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astxrwar · 3 months

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drops of blood [2/4]

SYNOPSIS: Bucky Barnes has some wires crossed. He fixates on a barista at a coffee shop near his apartment, and tells himself it's fine as long as he keeps his distance. Except you keep making that distance smaller.

Rating: M

Word Count: 9k

CONTENT WARNINGS: Canon-typical violence. We have officially dipped our toes into the angsty guilt-ridden stalking territory, and also into the beginnings of the 'yknow what I'm fine with that' realizations. consensual-but-not-safe-or-sane vibes all the way down. fruit metaphors abound. I am single-handedly forging the grayfic genre, please clap. For easter eggs you can check my AO3 chapter notes; for additional content check my tag "fic; drops of blood". Thanks for reading!

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Barnes is waiting outside of the building when you lock up, and it startles you; it’s dim, and the lights in the store are off, and he’s standing so still that you nearly don’t see him.

What you should probably say; why are you still here? Why was there blood on the ground outside? What happened to those men? What did you do?

What you say instead–

“You waited for me?”

He blinks. His eyes are the brightest thing about him right now, the blue of them a violent shock of color with his face in shadow. There’s no moon tonight, just the faint pinpricks of stars, like holes in some great stretch of fabric pulled over the sky, made perpetually gray from the light of the city. It never gets truly dark, here. You wonder if it’s always been like that, if it was like that for him, back then.

“Yeah,” he says. “I, ah, I didn’t want to leave you here alone, in case–” he makes some vague gesture, the movement jerky and halting.

You get about a third of the way through another thank you before he grimaces and looks away and cuts you off, says, again, “Don’t.” Like there’s nothing to thank him for. Like you should maybe even be doing the opposite of that.

You scuff your shoe against the sidewalk. It’s late, the street eerily quiet; the thing with those guys had kind of set you on edge, and something twisty and hypervigilant and uncomfortable churns in your stomach at the thought of walking home alone.

(You wonder if maybe that’s not what you should be wary of.)

“What part of Brooklyn are you in, now?” you ask, not looking at him. Looking at the ground. You’d swept out here earlier, and there are already new cigarette butts, discarded, stuck between the edge of the sidewalk and the street. Never-ending. Worse, now that half the world’s population came back.

“Uh— near the bridge,” he says, haltingly, “I should probably—“

“My apartment’s that way,” you blurt out, not entirely sure if you’d meant to say it. It is; an old pre-war building on Jay street, a straight shot down. “Do you want to—we could walk together, maybe?”

“You—“ his voice is hoarse, and it cracks, and he stops and clears his throat and starts again, “You want me to walk you home?”

You look up, at his face, what you can see in the washed-out perpetual twilight of the city. There’s that flicker of emotion, a burst of red, overripened and bittersweet and something that seems like it might be distraught, but it’s gone so fast you can’t hold it still long enough to figure out what it is or why it’s there or if it even had been, in the first place.

“I mean— unless you were going to catch the train, I thought– we’re going the same direction anyways, right?“ Your voice wavers, uncertain, “Sorry, I didn’t— we don’t have to, if that would be weird—“

“No, it’s— it’s okay,” Barnes says, choppy and strangled and so quiet that you’re not sure he’d even spoken at all, not until your eyes are open again and you can actually see his mouth move, “Don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong, I–“ He shrugs, helpless, and then shuts his eyes for a second; his brow furrows, pinching together a little, curving up, this kind of plaintive look that flattens back out as quickly as it came. A raindrop ripple across a still body of water.

He opens his eyes. His expression is controlled and inscrutable again.

“Yeah,” he says, hoarse, “Yeah, I can– I’ll walk with you.”

The walk is silent; Barnes says nothing, the whole time, barely even looks at you. He keeps to the side closest to the street, and he never veers closer, that gap so constant that it coalesces like physical barrier, like if you were to try to move into the middle of the sidewalk you might hit some invisible wall of glass. You have to walk a little faster than you normally would to keep pace with him, and you still keep falling a few steps behind; he’s taller than you, and you’d known that, but most of your interactions have been either sitting down or separated by a few feet worth of counter space, so it’s different, this time. Your awareness of it.

The stiff, impenetrable silence– it feels like how it did those first couple times, before the pomegranate, when you’d try to talk to him and get brooding one-word answers and an impassive stare and nothing else, and it’s weird enough that you wonder if maybe you’ve made a mistake. Messed up, somehow.

“You’re still gonna come Friday, right?”

Barnes is ahead of you, and you can see the line of his shoulders stiffen under his jacket. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Yeah,” he mumbles, after a while, his tone stilted and flat, “Contractually obligated, right?”

“Oh, that– I was joking, I mean, I don’t– if you don’t want to–”

“No,” he says, before you can finish, “No, I– I do.”

“Oh– okay,” you say, pleased, and not thinking too much about why. “Good.”

He makes some choked off noise that sounds like a laugh, or maybe just a caricature of one. “Good,” he repeats.

You try to catch up, but it’s like he won’t let you. Which– okay, fine. Guy likes his personal space, you suppose that’s not so surprising, so you settle to just walk a few steps behind him, the angle rendering his expression just out of sight. “Yeah,” you tell him, “I spent like, five dollars on this thing, so if you don’t come it’s totally just a waste.”

Barnes glances back at you, something like alarm flashing across his face, “Five dollars?” he asks, incredulous, and then a frown tugs at his mouth and he shakes his head and turns from you again. “Sorry, it’s– inflation, I’m still not used to it, I guess. That’s– it used to be a lot of money.”

“It’s kind of still a lot of money for one fruit.”

He glances back at you again and there’s something soft in his expression, but he’s looked away before you can decide whether it’s just a trick of the light, the slow flash of the glow from streetlamps passing over his face as you walk underneath them.

You lapse into silence again.

Soon, your apartment building is ahead, the light from the lobby through the plain glass door carving knife-sharp across the sidewalk, splitting the crumbling cement into pieces. “Mine’s up there,” you tell him, only a block away.

Barnes stops dead in his tracks.

It takes you a second from when you realize to when you stop yourself, and in that time you end up in front of him, looking back. His expression is the same as ever, flat and impenetrable, but there’s something in his eyes. Wavering.

“Okay,” he says, and then he swallows, and he clears his throat, and he says it again. “Okay.” His hands are still in his pockets, the leather stretched over them, pushed out like he’s got them tightened into fists.

“I– I’m down this way,” he says, after a moment of strangely charged silence; he tips his head towards the side street, one that heads towards Brooklyn Bridge; it’s a grid system, though, so it’s not like he couldn’t just take the next one after your apartment block.

Whatever, though. Whatever. He’s always been kind of strange, so you think nothing of it. He doesn’t want to actually walk you to your door, whatever. That’s– fine.

“Yeah, alright,” you tell him. “I’ll see you Friday, then, and– thanks for–”

“Don’t,” he says, before you can even finish. “Please don’t.”

You blink at him. In your jacket pocket, you fumble for your keys, but you don’t move. “Okay,” you reply, hesitating, “Okay, well. Goodnight. Get home safe.”

Barnes looks at you like you’d just said something absurd. Because you had. Kind of. You think about the knife you know he keeps in his boot and the blood in the alleyway and what you’d read of what happened to him– what he’s done, what he was made to do– on some internet blog at like three in the morning. He doesn’t need people to tell him to get home safe.

“Dunno, force of habit,” you say with a shrug. “Take care, though.”

He laughs. It’s sharp and brief and hoarse and exactly like every other time. Disbelieving, unintentional, like he’d meant to keep it controlled, but hadn’t quite been able to. “Yeah, you– you too.”

You’re not afraid of James Buchanan Barnes.

Sometimes you wonder if maybe you should be.

It’s called pitaya, technically, but every store you’ve ever seen carry them just has them labeled as dragonfruit. It’s fitting; the way the little leaves encasing it overlap, bright, vibrant pink that tapers to green at the ends, all facing the same direction, laid over one another like scales. It grows on cacti down in South America; Mexico, Guatemala, Costa Rica, El Salvador. The grocery store only ever has it in stock sometimes, and you can’t find any mention of it being available in the 40s when you google it, though you’re not sure how much that actually counts for anything.

“I have to wipe down the tables still, but you—“ you dump it out in front of him, having to shake the bag to jerk it free of where one of the little spines had torn through it and gotten caught in the flimsy plastic, “—cut this up, with your definitely illegal knife that I’m sure you still have.”

Barnes blinks at it. “What the fuck is that?”

You’re already one table down, scrubbing at a stubborn ring left over from somebody’s leaking coffee cup, but you still glance back when he says it, grinning, triumphant. Absently, you’re glad that he seems back to normal, now, whatever’d been bothering him last time apparently resolved. “Dragonfruit. Cactus fruit, from South America.”

You see him in your periphery as you shift down to the next table, leaning to draw the knife from his boot; a part of you wonders if it’s the same one. If he’d kept it. There’s a muttered what the hell and then the quiet thunk of the blade, long and flat and military-grade sharp, cutting clean through the skin, the flesh, the bone of the laminate surface underneath. The sound comes twice, as he carves off both ends; one after another, like a heartbeat. Then once more, when he splits it in two.

You think about the pomegranate.

(You think about the blood.)

“This is— weird,” he says, out of your line of sight, now, as you wipe jelly donut filling off of the corner of the last table. “How do I— what am I supposed to do with this?”

“People just eat it from the skin, with a spoon. Like a kiwi,” you tell him over your shoulder, “I should’ve brought some from home, but I forgot— we have plastic spoons, in the back, but I don’t know how well that’d—“

“Hold on,” Barnes cuts you off. “Hold on, wait a minute. Like a– what?”

“Oh, my god,” You straighten and turn back and fix him with a flat, disbelieving stare, “You– do you not know what a kiwi is?”

He shrugs, nonplussed.

“Next time,” you say, moving back to take the seat across from him, “That’ll be what I bring— don’t google it.”

“Okay,” he says, hands held up. Mock-defeat. “I won’t.”

He has more stubble today than any other time you’ve ever seen him. Bags under his eyes, too, like he hasn’t been sleeping well. You want to ask, but you’re afraid you might upset him, so you don’t. On the table between you, the dragonfruit is halved, ends cut off, the bright pink skin and the white insides and the black seeds, the colors all so uniform and flawless that it almost looks drawn. Imaginary. Like something from a dream.

“I can just cut the outside off,” Barnes is saying, “The white stuff, that’s the edible part, right?”

You make some vague noise in affirmative. He folds the halves together on a spread-out napkin, upright on one blunt end, holds the pieces still with one hand and the knife with the other. You watch, silent, as he carves the skin out from the flesh in clean, deft slices, the scales dropping to the table, curved stretches of pink like rose petals. Like the curve of a mouth. The blade moves with a quick and hypnotically familiar ease, even with how close it is to his fingers, the tips of them where he holds the fruit steady from the top. He never hesitates, or flinches. Not even once.

Barnes lays the pieces out and splits them lengthwise, into eight slices, and then wipes the flat of his knife on his jeans and slides it back to the sheath.

“There,” he says, when he’s done.

You only realize then, like being brought out of trance; you’d been staring.

More than that. You hadn’t even blinked.

The dragonfruit is soft and white and bland-tasting. Pure. When the pieces are gone, the napkin is wet, but the juice is clear, like water. Nothing to stain. Nothing on your fingers.

No blood.

Kiwis, as it turns out, used to be called “Chinese gooseberries”. They were native to China, as the name would suggest, but the fruit was grown commercially in New Zealand in the early 1900s, and became popular with American and British soldiers stationed there during World War 2. It wasn’t until after– sometime in the 50s– that they were called kiwifruits, after the bird, and it was little more than a stroke of marketing luck that the name ended up sticking. Fast-forward to the 60s, and the first exports started arriving in the US; fast-forward to 2024, and you can buy like, twelve of them in one of those little snap-closed plastic bins from the grocery store for just six dollars.

That’s what you bring to work, the next week. Or– it’s what you plan to bring, Friday.

He’s there Wednesday, again.

You’re not closing, this time, only pre-closing, which is a totally arbitrary term for the person who leaves at 9:30 instead of sticking around to lock up at 11; you hadn’t seen him come in this time, only notice him as you’re leaving, in the corner of the room, out of the corner of your eye–

You had the door open, and you stand there for a moment, frozen, indecisive, unable to see without turning to look if he’s staring at you, but still sure of it, somehow. Like you just know.

You let the door fall closed.

“Hey,” you say, stopping in front of his table. He has a cup of coffee; your coworker must have made it for him, when you were doing the dishes.

(You wonder if he knew you were working tonight.)

“Hi,” he says. He looks uncomfortable. He always looks uncomfortable, but it’s– worse, now. “Leaving?”

You’d taken off your apron, your uniform sweater, too, had them folded up in your hands, shrugged on an actual non-coffee-shop-related hoodie and your winter coat over it, and you’d been halfway out the door when you’d seen him, so it’s not really a question. “I– yeah, I’m off at 9:30, so.”

He stares. It’s something about how he does it, you think, something about how focused and unrelenting his gaze is, how his eyes never move or waver, just stay there, trained on yours, perfectly still. A shiver, a tiny one— it works down your spine before you can quell it. You blame it on the cold.

Barnes still hasn’t looked away.

“Are you here in case those guys came back?” you blurt out, and then wince, not entirely sure you meant to ask.

He blinks, finally. Drums his fingers against the table. You think you might be able to tell, now, which hand is which; the metal one is louder. More solid. “They’re not going to bother you again,” he says. Like he knows that for sure.

You stand there for what feels like a long time, not saying anything, not sure of what to say; a part of you, your gut, maybe, is saying he’s here for you, and then another part that’s probably your actual brain is saying that that’s really presumptuous and verging on self-absorbed. He could just prefer sitting in a coffee shop to sitting at home, and maybe even prefers it enough to say no if you ask him to walk with you again.

You do it anyways.

“Are you— heading out, soon? We could walk together. If you are. If— if you want.”

His eyes go wide for a second, wide and glossy and wavering, and it gentles his whole face— transforms his perpetually neutral expression and eases the tension out of the sharp planes of his features and makes him look suddenly so much younger than you know him to be; young and soft and boyish. Not like those photos you’d seen of him, though, the ones they’d had in your history textbooks and in the movie posters for the revamped docudramas everyone made when they found Captain America; you remember those, and you remember how he’d looked in them, confident, self-assured, a little bit cocky. It’s different, how he seems right now. Nervous. Vulnerable. Kind of— wild.

Just like all the other times, it’s only a second, and then he’s calm, expression controlled, reaching for his coffee cup with one gloved hand.

“Yeah, I—“ his voice is hoarse and he has to clear his throat to get it to even out again. “You want me to?”

“If you’re done,” you gesture at his coffee cup, as much as you’re capable of doing so with the bundle of your folded-up apron and uniform sweater tucked over both hands, “Then, yeah, I mean, I just thought— y’know, since we’re both on the same side of DUMBO.“

He’d already been standing as you spoke, the chair scraping against the tiled floor as he pushes it back in, and you purposely push down the beginnings of some small reflexive smile at it, how it seems like he wants to. When you say DUMBO, he gets the same look that he did when you’d said kiwi— flat and blank and disbelieving—and your repressed smile becomes a full-blown one, teeth-showing and wide, asking before he can even speak, “You don’t know what that is, do you?.”

“No idea,” Barnes says, with something pleasantly close to a wry smile, “Figure you’re not talking about the Disney movie?”

