, but i am glad that you can make rational decisions," jenni said. you nodded as you gave her hand a little squeeze. there was a chair by your bed, but jenni crawled right in next to you. she had a couple days to stay with you before you were moved to the facility that you'd call home for as long as it took you to get better. jenni didn't know when you'd be back, but she kept a calendar to keep count of the days you were gone.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #jenni hermoso imagine #jenni hermoso x reader #heavy angst

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sssilverstoned · 4 months

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couples quiz ꩜ ln4

type: transcription from a youtube video

The GQ couples quiz goes precisely how you both, and your PR teams, expect it to

lily said: i just love world building (even if im not the best at it) so i can't ever leave a concept or pairing alone, so it goes!

part 1 part 2 part 3 2.5ish interlude

Y/N: Why do I feel like I left the oven on in the kitchen?

Lando: Well, because you did. I turned it off on our way out, don't worry about it.

y/n turns to the camera with a bright smile, and lando smiles at the sight of her own.

Y/N: My hero, everyone!

Y/N: And um, I guess we're getting started now? So hi, I'm Y/N L/N, a model and creative director currently based out of Europe.

Lando: And I'm Lando Norris, a driver for McLaren Racing's Formula 1 Team, and this is the GQ couples quiz. And if I may add, I absolutely think I'm going to win.

Y/N: I'm not even dignifying that with banter.

lando turns to the camera, an eyebrow raised.

Lando: Fun fact: Y/N's quite genuinely the most competitive person I've met in my entire life.

y/n's jaw drops with a scoff.

Y/N: No shot! You race for a living, for crying out loud.

Lando: Trust me, Love, you take the cake.

y/n rolls her eyes with no charge, a smile still on both of their faces and small looks exchanged between the two of them,

Y/N: Alright, you first. What's my favorite color?

Lando: (your favorite color), easy. it's the color of your phone case right now too.

Y/N: Yup. What's my favorite place I've traveled?

Lando: You loved Venice, no?

y/n winces, weighing her hands back and forth.

Y/N: I did, but that's not my favorite. In my whole life, I'd say,

Both: Jamaica!

they laugh at their unison.

Lando: And I knew that, I knew that! Because of your grandparents.

y/n nods fondly, giggling at how lando beats himself up about getting one wrong.

Y/N: Alright, what am I most scared of?

Lando: You're petrified of spiders.

y/n gags, and shudders.

Y/N: Don't even get me started.

lando turns to the camera with a faux look of exhaustion.

Lando: This girl refused to go into our bedroom for 3 hours once when I was out because there was a spider on the vanity.

Y/N: Whatever. Where did I go to school?

Lando: Switzerland and New York, very posh.

Y/N: You're calling me posh?

Lando: Can't the pot and the kettle both be black?

a producer bursts out in laughter in the background, making the couple do the same. there's a fondness in both their eyes as they double over in laughter.

Y/N: Okay, okay, almost done. What food do I love and hate?

Lando: You hate mushrooms, and for some reason, you really don't like salmon. As for what you do like, you get stir-fry and noodles a lot, but only from specific places. And you love tomato soup, that's the number one.

Y/N: Right again, nice baby! You make a good one now, by the way.

he winks at her.

Y/N: Who is my celebrity crush?

lando scoffs.

Lando: Dylan O'Brien.

Y/N: Forever and ever. My birthday?

Lando: March 10th, a spicy pisces, as you say.

Y/N: Hey, Olivia Rodrigo herself called me that.

Lando: And what about Scorpios?

Y/N: Nope, not your turn yet, I've got one last question.

lando takes a dramatic breath.

Lando: Alright, hit me with it.

Y/N: Where did we go on our first date?

a big smile grows on lando's face.

Lando: We went to a music show one of our friends recommended, and we both thought it was awful but didn't say anything because we didn't want to leave and have the date be over, so we listened to the most shit jazz music for an hour and a half just to be around each other.

Y/N: Best result from the worst music I've ever heard.

Lando: Ditto. Now, hand me the cards, yeah? I'm about to stump you so good.

the camera transitions to y/n now in the hotseat answering questions, lando teasingly taking his job very seriously with the question cards.

Lando: Alright. Where am I from?

Y/N: Bristol, thought you said you'd stump me?

Lando: This is literally question 1?

lando turns to the producers.

Lando: You see what I mean? Ferocious.

Lando: Moving on, what is our favorite show to watch together?

Y/N: We're rewatching Prison Break, so I'd say that?

Lando: I'll give you that one. Ugh, what was I wearing when we first met? Fucks sake, can we skip this one?

y/n sputters over him.

Y/N: Absolutely not, we're not skipping over this!

Lando: Oh come on, Love-

Y/N: I swear to you, the very first time I met Lando, he came to my 18th birthday party in a full on basketball kit!

Lando: I was told it was "Space Jam" themed!

Y/N: As in dress like you're in space, you fool! Not the Michael Jordan and Bugs Bunny movie!

Lando: Needless to say, I was mortified. Seems like she still thought I was cute though, no?

another wink is sent to the camera.

Lando: What's your biggest pet peeve about me?

Y/N: You spoil everything. I can't ever watch a show or a movie without you walking in and going, "Oh, this is the episode before he dies." Like? Who does that?

Lando: Yeah, ah, guilty. Working on it. Eh, not really. What's my nickname for you?

Y/N: Cradle robber.

another producer reacts to this. a sputtering shock of laugh. "you call her WHAT?"

Y/N: We're the same age, mind you.

Lando: Wrong, you've been alive 8 months longer than me on this planet! 3/4 of a year, mind you. But I've got real nicknames for you.

Y/N: Yeah, you do. You call me Love, more than you say my name, so it always feels odd when you do say it.

lando doesn't respond with his voice, but the fond look in his eyes and nod at her answer.

Lando: What irritates me the most?

Y/N: About me? Or, like, in life?

Lando: Life, nothing irritates me about you.

Y/N: Oh, please. But, in life, you're pretty irritable when it comes to selfish people. You've always been like that, though, very compassionate and not a fan of people who aren't.

Lando: Very true, never thought of it like that, I guess. Just don't be an asshole, you know?

Y/N: See? Irritated.

Lando: Anyway. We're on our last question, so I guess you've won because it's not a point question.

Y/N: I won't rub this one in your face, just because you've been a great interviewer.

he gives her a gracious nod, and y/n rolls her eyes.

Lando: You'll never ever know how grateful I am. Final Question, what's something that you weren't expecting about me that you love about me?

Y/N: Oh goodness, are you wanting me to cry? Well, I think something that was initially a hard adjustment was the intensity of your racing schedule, and doing long distance sometimes. We don't really see each other sometimes, but when we do, you always sleep in. And at first it was really annoying to me, because we only have like, 3 days together, wake up! Let's do something! But once you told me that you let yourself sleep in on those days because it's a time to just, be, and we can do it together. So I guess my answer is, I wasn't expecting to love how much you love little moments. You've taught me to be grateful for things we take for granted, and I don't know, I think it's helped me through a lot.

lando stays still for a bit, an adoring look on his face as his eyes swell with what we think were happy tears. we're hoping so, at least.

Lando: I can't wait to marry you one day.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 social media au #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #f1 instagram au #social media au

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twogyuu · 4 months

Text

[959]

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader

genre: fluff(?), mutual pining, unestablished relationship, medical!au

warnings: mentions of blood/cutting self on accident, vague mentions of "going out"

a/n: yes, i think about doctor!wonwoo a lot actually -

. . . .

This is so embarrassing.

On your last full weekend off this month, you find yourself back at work - and worse! Not as a provider, but a patient!

So much for living your best life this weekend.

"And," Seungkwan drags out the single word as he fans the betadine to dry, "We're done."

He looks up at you and smiles sheepishly. There's a spark in his eye - one that you reminded you of yourself what seemed like many years ago. You peer down at your finger: three simple sutures neatly threaded through your wound and knotted just tight enough.

"How'd I do, Y/N?" Seungkwan asks excitedly, he's almost bouncing on the balls of his feet.

You shoot him a soft smile, flexing your finger at him.

"Oh!" a look of panic flashes over his eyes.

"Not bad, Boo, not bad at all," you compliment, "I'll be good as new by next week."

"Tsk," Seungkwan scolds briskly. He puts the sharp in the red bin and swipes the wrappers off the metal tray. "Take it easy - you know the rules: stitches come out in about a week. I'll put some bacitracin on it and bandage it up for the night, but open and dry while it heals."

"Yes, yes, Dr. Boo," you tease playfully.

"I'm not yet, Y/N!" he chuckles.

"You'll take them out, right?" you point at your finger, ignoring his protests.

"I won't be here next week," Seungkwan replies sadly, "New rotation."

"Ah," you nod.

"I'm sure Soonyoung will though," Seungkwan adds hopefully.

"Yeah, um, I don't know if I trust him."

"What?! Y/N, he's an EM resident."

"Yes, but-"

The glass door to your small room slides open, interrupting your banter. The both of you turn to look who it is and you feel your heart constrict the moment you notice the way the bright light reflects against his round, wire-framed glasses. Wonwoo closes the door behind him and leans on the door handle, looking back and forth between you and Seungkwan before he turns his attention all to you.

Teeth sinking into your bottom lip, you tear your gaze away, cheeks and tips of your ears burning. You feel yourself suddenly growing self-conscious in Wonwoo's presence: your eyeliner a little too dark, your lashes coated in too dark of mascara, foundation caked on a little too heavily to hide your dark circles from sleepless nights, your shoulders suddenly feeling the hidden breeze in the ED, and your skirt seems too short.

"Did I interrupt something?" Wonwoo finally asks, his words calm and slow.

Seungkwan's breath hitches in your stead and he shakes his head furiously. You can feel Wonwoo's eyes burning holes through your scalp, but you refuse to look at him in this state.

"I should, um," Seungkwan scratches the back of his head. He grumbles awkwardly, "I'm going to go get the ointment and the bandage."

Wonwoo nods and moves to let him leave, though this causes him to step closer towards you. You scoot on your cot as if it would create a substantial space between you enough to breathe.

The silence only ensues, you quietly willing him away, not ready to face him. Wonwoo seems to get the message, deciding to intervene instead.

"Soonyoung told me what happened," Wonwoo explains. There's a stuffy tone in his voice - like he felt awkward being there. "I . . . just thought I'd come down to check," he inhales sharply, "You know, because . . . I, um, care about you and stuff."

You still don't answer, but, oh, were you cursing Kwon Soonyoung right now.

You can't help but notice, though, out of the corner of your eye, you notice how he adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose, proceeding to brush his bangs out of his eyes. He's been growing out his hair, and though you're typically not a big fan of long hair, he didn't look half bad.

Heck, he didn't look half bad - he looks good.

Wonwoo huffs, the black fringes fluffing up in the process. "Are you going to just ignore me like that? I have all night - I'm on call."

Yeah, right, you want to shoot back, like he isn't busy as a cardiology fellow on-call.

You reach for the sheets on the cot and wrapping them around your shoulder, squeezing your eyes and sighing heavily. Instead you tell him, "You didn't need to come down."

"I wanted to," Wonwoo replies sharply.

"I didn't . . . I don't want you to see me like this," you grumble.

You hear him shifting from foot to foot behind you. "Like what?"

You shrug. "Like this."

"And what would that be?" he presses. The clack of his leather shoes on the white tile nears you. You can make out his figure in the spotless reflection.

Oh did he know how to press your buttons and make you squeamish.

Unable to bear it much longer, you threw off your sheets and spin around to face him. You dare to look up at him, pressing your tinted lips into a tight line. Unlike what you were expecting, his eyes only remain trained on yours. He doesn't scan your body up and down, his usual knitted brows and scowl in judgement.

"I'm embarrassed," you whisper, frowning.

This makes him chortle and you let out a small whine.

"Why?" he finally asks when his laughter settles a little.

"I dunno," you fumble with your words like you were a middle schooler in trouble and unsure of your feelings. "I-I . . . we just haven't . . . you haven't seen me like this."

"Like I don't know outside being a resident, you're also a normal young adult who likes to go out?" he states more than he asks.

"Something like that," you mutter. Hopeful to change the topic, you add, "So much for some apple slices before then."

Thankfully, whether you like it or not, Wonwoo knows you a little too well. This is one of the moments he decides not to push you further. He only hums, reaching for your injured finger. Gently, he weaves his own fingers in, lifting them at the knuckles to look at the repaired wound. It sets your body aflame again and you silently slap yourself.

You weren't even holding hands! Why were you so flustered?

"Seungkwan did a nice job," Wonwoo notes.

"He did," you squeak.

"Much better than I could," Wonwoo adds.

"He's still a medical student eager to learn and Soonyoung's grading him - not burnt out farts like us," you joke.

"I meant it as," Wonwoo chuckles, "I specialize the heart - not wounds."

You're not sure why you aren't careful with your words tonight. Maybe you are too comfortable with him too soon, maybe it's the betadine seeping into your wound and into your veins.

But you let it slip accidently.

"Yet, you're blind as a bat when it comes to matters of the heart."

Wonwoo's eyes widen, flickering up to look at you.

"W-what?"

"Um-"

"Okay," the glass door slides open and Seungkwan waddles in, with his arms full of supplies. Soonyoung is not too far behind him - he needs to check the laceration repair before the student patches it up. "We didn't have any two-by-two's so I got some four-by-fours to cut up and . . ."

Seungkwan's voice trails off as he feels Soonyoung's hand on his shoulder, holding him back from proceeding further as the older man sees it before he does.

Seungkwan holds the supplies close to his chest and points at himself, innocently, "Did I interrupt something this time?"

#wonwoo x reader #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #ksjdfdkjfsdf #**runs and hides**#omg wtf did i just write #help this is so self-indulgent #i wanna vomit #ngl out of all fics this idea is probably my roman empire #like had this whole series planned out for the past 3(?) years #but alas #this is all i can amount to for now

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hughesurdaddy43 · 4 months

Text

Come over

Summary: I'm setting off. But not without my muse

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x fem reader

Note: IM sorry guys this one is actually so long so I cut it in half so the next part Ill post tomorrow & its gonna kill you

It's been three days since you've last seen Quinn. 72 hours since the two of you shared a kiss. 259,200 seconds of you replaying that moment in your head, over and over again.

Quinn had already left for his away game, and not seeing him in person again after he single handedly took your breath away was driving you crazy.

You sit on your couch, having yet another lazy day after opting out of going into your office today. Your mind is too much in a daze to deal with annoying coworkers who are a little too interested in your friendship with the famous hockey player. With your computer in your lap, you try and focus on an email from your boss that has gone unread for the last four days, and as soon as you start reading the first line, your phone starts to ring.

Quinns name flashes on the screen and you don't hesitate to toss your computer to the side and answer your FaceTime call. He flashes a smile as soon as the call connects. It's dim where he is, and you soon realize that he's on the bus. His under eyes are dark, and his beard is a little more scruffy than usual, but that doesn't stop you from thinking he's still the most handsome man you've ever laid eyes on .

"Shouldn’t you be getting some sleep?" You ask Quinn, raising your eyebrow at him. It's a mom kind of question, one that you know Ellen would ask if she had seen him awake this late at night after he had played, and won a game.

"Couldn’t sleep," He tells you, and you know it's a lie. His poker face never worked on you. You roll your eyes at him letting him continue. "I actually wanted to ask you something."

Your heart does a backflip, which seems like the only thing it's been doing lately.

"Go for it." You tell him.

Before Quinn responds, you watch as he pulls his headphones off and look off in the distance. He's talking to someone on the other side of the phone, so you take another moment to admire him. The way he listens intently to whoever it is he's talking to you, how his eyes don't look away until he's finished talking.

He makes it easy for you to remember all the reasons you fell in love with him.

"What are you doing right now?" He asks once his attention is back on you. You let out a laugh, pulling your phone closer to your face. "I'm waiting for that question you wanted to ask me." You say in a 'duh' tone.

Quinn laughs, following your own actions and pulling his phone closer to his face. You can't help but stare at his lips, reminiscing how they felt against your own.

"Oh yeah, I'm flying you out to Jersey. To watch me and my brothers play. Well," He pauses, "Just Luke actually, Jack's out with an injury, but mom and Luke would love for you to be there."

"That wasn't a question, Quinn. And what about Jim?" You tease, and Quinn smiles again. "Jim is Jim. So, you'll be there?"

You shrug your shoulders, looking over at your computer that still has the email from your boss on the screen.

"I already bought the flight and the hotel, and it's" Another pause, "10:45 right now. Your flight is tomorrow at 9 in the morning, and you'll get to Jersey some time in the evening. I have a driver picking you up." A final pause, Quinn catches his breath. "It's all taken care of." He says softly.

It's times like this, where you remember Quinn has money. Where he's willing to spend a lot of money for you to be anywhere with him, but with the sweet gesture comes curiosity and you can't help but wonder if he's done things like this for her.

A part of you wants to tell him no. You have your own life in Vancouver. Your job, half-assed plans that you'd already made with your friends, you can't always drop everything for Quinn. But he knows you better than he knows hockey. He knows you'll be there.

"I guess I should start packing then, yeah?" His smile grows wider, "Will you text me when you're boarding?" He asks, and you nod your head 'yes'

The both of you stare at each other through your screens. Silently admiring each other. Secretly acknowledging how easy it is for you two to be together.

Once you hang up, you immediately run to your closet. Most of the items hanging up are Quinns. Hoodies, t-shirts, old jersey and even a couple of suits that he's left after late nights and early mornings. "What's mine is his" You think to yourself. You start throwing in a mix of yours and his clothes.

New Jersey is a cold state, something you'd learned the hard way after a failed trip a few years ago. You'd insisted that you didn't need to bring a winter coat on your trip because you already live in a cold climate, you were used to the cold. Quinn reminded you how you were always cold, and that you'd definitely needed to bring your coat, but like a stubborn child, you'd ignored him. "I'll be fine," You had told him, and instead of arguing, he let you figure it out on your own.

You stare at the winter coat hanging up. The winter coat Quinn had ended up buying you because he had gotten tired of you stealing his.

And it's almost like he's listening to your thoughts, sharing your memory even though he's thousands of miles away, because once your phone dings and you look down at your home screen, you see Quinn has reminded you to make sure to bring your winter coat.

#hockey boys #quinn hughes #hughes brothers #hockey blurb #nhl fic #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes imagine #luke hughes #jack hughes #nhl

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atlabeth · 2 months

Text

price of dreaming

series masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader

summary: luke's spiral and the part you play in it.

a/n: this is so sad i'm sorry. like it's just a couple thousand words of luke being sad with a cute little flashback and a percy mention to make it all more sad. i don't know what's wrong with me why did i start writing this series

wc: 4.1k

warning(s): pretty severe angst bc this takes place after hurricane's death and goes up to mid tlt. death ideation, minor descriptions of injuries, luke isn't the best person, just a whole lot of sadness.