You’re sure your answering grin is fucking goofy as hell, but you can’t be bothered to care. “You’ve seen Dumbo?”

Barnes grabs his coffee cup and rounds the table and gets to the door a half-second before you do; “I saw it in theaters— came out in 1941. Year before I deployed,” he says, once it’s just the two of you in the vestibule. He pushes on the second door, and when he holds it open for you, it occurs to you that he’d beat you to it on purpose, wanted to do this. Whatever weird and nervous kind of warmth you feel at that realization, you determinedly shove somewhere into the recesses of your subconscious, where you won’t have to think about it.

“I think they remade it, a few years ago,” you tell him, pulling one hand free of the bundle of your work clothes to flip the hood of your coat up over your head; it’s gotten cold again, and it’s snowing tonight, just a little, the flakes glittering in the beams of the streetlights. “In 3D, so, like, it’s supposed to be realistic-looking, or something.”

His expression briefly wrinkles in distaste, and something remarkably close to a giggle escapes from you before you can contain it.

“Anyway,” you say, working your winter gloves free from your coat pocket and pulling them on one after another, taking care not to drop your apron or sweater on the wet, dirt-streaked sidewalk, “Anyway, no, not the Disney movie—it’s just what everybody calls that part of Brooklyn.” You go to zip up your coat with the bundle of your work clothes tucked under one arm. “DUMBO stands for Down Under Manhattan Bridge Overpass, it’s just a nickname. Like how there’s SoHo and NoHo and Bed Stuy.”

Your nametag dislodges from the apron, jostled by your moving, and skitters out across the asphalt; Barnes bends to grab it for you before you can so much as move and fixes you with this look as he presses it into your outstretched hand; don’t say it.

You don’t thank him. He looks strangely relieved.

“It was just part of Vinegar Hill, when I lived here before,” he says, as you affix it back to your apron. “DUMBO. Christ, that’s stupid. I’m not calling it that.”

“Really sounding your age, today,” you tell him, grinning wide, again; his expression brightens even more at the jab, and you find yourself hoping that he’ll stay like this, for the walk, that it won’t end up like last time, with him shut down and closed off from you again. Well— more closed off than usual, because you think he’s probably always a little closed off from you. From everyone, probably. Maybe even from himself.

It’s cold, you realize belatedly, too cold, and even with your coat zipped and your hood up and your gloved hands shoved in your pockets, you’re starting to shiver.

“C’mon,” you tell him, forcing your limbs out stiff and jumping up and down, trying to generate any amount of body heat, “I can’t stand still, I have to get blood moving or I’m gonna freeze to death.”

He’s still got his coffee, and he finishes it as you watch, then crumples the empty paper cup in his gloved hand and tosses it into the trash by the door.

When he moves to follow you he’s a little bit closer than last time. There’s still this barrier between you, like a dividing line splitting the sidewalk clean in two, and he’s still sticking firmly to the side nearest the street, but the distance—it’s shrunk. You don’t talk much, and he still stops short of the actual block your apartment is on, but you don’t mind.

(He’d been closer, this time, too. Just a little.)

You can’t sleep.

Something inside of you is thrumming and alive, like a second heartbeat; even in the dark of your room, blanket pulled up to your chest and your eyes shut, you can still feel it, a restless energy that quickens your pulse and the pace of your thoughts and keeps pulling you back from the edge each time you get close to drifting off.

It comes up in a stupid fucking video compilation you end up watching on Youtube titled Top Ten CRAZIEST Road Rage Incidents of ALL TIME!! which autoplays because you’d watched or at least zoned out for the entirety of Top Ten CRAZIEST ‘Florida Man’ Arrest Reports OF ALL TIME!!, neither of which, you’re pretty sure, are helping you fall asleep, but they’re at least alleviating your boredom.

You stare mindlessly at the screen for incidents ten through two, and then for the last stretch of the video you watch grainy, low-quality dashcam footage of the Winter Soldier landing on the rooftop of a car on the freeway. He breaks through the window of a black 2000s sedan like the heat-tempered reinforced safety glass is as thin and as fragile as a translucent sheen of ice across a pool of water. The video blurs out when the man inside the car is dragged through the jagged hole, but you know what happens, even with the shapes just foggy splotches of color. He throws him across the concrete barrier and into oncoming traffic and the video cuts to black.

Whatever the narrator is saying about it— you’re not listening.

You don’t know why you’d never thought to do it before, to go looking for what’s out there about that other side of him, the part you didn’t learn about in history books or documentaries on streaming platforms.

In 2014, Captain America fought the Winter Soldier on route 695 in Washington, DC; the highway cuts right through the neighborhood, a main artery shuttling commuters in and out, lifted some hundreds of feet in the air on these massive pillars of concrete. At two in the morning in your pitch-black bedroom you find a video of it on youtube; the creator had released it in 2015, nearly a year after. He’d had to track down all the pieces, he says in the introduction, his home-studio mic setup crackling over your phone speaker; bits of what’d cropped up online in the aftermath and what he’d gotten of private video recordings and security footage. The resulting tangle of evidence had been fact-checked and verified and pieced together, spliced into one cohesive event, and you watch the whole thing with this kind of sick fascination.

The beginning is replay; the dashcam footage, the driver whispering, oh, what the fuck, the tires squealing against asphalt, the crunch of glass, a scream cut short. The other video had faded out after that, but in this one it just cuts to another angle; a dashcam from oncoming traffic, congesting around the body thrown over the barrier. You can see him, Barnes— just a glimpse as the sedan passes in the opposite lane, the long, dark hair, his arm, the muzzle. He’s staring down, anchored to the car rooftop with the fingers of his metal hand. The stitched-together snippets don’t show everything, there are pieces missing, but you watch as he’s sent tumbling over the concrete, the split second of him slowing to a stop, the pixelated shadows of the rivets he’d dug into the asphalt with just his fingers.

The video cuts down to Fourth Street southwest, under the overpass; Barnes had shot Captain America with a grenade launcher, or something, sent him crashing through the steel frames of two city buses like they’re made of paper mache. The fight between the two of them in the street is half grainy security footage, half the shaky phone camera of some bystander either too scared or too stupid to run. It’s the brutality of it, you think, that’s what gets to you, makes your heart feel like it’s stopped and your throat constrict until your breathing gets caught; or maybe it’s the speed, all of it happening so fast that it feels like by the time your brain has comprehended anything he’s done there’s already something else. Maybe it’s the knife, how he handles it, how similar it looks to the one you know he still carries. Maybe it’s the strength of him, how his fists dent cars and leave craters in the street.

Maybe it’s none of that.

You watch the video through until the end, and then you shut your phone off and you stare at the black, empty screen, unseeing, your mind running endlessly, frenzied and wild and beyond your conscious awareness, whatever thoughts you have occurring somewhere you can’t reach them.

It takes you a really fucking long time to fall asleep.

When you finally do, you dream of the coffee shop, the long, gently sloping stretch of pavement leading down to the bridge district. There’s nobody around, no lights on in any buildings, no people, no cars; the perpetual city twilight is gone, and there’s darkness pressing in, full and all-encompassing, except for the streetlamps spaced along the sidewalk. In the dream, you walk the length of the street, alone. Below you, there are holes in the concrete, like footprints; they lead all the way down to the block just before your apartment, and then disappear.

~ On Friday you bring the kiwis and two spoons from home and you rush through the checklist of store-closing tasks and you end up having pretty much everything done by 9:30, which means you have an hour and a half to sit with Barnes at that back corner table in between customers and eat Fruit Of The Week and talk about whatever.

“The skin on these things is— weird,” he announces, dragging the edge of the spoon around the emptied husk of a halved kiwi, scraping the last of it clean. He’d cut them up with his knife— you’d kind of hoped that he would, had even left yours at home, maybe on purpose— and he’d done this thing with it when he’d pulled it from his boot that you’ve never seen him do before, the handle moving between his fingers and the blade spinning out in this dizzying and dangerous-looking arc against his flattened palm, the whole thing only a couple of seconds, done so easily it seemed thoughtless. Like it was instinct. You’re still thinking about it. He hadn’t worn his glove, today, not on his right hand, and you’re thinking about that, too.

You clear your throat and force your eyes to focus on— something. Anything. “I— yeah, it’s controversial. Some people love them, other people, not so much.”

Barnes picks another kiwi from the little plastic tin you’d bought them in. “I might just cut the skin off this one,” he says, “Dunno how I feel about the spoon thing.”

You swallow. Your mouth is suddenly dry. You’d made yourself a coffee today, since it’s free while you’re at work- decaf, because it’s late— and you reach for it, fumble with the snap-lid, and take a cautious sip. It’d been too hot when you’d brought it over, but it’s at a comfortable temperature now; where you’re sitting is right next to the windows, and it’s colder here than it is behind the counter, especially with the sun gone, and the drink warms you from the inside. It gives you something else to focus on besides the other, markedly more dangerous warmth, simmering somewhere lower. Barnes has the kiwi held up and he’s peeling it with that same unnervingly rapid precision, even with how much smaller this is than the dragonfruit, the knife moving in this fluid and effortless rhythm a hair’s breadth away from his own hand. He’s so calm like this, as calm as you’ve ever seen him, that perpetual tension he always carries melted out as the blade works around and carves the skin from the flesh. He makes quick work of it, and then there’s a beat of stillness, before he splits it into four neat slices.

“Here,” he says, placing two on a napkin and sliding it across the table. “Half for you.”

“Thanks,” you reply, automatic and without thinking.

He flinches. It’s almost imperceptible, but you’re getting better at it. Noticing these things about him.

Later, after working your way through a line of late-night customers, you come back to his table and you sit down across from him and you ask him to walk with you, again, and it’s like peeling the skin off a fruit or a scab off a wound, what it does to him. Just for a second, a drop of blood welling to the surface before it’s wiped clean again, but you’re looking for it. You wonder if that’s him, the real him, the part he doesn’t let anyone see. You think about splitting him open and what might be inside if you did, if it’d be sweet or soft or something else altogether. Some kinds of fruit are solid in the center, and you remember once reading about how they’re poisonous, the pits of peaches and plums and nectarines— Cyanide.

Barnes stares at you.

You stare back.

“Yeah,” he says, after a while, “Yeah, okay."

Barnes finishes his coffee and tosses the cup in the trash outside as you lock up, your fingers frozen and struggling to maneuver the ring of keys.

“I don’t know how you can drink that at nine at night,” you say, turning from him towards the bridge and towards your apartment, “I’d be awake for hours.”

When you glance over at him, he’s looking at you strangely. “I, ah— I can’t— caffeine doesn’t do anything. To me.”

You blink at him for a second before it clicks. “Oh. Oh! Really?”

Barnes grimaces in affirmative, awkward and obviously uncomfortable. “Yeah, I guess I just— I like the taste. Used to drink a lot of coffee— before.”

He’s not pulling ahead like last time, but that barrier between you is still there, like a dividing line splitting the sidewalk clean in two, and he’s still sticking firmly to the side nearest the street, hands shoved in his jacket pockets— but the distance has shrunk. Just a little.

“Bet you don’t get cold, either,” you say, half a question and half just an observation, the contrast between you, bundled up and still freezing, and him, just in that same jacket and gloves, walking like it’s a comfortable fifty degrees.

He doesn’t smile, but his mouth does the thing it does sometimes, curls at the edges. It doesn’t look happy. “Nah, I run pretty hot.”

Some small stupid part of your brain turns that information over in your head and conjures up other things you know, bits of himself he’s given to you; your mind brings back the image of him before, the glove off, the knife held in a loose, familiar fist, thumb splayed flat along the edge of it, pushing the blade into the flesh. His hands— rough and calloused and frighteningly agile, the tendons working under the thin stretch of skin, the veins spidering up to his knuckles, spinning the knife like someone would spin a pencil, like he knew beyond a doubt, maybe even subconsciously, that he wasn’t going to mess up. His eyes, the way that he stares, so still that it’s eerie and frightening and makes you think maybe you should feel violated by it, his shoulders, broad and straight, the stiffness to his posture, how he walks, the pace and the rhythm and the length of his stride half military and half— something else. The growing list of things you know about Barnes, the person, things you couldn’t learn from documentaries or youtube videos or history textbooks or wikipedia pages. He runs hot, and you know this now, too, that he’s warm beneath the jacket and the thin layer of his shirt and even underneath that, the blood in his veins, his arteries, filling up the chambers of his heart as it beats in his chest.

The information all slots together like puzzle pieces, only you’re not really sure what the puzzle’s supposed to look like, once it’s finished.

Something jolts you out of— whatever your brain is doing, right now.

Your own name. Because he’d said it.

(And now you have that, too; how it sounds, from him.)

“What?” you say, pushing out whatever’s going on in your head and feeling somehow like you didn’t really succeed at that in any meaningful way, maybe only managed to bury it. But it’s gone, for now, and your mind is clear, and Barnes is staring at you. “Sorry, I was— spacing out.”

His mouth is pressed into a thin, flat line when you glance over at him, his face lit up in the yellow of a passing streetlight. He’s slowed down, a little, shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, his shoulders tight and bunched up. “I was just— I need to talk to you. About— something.”

“Yeah, go for it. What’s up?”

He’s not looking at you, he’s looking at the ground, eyes set and hard and jaw clenched tight enough that you can see the muscle twitch under the next flicker of streetlight, and it’s almost— weirder than the staring.

“I see a therapist,” Barnes says finally. “One a week. Fridays.”

“Okay,” you reply, uncertain, “That’s— good, probably, I mean. You’ve been through a lot.”

“I told her that— I told her you recognized me.”

He grimaces and glances away from you, out towards the street.

“Sergeant Barnes.” You say it mostly to yourself, wry and a little self-deprecating. “Yeah, I watched, like, a lot of Captain America documentaries when I was a kid.”

Barnes screws his eyes shut for a second, a heartbeat. His eyelashes are dark and long and almost brush the sharp straight plane of his cheeks. Another thing you know, a piece of him you couldn’t have gotten from the pages of a book. “That’s not what she thought I meant, at— at first.”

You prod at the inside of your cheek with the tip of your tongue. There’s nothing you want to say to that, really. You’d read the news articles, his updated wikipedia page, what parts of the court proceedings haven’t been redacted, whole paragraphs erased under thick bars of black; you could guess what she thought. She’d thought you’d looked at him and seen the Winter Soldier, recognized him for the ghost of that past, not the other one. Maybe that’s just luck; you’d stopped caring about all that superhero stuff before they’d found him, and none of that had ever really sunk in. You’d seen pictures, the hair, the arm, the expression that made you think of shell-shock, the eyes that were flat and cold and empty. How pale he’d been, like he hadn’t seen the sun in a long time. It just— it hadn’t stuck, or overridden the things you’d known, before. It wasn’t the first thing you’d thought about, the day he’d come in.

It’s not what you’re thinking of now. You really don’t think of either of them, now. He’s— something different. Something new.

“I— told her, eventually,” Barnes says. Your apartment is the next block away. Your nose is numb, the tip starting to sting, chapped and frostbitten. “She said— I should tell you that I’m— that’s not who I am, anymore.”

You’re crossing the street and he’s following you still, even though every other time he’d have veered off by now, and maybe it’s selfish of you that you don’t want to tell him. “Technically you don’t lose military rank when you retire,” you say, staring down at the pavement. That’s not what he’d meant. You know that.

There is a beat of silence. Your breath when you exhale forms a cloud of condensation in the cold, rising up like ghosts into the sky.