Luke returns to camp two weeks after your death, nothing more than a shell of himself.

Half of his time was spent sitting in an interrogation room in a Boston police station, mumbling his way through questions he doesn’t know how to answer. It’s not every day that a teenage girl is found nearly ripped apart in the middle of a city with her boyfriend completely broken next to her. Two EMTs had to literally drag him away from you—at least, that’s what they tell Luke. Everything after your heartbeat stopped is a blur for him. He doesn’t really even know how he got to the station.

And that’s how it is for a while. He talks to detectives who don’t believe him, he stares at the wall and wishes you were here, he goes home with your mom. She’s being asked just as many questions, and she refuses to leave him out on the street or take him back to camp. She doesn’t understand that Luke’s done it all before.

Eventually, the officers settle on a freak animal attack. It didn’t make sense for an animal capable of doing that to be in the city, but mortals see what they want to see. Luke is just thankful to be out of it.

But he doesn’t know what to do next. There’s a huge gaping hole in his chest and in his life without you, and he doesn’t know how to live without you. Every time Luke closes his eyes he sees your face, and he hasn’t been able to sleep through the night since it happened. He only really manages to stay out when his body practically shuts down from exhaustion.

Your mom treats Luke like a second son while he’s living with her, and it pains him more than anything. She asks him if he wants to stay with her, try and finish out the semester. He was surprised she still wanted anything to do with him.

Luke declined. He loved your mom, but being in that apartment without you—walking past your room and knowing you would never be there again, seeing a space you carved out for yourself knowing the most integral part was missing—was just too much for him. The full reality of you being gone still hadn’t sunk in yet.

He’s soured on the city of Boston as a whole. He’s felt your blood on his hands since the moment it stained his fingers, and for as long as Luke lives he will never forget the look on your mother’s face when she showed up at the police station.

Your mom offers to drive him back to camp, and though he wants to say no to that as well, he doesn’t. Luke can tell that she needs a distraction, and he doesn’t really know how else he’s gonna get back to camp. They don’t talk very much on the way there, but neither of them burst into tears, so he considers it a victory.

She parks at the bottom of the hill and hugs him so tightly he can’t breathe, but he welcomes any kind of feeling.

“Stay safe, Luke,” she says, her hands on his shoulders. “And if you ever need a place to stay—”

“I know,” he interrupts. “And I’ll try.”

She nods a few times, and she blinks back tears as she looks up at him. “Thank you for everything you did for my daughter. For all those years that you kept her safe.”

It clearly wasn’t enough, Luke wants to say. If it was, he wouldn’t have lost you back then, and he wouldn’t have lost you now. But that wouldn’t help anyone, so he nods. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his throat still dry as a desert.

“Always.”

“I know how much you meant to each other,” she says softly. “I’m so sorry, Luke.”

He holds back his emotions. “So am I.”

Your mom nods again and they say their goodbyes once more, hugging one last time. When Luke reaches the top of the hill, he looks back to see her still standing there. He wishes he could do something to ease the pain, but he doesn’t even know how to deal with his own.

Luke stops at Thalia’s tree, and he already feels that lump in his throat.

“I hope you’re together in Elysium,” he murmurs. “I always thought you would like each other.”

The beginnings of tears prick the back of his eyes and he clears his throat, shaking his head like it’ll help silence the millions of thoughts scattered around his brain. If Thalia lives on like this, he hopes your spirit is still around somewhere.

“I love you,” he says quietly. “And I’m sorry I failed both of you.”

Nobody at camp knows. How could they?

Luke wasn’t expected back until the summer, though, so his presence at the top of the hill is telling in of itself. Especially alone.

He ignores everyone that tries to talk to him and gets to the Big House to break the news to Chiron. Thankfully, when he dissolves into tears, it’s behind closed doors. Chiron takes it in a saddened stride, and Luke wonders how many heroes have died in his lifetime.

You have no siblings to make a burial shroud, so the Athena cabin takes up the responsibility. Annabeth invites him to take part, but he can hardly stomach the thought.

It’s beautiful. They emulate the ocean through embroidery and Annabeth even gets a little Red Sox patch in. They let Luke burn it, and he’s amazed he even makes it through the ceremony. But the entire camp shows up, and there isn’t a single dry eye. He hopes you at least know how many people care about you.

Chris takes over as counselor for the indefinite future, which is probably a good thing when Luke can barely muster the strength to get out of bed most days. He picks at his food when he’s able to make it to meals, and his prayers to Hermes have never felt emptier. He used to do one for Poseidon every so often, especially when you were at school, but the thought makes him sick. His eyes never stop trailing over to Cabin Three’s table.

The Poseidon cabin is empty again.

Luke doesn’t fully realize the path he’s taken until he’s standing in the doorway and the scent of salty air hits him. He’s so used to hanging out with you after dinner that he just went there automatically.

It feels unfinished. It is unfinished. You had a whole box of things back in Boston that you wanted to bring back to camp to decorate.

Your posters still hang on the walls—Blondie, Pearl Jam, Alanis Morisette. Fairy lights are falling down in the corner, and they’re unplugged. Luke had to remind you to unplug them before you left for the school year.

You should be standing next to him, smiling and laughing and dragging him in behind you as you rant about capture the flag or the canoe race you definitely didn’t cheat in. He blinks away the tears building in his eyes and he takes a step back.

You should be here. You’re not.

(How many more times is he going to end up here chasing ghosts?)

There are some things a person just can’t get over.

And that’s how his days go. He barely manages to get out of bed, picks at meals that taste like sand, musters what little strength he has to lead sword lessons, endures pitiful looks and sympathetic speeches.

Luke gets lost in the past more than he should, oftentimes sitting on the beach talking to you as he watches the waves roll in or sneaking out to the dock in the middle of the night to be in the company of the only person he can stand.

By the time summer comes back around, Luke is sure of three things.

He isn’t ever going to be the same again.

You should still be alive.

He won’t rest until he’s torn Olympus down brick by brick.

“It’s quiet here,” Luke said.

“That’s what happens when you don’t have any siblings,” you murmured.

His eyes trailed over to the door and you nudged him with your shoulder. “What do you keep looking over there for? Scared someone’s gonna catch us?”

He shrugged. “We’re technically not allowed to be in here together.”

“They can’t say anything,” you said. “We’re both counselors. And no one’s in this place anyways. Besides,” you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips, “we’ve earned all the time in the world.”

Luke smiled and snaked an arm around you, pulling you closer to him. “You think so?”

“We lost two years together,” you said, laying your head on his chest. “Far as I’m concerned, no one can say a damn thing to us.”

“It always feels like we talk about the past,” he said. “What about the future?”

“All I know is I want you in it,” you mused. You always loved resting on his chest because you could hear his heartbeat, could feel the slight rise and fall from his breathing. It meant he was alive, and after what you’d been through, that was more valuable than anything.

“Obviously,” Luke said coyly. “I want you in mine too. But what about the details?”

“We gotta finish high school first,” you said. “Have you thought about what I said?”

“...Yeah,” he nodded. “It’s just been a while since I’ve left camp. Going back to school seems rough for someone who hasn’t been in classes since elementary school.”

You shook your head. “Which is exactly why my school would be perfect for you. We left at the same age, remember?” You took his hand and began to trace the lines of his palm. “It took some getting used to, but I made it. If I can, so can you—and I’ll help you every step of the way.”

Luke chuckled softly. “I’m a little worried about leaving Annabeth.”

“Annabeth of all people would support you going for your education,” you said. “And it’s not like she’ll be on her own—everyone likes her here.”

“...Talk me through it,” Luke decided. “Say we both go back for the school year. What does a sophomore year for the two of us back in Boston look like?”

“Well, we’d be living together. We have an extra room in our apartment, and I’m sure I can convince my mom to let you take it.” You let out a sigh as you shifted, moving closer into Luke’s side. “We’d take the T together to school, but you don’t have to worry because I can show you around everywhere.”

He chuckled. "I could use a refresher on Boston. Don't have the fondest memories there."

"We'll just make some new ones," you promised. “I’m on the soccer team, too. I was JV this year, but I’m gonna make varsity next fall—mark my words.”

Luke rubbed your shoulder as he hummed. “And I’d come to every game.”

“You better.” You glanced up at him with a smile. “You could try out for something too. I think you’d make a killing in basketball.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Do you not remember all those pick-up games we played when we were younger and bored? I was gods-awful.”

“This’ll be different,” you insisted. “You’ll actually be sleeping on a bed every night, and eating consistently. I think that makes you a better athlete. Plus, you’re not three feet tall anymore.”

Luke laughed as he intertwined your fingers together. “The star soccer player and the mediocre basketball player. We make quite a couple.”

“You’d be better than mediocre,” you said. “Anyways—we’d play our sports and kill it, I’d introduce you to all the friends I made last year, I’d show you all around Boston, and I’d get you hooked on the Red Sox.”

He leaned back against the headboard with a chuckle. “You’re really never gonna let this go, are you?”

“It’s my sovereign duty to put you onto the Red Sox,” you said, “especially surrounded by all these Yankees. I’m gonna get you to a game one of these days. And after we kill sophomore year, we’ll kill junior and senior year.” You tapped on his chest for each year with your free hand, and his smile grew. “Then we’ll graduate high school together. With honors, and monster-free.”

“You have such high standards,” Luke said wryly. “I’ve always thought I’d be lucky to pass with C’s.”

“You haven’t always had me,” you mused. “And when we’re together, we can’t lose.”

Luke smiled as he looked at your intertwined hands. “Y’know, I think your plan sounds pretty good. I’m pretty sure I could put up with school if it meant more time with you.”

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. Luke moved his hand to keep you there, and when you pulled away, a delicate blush painted his cheeks and pure love danced in his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile.

You were the luckiest girl in the world.

“Thank you,” you said.

Luke offered a sideways grin. “For what?”

You shrugged. “For being you.”

“Thank you, then,” he said.

“For what?”

“For sticking with me,” Luke said. “Through everything.”

“I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else,” you murmured.

The second year isn’t any easier.

Luke is back to being year-round. There’s no point in going home—not when Connecticut hasn’t welcomed him in years. Not when he would just be another problem for your mother in the midst of her grief.

So he stays at camp. Endures the pitiful looks from everyone, lies his way through attempted therapy with Chiron, trains more than ever before. No one seems to know how to treat him, because he goes from completely alone to swarmed with sympathy to completely alone again. It takes two months before his friends are acting like he’s a normal person again, and even then it still feels like they’re walking on glass.

Luke can’t find enough inside of him to care.

He practices with his sword until he feels like his arms might fall off, only narrowly avoiding the harpies each night. His siblings ask how he does it, why he does it, and he just says he wants to get better.

But Luke refuses to let it happen again—not when his surrogate sister is all he has left. Not when he sees you every time he closes his eyes.

His birthday comes and goes, but seventeen is empty without you. He replays your past conversations in his head, about traveling together and graduating together and maybe even going to college together. Demigods aren’t meant to think about the future, but he dared to dream with you.

And the worst part was that you were right. You made varsity. You were in the middle of killing sophomore year, despite Luke struggling his way through with C’s and the occasional D—you had always been smarter than him. You got him out to a Red Sox game, and gods forbid, he actually enjoyed it.

You were living the life you deserved, a life of happiness and success and with Luke, and you didn’t even make it past sophomore year. You were meant for so much more, and every day he questions why it was taken from you. Every day, he questions why you’re gone and he’s not.

The year chugs on in all its misery, and for the first time since he all but rejected him as his son, Hermes appears to Luke.

His father gives him a quest, and he takes it despite the inherent insult of it. Maybe some part of him hopes he’ll die out there and finally get to see you again.

(Another part wonders if he’s even worth Elysium. Luke lost you once, then he lost Thalia, and now he’s lost you again. Some kind of hero he is.)

He goes it alone. It takes him back to the first couple of months before he met you, and when the thought hits him, it almost overwhelms him. Everything makes Luke think of you, but it makes sense. He’s only living half a life—he’s missing the other half of his soul.

Luke fails his quest. He manages to get a claw and he manages to nearly lose an eye. There’s no glory in a repeated quest, but there might be even less glory in this.

And once more, Luke staggers back to camp as a victim rather than a hero. Someone only worthy of pity, someone so weak that Chiron bans quests unless they’re absolutely necessary. It takes weeks for the scars on his body to heal, and the mark on his face even longer. He becomes well-acquainted with the cycle of Apollo kids that take shifts in the infirmary.

He feels nothing but disgust every time he looks in the mirror. After all, the claw marks ripping their way through his body match yours. Sometimes he wishes Ladon finished the job.

It doesn’t make sense why, after everything, he’s still here.

Luke can hardly stand to be at camp, but he’s got nowhere else to go. He gets better at hiding his emotions, better at acting like he’s gotten through it. New demigods show up and he’s not the bereaved counselor anymore—he’s not introduced with his grief. He hides it away.

No one wants to deal with all the problems he’s racked up. His mom, his dad, Thalia, you. He’s a demigod. Demigods are resilient. So he plays the part—he’s been through a lot, but he’s past it. He promises he’s not a burden anymore. He’s just a normal kid.

And for a while, Luke is almost able to believe it himself. He’s never going to be over you, but he starts feeling like a person again rather than a ghost of one. He’s fully taken over the mantle of counselor again, and he’s actually present during sword-fighting lessons. He even manages to get a six-month-long capture the flag winning streak going on.

And then Kronos appears in his dreams.

Luke knows Greek mythology. It’s hard not to pick up a couple things when you’re fighting stuff from the history books, but they teach some lessons at camp. It’s nice to know what you’re up against before you die a brutal death.

Kronos killed his father. He ate his children. Every wicked deed was done for power, and power is what he offers Luke.

And maybe there’s something wrong with him, because it’s the first time he’s felt hope since he left Boston.

Luke finally has an answer to something. He’s been silently cursing the gods for years, trying to figure out a way to tear everything down without getting himself immediately killed, and he’s got one.

Kronos speaks to him most nights. He remembers the dreams you shared with him in your final year, all the restless hours spent sitting together on the fire escape as he soothed you. You thought Kronos was the reason for it, but he couldn’t have been. His dreams were nothing like yours.

But still, Luke wonders every day what you would say if you were here, if you knew the treacherous path he’d embarked on. Kronos promised power, freedom, an end to Olympus and the reign of the gods.

He doesn’t care about power. He just wants to hold you again. He wants to hear your laugh again. He wants to see your smile in more than pictures.

But he can’t. And he wants to destroy everyone responsible for it.

So he does everything the Titan Lord asks of him. He hones his skills even further, he lays low, and when the time is right, he steals Zeus’s bolt and Hades’ helm. Luke even nearly beats Ares when he’s caught, but Kronos doesn’t lead him astray—he speaks of divine war, and he gets out of it.

He continues to see you. Kronos doesn’t lead him astray, but he punishes him for such a close call. Luke wakes in the middle of the night, eyes wide and chest heaving with labored breaths, and he feels your blood on his hands all over again. He sees you die over and over again and he can do nothing to stop it.

You always told each other about your nightmares.

That’s the hardest part of it all. You’ve always been so closely intertwined with Luke’s life since the moment he saved you in that aquarium years ago, and he can’t see any way to let go of you. He can’t—even though you’re gone, you’re still a part of him. His first instinct in any situation is to tell you, and it kills him that he can’t.

And maybe things would have turned out different for Luke if you were still around. He’s never going to forgive himself for your death, and he’s certainly never going to forgive the gods. Thalia pushed him to the edge, but you were the breaking point. Luke is only nineteen and he’s loved and lost more than most.

Maybe things would be different if you were here. But you’re not, and they aren’t. So when a new demigod shows up, covered in monster dust and nearly dead on camp’s doorstep with Grover in tow, Luke doesn’t hesitate.

He killed the Minotaur, and his mom is dead. Skilled enough to take on a quest, desperate enough to ignore a couple warning signs. Percy Jackson is the boy Kronos told him about.

So Luke takes him under his wing. Shows him around camp, welcomes him to the Hermes cabin, trains with him one-on-one.

Something about his spirit reminds him of you. It’s the grit, he thinks. The determination. The refusal to back down even when it’s the smartest option. When he asks about you that night in the Hermes cabin, Luke’s heart stutters. The kid is too sharp for his liking.

It doesn’t take long before Luke manages to cement himself as one of his friends, maybe only third to Annabeth and Grover. He’s a lost kid that’s been thrust into a world he doesn’t understand, and Luke is the closest thing to a rock most campers have got.

It’s supposed to just be a guise, but sometimes, he forgets himself. He likes Percy too much—he just feels too much like a younger brother, and that’s not really good for the already growing guilt in his chest.

Maybe it’s because Luke sees himself in Percy. Someone playing a part he’s not aware of, an unfortunate pawn with no choice in the matter. Luke tries to push it away. Kronos wouldn’t lead him astray—this was the path he had to take if he wanted anything to change.

But it’s not like that makes it easier. Because gods, Percy has never looked more like a kid than when he’s suited up in armor for capture the flag. It almost makes Luke regret the plan he has to enact.

Almost.

Annabeth has a plan as usual, and thankfully Percy plays the part of bait. Luke tunes out of everything else and lets his battle senses take over—things have already been set into play, and now all Luke can do is hide in plain sight. Soon enough he’s got the red team’s flag past the boundary line, and he’s hoisted up onto his teammates shoulders. Luke is almost able to forget what he’s done.

…Almost.

A howl rips through the forest, and the hellhound Luke summoned after the start of the game launches itself at Percy. He’s on the ground before he knows it, the flag forgotten in his hand as he rushes over with the rest of the campers.

For some ungodly reason, Annabeth tries to step in front of him, but she’s thankfully too slow. The monster swipes at Percy and its claws shred through his armor. For a split second, Luke is back in Boston and his chest stills.

Chiron solves the problem with a cluster of arrows, but the camp is in immediate disarray. Clarisse instantly accuses Percy, Annabeth is trying to make sure Percy doesn’t die, and Luke just hopes his shock is believable enough to hide his annoyance. He’s just a scrawny kid—how the hell is he still alive? But then the unthinkable happens.

Annabeth tells Percy to step back in the lake. The instant he’s in the water, what should have been a fatal wound starts to heal.

And then a glowing blue trident appears above Percy Jackson’s head.