“No, I’m saying he’s dead,” he bites out, harsh and rough and like he’d had to force himself to say it. “And whatever I am now— it’s not— I’m not him.”

It stuns you so completely that you stop walking.

Barnes stills a few steps ahead. When he turns, the heel of his boot scrapes on the asphalt, the sound echoing in the empty street. His eyes are bright and vivid and filled with something you can’t identify.

Not empty, though. Not cold.

“I don’t think it really works like that,” you say carefully. Your apartment building is right there, the door just up ahead, the light of the lobby spilling out through the glass and onto the road, a glowing block of amber in the dark. “You don’t— the people we were before, they don’t die. We change, obviously, but it’s— we grow around it, right? It’s still a part of us.”

His brow furrows just slightly, and then goes smooth a second later, like he’d caught it. Buried it. “Okay,” he says, “Maybe, maybe you’re right, but what I’m trying to tell you is that it’s still— I’m still— part of me is—“

The knife. The pomegranate. The stare, the stiff, stilted veneer, the cracks in it, the blood. Sergeant James Barnes. The Winter Soldier.

“It’s alright,” you say. He’s staring at the ground, the spiderwebbed cracks in the concrete, rippling out through the sidewalk like veins under skin. “You don’t have to say it. I know— I know what you mean.”

Barnes looks up at you, and when you look back something trembles in his eyes and twists in his expression and for a second you can see him, underneath everything. Frightened and guilty and grateful, all at once.

You wonder why he’s afraid.

(You wonder why you’re not.)

“This is my building,” you say, after a while, jerking your chin to it behind him, rows of windows, most of them darkened, a scattered few still bright; on the third floor, all the way on the right, there’s the one that looks in on your living room, lit up a soft, pale yellow, the glow of a lamp you always forget to shut off diffusing out through the slats in your shuttered blinds. “Oh— damn it,” you mumble, mostly to yourself, again. Bad habit, the thinking aloud. “I left the light on again.”

Somewhere to your left in the haze of your periphery you notice Barnes has frozen in place, so completely that even when you look over at him you can’t tell if he’s breathing at all, the whole of his body stuck still and static like he’s been paralyzed. It feels wrong, somehow, sets off those alarm bells in some base and instinctive and evolutionarily conserved part of your hindbrain, the way people sometimes talk about uncanny valley syndrome, things that look human but not, in some essential and viscerally terrifying way. You don’t think normal people would even be capable of this, of being as motionless as he is right now. Like a shadow. Like a corpse.

He blinks and tears his eyes away from where he’d been staring at the far corner of your apartment complex and the spell is broken, he’s alive again, something like panic flashing across his face in the split second before he reconstructs that facade of flat invulnerability. You find yourself taking a step towards him without meaning to, and he flinches back from even that, like it’s— a threat.

Or— no, like he’s done something wrong.

“I, ah— I have to go,” Barnes says, stumbling over the words, a pressure to his speaking that you’ve never heard before.

It’s so abrupt that it takes a second for it to register and for your brain to fully comprehend what’d happened, that he’s leaving and that you must’ve done or said something, something bad, and when you go to speak your throat has constricted and gone tight and your voice comes out so quiet that if it’d been anyone else, you’re sure it would have gone unnoticed.

“Wait,” you call after him, and he hears it, because he’s not anyone else and his senses are somewhere outside of what’s human.

Barnes stops at the edge of the sidewalk, near the street, and he turns back to you, his hands shoved in his pockets and the line of his shoulders tense and raised and this kind of stiffness to his body that you’ve never seen. Like an animal with its hackles raised, a distant part of your brain suggests.

“Will you—,” you swallow, feeling suddenly nervous under the unwavering pressure of his stare, “You’re going to come next Friday, right?”

You say it outright, this time, no bullshit or plausible deniability, some clammy knot of worry tangling itself up in the pit of your stomach at the thought that he might not, that you’d done some miniscule unknowable thing to upset him and drive him away.

“I shouldn’t,” he says, his voice low and strained and hoarse; it doesn’t make sense, there’s something about this you haven’t figured out yet, and the thought tears at you somewhere like it has teeth and claws and a mind of its’ own, how badly you want to know what’s missing.

In the tangle of your work clothes clutched to your chest, your fingers have found the knotted strands of your apron, and you’re picking at it with your nails, trying to pry it apart.

(You want to pry him apart.)

“You know— you know I don’t think any differently of you, right?” you tell him, aware of how you must sound, nervous and uncertain, but— not because of him, not like that.You don’t want to hurt him. You don’t want to mess this up. “I— I didn’t know you, before. I’ve only ever known you how you are now, this you, and— I like you. We’re friends. We still are. Nothing— nothing’s changed.”

He doesn’t reply. Just stares. Whatever’s going on in his head is hidden from you. You think about how he looks at you, like he wants to get inside and open you up and pull all the pieces out.

(You think you must look at him the same way.)

“Please?” you say. In your hands, hidden under your uniform sweater, you’ve finally managed to work the edge of your thumbnail up under the tight bend of the knot in your apron, the strips of linen beginning to unravel. “I still want you to come.”

Finally, his expression slackens. You’re not sure what it is, the way the tension unwinds from him like a thread pulled to snap; relief or defeat or something else entirely.

“Okay,” Barnes says. “Yeah, okay. I– I will.”

He looks strangely powerless. Whatever crack in his exterior has split to allow this to surface— it doesn’t close, not like the others, not for a while. When it does it’s much slower, more difficult, like the stitching of a wound. Like skin knitting itself back together, painstaking and gradual and imperfect. The kind of thing that leaves a scar.

“Goodnight,” you tell him, turning to the lobby door, hand on the bar to pull it open. “Get some rest, all right? You— you look like you haven’t been sleeping well, lately, and I just— I worry about you, sometimes.”

Something softens in him, and he nods, his eyes flicking down, away from you.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll– I’ll try.”

The week drags.

Barnes isn’t there Wednesday. You’d been expecting that, but you’d still kind of hoped, and a part of you is still– stupidly, ridiculously, childishly– disappointed, when your shift comes and goes, and his table stays empty.

You spend most of Thursday thinking about Friday.

There’s something buzzing inside of you, when he comes in. Something that falters, disappointed, when the size of the line at the front counter at 7 is too long for you to even speak to him, busy making sandwiches and an outrageous number of frozen hot chocolates for a mom and her four kids when he comes for his coffee. Your coworker makes it for him and there’s a handful of seconds while he’s standing at the pickup counter and you’re on the other side waiting for bagels to toast that you’re able to look up and lock eyes with him for a second.

He seems miles more composed than he had been last week, and you hope that’s a good thing. That he’s doing better. Feeling better. “Busy today, huh?”

You heave an exhausted sigh. “Ridiculously. Nonstop, since I got here, I don’t know if there’s, like, an event, or something, but— it sucks.”

Barnes drums his fingers against the counter. Behind him, the mom is trying to corral her kids, who are making a mess of the condiments counter. One of them is eating sugar packets, spilling it everywhere; his face, his shirt, the floor. A muscle in your jaw twitches.

When you look back at him he’s staring at you, and you wonder if he’d been doing that the whole time, even when you’d looked away. You don’t usually mind, but right now you have syrup on the rolled-up sleeves of your sweater and hot chocolate powder all down the front of your apron and your hair is frizzing out with flyaways at the edges of your uniform hat, some of them sticking to the sheen of sweat starting on your forehead from the heat of all three toaster ovens running at once, and you kind of wish he’d— not. Look at you, that is. Stare. Because you look insane. You feel insane, and that kid is fucking making a mess behind him, and you’re going to get stuck cleaning it up, and—

“If you’re— if it’s a bad time, I can— next week, maybe,” Barnes says.

“No,” you tell him, maybe too quickly, “No, it’ll definitely die down at some point, I mean, if you don’t mind waiting—“

“I don’t,” he replies, stilted and awkward and said before you can even finish speaking. “I don’t, I don’t mind.”

He’s still standing at the pickup counter, not waiting on anything, coffee in hand, and he’s still staring at you, and his eyes are very, very blue, pale and clear and so light they’re almost gray, like the bay of the Hudson on days when it’s overcast, or like once when you were a teenager and it’d gotten so cold that the river had frozen over for the first time in thirty years.

You wonder if he’d ever seen it like that.

You open your mouth to ask and then realize you fucking can’t, there’s other people around, and you’re not trying to out him as being the world’s least-obvious centenarian just because you have a stupid, inane question—

The timer on one of the ovens goes off, followed by the second one, and the third one, the shrill sounds of the alarms overlapping with one another.

“Sorry,” is what you say instead, tearing your eyes away and fumbling for the buttons to shut them off, “I have to—“

“It’s alright,” he says, “I’ll see you when it’s calmed down, right?”

“Yeah,” you reply, distracted again, not sure if it was a question or a statement. “Yeah, ‘course.”

It does calm down, eventually, sometime around 9, which is nuts and totally out of the ordinary. Everything’s a fucking mess; there’s a puddle of coffee and sugar and half-melted ice cubes on the floor and splotches of flavored syrup smeared all on the counter by the espresso machine and you’d missed the fucking garbage can trying to empty one of the brewing baskets and dumped grounds fucking everywhere, and each fuck-up had kind of built on the others without so much as a moment’s break to even think about cleaning. Your coworker helps you get things back to some semblance of organization behind the counter, but after he leaves there’s still the absolute disaster that is the lobby, and—

God, and Barnes had been waiting for you for like, hours.

You rush through the dishes and the stocking up and finish all that shit by 10:30, and you think maybe you’ll be able to get the lobby straightened back out in about twenty minutes, which’d leave all of a deeply unsatisfactory ten minutes to talk to him.

Except—

Except when you look for the broom in the back you can’t find it, and you remember, kind of vaguely, your coworker having tried to get started on all that way back at 6 before you’d gotten slammed, and when you actually go out to try to find it and eyeball the extent of the damage and the degree of the disarray, there isn’t any. The tables are swept off and the chairs are pushed-in and the floor is free of debris and even the counter with the straws and condiments and things where that kid had spilled sugar everywhere is clean except for some dried coffee spills.

The broom and dustpan is leaned carefully against the trash receptacle.

Barnes is still at his spot by the window.

“Did you—“ you make some wordless gesture at the not-destroyed lobby, not even needing to ask, honestly. After the Blip it’d been like all the kindness and empathy people found when half the world’s population was gone had vanished as soon as they’d all reappeared, like both were fundamentally incapable of existing at the same time, and you couldn’t imagine some random stranger had seen two faceless minimum wage nobodies dealing with the cumulative hell that is the entitlement of a bunch of New York strangers and thought, hey, how can I maybe make their lives a little easier?

But of course he would. Fucking— Captain America’s best friend, even way back when Captain America was just some scrawny smart-mouthed five-foot-four asthmatic. The guy who’d stood up for him when he got picked on and protected him when he started fights he couldn’t finish and took him in when his mom passed away from tuberculosis without so much as a second thought. You still know all this, the way you think most people just always kind of know the details of whatever weird fixations they had between the ages of about twelve and fifteen, and you know, more presently, that this guy is not the same guy you know all these details about, but it’s not like people just— stop being who they were, completely, either. It’s not like Sergeant James Barnes and the Barnes that you know are these completely unrelated people, right, it’s not like one of them ceased to exist, he just— got older. Shit happened. He changed.

But— he’s not fucking dead.

Who you are is always made up partly of who you were. Like the way a tree is a tree because it’d been a seed, first. And maybe it’s just really fucking late, right, maybe you’re just really tired, maybe today had just been uniquely fucking exhausting, but your brain just— cannot cope with any of this. The kindness, any amount of it, from anyone, directed at you in any capacity, but also just that it’s from him. The fact that any part of him is like this, still, after everything.

You are not going to cry about his tragic life story and all his obvious and heartbreaking guilt and shit in front of the guy. Jesus Christ. Get a grip.

“The broom was out,” he says, “And— you were busy, and it was a mess out here, so I thought—“

“That was so nice, you’re— you’re so nice to me,” you reply, steady and not tearful but still a lot more plaintively than you intended, “Thank you, really, you didn’t have to—“

“Don’t,” he says, so abrupt that it’s jarring, “Don’t thank me, it’s— it was nothing.”

You blink at him. He shifts in his chair, looking uncomfortable.

You reach for his coffee cup like the last time, but he has a gloved hand around it before you can even get close. His mouth— the corners, they’ve started to curl up, even with the way the line of it is pressed flat and firm and like he’s trying his hardest to keep himself from smiling.

“Not allowed to thank you, not allowed to refill your coffee,” you say, rolling your eyes, good-natured and sounding a lot more flippant. A lot less in danger of being reduced to a crybaby mess because one person had been nice to you all day. “Unfair.”

“Yeah, well,” it inches closer to a smile, like he can’t help it, the upturn of his lips. “Life’s not fair.”

There’s a beat of silence. You should be used to it, by now, the pauses, the quiet, the lulls in conversation; you are, usually, but today it just feels– strange. Makes your stomach twist and your palms itch with some weird and unfamiliar sort of nervous energy. You suddenly have to fight the urge to fidget.

“I’m glad you came back,” you blurt out. “Sorry if– I know it was crazy busy, before, and I was thinking, I mean, if that’s– if it’s too stressful, when it’s like that, you don’t– I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay–”

“No,” he says. “It’s not stressful, seeing you is–” he looks away from you, just for a second, stares at his coffee cup, and the abnormality of that makes something prickle in the pit of your stomach, sparks that jittery feeling up again. “It’s– good. I don’t care if it’s busy.”

Barnes shuts his eyes, then, and his expression screws up, and he runs his hand down the lower half of his face, “Ah, sorry, that was weird.”

“No, it’s not, it’s– that’s literally normal,” you tell him, smiling, “I like seeing you too.”

He looks back at you. There’s that flash of red, again, a burst of color, something breaking through the mask of his composure. Something sweeter, this time, like maybe he’s pleased by that, just for a second, before he shoves it away.

He’s still staring at you. Absently, you scrub the heel of your palm against the smear of powdered sugar you know you still have on your cheek; his eyes flick to it, drawn by the movement, probably, and you have a weird and sudden desire to look at the ground.

“I have— something,” you blurt out, fighting the urge to fidget, “For you. Something for you to try, I mean. It’s in the back, I’m going to— I’ll get it, and I have to do some other little cleaning things, but I’m almost done.”

You think you feel his eyes on you, from the lobby and behind the counter, all the way until you disappear from view into the back room, but you don’t turn to check.

The fruit is on the table, beside an unsealed bag full of bills and change; technically you weren’t supposed to count out the register until close at 11, but you wanted to get out of here as fast as physically possible, after the way your shift had gone. There are a few straggler dishes in the sink, a coffee pot and a latte pitcher and a mixing spoon, and you kind of half-ass them and leave them to dry, snag a few sleeves of hot and iced coffee cups to stock up out front, and a new pump for the caramel syrup.

You glance at your reflection in the stainless-steel side of the ice machine before you head back out onto the floor, and use a wet paper towel to scrub the sugar off the side of your face.

There’s still one pot of coffee left. Fresh; the last one you’d make before close. You hesitate for a second at the swinging gate that divides behind the counter from the lobby, and then you pour him another coffee and you bring that with you, too.

When you set it on the table next to his empty cup, Barnes glances at it and then looks away and ducks his head with this long-suffering sigh, like he’s annoyed, like you’re being a nuisance, but you can still see the way his mouth is angled. How it’s upturned.

“Outsmarted,” you tell him, feeling pretty proud of yourself. “Thank you. You have to accept or I’m kicking you out.”