Luke feels sick as he lowers himself to one knee with the rest of camp. As the hellhound he summoned melts into the shadows, as he stares at the sacrificial lamb of a demigod meant to unknowingly enact his plan.

“Poseidon,” Chiron says. “Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God.”

Your brother.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fic #luke castellan angst #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #pjo x reader #x reader #daughter of poseidon #child of poseidon #sadie writes

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toruvi · 5 months

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It's 3:04 in the afternoon when you're buried nose-deep in writing your research paper. And though you've been trying to focus on it for the last half hour, the only thing on your mind is literally all of the other things you need to get done. Clean your room, do the dishes, finish that late assignment (it's been almost a week now!) Shit. Too many things to do, and there's never enough hours in the day to feel like you can finish them.

You may or may not have been tipping over the edge of a breaking point for a while now.

But you've been convinced that it was hidden fairly well, at least from your friends. They don't press more than a simple "good luck with your paper" or "talk to you soon" when you tell them how busy you are.

However, your boyfriend definitely notices.

Levi isn't one to not speak his mind when something bothers him. In fact, he's pointed out several times in the last week that you shouldn't be overworking yourself. Out of anyone you know, Levi knows your limits the most. And he must see it where you don't, considering he's walked into your apartment with his copy of the key and is now standing over you, a paper bag in his hand as he glares down his nose.

"Hey," you mumble, turning back to your laptop screen in front of you. But the laptop is forced shut by a veiny hand, replaced with the plop of that same paper bag Levi was just holding. "Whats that?"

You pout when he slides the laptop down the dining table.

"Lunch. You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"I know you are, don't fight me on this. Please just eat with me. Forget about your work for a minute."

He pulls out the boxes in the bag, revealing a couple of sandwiches. Fine, maybe you're a little hungry.

"You didn't answer my calls so I had to guess what you would've liked," Levi murmurs as he slides the boxes toward you. You mutter an apology, but he's not mad. He waves it off, simply telling you to eat and "stop worrying about shit for one damn second."

With anyone else, it might've pissed you off.

When you're absorbed in your work, it's hard to gather energy to talk to other people, let alone even take care of yourself. And yet, somehow, Levi is the one person who manages to read you like a book. For some reason, he's able to pick up on your bouts of silence and understand what you need. You always wondered how he can do that.

And though he's yet to say "I love you", you wonder if gestures like this are close enough to that.

He doesn't ask about work, merely sits with you and eats in silence. The brief moment of quiet feels good, comforting even. Especially in Levis presence. Despite his coarse language and tendency to maintain a glare most if not all times, you've always found him to be so... Stable. A steady wall to lean on when the world makes your stance tremble.

You really love that about him.

When you two have finished, Levi promptly cleans up the table. You assume it's okay to go back to work, but his hand lands on yours when you try to pull it back.

"You're done for the day," he says with a firm stare. The usual one he gives when he absolutely refuses to listen to any counterargument you might come up with. "We're gonna go for a walk, take you outside. Just get out of this shit and breathe some real fresh air."

"I'm not a dog," you grumble as he holds out his hand to you now to help you stand.

"Mhm," is all he says.

You two walk around the neighborhood, Levi having taken away your phone in an effort to keep you from too much more screen time. He'd return it if you really asked, but you're thankful for the restriction in all honesty.

Usually, Levi isn't the one to initiate an exorbitant amount of physical contact. It's you who tends to absentmindedly cling to his arm while you're talking. And it's generally you who comes up behind him to cover his eyes and make him guess who, despite the fact that he already knew just from the sound of your footsteps.

Most often, Levi does attend to little touches here and there. The back of your neck, the edge of your hip, the top of your thigh, along the line of your jaw. And now in this moment, it's when Levi steps up a little and takes your hand completely in his. It isn't anything new for you to hold hands, but it's rare for him to be initiator.

You appreciate that. Those moments where he's willing to be more brave about touching. It's calming, feeling his fingers between yours as your arms sway with every step.

"I'm sorry for being so short with you lately," you sigh, staring at the cracks in the sidewalk you step on. Levi always seems to make a subconscious effort not to step on them, even now.

"It's nothing. I'm always short with you, anyways..." He trails off quietly.

Your sudden snort startles him, obvious with the incredulous look on his face as you burst into a tiny fit of laughter. His brow raises in confusion.

"That wasn't even close to being a funny joke and you're still laughing?"

"It was funny to me! You're always funny."

"You're the only person in the whole world who thinks that."

"Must be why you're dating me, right?"

His hold tightens around your hand. "I'm dating you because I l-"

Levi cuts himself off and inhales through his nose, pushing his sunglasses up to hide his eyes as he recomposes himself. "I'm dating you for a multitude of reasons."

"You could be more specific."

"If you keep talking I'm gonna have fewer reasons," he clears his throat, hovering his free hand over his eyes to shield himself from the sun, leaving remnants of the summer's heat on his skin.

You smile, for the first time in a few days, actually. "I thought you were trying to make me feel better."

"Hmph." Clearly, Levi has nothing else to say.

#i foudn this in my drafts??? wtf #levi ackerman x reader #drabbles #levi x reader #levi x you #tall reader #attack on titan x reader

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heavyhitterheaux · 6 months

Text

Call Her Daddy (NSFW)

First Lady of Private Garden Fic

AN: 🤭🤭🤭

Synopsis: Jack goes on the Call Her Daddy podcast and of course has to talk about his wife

Pairing: Husband!Jack Harlow x Wife!Reader

First Lady of Private Garden Masterlist

DO NOT ENGAGE IF UNDERAGE

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

“Jack, it's about damn time you showed up for an episode of my podcast.” Alex said after the both of them sat down and got comfortable where the podcast recording would take place.

“What can I say? I'm a busy man. And it's good to be here.”

“Definitely busy seeing as you just recently put a total of three babies in your wife, but we'll get to that later. We're focusing on you, first.”

“Look, I can't help it if my wife is fine as hell. Might as well go hard or go home.” He replied while shrugging and of course Alex laughed.

“Don't worry, you'll get to talk about how much you love your wife in due time because we know that’s a running theme with you. But first, I want to know more about Jack Harlow. Did you always want to be a rapper? And where did that drive come from?”

“Always wanted to be one and I remember selling my CD's back in middle school. My mom was a heavy influence on that and she would freestyle with me in the car when she would drive me to like soccer practice and different things like that.”

“That's so cute and adorable that your mom influenced you. Now when people think of rap, Kentucky isn't really the first place people think of.”

“Not at all and I'm from Louisville and a lot of people don't know that it is literally an entire city. When people hear Kentucky, the first thing that they think of is some back roads country ass shit when it's not.” He answered as he thought about when he first started and some people would tell him that he would never make it out Kentucky let alone Louisville.

“And did a lot of people support you? Or did they try to discourage you? How was that growing up there?”

“It was about half and half. A lot of people were confident that I was going to make something of myself, but others weren’t. But I’ve been serious about this shit from day one and it’s slowly but surely paying off. My girl wouldn’t let me quit for nothing even if sometimes I wanted to.”

“Now, what were you like in high school? Were you the popular jock, the nerd, part of the science club? Did the girls fall out over you?” Alex asked while getting comfortable in her chair and adjusting.

“I mean I always had friends and I wasn’t the one who would be stuffed into lockers or some shit. Like with certain things people knew not to mess with me. And it always seemed like girls always liked me, but when I set my eyes on one, that was it. It was a done deal. We weren’t even together yet and people knew that she was mine and they would respect it.”

“So, I want to ask you since you said that about people knowing that she was your girl and respecting it. Now we are talking about the First Lady, correct?”

“The fucking one and only. Had my eyes on her ever since I was fourteen.”

“A little birdie told me about you hiding a boy’s clothes after gym was over because he liked her and wouldn’t leave her alone? Not baby Jack getting jealous.” Alex said while laughing and Jack soon joined in along with her.

“Look, he asked for it and I didn’t have a problem with him after that. Like dude get the fuck away from my girl.”

“And what did she do when she found out?”

“She never found out until we moved to Atlanta after we graduated so she had absolutely no idea. But, she definitely got on my ass. But she’s not so innocent either, but you’ll have to ask her about that.”

“Yeah, she’s definitely the next person I need to have on here. Now what is the album that you think is your best work or the one that you are most proud of?”

“Hmm, Jackman hands down. No features, just me talking and getting my feelings out. I was able to be home in Louisville with my wife for about a year and a half and I took that time to reset and get my mind right because a lot of shit had been going on and happening around us and I felt that it was important for me to do that, but now we’re back to making the catchy shit that people can really vibe to and feel good music so I’m excited for this new era.”

“Lovin’ On Me! Now I am loving your new song and I notice that it says I don't like no whips and chains and you can’t tie me down. So no whips and chains in the Harlow household?”

“I… look I have a story about that. It’s not the fact that there’s absolutely none because at one point in time there was.”

“Damn, do I need popcorn for this because I feel like I need popcorn for this.” Alex added while busting out laughing.

“So, I tie her up, blindfold her, we got the nipple clamps, all that shit, and I handcuff myself to her to get her to stop moving and I lost the key in the process. So, she notices that I get quiet and she’s freaking out asking me what’s wrong and when I finally tell her she’s like call Urban. He’s our best friend who lived with us at the time and he has seen some wild shit and I know he’s so fucking tired of us. So with my free hand, I use my phone to call him and he comes and sees what the situation is, finds the key and leaves us there and goes to sleep because we had woken him up and he was pissed. So he just left us there until the morning.”

“I LITERALLY CANNOT! But, was it really a punishment though? Handcuffed to your wife so I can imagine a few more rounds came after that?” Alex asked while wiggling her eyebrows.

“More than a few.”

“Now talk to me about the other wild shit that he has seen.”

All Jack did was hang his head as he busted out laughing.

“I… I don’t even know where to fucking start. Urb is always getting pulled into the middle of shit that he absolutely had nothing to do with.”

“That’s what best friends are for. Now, how do you feel about choking?”

“Anything she wants, I will do it. Nothing is off limits for her. I admit that it’s not my favorite thing in the world, but if it’s going to make her orgasm faster, I’m all for it. She definitely comes first. Pun intended.”

“Oh, so you’re all about putting her needs first in the bedroom?”

“And in life, that’s my baby and her needs and wants are always going to be met. Been doing that since we were fifteen when we were officially together.”

“Now you said nothing is off limits when it comes to her, so she’s just like ‘babe, let me peg you’.”

“No, absolutely not, no one is sticking anything up my ass. I love my wife through and through, but no. That’s a little too much for me. Come on Alex, I’m not that adventurous, my lyrics literally say ‘I’m vanilla baby’.”

“Well, I might have put an idea in your head that you’ll want to try with her later.”

“Nope.”

“Favorite sex position?”

“Do you…. Do you not know what they call me?” Jack curiously asked her in disbelief.

“No, what do they call you?”

“Missionary Jack.”

“Please shut up because literally no one calls you that, you call yourself that.”

“I swear that’s what they call me!”

“And who gave you that nickname?”

“If it was someone other than my wife then that’s a problem. She’s called me that since forever.”

“What do you like about it?”

“It’s underrated on so many levels. I swear my triplets were conceived in missionary. Because here’s my thing, I’m face to face with her, at one point her ankles are going to be behind her head or on top of my shoulders and I’m going the fuck in.”

“Well damn, what’s her favorite position? I’m going to get her on here, but I want to hear it from you.”

“She likes to think that she’s in control, so she likes to ride me. But she knows who runs this shit. My kids aren’t the only ones who call me daddy.” Jack responded while smirking and all Alex did was playfully roll her eyes.

“Your wife is going to get you for that one and I’m going to let her have at it.”

“Yeah that’s how it all starts and it’ll end with me fucking her brains out like it always does.”

“You’re going to be in for it when this is over. Hmm, kinks?”

“I love praising her because I know it makes her reach her peak faster, but definitely a spit kink.”

“OH! TELL ME MORE! I am intrigued!”

“Alex, you are funny as shit.”

“I’m serious! Out with it.”

“Spitting in her mouth and watching her swallow it.”

“Are you sure you’re as vanilla as you say you are, because? Yeah I’m going to need wifey here to get her perspective. Do you think she’s ever faked an orgasm while you were in her? Would you be able to tell?”

“I know her body inside and out and she better not do that shit and have me find out about it. But, I don’t think she has.”

“Hand jobs, blow jobs?”

“Fuck yeah, I love me a good hand job or blow job.”

“Craziest place that you’ve gotten one or had sex period?”

“On a plane to Australia. We thought everyone was asleep, but of course everyone except Urb. This was what I meant when he is always getting caught in the middle of some shit that has nothing to do with him. It was difficult because I’m so tall, but we made it work.”

“What would an erotic vacation look like for you?”

“Definitely fucking her brains out non stop in some tropical ass location. We’re not leaving our room for the entire time that we’re there.”

“Ooohh, now if you could have sex in any location in the world, where would it be?”

“Hmm, I never really thought about it. Maybe some exotic ass shit like behind a waterfall or something. But, I was also thinking the white house lawn because I don’t mind an audience.”

“NOT THE WHITE HOUSE LAWN!”

“YOU ASKED!”

“Have you ever had or thought about trying tantric sex?”

“I’ve never really thought much about it, but I would have to do my research. If wifey wants it, I’m down.”

“She really does wear the pants in your relationship, huh?”

“Alex, like I said before, you’re funny and no she doesn’t.”

“I literally do not think that anyone will agree with you. If I were to do a poll right now, everyone will probably say that she does.”

“I let her think that she does.”

“Mmm hmm, sure. Now what is your dirtiest sexual fantasy?”

“I don’t even know since I’m pretty adventurous when it comes to it and not many things are off limits.”

You had just gotten to the hotel that Jack was staying at while he was filming for his episode of the Call Her Daddy podcast when you decided to surprise him. He had been going non stop since the release of his new single and getting ready to go on The Kentucky Tour.

Of course Urban was with him and sent you a text saying that he was almost done and you promptly took a quick shower and slipped on one of Jack’s favorite lingerie sets which happened to be black and purple. You threw on your black silk robe in case you got cold and simply laid out on the bed and played on your phone waiting for your husband.

You had fallen asleep waiting for him when you felt him reach down and place a kiss on your lips and your eyes fluttered open.

“What are you doing here?” He playfully asked as he was now kneeling on the bed in front of you and playing with the ties on your black silk robe.

“I wanted to surprise my husband since he’s been working so hard and I figured you would want a little time to have me to yourself.” You answered while motioning for him to lean down so that you could kiss him which he quickly did.

As Jack deepened the kiss, he took the opportunity to undo your robe and took in the sight of you in front of him.

“A sight that I can never get tired of seeing.”

He started to kiss down your neck when you lightly pushed him away from you and flipped the two of you over as you went to undo his pants and slide down his boxer briefs.

“Last night on the phone with you wasn’t enough and I decided that I wanted you in my mouth as soon as possible.”

The night before, Jack was complaining about missing you so just like you had done many times before, you gave him a show which ended up with him cumming multiple times as he watched you.

Jack had now tossed his shirt to the other side of the room and you had gotten his boxer briefs completely off before taking him in your mouth painfully slow making him grab the back of your head and buck his hips towards you.

“Baby, do not fucking tease me right now. All I basically did was talk about how good I fuck you in that podcast and we need to get to it before I fucking bust. This shit is starting to hurt and take that lingerie off.” Jack whined as you were making yourself comfortable.

Before taking him back in your mouth, you did as you were told.

“Patience, my love. You know that I’m always going to make it worthwhile.” You answered him as you went back to pleasuring him with your mouth and your eyes began to water as you felt him reach the back of your throat.

You were taking your slow sweet time and even though Jack was getting annoyed, he was in entirely too much pleasure to say anything at the moment knowing that when he finally did cum in your mouth that it would be worth it.

“Ahh fuck. Come on baby, go a little faster than that.” Jack pleaded with you, but then you took him out of your mouth and went to the edge of the bed and laid down upside down.

“Get over here and face fuck me then.” You said while giggling and Jack wasted no time getting in front of you and sliding himself back into your mouth while throwing his head back in pleasure.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, ohhhh shiiiiit.”

Jack had now taken a hold of both sides of your face and began moving in and out of your mouth as you reached down to play with your clit knowing that if he saw you playing with yourself that he would cum faster.

“Come on baby, open that pretty mouth of yours wider for me. You can take more of me, you’re doing such a good job.”

You did as you were told and inserted two fingers while still continuing to play with your clit with the opposite hand as you felt the spit from your mouth leaking down the sides of it.

“You playing with your pussy for me? Add another finger for daddy.”

Listening to Jack, you added another finger as he reached down to spit on your clit which made you increase the pace of your fingers.

You couldn’t help but to moan while Jack was still in your mouth and knew that you were going to reach your peak soon.

And as if right on cue, you heard Jack.

“Fuck, baby.” He tightly held onto you as you hit your peak and felt the cum shooting down your throat and out the sides of your mouth, but you continued sucking him off not showing him any mercy.

“Hold on!”

You shook your head no as you continued to move him in and out of your mouth, but finally let up when you felt another load shoot into your mouth and quickly swallowed it. Jack slightly moved away from you as you sat up and turned around to face him smirking.

“Wait until I get your ass for doing that.” Was all he said as you reached up to kiss him. You caught him off guard as you reached down and slowly began to jerk him off when he broke the kiss and looked down at you.

“Get your ass to the top of the bed and spread your legs so I have enough room.”

You moved until you reached the top as Jack hovered over you and simply looked down at you to admire you.

“What, babe?” You asked as you were now beginning to shy away from him, but all he did was lightly grab your face and kiss you.

“Nothing, it’s just my wife is so gorgeous and I’m about to have her screaming at the top of her lungs with how good I’m about to make her feel.” He answered as he began to rub small circles along your clit and reached down to kiss you while slipping his tongue in your mouth.

When you least expected it, he slowly entered you making you gasp against his lips which he quickly quieted you with another kiss as he began to move.

“Look at my pretty girl taking this dick.”

Jack then lifted your legs so that they were on the top of his shoulders and began pounding into you making you gasp as he caught you in another kiss.

“Shiiiit.” Was all you could mutter as you wrapped your arms around Jack’s neck as both of your noses were touching.

As Jack continued to keep the same pace, he kept his eyes on you and simply smirked.

“Open your mouth.”

You felt warm liquid slide down the back of your throat as he continued to move and place small kisses along your breasts.

On your right breast, he placed a small kiss and bit down and continued to suck on the same spot as you were letting out a series of curses and whimpers.

That was going to leave a mark, but you would deal with that later.