Barnes looks up at you and there it is again; in his expression, or maybe his eyes, a flash of something, less pleasant than before.

“Yeah, alright,” he says, his voice hoarse.

Your eyes track back and forth across his face for a moment, uncertain, but whatever it was you’d seen, if there’d even been anything at all, it’s clear he hadn’t meant for or wanted you to, so eventually you just decide to pretend it wasn’t there.

“Here,” is what you say instead. “Guava.”

It’s green and vaguely pear-shaped and the insides are pink and soft when he splits it with the knife; you watch him do it, his steady hands, the glove on his left, the blade, deft and sure. It’d been uneven, the fruit, so the pieces are different sizes even with how neatly he’d split it in two.

“You can have the bigger one,” you tell him.

He picks it up and moves to try it and you watch that, too; his hands, his mouth. The flash of his teeth.

The doorbell rings before he can take the first bite.

“Oh, my god,” you say, under your breath, quiet enough that Barnes can hear and the person coming in can’t. “I’ll be right back.”

It’s kind of annoying, the people who feel the need to come in at 10:57 at night when a place closes at 11, but the man only wants a standard coffee, cream and sugar, and he pays with a debit card, so he’s out in under two minutes and you don’t have to recount the drawer.

When you come back to the table the smaller half of the guava is gone.

“Changed my mind,” Barnes says when you raise an eyebrow at him, “You paid for it, so. Only–” he swallows, and his eyes break from yours for a second. Something flashes in them, like ice breaking in the frozen Hudson, the churning water underneath spilling out through the gaps. He looks stricken and ashamed and then fine; frozen over, again, the water gone still and solid. He clears his throat. “Only fair.”

“Okay,” you reply, with an easy shrug.

He watches you eat it. The juice gets on your fingers. You lick them clean.

This time, he doesn’t look away.

“I’ll be out early tonight,” you tell him, after. “If you wanted to wait, we could– walk together. Again. If– if you want.”

He swallows. Your eyes flicker down to it, the column of his throat, the movement. He’d cut himself shaving, or something, because there’s red, just a sliver of it, on the left side of his adam’s apple. Your mouth goes a little bit dry.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I'll walk you home.”

There’s barely any hesitation, this time.

Barnes walks you to your building, or just about.

You glance up at the windows overhead; your light is off. “Awesome,” you mumble to yourself. “Didn’t forget.”

You give him a small smile and an awkward little wave before you turn towards your apartment building. You get as far as into the threshold of the lobby before he calls out to you– calls out for you, uses your name again, only the second time you’ve ever heard him say it aloud, even though you know that he knows what it is. Has known, probably since day one; you have to wear those stupid name tags.

“Yeah?” you say, still in the doorway, the heat escaping all around you.

He’s still standing right where he had been, hands in his pockets, posture stiff and frozen and markedly uncomfortable. You wonder when that’d happened. You wish you’d been paying more attention, but work had been hell, and you’re really fucking tired. “Will you— can you do something for me? Just— make sure you lock your door,” he says, and then, as an afterthought, “Windows, too.”

“I always lock my door,” The smile you shoot back is wry and more than a little cynical. “And I’m on the third floor, so unless Spider-Man has decided he wants to start doing crime instead of stopping it, windows seem like overkill.”

He does not seem to find it funny. You think you see his eyes snap closed, his expression tighten and then relax, again, but you’re too far away to tell. Maybe he’d only blinked.

“Please do it,” he says. “I just want you to be safe.”

You stare at him for a second. Your hands are cold, your face, too. You want to get inside, where it’s warm. You want to go to sleep. “Yeah, okay,” you tell him. “I will.”

You don’t.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #fic; drops of blood

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phantomram-b00 · 1 month

Text

Been wanting to do this for sometime so here are some of my headcanon for Autistic Aziraphale.

Please note that Autism is a spectrum and that everyone’s have a different experience because some of these are hc are based on experiences I have as an autistic person or maybe other might’ve too. So please be mindful, but hope you guys enjoy and feel free to ask any questions. (I love this gif)

Headcanon 1:

Aziraphale isn’t comfortable with crowds or at the very least crowds that might be noisy or isn’t his usually spaces or familiar with (I.e his bookshop, Give me coffee or give me death, etc) so he usually just wouldn’t want to go or if he does try it, he’ll bring his yellow Walkman Crowley got him so he can listen to music since music calm him down.

Headcanon 2:

He’s the type to want to listen to any other songs to not get out the comfort zone so if he does, he would have to listen to them twice or three times in order to decide if he like the song or not. (Idk if this one odd let me explain, it something I do since I don’t like to listen to different songs that isn’t in my comfort zone let alone song that aren’t my usual so if I did listen to it I would have to listen to them fully two or three times to see if I like the lyric, rhyme and beat. Just to make sure it not too loud, repetitive, or fits in my comfort zone for me. But also the lyric the factor since I like interpreting songs, probably why I like The Crane’s wives for example or even Laufey sm.)

Headcanon 3:

Hardcover > Paperback because he likes the feeling of the hardcover then he does with paperbacks. But also he feels the texture is better. Hence why most of the books in his bookshop are hardcovers.

Headcanon 4:

He does have specific food textures he doesn’t typically like. Like bananas, if the bread is too flakey, rice is too hard, some sandwiches or eggs. So he stays away from it and stick to his safe foods like sushi, pears, cakes.

Headcanon 5:

Crowley love it when Aziraphale hyperfixates and talk about his favorite book he reading because it fill him with love to see that Aziraphale find something he loves. It actually took Aziraphale some time since heaven would often interrupts, ignore or blatantly brush him off to cut it out leaving Aziraphale to feel insecure about his special interest. Ofc it also toke meeting mortals like him to get him to open up so when Crowley first heard him hyperfixate it made him happy. Because that how Aziraphale in a sense show trust in him and himself to open up.

Headcanon 6:

Aziraphale likes to stim! I think I kinda dip my toes in it in some post from before but I do believe that he stims. Whether he hums a tone, wiggles or etc. he also started doing this after time passed because again heaven and also some mortal look down on this. But with the comfort of his bookshop, Crowley and also meeting understanding mortal he start to feel more comfortable. Granted he still try to hide it due to masking and to this day still mask but once he with Crowley or in the comfort of his home he stims.

And that really about it for hc today

Me rambling in 3…..2…….1 (tw: ableism)

And that’s pretty much concludes it, I might do this again as it fun. Headcanon is my favorite thing as well as when it comes to autistic headcanon. Autistic rep has been… not the best, granted I haven’t watch much tv shows other than ofmd, good omens, and more so I’m not sure if they got better, I don’t know if I’ll talk about that aspect of negative reps but all say, they have harmful impact as I have a family member that will joke “when will I see numbers” which…sure it a joke but…. I can’t help but feel bad. So doing this and seeing positive rep or seeing autistic/adhd coded characters make me happy!

This is fun in so many ways, mostly because as shown in my past post I relate to aziraphale. Still don’t know how I feel about that but regardless I love his character, his flaws, everything! And I see how he autistic coded in my eyes so it makes me almost relate to him even more. And I’ve been wanting to show my personal headcanon for a while just I thought now would be the best day. Especially as this Good Omens brainrot is alive and well among my other brainrot. I do hope you guys enjoy this let me know if you wanna hear more or if you have your own personal hc that you want to share. And hope you guys are having a good day with how bizarre 2024 is and hope you’re also having fun ghostly pals.

Here a Aziracrow/ineffable husbands/spouse/wives gif:

#autistic aziraphale #good omens #autistic headcanon #aziraphale #aziraphale good omens #good omens aziraphale #I do believe Crowley also autistic or adhd or both #good omens headcanon #good omens rambles #phantomramble #phantom rambles #tw: ableism #good omens is my permanent roommate #good omens fandom

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venus-flame · 1 year

Text

well, out of the blue, someone contacted me from grade school that I haven't seen in over 15 years and was never even friends with, really. he was the funny popular athletic guy, always hanging out with the popular girls. I thought he was just adding me on fb out of curiosity due to having shared childhood experiences, as one is wont to do. whenever this happens I hope they contact me to actually catch up and say hello, but they never do. this time, I was wrong!

he told me he always thought I was cute but never said anything. HAHAHA. I still don't know if I believe him, and am skeptical that he's just saying this to get in my pants. I am VERY wary of all male attention after what I have experienced, so it may take a lot for me to be convinced if he is genuine. If it's true though, I almost can't believe it still. he was popular and I was quiet and weird. but, I guess it's possible.

he asked me if I thought he was cute. I can't quite remember if I did, but perhaps I did. to be honest I think I did think he was cute but I didn't allow myself to dwell on it because it would be highly taboo for me to like this person due to my family's, well, racism......which is a whole other issue and I hate it

he asked me for pictures but I playfully declined. he can look through my facebook pictures. admittedly there are not a lot of recent pics of me on fb, especially "full body" but oh well for him. he asked me if I still look the same before that, like lmao I'm not 13 anymore so no????? I am a voluminous lady, so in my mind this question becomes "are you fat and ugly now?" and a filter for whether I'm worth his time as a potential sexual partner. I don't like it. but I do acknowledge that he could be genuinely curious and I am reading into the question too much. SKEPTICAL. there is also a part of me that wants to be confident and happily share photos of myself. and another part that immediately rejects spending the energy it takes to accommodate the request of a man I don't have any type of relationship with.

we're supposed to get coffee sometime over the next 2 weeks. I told him to let me know when and where - he can do that work since he wants to see me so badly. I'm still not sure he'll follow through, but maybe he will. he was dodging my questions about places he likes to get coffee. so I'm not sure he even drinks coffee LOL

I basically never entertain guys around my age. I have always been with or wanted to be with older men. unfortunately that started when I was 14 :melty face:

I've been wanting to dip my toe into the dating world for a while but never put any effort into it. I recognize that it's highly triggering for me and I have a LOT of inner work to do before I might feel closer to "ready" for a new relationship. HOWEVER: I also know that healing from relationship trauma happens largely via safe relationships and that is something I want to be more open to. I'm not going to heal my trust issues if I never give myself the opportunity to trust someone trustworthy again, for instance. I'm never going to heal my avoidance of intimacy if I never let myself experience intimacy again. duh, but I have to remind myself.

at first I was not a fan of the conversation, but it hasn't gotten any worse and is pretty casual and neutral at the moment. I am surprisingly neither scared nor giddy about the situation. I also surprisingly hope we do get coffee. I think it would be a great opportunity to expose myself to male attention/interaction and have a sort of practice date where I can just be myself, with absolutely nothing at stake. because this isn't someone I'm already invested in or crushing on. he IS very cute, well dressed, and successful tho, according to facebook. which is hawt.

my thing is, I am like 90% sure I'm "demisexual" which idk if I need that label but it does describe how I feel about sex. sex, I could take it or leave it. I can give myself orgasms just fine. the idea being with a partner who prioritizes sex much more than me is uncomfortable. I think a lot of my hesitancy toward sex comes from my religious and social upbringing, as well as my experiences with sexual coercion and harassment, which is unfortunate. I don't want my body image to get in the way of my pleasure either. so part of me just wants to avoid it altogether. but another part of me truly does require some sense of trust, mutual respect, emotional connection, and the desire for more than a purely/mostly physical relationship, in order for me to be comfortable with the idea of having sex with someone. I do like sex when I feel completely comfortable with the person and know they aren't using me. THAT is a challenge after my shitty experiences.

so anyway, I am looking forward to this opportunity and hope it goes well. if it goes well, however, that will be very strange and I'll have a new set of challenges to work with.

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fivelakesinwriting · 2 years

Text

Pure - Andrew Garfield

Author's Notes: A story about the second date...Please let me know what you think, this is something I would expand on if you would like - comments and feedback are greatly appreciated! Thank you so much xoxo

Warnings: Sexual references - sexual innuendos, sexual tension, drinking. Otherwise, quite fluffy.

Requested? NOPE! Something to get me out of a Writer's Rut. Sat on it for a while and decided to post...

*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo

Andrew liked her, and he liked her a lot. The feeling was verified as they sat at a table in the back of a dimly lit restaurant, drunk on wine and making eyes at one another.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have the most beautiful and delicate wrists?" Andrew muttered as he gently took hold of her left wrist across the table and thumbed her soft skin.

"Can't say they have, no." She whispered with a smile, letting him turn her wrist over in his hand before he brought it to his lips for the softest kiss.

"Such beautiful wrists, darling. And don't think I haven't noticed those lovely ankles either." He mumbled against her wrist before he gently placed her hand back on the table.

"You like my ankles?" She laughed softly with a little kick of her foot out from beneath the table, toes pointed in her high heels.

"I think they're beautiful." Andrew nodded as he rested his chin on one hand, simply looking at her from across the table.

"You're beautiful." She whispered as she reached for his face with both hands and pulled her body close to his.

Andrew smiled as he placed one he and on her lower back while keeping the other flat on the tabletop. He was worried if he put both hands on her that he might start feeling for the zipper of her dress.

"You smell really good." Andrew breathed as she shifted even closer to him. He scanned his eyes from her pretty face over her chest and down her body. He was ready to take her home, and get her out of that red dress.

Shoes could stay on, though.

"You smell better. You smell like a man." She replied as she ran her fingertips over his jawline.

Andrew chuckled as he dipped his head and kissed her wrist again, taking a generous inhale of the perfume lingering on her skin.

"Did you want anything else to drink, darling?" Andrew questioned as his eyes flickered to hers.

"I'm okay. I'm a little tipsy, actually. I'm ready to let you take me home." She smiled as she pressed her thumb to his lips.

"Alright. Let me help you up." Andrew smiled with a peck to the pad of her thumb before he stood up and reach for her hands. He pressed his hand to her lower back as she stumbled, wine rushing to her head as she stood up. He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her forehead before he laced his fingers with hers and helped lead her to the lot once more.

Andrew got them back to his loft safely and helped her inside, taking her coat. He felt tingles all over his body as her perfume practically invaded his senses as he removed her coat, his nose close to the back of her neck.

"You're so gentle and sweet. I really like it." She whispered with a heavy exhale as she turned around and held his face, pressing up on her toes to get closer to his height.

"Just think you're so lovely. Beautiful." Andrew breathed out with a smile as he placed his hands on her hips.

"You're so handsome, Andrew. I think you should take your jacket off and show me your bedroom." She smirked as she reached for the shoulders of his jacket, pushing it off him.

"This way, darling." Andrew smiled as he shrugged out of his jacket then grabbed her thighs and lifted her up. He wrapped her legs around his waist and carried her through the loft wards his bedroom.

"What is this perfume you're wearing? It's simply intoxicating." Andrew breathed as he nuzzled his face in her neck then pressed his forehead to hers.

"It's some old perfume I've been wearing for years. One of my favourites." She smiled as she reached for the buttons of his shirt, thumbing open a few.

"Please always wear it. And if you run out, tell me. I'll buy you one hundred bottles." Andrew muttered as he kissed her lips gently while his own thumb pulled the strap of her dress off her shoulder.

"Deal." She whispered as she unbuttoned his shirt and reached inside to touch his chest.

"Your body is so soft and warm. Can we take this dress off?" Andrew breathed out as he sat up on his knees and ran his hands over her thighs. He looked her over, laid out on his bed with her dress around her hips and thighs spread for him. His eyes scanned her, from exposed shoulder to parted legs, and his heartbeat quickened.

"Sure can." She smiled as she sat up with him and pushed his shirt off of his shoulders, while he reached for the zipper of her dress.