Jack then reached down to play with your clit and he quickly went to suck on your other breast knowing that he would have you come undone in front of him in less than a minute.

“Fuck, baby. Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

Jack then felt a rush of warm liquid hit the bottom part of his stomach and smirked as he reached up to kiss you.

As you were slowing down your breathing, Jack continued to rub small circles along your clit while kissing down your neck.

Once you felt that you recovered enough, you reached over to the bedside table and pulled out a bottle of lube that you had brought and handed it to Jack as you moved to get on all fours.

All he did was smirk at you before opening the bottle as you were making yourself comfortable in front of him.

You had only done anal a handful of times, but you found yourself wanting it more and more lately and of course, Jack wasn’t opposed.

“Baby, remember you have to relax so I can get in easier.” You heard him say as he was getting ready behind you.

“Yes, I know.” You softly answered as you felt the tip.

Jack noticed he was meeting resistance so he added more lube and had you arch your back a little bit more before trying again.

He was moving in slowly and didn’t hear anything from you which had him concerned and he simply stopped.

“Baby, you okay? You aren’t saying anything.”

“I’m fine, just keep going.”

After a few minutes, he was fully in and gave you a minute to adjust and made sure that you were okay.

“You ready for me to move?”

All you did was nod towards him as you felt him moving in and out of you.

“You’re doing so good, you’re doing so good for me baby. Arch your back a tiny bit more.”

Complying, you slowly but surely started to notice how good it felt as Jack reached down and you felt him insert what felt like a vibrator in you.

You had no idea when he had time to get it, but you weren’t in any way, shape, or form complaining.

“Babeee, oh fuck.”

“Got a new toy to use on you.”

Between the vibrator and Jack pleasuring you, you felt your legs begin to get weak and the perfect arch that you had once had was forgotten as you were trying to hold yourself up.

Jack noticed this and instead of turning the vibrator down and decreasing his pace, he did the opposite and turned it up while increasing his pace making you scream out.

“Baby…. Mmm… fuck I can’t…”

“Yes you can and you will, arch your back for me. Such a good girl.”

Jack reached down to play with your clit and your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks making you scream out as he slid out and released all over your back.

He then slid the vibrator out of you as you collapsed on your stomach and reached down to kiss your neck.

“You okay, down there? You were so good for me.”

You let out something of a groan letting him know that you were okay and he instantly laughed while sliding off the bed and pulling you by the ankles so that you were at the end of the bed and Jack was on his knees.

“Get on your knees for me because we are nowhere near done.”

This made you do a double take as you looked back at him in confusion.

“You didn’t think you were about to come all this way and I wasn’t going to taste my wife’s pussy, did you? Spread them damn legs.”

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scoonsalicious · 3 months

Text

Unwanted, Chapter 1: Unarmed, Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: (For this part only) Following the events of CA:CW, Tony Stark has offered Steve Rogers an olive branch of sorts to bring The Avengers back together. You, CTO of Stark Industries and head of Innovation & Technology for the Avengers' Initiative, have your doubts, as you're not quite ready to forgive Captain America for ripping your family apart just yet. Steve had one condition, however, when agreeing to return to the team, one that's going to turn your life upside down and inside out: If he's coming back to join The Avengers, he's bringing his best friend, Bucky Barnes, with him.

Warnings: (For this part only) Language (obviously), minor mention of alcohol, I'm obviously on Team Tony during the CW; don't come for me, awful jokes, minor use of (Y/N). As always, if I missed any, please let me know.

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Here's a little preview of Unwanted. In it's current form, it's standing at about 50k words, with about 25k still in editing, and I'm maybe about half done with writing the entire thing? I'm not going to lie, it starts out cute and fluffy, but it's gonna get real angsty and painful. Dear Reader has unresolved emotional trauma and Bucky doesn't understand the importance of boundaries in 21st century relationships. This piece has been my baby for several months now; I really hope ya'll enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it! Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you'd like to be added!) @blackhawkfanatic

"You're sure you're cool with this, Boss?" you asked Tony Stark, for what was probably the ten thousandth time in the last hour. The two of you were sitting by yourselves off in a corner of the common area of the Avengers Tower while the rest of your team congregated around the bar, eagerly anticipating the official return of Captain America to the Avengers. That, by itself, would be enough to warrant a gathering of Earth's mightiest heroes, but what had everyone in attendance talking was the fact that Steve Rogers wouldn't be returning alone.

Your billionaire employer sighed and swirled his glass of Laphroaig, the amber liquid sloshing along the sides of the tumbler. "I don't love it, Pocket, but it was Cap's only condition for coming back into the fold, and since Barton, Wilson, and Maximoff all went off the reservation with him, it seemed a small price to pay to get everyone back under one roof." He took a swig of his whiskey and smacked his lips.

You couldn't help but smile at his use of your nickname. Thor had inadvertently given it to you when you first met the God of Thunder years ago, remarking for everyone to hear that you were so small and tiny, he could tuck you into his pocket and abscond away with you to Asgard. Somehow, it stuck. You'd hated it at first; it had felt dismissive and condescending, which of course meant that it soon became the only thing the members of your team called you, but the more they used in their daily lives, the more you actually came to love it. It was a brand new, unique identity that came to embody the person you’d become, and the past you’d worked so hard to put behind you. You were more likely to answer to 'Pocket,' now, than you were your legal name, and you were grateful for it.

"Besides," Tony continued with a shrug, "if letting the Barnes thing go means we get the band back together, I'm willing to be the bigger person about it."

You stared at him, impressed. "Well look at you. When did you get so emotionally evolved?"

"Since Pepper told me I needed to start seeing a therapist or she’d leave me once and for all," he admitted to you with a cheeky wink; you both knew that, though Tony drove his partner, Pepper Potts, absolutely insane sometimes, she loved him far too much to ever walk away from him for good. That didn’t stop the threats, though. Lord knows he tried her patience. In your opinion, the woman was a saint.

Your eyes widened at the revelation and you let out a low whistle of appreciation. "You're going to therapy? Wow. Tony, That's amazing. I'm proud of you."

"Oh please," Tony scoffed, "I have much more important things to do than sit on a couch and spill my feelings. Besides, my secrets are too valuable to divulge to an actual human being. I just trained FRIDAY on therapeutic conversational datasets so she can handle all that psychological mumbo jumbo and then I paired that with BARF's augmented reality-- it's seriously the platinum standard in mental healthcare. No awkward silences or judgmental stares, just pure efficiency. You should try it; it’d do you wonders. And the best part? No copays."

You chuckled as you took a sip of your pineapple and Malibu. "Yeah, okay. That completely tracks for you," you told him with a smile. "So, what did Dr. FRIDAY tell you that got you to change your mind about the Barnes situation?"

Furrows appeared between Tony's eyebrows as he took another sip of whiskey to buy time for collecting his thoughts. There was still so much pain in him where Bucky Barnes was concerned. You'd worked for him in some capacity for nearly fifteen years and you'd never seen him as defeated as he'd been when he got off that Quinjet from Siberia. He'd been bloodied, battered and utterly broken, body and soul. Seeing him like that had shattered you, and you never wanted to live through something like that again.

Tony ran you through his experience with his therapeutic innovation, and you had to admit, it was impressive. The system had helped him realize that Bucky Barnes wasn't responsible for the heinous crimes Hydra had brainwashed him into completing, and so his anger over the death of his parents, while justified, had been misdirected.

"Once I processed that, it was a quick jump to realizing we can't be the best version of the Avengers if we only have half the team at home, and it's innocent people who would pay the price for it. So, when I reached out to Cap and he agreed to come back if I agreed to let him bring Barnes with him, well..." Tony trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hand toward the where the rest of the team was waiting.

"So, you and Rogers are just, what? Good then? All water under the bridge?" you asked him, mild irritation clouding your voice.

"Oh, absolutely not." Tony took another sip of whiskey. "I can work with him again, and I'm glad to, but we're not going to be braiding each other's hair anytime soon."

"Good," you said, raising your glass in a mock toast to Tony. "I'm not quite ready to forgive him on your behalf just yet." Tony had essentially saved your life when you first met him, and he’d continued to support and guide your career to heights you could have never imagined. You'd started as a systems analyst and mechanical engineer at Stark Industries fresh out of college, and under Tony’s mentorship, it wasn’t long before you found yourself rising to the position of the company’s Chief Technical Officer, second in command only to Pepper, now that Tony had passed on the reins to her. All this happened long before he'd ever brought you in to work with him on the Avengers Initiative, and now you spent the majority of your time heading up their Technology and Innovation Department, as well.

Any kind of healthy respect you might have had for your boss had died out a long, long time ago, because Tony Stark was Tony Stark, but now he was just Tony-- more like an annoying older brother you loved dearly, whose name just happened to be on your paychecks. You owed him everything and that had earned him your unwavering loyalty. You'd follow him to hell and back again if he asked it of you, though he knew he’d never have to; you’d be paving the path there right alongside him.

The sound of laughter made its way across to you from the other side of the room and you felt warmth at the sound-- everyone, together again and happy. Just a few short months ago, you never would have been able to imagine the scene before you, not after the fight in Berlin and its brutal aftermath. You had thought for sure that this little family you'd found yourself in the middle of had been destroyed beyond repair.

So, you might have had your own reasons to be pissed at Steve Rogers.

"What's Barnes like?" you asked Tony. Having only ever glimpsed him from a distance, or from behind a computer monitor, you'd utilized all the resources at your disposal to dig up as much information on the Winter Soldier as possible, but even your skills hadn't been able to get you what simply didn't exist. "You know I don't like unknown quantities."