"Jesus." Andrew mumbled as he pulled her dress over her head to reveal her naked breasts and satin panties.

"I don't need a bra with that dress." She blushed as his hands massaged her lower back while his eyes scanned her body with no shame, but full of appreciation and desire.

"I'm not complaining, darling. It's red, it's quite short and with that low back I like. And you don't need a bra. I think, as a man, I win." Andrew smirked as he reached for her backside and gave a small squeeze.

"Maybe I'm the one who wins. I wore a backless red dress I knew you would like to get you into bed." She hummed as he attached his lips to her chest and kneaded her backside, her own hands buried in his hair.

"I'm not a young man anymore, darling. Be careful with me."

Hotties:

@sugarcoatedjj (you were excited about this one, I remember!)

*I did not tag my usual suspects, as I wasn't sure how they would feel. Let me know if you want to be tagged for future stories!

Please let me know what you think if you have a moment! Thank you so much xoxo

Requests for OBX (or Andrew Garfield??) ARE OPEN!

#andrew garfield #andrew garfield fic #andrew garfield x female reader #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield fanfiction #andrew garfield imagine #andrew garfield fan fiction #andrew garfield smut #andrew garfield x you #andrew garfield one shot

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zuluc · 3 years

Text

summary: how the genshin boys give hugs

characters: childe, diluc, kaeya, razor, venti, xiao, xingqiu, zhongli

style & genre: bulleted & written; fluff

warnings: none

notes: a self-indulgent fic for my birthday yay, i hope you guys enjoy this I just really want a hug but it’s hard to see friends right now 🤧🤧

Childe

sometimes a side hug or quick embrace; sometimes not because there are days he never wants to let you go

his outward persona is lost because he trusts you

once his arms come around you, you feel like the life is being squeezed out of you, in a good way of course

there are still traces of his past he has yet to share but he wants you to know how much you mean to him

Paimon had stayed behind to finish that chop suey Su Er'niang offered you both. You finished your share, giving some to your companion, and you left to sight-see around Liyue.

It’s different from Mondstadt and there were quite a bit of things to get done here for your journey. Your feet take you to the stairs leading up to the Wanwen Bookstore and you hope no one has bought out the book you wanted to finish.

Before you could take a step upwards, someone grabs your wrist and pulls you into a small alley. You hand comes up to summon your sword but then your vision is obscured by a head of copper hair. You gasp when his arms tighten around your torso while he heaves a sigh beside your ear. He lets go after a few seconds and you can see the smile on his face.

“Just a recharge,” Childe winks and turns around to get back to what he was doing.

Diluc

he gives the type of hugs that hold so much emotion that he hides from the public

his body runs warm and appreciates when you snuggle further into him when he has you

his hugs are never quick and he likes to take his time, his hold tight enough to make you feel safe but loose enough to allow you to leave if you so wish

rarely initiates them but will take full control when you’re in private

You could tell when the work he had was becoming too much for the night. The annoyance tainted his handsome features and you just wanted to take it all away. Diluc worked hard, everyone knew that, but he was only human.

You give him the letter Jean wrote out and proceed towards the door to get back to your own duties. Your name rolls off his lips and when you turn around to look at him he’s gesturing for you to get closer. When you’re mere inches from his desk he stands up and places one hand on your back and the other on the back of your head, burying his face into your neck.

The temperature outside was chilly and his naturally warm body contrasts to how you felt prior. You can feel him frown against you when he feels how cold your skin is.

“Will you be coming back tonight?”

Kaeya

he gives you many hugs, anywhere and at anytime

there isn’t a day where you never receive one and if that every happens, the next day will include even more

will almost always lift you off your feet and/or catch you off guard; he likes to keep you on your toes

even when you’re just standing around waiting for another mission or watching the sun set he’ll hold you close against his side

He’s late. Again.

You finished off the last of the slimes around Starfell Lake with little to no damage to yourself, luckily, but someone was supposed to assist you to get the job done faster. You look around for any more enemies before kneeling down and dipping your hand into the water. It was cool against your skin, relaxing you after the day’s work. But it might have been just a bit too peaceful.

A force pushes you forward and you close your eyes to brace for the inevitable impact into the water. You wait a few seconds before realizing that you are still very much dry, but there’s something blocking you from lifting your arms. Kaeya chuckles behind you as you lightly hit his arm, hugging you tight.

“I got you,” he says with a smile.

Razor

he’s an awkward hugger, mostly because he doesn’t know how these things work as well as that he doesn’t want to hurt you

he doesn’t know where to put his hands and they usually end up against his sides before he realizes that he makes you think he doesn’t like them

when he gets more comfortable, his hugs are gentle and soft

he grew up with the wolves and these types of things just didn’t happen, but you make his heart soar

He’s taking a casual walk in Wolvendom to reflect on what Lupus Boreas had told him only days ago. He wasn’t a wolf, he was human, but he couldn’t accept it so quickly. His mind wanders and he doesn’t hear the steps, or rather running, behind him. It’s only until you jump on his back that he realizes.

You knew that he was thinking about what happened and you wanted to return as fast as you could to check on him. You slide off his back and he gives you a forced grin. Razor avoids your gaze but you place your hands on his shoulders to square them towards you.

He appreciates your presence and he wants nothing more than comfort, hands twitching at his sides. You’re aware of his little signals and smile when you hug him tightly. He closes his eyes and breaths in your calming scent while hugging you back with care.

“Thank you.”

Venti

there’s a sense of happiness once he hugs you because it just makes you feel lighter and free

there seems to always be a slight breeze about him and you can feel it brush your face when you rest your head on his shoulder

he comes and goes but never forgets to hug you before and after he returns to see you

his hold can range from very loose to holding on just a bit tighter

Venti left a month ago and you knew that’s just how his way of life was. He was never one to stay place for too long, much like the wind you would say. You yourself were someone who likes to travel around, but everything always brought you back to Mondstadt.

You stand overlooking the city at “your usual place,” as he liked to call it, for some peace of mind. You sit on the edge of the statue’s outstretched hands and lean back on your hands to take in the view. A soft breeze passes by you and your ears pick up a quiet sound behind you. You smile and stand up, immediately wrapping your arms around him.

His own naturally fall in place behind your back and a light laugh escapes his lips. It was nice to see you again, as always.

“Missed me?”

Xiao

he used to be so stiff when he first started hugging you as he never had physical contact with anyone

being you, he warms up and learns how to properly hug someone

will have a hand behind your head because he wants to make sure that every part you of is against him

he’s very protective of you in general and it gives him a peace of mind knowing he can keep an eye on you in this way

You’re sleeping, sitting in his lap with your head resting against his chest as he sits on the balcony of Wangshu Inn. You came to him only a few moments ago and it was clear that you took the time to clear out nearby hilichurl camps due to the small scratches and bruises you had on you.

Xiao narrows his eyes at more of the culprits across the water on the little islands, making a note to do something with them later. You mumble in your sleep and he looks down to see your brows furrowed. He cups your face gently and smooths his thumb over your cheek which causes your face to return to it’s peaceful state and you move closer to him.

It was surprising that he fell for someone. You made your way into his life so unexpectedly and now he just wanted to take care of you. And he wouldn’t change a thing.

“Rest well.”

Xingqiu

very proper hugs because they are reciprocated in with the same energy, or even more, than the ones you may give him

he has no problem in giving you hugs away from prying eyes

he would usually whisk you away onto adventures with him with a promise of them

will get flustered when you hug him while saying just how much you appreciate him

You’re amused at the way he presents himself to others and talks to them as expected of him. Xingqiu was known to be mild- and well-mannered as his mischievous side was hidden from those not so close to him.

You both manage to escape the party, standing beside each other as you look up into the night sky. He feels less restricted with you and he takes this opportunity to lace his fingers through yours. You give him a fond smile and return to staring at the stars.

An idea pops into your head and you let go of his hand, him giving you a questioning look before he is brought into a hug. Xingqiu blushes at the suddenness of your actions but returns it nonetheless. His eyes keep diverting to the house so you have to reassure him that no one can see the both of you.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Zhongli

he enjoys hugging, contrary to what most might think

he likes the intimate feeling and being close to someone he loves in such a sweet way that can be done anywhere

he will never deny you of the affection and if you initiate it he will go through with it no matter what

he’s always looking at you paired with a soft smile on his face whenever he has you in his arms

Zhongli’s voice pierces the quiet as you both take a stroll outside of Liyue. He’s telling you of its history and old traditions that have disappeared throughout the years, but you’re becoming tired due to the sound of his voice.

When you’re out of sight from the guards at the front gates you give a slight tug to the end of his coat sleeve. He stops in the middle of his story and sees that your eyes are growing weary. You keep your hold on his sleeve until you pull yourself to rest your head on his chest, closing your eyes and content with the sound of the night as you’re against him.

He holds you close, making sure that you’re not actually asleep as it would make for a very interesting walk back. You tell him that you’re just resting your eyes for a few moments and that he can keep talking. That you love the sound of his voice. Zhongli places a kiss to your forehead as he continues, adoration for you clear in his eyes.

“Now, where was I...”

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mouthfulloftoothpasterry · 3 years

Text

Hooked

Summary: Harry and Y/n meet again. This time spending more time together and getting to know each other.

warnings/ disclaimers: Swearing, mentions of death, mentions of childbirth.

Harry was out searching for a book. He had left Loralie with his mother for the day since he had some errands to run and it would be a busy day. He had finished all of his books and he was on the search for another, maybe even some extra ones for his classroom. He had stopped by his favorite coffee shop and ordered his favorite black coffee to start his day of errands, then he went to the market to get everything for dinner tonight- he thought he might as well get it out of the way since he hates grocery shopping.

Now he’s on the way to a bookstore, he didn’t want to order it on Amazon or just go to a big chain store so he did a quick google search and found a small book store a block down the road from the coffee shop he had gone to. He wanted to find the book burning in water, drowning in flame- his sister had recommended it to him and now he was itching to read it.

He made his way to the bookstore, it looked like a homey place just from the outside of the store. It was a rust colored brick with two sconces on either side of the top of the book shop, a rather tall building- possibly a flat at the top. Harry looks at the cacti peeking through the windows, little flower stickers to decorate.

Harry walks into the book shop, opening the door making the golden bell at the top of the door frame sound off. As soon as Harry steps in he notes the warm scent, it smells like the owner had been baking cookies. “Hello!” He hears a cheerful voice sing while he steps toward the poetry aisle in search of the book. “Is there anything I could help you with today?” He hears the voice again making him turn his head. To his surprise it’s Y/n, he’s been thinking about her. “Oh, hi.” He says bashfully, smiling and stepping over to the cashier counter she was behind.

Y/n smiles, continuing to add price tags on the back of her new shipment of books. She had started her little business officially a bit after she had gotten pregnant with Milo. Milo’s dad had left her after she broke the news to him, they were in their early twenty’s (Y/n being twenty one and him being twenty two) so it was understandable that he didn’t want children yet but the way he dealt with the situation was just dramatic and too much on Y/n. So she put everything into her little book shop, she took out a loan and bought this place, starting planning and putting her all into it, it wasn’t easy but it was worth it.

“Hi Harry.” She says, adding a book to the stack. Harry blushes at her tone again, she’s hard to read. “Um… do you happen to have burning in water, drowning in flame?” He asks, whirling around her display of different styles and colors of bookmarks. He is a twenty six year old man, why is acting like one of his students who thinks he’s handsome? Y/n laughs, nodding while she pulls her mug up to her lips- Harry thinks it’s hot chocolate (and he’s right). “It’s in poetry, first aisle, third shelf, second row.” She says, impressing Harry in how she has memorized every single spot of her book store.

Harry gives her a tight nod, walking over to the poetry section and looking for the book. “Is this your place?” Harry asks, making conversation while the rest of the store is dead silent.

“Yeah, me and Milo live in the flat upstairs.” Y/n admits. Harry’s ears perk up, she didn’t say anything about a partner. He walks back to the counter placing his book down, not handing it over to her yet. “When did you open this place?” He questions, looking around the shop. He sees some crystals, some candles- that both look up for sale and also her personal ones. It’s cute.

“After I got pregnant with Milo. Right after Xavier left me.” She says, leaving Harry wondering. “Xavier is…?” Y/n sighs, rolling her eyes a bit. It’s only their second time meeting and she’s already giving him her sob story. “He’s what would be Milo's father.” She says, picking at her bare nails. She doesn’t consider Xavier Milo's father, he’s never been there for him so he’s not a father. Harry’s lips form a tight line, “um, Loralies mum died… so… we’ve all got baggage.” He laughs, trying to cut the tension.

Loralies mum had died, she died during childbirth. She already had a particularly painful and rough pregnancy with Lora and that was just extremely unexpected, Harry just thanks his stars everyday that his little one is safe with him. “That’s awful, Harry. I‘m sorry.” Harry smiles at her, “it’s okay. I’ve got my Lora so I’m okay.” Y/n nods, smiling and grabbing the book from between his fingers. “She’s a sweet girl.” She compliments.

Harry nods, feeling a little cocky over how well he has raised his daughter. “Is this all for you?” She asks, pulling out a small brown bag with the logo and name on it- they are cute. “Yes please.” Harry politely says, making her laugh under her breath. “If this is your first time here? You get a free bookmark with every book you purchase if it is.” She says, nodding over to the bookmarks. Harry nods, looking through the bookmarks and picking a random Fleetwood Mac one- cute, he thinks. Y/n adds the bookmark to the bag, setting it infront of him. “13.22” she says, Harry fishing his wallet out.

“Are you doing a lot today?” He asks, motioning down to all the books stacked around her while he hands her a ten and four singles. She shrugs, “the usual.” Y/n says, handing him back his change. Harry thinks for a second, pausing his response making Y/n a little nervous. “I could help?” Harry offers, setting his coffee on the table. Y/n gives him a questionable look, sharpening one of her eyes at him. “You want to put tags on books and reorganize with me?” She asks, making Harry laugh. He nods, putting a bookmark back in its place “see, I’m already helping.” He says cheekily.

Y/n smiles, shaking her head. “I guess you can help.” She says.

Soon enough they are sat on the brown carpet, mountains of books around them. Y/n has a blanket wrapped around her and Harry has his legs stretched out. Y/n is tagging books while Harry is setting by the book shelf closest to them organizing. “I swear they put something in the water fountain at that school, the kids are always running and screaming around my classroom while I’m trying to talk about how Van Gogh cut off his own ear.” Harry says, making Y/n loudly giggle, thinking about how Milo probably gives him a horrible time on Wednesdays.

“You like working where Loralie is?” She asks, Harry of course nodding. Loralie is his baby, he loves knowing she’s just up the stairs- especially if she were to get sick or hurt he would be right there to take care of her. “Yeah, I wish I could always be with Milo but one of us has to make the money.” She jokes which makes Harry laugh.

“She always comes waddling into my classroom screaming for me- which disrupts the class but I don’t care.” He shrugs, his mind going back to Loralie. “Oh shit, I’ve got to pick her u-“

“Hi! How are you, baby!” Y/n cheers, Milo running toward her then crashing into her in a hug. Y/n’s friend Mikaela had babysat Milo for the day while Y/n tried to get as much work done as she could. Usually on the weekends (like today) Milo will be in the store with her… which tends to distract her. “Um, I’ve got to go but we should do this again? Maybe… over dinner?” Harry asks, Y/n’s face lighting up.

“Are you asking me on a date?” She teases, Harry blushing and nodding. Y/n laughs, slipping her phone from her pocket, “take my number and we can schedule that date you’re begging me for.” She teases.

Harry gets her number, thanking her for the book and letting him stay before he slips out. Now he’s got to get back to Loralie. But he’s got a date!

Later that night when Harry and Loralie are practicing her memorizing her ABCs his phone beeps. He ignores his at first, just expecting it to be a stupid text from his friend Mitch, but once he looks down he sees Y/n’s contact name. “Keep going, bug.” Harry says, grabbing his phone from the carpet while they set on the floor of the living room, unlocking his phone.

Hii, im free next Friday :) let me know if that works with your schedule!

Harry laughs at her cute little smiley faces, trying to think up a response that doesn’t make him sound a thousand years older than her. The tip of his tongue sticks out while he types back his response, his eyebrows knitted in concentration.

Hello! Friday works, how about 5:30? I can pick you up.

He lays his phone back down and helps Loralie with her letters, pulling her onto his lap. “D is for Daddy!” She cheers, making Harry smile, chuckling and kissing her round cheeks while she squeals. Harry hears his phone ding, grabbing it and reading the response, thanking god she answered. He thought his heart would explode out of his chest. It was beating so hard.

That sounds good ☺️ see you then!

Harry got her to say yes, but now he has to deal with the anxiety of actually going on the date. What should he wear, where should they go? Should he be opening the door and pulling out her chair or is that not in-in dating anymore? He hasn’t dated since Loralies mum and his baby is two years old now, it’s been quite a long time since he dipped his toe into trying to charm a woman. He just hopes he’s still got it.

****************************

The day is here. Loralie is with her grandma so Harry can get ready for the date. He’s been panicking and running all around his little house. He showered and smothered himself in lotion and his best cologne- he wanted to smell nice for her. He was adding leave in conditioner to his hair (which he hardly remembers to do) to make it more silky and the curls look a bit prettier than they usually do- he doesn’t know much about hair, he just does what his sister tells him what his hairdresser tells him he should do.

He planned out an outfit, a pair of tan dress pants with a white tank top and a cardigan over it. He had thought over the outfit a bit too much, was it too casual for the date? Was the cardigan too much? He decided against his thoughts and layers some pearls on, sliding his rings on that were in a jewelry dish, placed in there before his shower. He takes a look in the mirror, readjust his cardigan before he gives himself a little nod. He feels good about this.

He makes his way over to Y/n flat, walking up the metal steps to her flat and knocking on the door. When she opens the door he notices just how amazing her home smells, just like her book shop. He needs to remember to ask her where she gets her candles. “Hi,” Harry smiles, looking his date up and down. She was dressed nicely. It was a sage green dress with spaghetti straps, it stopped a couple inches above her knee. Harry thought it was cute.

She paired it with gold jewelry and a black cross body bag. Dirty white vans to go along with it that added a child-like feel to the outfit. Harry thought that was cute too.

“Hi,” she smiles, glancing behind her. “You look nice.” Harry says, suddenly feeling hot. Y/n laughs under her breath, thanking him. “You look nice as well.” Harry smiles bashfully, looking down at his feet. “Thank you”

Y/n says her goodbyes to Milo, hugging and kissing him before thanking her friend again for watching him. It’s the same one from last week, Mikaela. They get into Harry’s car, a bit of awkward silent before Y/n breaks it, Harry stopping the tapping of his fingers along to the low radio once her voice interrupts it. “So, where are we going?” She asks, smoothing her dress out against her thighs.

Harry laughs, he’s not prepared for dates and for some reason he hadn’t thought about the most important part. “I’ll eat anywhere to be honest.” Y/n admits, looking through her window at all the different places.

Harry was looking around in a panic and he finally pulled something out of his ass that sounded good, especially on his teacher salary. “Olive Garden?” Harry says, trying to say it confidently but it definitely comes out as more of a question. Y/n’s eyes light up, she’s in the mood for bottomless salad and breadsticks. “That sounds heavenly.” And Harry is happy to hear that.

They walk into the busy restaurant, instantly getting escorted to a table. Harry is happy they didn’t have to wait- that would have just been embarrassing since he threw this together last minute. They sat in the booth, sliding in and getting comfortable. “So, how’s the bookstore?” Harry asks, pulling apart his breadstick. Y/n knocks her shoe with his under the table, she thinks it’s cute how bashfully he can get when just asking a simple question. “It’s good. How are your little art students?” Harry playfully rolls his eyes at her choice of words.

“It’s good. They are doing self portraits.” Y/n laughs, her eyes widening.

“How’s that going?” Harry laughs, shaking his head. “They look like shittier versions of Picasso’s paintings.” Y/n dramatically gasps through her laughs, “aren’t you supposed to worship the ground that man walks on? Why would you say that?” Harry rolls his eyes once again, chuckling at her. “I’m just behind honest!”

Their date goes on the same, they order their food, giggling while they eat and even getting into a little food fight with the leftover breadsticks. (They weren't being humble, they asked for another basket) They finished their food, “That was fun.” Y/n admits smiling. Harry nods, taking the check and opening his wallet. “Here,” y/n holds out her card, Harry shaking his head. “I’ll pay.” Harry shrugs her off, handing his card tucked in the black check book the waiter had brought over back to him before she can further protest.

Y/n scoffs, throwing another breadstick at him that he tried to catch but it’s too greasy. “Hey! I thought we had a truce?!” Harry questions her. She shakes her head, apparently swearing off the truce. Harry shrugs, thanking the waiter when he brings his card back along with their mints. “You better sleep with one eye open then.” Harry says, standing up and waiting for her. She laughs, standing up and pulling her bag over her shoulder. “I have a three year old, I basically sleep with them both open. You’re nothin’.” She says, Harry nodding his head in agreement. He knows just how she feels.

They drive back to her flat, Harry of course walking her to her door. “I had so much fun tonight.” Harry says, looking down before he looks up at Y/n. She smiles, blushing. She hasn’t dated since Xavier and she admired that to Harry tonight, they both admitted that they haven’t dated since their children’s parents so they felt a lot comfortable knowing they were both rusty.

“Me too, you’re a really sweet guy, Harry.” She says. She needs to remember to thank her forgetful little Milo for leaving his folder in Harry’s classroom. “Thanks for agreeing to go out with me. I was pretty nervous.” Harry admits a bit sheepishly. Harry is a bit giddy on the inside about them hitting it off so well, they were having the best conversation and at times they were getting extremely loud, probably annoying the people around them, but they didn’t care, they had fun. “Yeah, I was nervous as hell but I haven’t had this much fun in a while. Thanks for tonight.” Y/n smiles, leaning in for a kiss.

Harry’s eyes widen, but he still kisses her back. He hasn’t kissed anyone in so long he thought he had forgot how to for a second. His hands come up to cup her jaw, moving his lips with hers. “I’ll see you soon. Have a good night.” Y/n smiles, opening her door with red cheeks. Harry nods, a little flabbergasted. “Have a good night.” He says, trudging down her steps.

And now he’s hooked on her.

Tag list: @romionefp @iaalien @hopeyoustaythenight @evanjh

If you liked this please reblog and please tell me what you thought of it ☺️ thank you for reading!! I hope you all like the series so far I’m writing part three right now so it should come out soon ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

marmalade taffy

Helmut Zemo smut & feels. Soft!Dom Zemo, non-superhero!AU, Zemo being the weird uncle of college!Maximoff twins. This was written on a whim so if someone signs up to beta-read, I will shower you with affection and reminders to drink water. The Reader is addressed as "you" and is not described - race/age/body type neutral. The language I used for Sokovian is actually Serbian. Word count 2,8k.

Fun fact: I have mild synesthesia. Emotions/feelings and some people have an assigned color (and sometimes smell) for me. That's how the name of the fic was born. This fic feels like the colors of marmalade and taffy, look them up. This fic is dedicated to my lovely @slothspaghettiwrites , the shining beacon in my misty, rocky beach. (You're a periwinkle for me, by the way. I thought you might ask.)

When you first see him all you do is raise an eyebrow. His sleek, well-maintained vintage car stands out almost grotesquely amongst the various sedans and mom vans on the campus and you can see the glint of his wristwatch even from afar. Wanda's and Pietro's sheepish smirk only makes the situation worse - the girl's attire obviously screams "liberal arts" and her twin brother doesn't seem to have anything better to wear than tracksuits.

The man behind the wheel is unfazed. He is calm and collected in that European way, not conceited, just waiting. For what? You don't know. His eyes trail over you but he doesn't smile, simply gives a tiny polite nod. If you hadn't had extensive conversations about cultural differences with Wanda, you'd say he was extremely rude.

Shy, quiet Wanda, who's eyes lit up seeing her favorite not-actually-uncle. In a surprising dash of energetic agility, she hopped right into the car, her numerous scarves a bright flash of saturation against the campus grayscale. You giggle and wave at the departing car, snorting when Wanda's hand reaches over to briefly honk the horn, causing the driver to swerve the tiniest bit, his eyes trained on you in the rearview mirror.

He comes and goes often. Almost always in a different perfectly restored vintage car, mostly with the same polite mask of bored contentment. You know he's royalty in his home country and can't help but wonder how frivolously the twins act around him - no, free. He gives all the appearance of a silent, strict man.

You're proven wrong rather quickly. Freshman year left behind you, you and Wanda decide to ditch the dorms for an apartment - she finds one rather quickly and it's just you two in it even though it is ridiculously huge and the rent amount she requests is equally ridiculously small. Not the one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you pretend nothing is out of the ordinary and buy yourself a new pair of shoes.

Helmut - Wanda finally formally had introduced you two - doesn't come by often, however the visits are always... Eventful. He's not at all what it seemed to be; in the quiet of your apartment, a witty, incredibly clever man resurfaces from under the stoic façade. The Slav in him easily lets him consume alarming quantities of alcohol together with Pietro, who opted to stay in the dorms with his idiotic football team, and - you couldn't believe your eyes at the time - dorkily dad-dance squat in the middle of your living room, unfazed by your and Wanda's cackling.

The way Helmut is absolutely unbothered by the audience and the laughter, pale face flushed from the wine and a little smirk stretching his thin lips into expression almost catlike. The maroon turtleneck stretches nicely across his chest, as thinly as your lip that you worry between your teeth.

Pietro raises an eyebrow. You shrug.

"Got something in your eye, no?" He teases playfully and you shrug again, taking another swig of your nice, European beer.

There are more gatherings, more parties and quite a few rides in his car, when the wind blows your hair in all directions possible and intermingles it with Wanda's as you giggle and squeal in the back seat. Helmut always indulges you two; the word 'no' simply does not exist in that man's vocabulary. He insists politely but firmly on a dinner with all three of them on your birthday and the gifts he brings make your eyes pop out and your face heat.

"A woman like you makes any sensible man want to shower you with the finest gifts," Helmut's voice is quiet and his accent is thick and somehow, it makes it all that harder to refuse. He smiles like usual - tiny and a little secretive, as he pecks your cheek, filling the air around you with the smell of his cologne. It makes your mouth water and your fingers clench helplessly around the half a dozen of silk paper-wrapped boxes.

The summer rolls in and it's hot and humid and finally you don't have to worry about waking up at the crack of dawn or classes or the annoying boys who can barely take a no for an answer. The invitation to Helmut's villa doesn't come as a surprise; Wanda had been riled up over it since early May and Pietro and his whole damn football team were equally as thrilled.

You pack flowy dresses, daisy dukes and swimsuits. The expensive jewelry and handbag Helmut had gifted you, too, since the villa is surrounded by a whole neighborhood meant solely for the rich and famous. Wanda is absolutely unbothered by her own bohemian chic and you quietly envy her; the longer you get to know her, the more you realise of how much actually she does not give a fuck about anything besides her paintings and sculptures.

It's admirable, really, because she is talented. And Helmut knows it, too, having had collected and kept every single work Wanda had made, showing it off in the various rooms of his two-story mansion. The abstract fits in well and is a great conversation topic for him and his equally important friends. There's an endless stream of them in the first days and Wanda isn't overtly happy, choosing to run away to laze around the pool with you more often than not.

Helmut's friends stop at the glass wall between the inner side of the house and the pool to stare at you two, too, causing something dark and tense flash across his features. There always had been a sort of tangy obscurity in him, you've noticed, but not nearly enough for you to grow concerned. It added the bittersweetness, the flavour and consistency to the modest man.

Although calling him modest might have been a mistake. The moment you can't shake off one of his friends after a polite chit-chat seems to never end, Wanda nowhere in sight, dread and unease digging their sharp, spindly fingers in the soft flesh behind your rib cage, Helmut is suddenly there, arm wrapped almost possessively around your waist.

"Draga mea, Wanda is looking for you. She says it's urgent," He stares the man down with the eyes of a vulture. "I believe we haven't been properly introduced," Helmut seems to not realize he's still clutching you in a grasp of steel as the man opposite you rumbles out his name, few syllables you'd forgotten seconds after he spoke them for the first time.

"Baron Helmut Zemo," the fingers brush and squeeze once, gently, over the valley of your waist before letting go. You miss the rest of their peacocking, walking away with a fight and fire inside of your hammering heart. Anxiety and longing and confusion mix and blend, combining into a cocktail that has you beelining for the bar like a woman parched.

The next day you're sleeping off the hangover, first in your bed and then by the pool - Wanda had run off into town for one thing or another, and knowing her, she'd be back home at the crack of dawn. It was blissful peace, the soothing balm for your troubled heart and your aching head.

"Hungover?" Helmut's voice was quiet and a little bit teasing. None of the Eastern Europeans had ever showed the signs of having any ill effects from the alcohol they drunk, unlike you.

You stretched, too blissed out to care about the skimpy strings and straps of your bikini, basking in the gentle morning sun. "Mmm, not anymore," a swim in the cold pool had done wonders.

Your soft pink float rocked as Helmut's footsteps quieted, giving way to a short splash and the sound of his breathing somewhere in your space. Just as you cracked open your eyes, he reached out a hand to steady himself next to you. "I wanted to apologize for the situation yesterday. That man was stepping out of line. He is not welcome in my home anymore."

You stare at him and then you snort. The blunt was he usually speaks is so easy, it flows oh so effortlessly. No mind games, just honesty. You want to pay him back in kind. "Don't worry, Helmut. I just had a bit too much to drink," that was the truth. Any other time and you wouldn't have hesitated to unapologetically steer clear of any creep. Heat and bubbly don't mix and that was your own mistake.

"No, printsesa," the man in front of you let loose some of the delicious darkness, eyes growing stormy, hand gently resting over yours. "Some men are fools, they are nothing but animals. You deserve to feel safe, especially in my home." His lips stretched into a smile, water dripping down his jaw and making tiny circles form in the azure of the pool.

"I can't argue with that," you replied, catching the stray liquid and following the trails it made with your eyes. His forehead, dripping down over his eyes, making Helmut blink the stray drops away until they landed on his lips, trickling down his chin.

You swallowed, opting to dip your toes into the cool pool water before you could make a fool of yourself. The water splashed towards him, making a mischievous grin grace his usually serious face, as me made a half-hearted attempt to splash back weakly, making the water sizzle on your sun-kissed skin. Never the one to back down from a challenge, you knitted your eyebrows in mock offense, eagerly letting the water wash over you as you abandoned the float in favour of creating waves with your whole body.

The temperature contrast was delicious and Helmut's laugh even more so as it echoed in between the high walls of the building surrounding the pool. The sun was nearly at its peak, shining over your head in a beacon of heat that almost matched the one inside of you, the one that had blossomed there months ago and finally grew into a steady smolder, shooting sparks whenever you were around the baron.