Tony seemed to think for a moment. "You mean, aside from being a brainwashed, murderous assassin?"

"Tony," you chastised. You knew that Barnes had spent a good deal of time in Wakanda before coming home to New York, working on having the words that triggered his homicidal alter-ego neutralized. Rogers may not always acted rationally when it came to making decisions about his oldest friend, but you were sure he wouldn’t be bringing Barnes back to the Tower if he posed a serious danger to the rest of you. Right?

"Fine," Tony said, with a typical exaggerated sigh. "Aside from being a former brainwashed, murderous assassin; better?" You rolled your eyes but nodded. "Don't really know, didn't care enough to ask. I'll be happy as long as he doesn't start murdering us all in our sleep. Cap vouches for him, so that counts for something. Maybe not as much as it did once upon a time, but something. But T’Challa seems to think he’s harmless enough now, so that’s good enough for me."

You nodded, taking another sip of your pineapple and Malibu, then leaned back, pensive. "Oh, God," you said after a moment of thought, sitting up in alarm. "You don't think it’s going to be like having an entire extra Rogers around, do you? All '40s morality and emotional repression? Because I am so over having him police my language." It wasn't that you had anything against Captain America as an Avenger, but there was only so much of the Boy Scout act you could take before you started getting nauseous. And okay, fine, you weren't too proud to admit it-- there was a not-so-small part of you that still hadn't forgiven him for what you saw as his blatant betrayal of Tony when he refused to sign the Accords. You'd promised to play nice, though, for the sake of your family, but your personal relationship with The Star-Spangled Man had taken heavy damage since Berlin.

Tony chuckled. "As if you'd ever let Cap's presence keep you from a good profanity. I should put out a swear jar. We could fund that crisis algorithm project of yours off your mouth alone."

"Fuck you, Tony," you uttered with a chuckle, fully aware that he had your number. You never met a four-letter word you didn’t fall immediately in love with.

"And look at that," Tony said with a smirk, "I just made another dollar. Hey FRIDAY, open up a new savings account and deposit a dollar into every time Pocket has a potty mouth."

"On it, Boss," the AI replied cheerfully.

You swore at Tony a few more times for good measure. "I fully intend to financially bleed you dry now, asshole."

"Oh no, I'm shaking in my custom Tom Ford's," Tony mockingly bemoaned, putting his feet, enclosed in the aforementioned ridiculously expensive loafers, up on the coffee table.

Raised voices from the other side of the room caught your attention. You stood up and craned your neck, trying to see what had caused the commotion. "I think they're here, Boss," you said.

"Alright," Tony said, standing up and putting an arm around your shoulder, "big smiles, kiddo. Remember, we're supposed to be happy about this." You suppressed a chuckle as you watched Rogers present Bucky Barnes to the rest of the team. Everyone was welcoming; you wouldn’t have expected any less, but as you watched their body language, the only word that came to mind was guarded. And you completely understood; The Winter Soldier’s reputation had preceded him, after all. There were hugs for Rogers, of course, but no one made any attempt to reach out to his friend.

Despite your overall annoyance with Rogers, you couldn't help but feel some degree of happiness for the giant oaf. When you'd been assigned on a mission with him (which happened fairly frequently, as he was so pathetically abysmal with anything having to do with technology) and ended up having to hole up in a safehouse for an extra couple of days while waiting for extraction, he'd started opening up to you about James Buchanan Barnes, and the reminiscing had made him so happy, you encouraged Steve to tell you everything about this Bucky. After that, the trouble was getting Rogers to stop telling his Bucky stories. If he wasn't sharing tales about growing up with his best friend during the Great Depression and all the absolute mischief they got into, he was sharing war stories of their time together with the Howling Commandos. He'd even shared his grief with you– how painful it had been to watch Barnes fall from that train and the guilt he carried for not being able to save him. He’d confessed to you once that, when he went into the ice, fully prepared to die, there was a part of him that was relieved to be reunited with Barnes in the next life, and waking up some 70 years later to a world where he was still alive but Bucky was still gone had broken his heart all over again. And yet, here they were– together in the next life, after all. If you were a different kind of person, you’d say it was a goddamn miracle.

Because of the way Rogers described his best friend in those old stories, you were expecting Bucky Barnes to come swaggering along next to him, with a cocksure tilt to his head and a panty-dropping smirk playing along his lips, but the man who accompanied Steve was the furthest thing from that.

He shuffled behind Rogers slowly, looking at the floor and avoiding making eye contact with anyone else from the team. His hair hung long and limp, curtaining off his face as though it were a protective barrier. Though, if it was keeping him away from everyone else, or everyone else away from him, you couldn't be sure. He was much thinner than you'd anticipated, especially for a super soldier– though still extremely muscular, giving you the impression that it had been a long time since he'd let himself indulge in anything more than the bare minimum amount of calories he needed for survival. Tilting your head, you tried to steal a glance at his infamous metal arm, the thing of legends that had turned him from a run-of-the-mill assassin into the stuff of waking nightmares.

But the sleeve of his jacket hung limp, only empty space where the appendage should have been.

Curious. He'd come to Tony Stark's home unarmed. Your hand flew to your mouth to try and stop the uncontrollable snicker that broke loose at your own stupid joke. Tony elbowed you gently in the ribs to shut you up, and you hoped you were too far away and the others too distracted by Steve's introductions to notice you, but that thought flew right out the window when Bucky Barnes' head snapped up at the sound, his eyes locking onto yours from across the room.

"Holy shit," you breathed, knowing another dollar would go into Tony's digital swear jar, but damn if the man didn't have the most striking blue eyes you had ever seen. There were dark circles under them, and he looked incredibly tired, yeah, but they were beautiful. You didn't mean to stare, but you found you couldn't look away, either, and so the two of you were locked into some sort of impromptu staring contest. The longer you looked at him, the more you could sense an overwhelming sadness coming from him, as well as a level of wariness at being in a room full of strangers. It was almost overwhelming.

But then, just as suddenly as it began, the spell was broken. Blinking once, Bucky looked away and you felt the tension vanish from between you.

"What was that about?" Tony asked you in a low singsong voice.

"I have no idea," you answered, honestly. There had been so much pain and loneliness in his eyes. You'd seen eyes like that before, when you were younger and looked at your own reflection in the mirror following a scalding shower with your skin scrubbed raw and bloody. You suppressed a shiver.

Finally, Steve managed to disengage himself and Bucky from the other Avengers and began making his way toward you and Tony. Up close, you were struck by how tall Bucky was. He had to be at least a foot taller than you, if not more. And God, he was handsome. Granted, in a kind of heroin-chic sort of way, but still. A couple of good nights' sleep, a few good meals, some light personal grooming, and... well, there was a very good chance you were going to be in trouble once he got his shit together, that was for sure.

"And Buck," Steve was saying, drawing you out of your ogling, "This is our resident computer genius, Pocket (Y/L/N). You ever need help with anything technology-related, she's your girl."

"A bit of an over-simplified version, Rogers," you said, sticking your hand out to shake Bucky’s, "but yeah, that about covers it."

Bucky looked at you, then down at your hand, making no move to take it.

"What the hell kind of name is Pocket?" he asked, voice rough as though he hadn’t been using it a lot. Pulling your hand back, you shot him an annoyed glare.

"I don't know," you oozed back sarcastically. "What the hell kind of name is Bucky?"

"It's his nickname, Pocket," Steve supplied helpfully, though not without a trace of confusion. You gave him an annoyed, pointed look.

"No shit, Rogers." You turned back to Bucky and spoke slowly, as if to a child. "So, what do you think Pocket is, then?"

"Oh," said Bucky, catching on. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. "Gotcha; m'sorry about that. My manners are rusty from a severe lack of use."

You didn't mean it, but your mouth curved up into a hint of a smile, too. And then, almost as if you couldn't stop yourself from doing it, you found yourself saying "I see you've arrived unarmed."

There was a long, heavy beat of silence as Steve and Tony stared at you, mouths slightly agape, and you wondered if you'd made a critical error. You were just about to punch yourself in the face and claim you had a concussion and therefore couldn't be held responsible for what you said when Bucky burst into laughter.

It was the most beautiful sound you'd ever heard, and it was contagious. Through your own laughter, you risked a glance up at Steve. He was looking back and forth between you and Bucky, an indiscernible look in his eyes, and you couldn't help but wonder how long it had been since he'd heard his best friend laugh. Hell, you wondered how long it had been since Bucky Barnes had laughed at all.

"Pocket," Tony groaned, palming his face, "that was truly terrible, even for you."

"I'm sorry," you said, trying to catch your breath through your burst of giggles. "It just slipped out-- I couldn’t help it. You know once these things come into my head, they just bounce around in there until they fall out. I didn't mean it."

Steve smiled at you. "So that's what you were snickering at," he said, amused. Damn that enhanced super soldier hearing. Rogers didn't need to be so nosy with it.

You shrugged. "What can I say? Bad jokes are my superpower. Don't be jealous that all you got was super strength and a six pack, Rogers."

Bucky laughed again, then nudged Steve playfully with his elbow. "I like this one, Stevie," he said. "She's funny."

You weren't sure why, exactly, but something in Bucky's words turned your insides into a warm puddle of goo.

Oh, you were going to be in trouble, indeed.

Next Part ->

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