It was hot and wet, the same feeling chasing you two when you finally kissed. His hand firmly planted on the side of your neck, his nose softly brushing against the underside of your jaw, Helmut was in no rush to taste you, to savour every millimeter of your sun-kissed skin. The man left you with your fingertips trembling and heart scrambling for purchase somewhere in the deepest pits of your belly.

"What are you so hungry for, mmm?" Helmut's voice rumbled next to the shell of your ear; you could barely focus, skin singing underwater, where he held onto you like a lifeline. "You have hungry eyes, ljubavi, tell me what it is and I'll give it to you," your bodies pressed flush against each other, his eyelashes flittering against your cheek.

"You," the maximum capacity for your brain was one-syllable words and you used it sparingly, failing to suppress a gasp when Helmut's mouth latched around a particularly sensitive spot right under your jawline.

Teeth scraped over it before he soothed the sting with his tongue. "All the things in the world, I could give them to you. And yet..." He sounded almost disappointed. Perplexed, just as you were at the strange admission. "A woman like you would have men fighting for your attention yet you give it to me so freely," he murmured softly, capturing your lips in a slow, fluid kiss once more. "I will make sure you have everything you could ever want."

Helmut's touch grew bolder as he steered the two of you towards the shallow end of the pool. The taste of him was intoxicating, like the sweetest, most alluring poison you'd ever tasted: you knew that once you had one small bit, you'd be addicted, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. His words were clever and his mouth even more, making the short stumble upstairs last hours.

A wall, baroque tapestry, marked with the wetness of the pool water, where you allowed yourself to be pressed against as he leaned into you with the entirety of his broad frame, domineering the kiss effortlessly.

You panted as your back hit the soft, million-thread count, unmade sheets of the baron's bed, staring up into his eyes and finding your own reflection in his pupils, blown wide with lust. The tiny smirk was back but now his unexpressive face was marred by a gleem, accentuating his moist, puffy lips you'd licked into and bitten in a heated frenzy.

"Beautiful, printsesa," he stated with quiet firmness, leaning over into you to unclasp and toss away the upper part of the bikini. The bottoms followed suit, flung carelessly somewhere. His hands ran over your as it sang, every tiniest nerve hypersensitive, coming alive with a fervor borne of months of longing, complimented by the summer heat and cool waters.

"Helmut," your voice wavered, flowed on the syllables as his clever, clever mouth trailed hot down your chest, briefly submerging each nipple into the sear of it. Goosebumps rose over your exposed body, highlighting a trail for him, a trail he followed eagerly. Kisses were candy sweet and marshmallow soft.

Hot breath at the apex of your thighs had you mewling and arching into it, having abandoned all shame, and Helmut found it amusing. The petite chuckle made an appearance, his fingertips ghosting over the part of your lower lips; he was as amused by your impatience as he was enthralled by the youthfulness of the gesture. "Shh, ljubavi, I will make it feel better," his accent as thick as clover honey and just as saccharine.

The first movements were tentative, brief and so light, the demanding moan slipped out of your mouth along with a growl of frustration. You felt continuous chuckling, slight stubble rasping along the sides your thighs; you felt him pick up pace and steady his hot hands on your hips as you attempted to trash against the overwhelming stimulation your pussy was receiving.

His moans, loud and wet, drove you closer to the edge like a drunk drove a Ferrari; Helmut's skill was unparalleled but it lacked precision as he lost himself in the moment just as much as you.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm- I'm so close," you managed to grunt out before the crescendo hit, eyes rolling back into your skull as the influx of more, more, more hit every nerve ending in your body. You could do little more than rest your legs on his shoulders as the noble man, the quiet storm lapped up every drop of your release.

He made the inside of you weak.

In seconds, Helmut was back on top of you, grinding his arousal into you desperately, almost begging for it and all you could do was let your body respond, mimic your lover, clench around nothing just as you felt him twitch.

"Tell me you're mine," he demanded hooking one of your legs over his hip, eyes boring into yours with everything in them plain on display. It was a terrifying thing: as if your heart had suddenly grown legs, stood up and walked out into the bare, wide world, open for all to see. "Ti moa, skaži eto," his native tongue made his voice even more hoarse, you couldn't resist anymore.

"I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours," you chanted the words like a prayer, hoping he'd be merciful - and he is. No, there's only a hidden tenderness in his hands as he drives into your with increasing force that shakes you and makes your core quiver, igniting your flesh once again like the color red; it's messy and it's sloppy and you're barely aware of Helmut muttering something into the crook of your neck as you feel yourself clench down on him with a choked moan.

"Fuck," hearing him, the polite composed man, bite the end of his own orgasm into a curse made a wave of magenta hot rush travel through your body at lightning speed, his cock pulsating and coating you, claiming you from inside out so sweetly you couldn't resist a shallow gasp into his cheek, a gasp he mirrored as his own oversensitive flesh was once more assaulted by your combined lust.

The tide of his breathing was high; both of you spent yet still drunk on the newfound sense of togetherness. It was clear as a summer's day that in your arms laid a man who'd once lost something important and you - you were a someone who's never had anything of significance and perhaps, this time each other's arms would let you both keep whatever it was that you missed.

#helmut zemo x y/n #helmut zemo x you #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo smut #baron zemo x reader #baron zemo smut #baron zemo x you #baron zemo x y/n #zemo smut #zemo x reader #zemo x you #bun writes #baron zemo #zemo #i am KNEELING

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raineydays411 · 3 years

Text

Umbrella Academy HC

a/n: Hello! So this is me dipping my toe into the Umbrella Academy. I hope yall like it and I’m happy to start writing again lol. If this does well, I think I might actually write a fic.. but tell me if yall are interestes in that.

Teen!Hargreeves with healing powers

You’re the youngest Hargreeves, adopted by Reginald when everyone else left the house.

You grow up relatively alone, Luther tended to avoid you and then he was sent to the moon.

You never saw anyone else as they avoided coming home at all costs.

Reginald Hargreeves grade A parenting.

Finding out you can heal things when a mouse got stuck in a trap and you felt bad for it.

Being forced to heal random people until you passed out by Reggie.

Being pushed beyond your limits

Reginald scolding you when you passed out, saying you’re weak if you can’t control your powers

Comparing you to the original team

“Your brothers and sister were much faster at learning than you”

Learning that you can heal any wound, disease, or illness just by touching the person or creature.

If you focuses hard enough, you can feel peoples presence and know if their healthy or not

He kept you a secret from the world, locking you away and forbidding you to go outside the premises.

Even though he was strict, Reginald was looser with the schedules as you were the only one.

Your only friends were Grace and Pogo

Grace telling you stories from when the siblings were kids

You following Pogo around the house as he does chores

watching your father write in his notebook until he shoos you out of his office

Reading Vanyas book over and over again, trying to get to know your “siblings”

Sitting at the attic window, looking over a city you can’t explore

Making everyone tell you stories about the outside world. And I mean everyone, even Reginald.

Even though he treats you like shit, you still love the man. He’s the only man you’ve ever been around other than Luther.

The one time you asked to go outside, he punished you.

Like badly

He yelled at you, saying that he’s done everything to keep you safe and the outside world is cruel. Says that you want to leave him like your siblings and your ungrateful.

Then the final nail in the coffin, locks you away in that chamber under the mansion for like two days.

After that you never asked again. He let you out and pretended like nothing happened.

You did however, wake up to a necklace and a new dress.

His way of “apologizing” but at least you got an apology. The others weren’t so lucky.

You were smart. Like really smart

You had to be, you were constantly reading and learning. You had nothing else to do.

You were like, Five level smart.

You could bake and cook, thanks to Grace

Play piano, guitar, violin, and sing as well as read music

Speak seven languages like your siblings

You could even paint and draw.

But all you wanted was to go outside and meet new people.

Meet your siblings

You finally got your chance, but not the way you thought it was going to go

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy x reader #diego hargreeves x reader #Klaus Hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x reader #alison hargreeves x reader #vanya hargreeves x reader #luther hargeeves x r #ben hargreeves x reader #pogo hargreeves #grace hargreeves #netflix

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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years

Note

Can I request Nanami x Chubby Female S/O -Cooking 8+ 9 + 23 for the 700 followers event? Please Take your time to write it okay? If you feel like changing the S/O gender, please feel free to write in any gender you are comfortable with! Good luck on your writing! ❤️💜💚

Sweet Nothings: Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.4k

tw: NSFW

700 Follower Event Masterlist

There's blood on Kento's shirt.

All over the right side of his shirt, in fact.

When he walks into the apartment, his face is long and exhausted, perhaps because he just put in four hours of overtime. But the gun in his hand is enough to remind you that overtime never came without its drawbacks.

"Kento," you whisper, walking up to him and scrutinizing his shirt, your fingers avoiding the blood spatter. "You're hurt."

"I'm okay," he breathes, dropping the gun on the coffee table and sighing. "It's not mine." The realization makes you inhale deeply, and tears well up in your eyes. "But we need to go. Pack some clothes for a few days. It's not safe here." You obey silently, walking over to your room and stuffing a bag full of random clothes, most of which you're sure don't match. Nanami collects cash from inside a DVD case while you rush about, stuffing it into his wallet before grabbing his reading glasses and looking around the apartment.

Another gun is produced, this one outfitted with a silencer and another wad of cash from inside your rain boots. Again, you wait patiently for him to finish his surveillance, then rejoin you at the door, whereupon he unlocks it and walks out first.

From the stairs to the car, you wonder what trouble Kento came across that scared him bad enough to make him want to go to a safe house. But you realize it doesn't matter as you're driving away from the apartment.

Kento knows best. He always does.

The ride is silent as well, and the setting sun turns into rain as you speed down the highway. Halfway into the trip, you look out of the window at the passing landscape, wondering how much longer you had to go when a black sedan pulls up right next to you two.

"Ken..." The window slides down, and you see a man flash a silver gun at the car, aiming right at your face. "Kento!"

Nanami slams on the gas just in time for the bullet to hit the back window, shattering the glass completely.

"Hold on, y/n," he states calmly, and you brace yourself as he begins to speed down the highway, breaking the law but attempting to save your lives. The black sedan follows at the same pace, but when Nanami slides out the gun from the glove compartment and lowers your window, you fight a scream, leaning your seat all the way back.

Pop pop pop

The sound of the black sedan swerving and the metallic crash after lets you know that you're safe for now, and the window is rolled back up.

"You can sit up," Kento murmurs, and you do so, fingers shaking as the seat rolls back up. The wind whistles through the back window of the car as you continue your trip in silence.

You arrive at the safe house thirty minutes later, but you're stuck to your seat, shellshocked. At first, Nanami gets out and retrieves both of your bags, but when you don't get out, he walks over to the car door and opens it.

"Are you hurt?"

"No," you reply, attempting to unbuckle your seatbelt. But when you fumble for the clasp, you suddenly lose your patience, tears falling from your eyes.

"Hey, hey," he whispers, setting your bag by your feet and reaching around your body to unbuckle the seatbelt. "I've got it. Don't worry."

But even as you follow him into the average-looking house, you can feel yourself losing a semblance of sanity, absolutely terrified of what might come next. Kento leads you into the bedroom - which is much bigger than your shared one at the apartment - and sits your things down before moving to sit you on the bed. Wordlessly, he removes your shoes and caresses your toes, humming to himself and still in his bloody shirt.

"You're tired. I think you should rest for a minute." You nod, and he smiles up at you for reassurance. "You did well back there. Wonderful, actually. I’m really proud of you, but now I want you to focus on feeling better now, alright? For me?"

"Alright," you whisper as he lets go of your feet and stands, unbuttoning his shirt slowly.

"I'm going to take a shower if you want to join."

As you stand under the running water, you close your eyes, hands on your shoulders while you wait for Nanami to find a towel. When he does, he enters behind you, closing the door and pulling your body flush against his. He holds your round hips under his rough palms, lips drifting down the side of your neck slowly. You don't realize you're shivering in the warm shower, at least not at first, but then Nanami clutches your shoulders, kneading them gently.

"Relax for me, my love," he coos, and you try your best, but in the middle of him lathering soap onto the loofah and cleansing you, you crack.

"I'm so scared," you murmur, and Nanami stops, eyes roaming over your face and calculating his next move.

"It's okay to be scared," he replies, continuing to wash you. "But I need you to trust me. I'll keep you safe."

Once the shower is over, you towel off, standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom with your towel wrapped around your body. Nanami sifts through his things, pulling out his weapon and sitting it on the wooden bedside table. You inhale slowly, but then exhale, finding some sort of peace in your mind. You would only have to stay here for a few days...

"Y/n, come here," Nanami calls from the bedroom, and you pad over to him. He pulls you close by your hips, and dips his head to capture your lips with his, hands roaming lazily over your full figure.

"Kento..." you moan when he kisses down your neck again, this time unwrapping your towel and letting it drop to the ground. As he palms your breasts, you sigh with pleasure, forgetting all of the awful things that happened earlier and relishing in his touch. And he works silently, pushing you to the bed and laying you out spread eagle.

Kento groans low in his throat when he dips a finger into you, feeling your wetness already pooling between your thighs. He adds another finger, then laps at your clit next, sucking as he finger fucks you skillfully.

"Fuck, Ken," you hiss, wrapping your fingers into his hair. His response is nothing less than a feral grunt into your pussy, the vibrations coursing through you as you grind onto his face. "Please..."

The fingers that are nestled in your cunt rock back and forth rapidly, stroking you with ease as your climax builds and crests over into a full-blown orgasm. Nanami's fingers go as deep as they can as your walls clench around them, spasming rhythmically as his lips pop free of your clit. When you finish your first orgasm, he removes his fingers from inside of you and places them in his mouth, moaning around them.

"You always taste so good..."

"Fuck me," you pant, and he obliges, saddling himself between your plush thighs and sinking into your soaking wet cunt. You both groan at the sensation of him inside and you fitting around him perfectly, then at the way he moves within you, leaning down on your body and bringing his arms up to frame your face. "Ken," you pant as he slows his strokes to a pleasurable and leisurely pace.

"I don't fuck," he breathes. "I make love." He leans down to kiss you, lips brushing over yours before sinking into you fully and then kissing you with passion. "But you know I would go to the ends of the earth to make you happy." At this, you feel tears forming in your eyes, and they only release when Nanami leans back down to kiss you again, tangling his tongue with yours in an illicit dance as he makes love to you. “Shh, shh, you’re okay. I’m here, I’m here," he whispers when you hiccup as your tears roll down your face, hips rocking into yours.

"I love you," you reply, sniffing. "God, I love you so much."

"I love you, too," Kento echoes back, breathing heavily. "You're my entire world."

After Nanami makes love to you twice, he tucks you into bed and walks to the foyer of the house, placing a chair facing the door with his gun in hand, waiting for anything... anyone.

Like he always does.

#jjk nanami smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami jjk #jjk nanami kento #nanami x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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mackeydoodledoo · 3 years

Text

Go Home Daniela

Pairing: (DragonBat!)Daniela Dimitrescu x (Fem!)Reader

Summary: one walk out in the woods would change your life. One encounter with a Royal Dragon Bat changes your views on the four lords.

Warnings: Bittersweet Ending part 1

A/n: This one is about to be emotional my readers :’)

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

As you open your eyes, your eyes are only met with darkness. You thought you were dead, but you could move your fingers, toes and your eyes.

“D-Daniela?” You groan, trying to move

However, the grip on your shirt doesn’t subside. However, you snake your arms around her neck as you begin standing.

“I’m alive Dani...” You assure her

I swear Daniela you have better made this human prepared for food time-

In one swift motion, Daniela wraps her wings around you to shield you. You look over to her rising head as she shoves her head into your body, your hands cradling it.

Daniela- What is the meaning of this?! After many times-

I love her Mother... She spared me from death all that time ago... I didn’t want to go home because I was falling in love with her.

Daniela...

But, Darling, this is a mere human.

A human who has survived the odds. She even went as far as to nearly dying to rescue me from hunters.

“Daniela...” You speak up

What if she decides to sell you to hunters for money?

If she wanted to do that, she would have a long time ago.

“Daniela...” You attempt to call out to her

You have changed quite a bit when you protected that human... However, you are not safe down here...

Mother we can protect each other and-

“Daniela,” You call to her

She turns her head to look at you.

“Your mother is right,” You sigh, finally admitting defeat

She turns to you almost immediately, her slit eyes turning into very rounded pupils. You walk up to her, gently running your fingers along her smooth and beautifully scaled body.

“You’re never going to be safe out here,” You say, “You’re better off in the castle, where you can be safe...”

But- but what about you?

“I’m going to be fine,” You give her a reassuring smile

Mother, Is everything okay?

Daniela?!

Who are you?!

Daniela immediately steps in front of you; shielding you from what looked like a dragon bat with very dark, close to black fur and yellow scales. The other, the exact opposite; bright blonde fur with blood red scales.

She is my human... Neither of you touch her...

You could hear the growl in Daniela’s dragon bat voice. You found that amusing and cute when she gets all defensive when it came to you.

“I’m... Y/n...” You introduce yourself before the dragon hybrids

Like I said. She is my human.

You were gone from home.. For this... Human?

“Hey!” You say, slightly offended

She... She can hear us?

Of course she can! How could she and I communicate then?

You watch the dark and light hybrid looking at you. However, they’re unable to get close enough for the both of them to observe you closely, thanks to Daniela.

She’s survived the massacre?

She did... I.. Accidentally fell into one of her traps... But, she got me out and tended to me! I owed her a great debt.. I enjoyed being with her...

That still doesn’t help the fact you ran away from home, disobeyed mothers’ orders and never came back!

Now now daughters... This human has proven her worth. We shall not kill her.

Besides!

The dark dragon bat immediately sweeps you onto their back, catching you off guard.

Might be fun to have a rider!

The dark dragon bat had taken flight as Daniela and the bright dragon bat follow suit.

Cassandra! Be careful with her!

Your little lover is fine! Mother said so, we won’t kill her!

Your grip on the dragon bat’s fur subsides as you begin to freefall, freaking out Daniela as she dives after you. However, the dragon bat with the brightest fur that gleams in the sunlight catches you; your grip tightening once more.

See? Your lover is fine! She’s having fun!

Your head peeks out from the bright, gleaming fur to look out towards the landscape that was the abandoned village. But, beyond that, was the mountain range that the village was hidden in.

“Whoa...” You say, breathlessly

Daniela catches up to you and Bela. She notices how your eyes were dilated as you watched the mountain range and the sunset.

You’ve never been this high before?

“I’m human,” You say

Once Bela, Daniela and Cassandra had ceased the flying, you embrace Daniela.

“I need to do this more often,” You look up at her, smiling

I’m afraid that’ll have to cease...

You and Daniela look up at Alcina, Daniela almost beginning to cry.

Why mother? She can come visit!

The Moira would eat her alive.

That’s why we keep her above the dungeons.

“Daniela,” You say, “You need to go home. There’s nothing left here...”

You’re the only one left.... I can’t leave you behind...

“I’ll be fine...” You reassure her

You step back to give Alcina and her two eldest daughters space. You begin watching them depart. One by one they take to the sky. However, Daniela remains behind.

“Hey,” You coo, walking up to her, taking her head in your hands, “One of these days I’ll come visit... Or even move in with you.”

You try to hold in your tears however, no luck as you watched her take to the sky to catch up with her mother and sisters.

“Thanks to House Dimitrescu- there are no more Lycans,” You smile to yourself, trying to hide the fact you were about to cry, “Now, you get to go home...”

One foot takes one step back, your arms beginning to stretch away. You place a kiss on the tip of her nose and gently move your fingers away from her head, finally letting her free. You watched her head dip slightly closer to the ground Daniela was trying to get the feeling of your hands under her chin. Your fingertips had departed from Daniela’s chin last.

“Go home Daniela...” You begin letting the tears roll down your cheeks

Not wanting to show you the same, she turns and begins to get a running start. You watch her follow behind her family as they slowly disappear behind the clouds.

When Daniela landed on the balcony to her room, she shakes off her sadness and begins reaching to the doorknob to her chambers. However, she looks down and realizes her dragon claw had turned into a hand.

I- What?...

She continues to step into her bedchambers and she notices how close the floor has gotten. She stumbles to her vanity and places her now fully transformed hands onto her desk. She looks up and gasps.

“I’m- human again?...” She asks herself

“Daniela darling?” Alcina calls out for her youngest daughter

She opens the door and slightly gasps at her daughter.

“My dear have you- changed back into human?” She asks

Daniela turns to her mother and nods, still looking confused; looking towards her mother for answers as she herself turns back into a human willingly.

“Noe don’t tell me that mere mortal had done-”

“She did!” Daniela raises her voice, defending you

Daniela’s head immediately shifts down to the floor as soon as she realizes the action she had just caused.

“IF this human means so much to you...” Alcina sighs in frustration, “You may bring them back to the castle. But, you are responsible for her. Understood?”

Daniela nods enthusiastically as she immediately hops right back out of her window, turning back into the dragon bat hybrid form she’s so used to. Cassandra and Bela, now in their own human forms, enters the room.

“Mother, we heard a loud crash,” Cassandra says, “Is everything alright?”

“Where’s Daniela?” Bela asks

“To find that... Human,” She says, “She’s found her soulmate...”

As Daniela lands right into your property, she lets out a little squeak; a squeak you’re only familiar with. However, she begins worrying after you hadn’t emerged from your home. She lets out the squeak once more; no response. She peers her head through the non-broken windows to see if you were inside. You weren’t.

My... Love...

Daniela lets out a wailing screech as she realized you had left.

Daniela returns to the castle, same way she had exited; but sheds her scales and into her human form; slumping right on top of her bed.

“Daniela dear?” Alcina knocks on the door, then opening it, “Are you okay?”

Daniela doesn’t answer her mother as she tries to forcefully hide her tears. Daniela feels a dip in her bed and then her hoodie being removed.

“My sweet child.. What happened?” Alcina asks, actually concerned for her daughter

It pained Alcina to see her daughters in distress.

“She’s gone...” Daniela finally answers, “Y/n’s gone...”

“She’s-”

“She left...” she sobs, “I know she isn’t dead... But, I know she’s already out there somewhere...”

Alcina then lays herself into Daniela’s bed as her youngest daughter turns to face her; sobbing into her breast.

“Mommy.... I love Y/n...” Daniela cries, “What do I do?...”

“I... I wish I have the answer for you my child,” Alcina sighs, brushing her daughters’ hair, “But, if Y/n loves you back, she’ll come back to you. But, it may take time for her.”

“Time for what?” Daniela asks her mother

“Anything,” Alcina answers

#daniela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #female reader #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil village

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lubdubsworld · 3 years

Text

Insatiable ( Jungkook x Oc ) Chapter 8

Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x OC

Rating 18+

Genre : Vampire Au!!!! , DILF! Jungkook ! Bodyguard AU! Babysitter OC! Age difference!!!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Chapter 8

“Heartbreak looks good on you...” My sister commented impishly, watching me slip the teardrop earring into my lobe, the ruby red stone glinting in the dimlight of the bedroom.

It was a couple of weeks since my uncle had come over and today, all the important clan leaders from around the country would be heading over to pay their respects to him. As one of the oldest surviving vampires, he commanded a lot of respect and no one really wanted to be on his bad side.

Which just made me love Jungkook all the more because I couldn’t forget how he’d literally thrown himself in between us that day. I wanted to give him everything in return but apparently, all i was allowed to give him was space.

My father had visited me everyday , giving me a very cryptic, ‘ I’ll make sure the two of you get your happy ending, dearest but you need to trust me and stay away for a while. Just a while. ’.

But it seemed so impossible, so far away and just so unlikely that I was beginning to lose hope.

It didn’t help that I hadn’t actually seen Jungkook in these two weeks . Namjoon took his place and my only connection to him was Joowon , who told me his father was busy ...that he stayed with Hwasa most evenings . I felt jittery and nervous and even more so today because of the lavish party being hosted in the Grand Ball Room, which was easily the biggest room in the entire estate. The last time it had been opened was for my parent’s wedding a whole two centuries ago.

For once I couldn’t hide in the daycare in sweats. My uncle apparently insisted that i be present for the party tonight.

It only made my anxiety skyrocket.

I was a mess when it came to formal parties with century old vampires. I had all the formal training of course, but still the etiquette lessons were long forgotten and lot of those cranky old bats had very archaic ideas about what was allowed and what wasn’t.

I didn’t want some entitled century old vampire pawing at my neck for a drink tonight. I really didn’t.

But i had done my part. Put on a red dress, the backline dipping all the way down to the base of my spine , let one of the make up artists in the clan have a go at my face and even put on blood red lipstick.

I grunted , trying to yank the small lace and leather garter up my thigh. It had a holster for a dagger, the small ornate silver one that all the women in the clan carried. The dagger was crafted with the Hwang crest on its handle and I carefully sheathed it in, patting my thigh to make sure it wouldn’t slip down my limb.

“Don’t make fun of my misery.” I glared at her and she actually laughed.

“Sera, you feel too much too deeply. Jungkook isn’t going anywhere. He’ll come around. “ She said gently.

I shook my head.

“I don’t want to wait though. I... I don’t know why I hate waiting but I do..”

“He looks like a kinky bastard. Tell me, did you guys try anything ...I don’t know..risky?”

Nothing riskier than getting edged in front of a whole hotel full of guests and then getting fucked in the back of a car. Oh, did I tell you he spit in my mouth? And I loved it.

“Not really.” I lied but I could feel my face heating up as I turned around, back to the mirror as i felt my ears burning.

My sister shrieked so loud I jumped, nearly knocking over the bottle of perfume on the dresser.

“Oh my God, Sera, you naughty little bint! Tell me now!!!” She screeched and i flushed.

Like hell i was telling my sister what we had done.

“It’s private!!” I hissed when she tried to yank me and she laughed.

“You’re shy... aww that’s cute. But that’s just because you recently got un-virgined . Bet you can’t wait for him to desecrate your special place again, huh?” She waggled her eyebrows.

“That is the single most disgusting thing you’ve ever said.” I gagged.

She laughed again.

“Relax. He was your first. Happens . But like I said, don’t worry about him being serious about this. I think he is. You guys had sex and dad knows that. And yet somehow he’s still walking around with his had attached to his shoulders. Do you really think father would have let him live if he didn’t have feelings for you?”

I frowned.

“That’s not fair. It was consensual. He didn’t force me into anything or tell me he had feelings ....”

She scoffed at that.

“Please tell me you still don’t think he hasn’t got feelings for you. He went batshit-crazy when you went on that date with Yugyeom. Jimin thought he was having a stroke or something. Dude’s so gone for you it isn’t even funny.”

“ Fat lot of good that does me! ” I snapped. “ If he doesn’t acknowledge those feelings he might as well not have any. And so far he’s made it abundantly clear that he’s not going to act on them. Ever.”

“Because he’s clearly involved in something dangerous.” She said easily, making me blink. “I’m not supposed to be telling you this but I’m kind of sick of you moping around like the world is ending and I’m just going to trust you to be smart about it.”

“What do you mean dangerous?” I whirled around to glare at her, pulse racing.

“I have no clue. Dad and Jungkook are working on something. But they’ve been huddled in the administrative building for three days now and no one has seen them . So i don’t really know what it is they’re planning. But I’ve always wondered if Jungkook was hiding from something. It would explain why he’d work as a bodyguard...with his skills he could be so much more. ”

Frustration bloomed, this time laced with worry. I wanted to know what was going on. God, if i could only see him. A glimpse would be enough. Just to make sure he was okay. Just to hear from him that he was okay. That he was going to be safe.

“Think he’ll be at the party?” I asked softly, feeling a whole lot pathetic at the way my heart lurched hopefully.

My sister gave me a very mischievous smile.

“Maybe . Maybe not. You look ravishing by the way. And everyone out there wants you. Literally. Don’t forget that. Don’t be easy. Make him beg a little. ” She winked.

I frowned.

“He won’t beg. He’ll turn the tables around and make me cry.” I shuddered. . Which really wouldn’t be that hard . I felt like I was always on the verge of tears these days.

The knock on the door made us both look up.

“Who’s escorting you tonight?” My sister asked gently.

I shrugged.

“No one. I’m just gonna walk in there by myself because I hate all of you. ” I grabbed the small bejeweled clutch from the table and hesitated just a second.

God , I had no strength for tonight but there was a possibility that Jungkook could be there tonight. And I wanted to see him, if for no other reason than to kick him in the teeth.

I slipped into the strappy peep toe heels, stumbling a little because i wasn’t used to them.

Swearing at the sharp pain shooting up my heel and shin, I wrenched the door open. Ignoring the simpering man on the other side, i stalked right past him.

It was going to be a long , long night

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ballroom looked ....for lack of a better word : overwhelming.

Whoever was in charge of the decoration had clearly taken the budget, quadrupled it and then pretty much ordered one of everything. I stared at the sheer overdose of satin and gauze and felt myself shuddering.

Red and black was the theme for the night and I half wished I’d chosen to wear something in turquoise blue just to give my eyes some sort of relief. But there was no denying that it looked especially lavish, the huge hall big enough to fit a dozen foot ball fields, the high ceiling that seemed to stretch right up to the heavens and the million candelabras and chandeliers hung all over the place.

The carpeted floors felt soft under my foot and it was still early, only a few pople flitting about while the ushers and helpers rushed about, tweaking deatils, rechecking placement charts, placing refreshments on the table. Small bottles of blood arranged neatly on the table and I rolled my shoulders, eyes darting around to find someone familiar.

Kim Minjae and Kim Mingyu were just entering the hall and I grimaced. God, no. But i watched as they casually posed in front of the blood red backdrop, while cameras flashed and i frowned. Were supernatural tabloids really that starved for material?

“Sera, go on, you need to get your picture taken too!” My aunt materialized out of nowhere , dressed in a puffy red gown with ruffles and I shook my head.

“Later... i need a drink.” I said quickly, escaping her clingy fingers and rushing away .

As the only human in the entire damn place, I would have to walk all the way to the bar on the far corner of the ballroom to beg for a drink.

I was half way there when a commotion at the door made me look up. My father had arrived with him a majority of his counsel and a bunch of other guests as well. I stared, my eyes zeroing in on a very familiar figure , my father’s arm wrapped around his shoulder.

Jeon Jungkook stood right next to my father dressed to the nines and with a dazzling smile in place.

I gawked at him.

Trying to process what it was that I was seeing.

He was smiling. He had the audacity to smile after ignoring me for two whole weeks.

I took a deep breath.

“You better have a pretty darn good explanation for the radio silence you treated me to the past two weeks. “ I intoned dully to myself , trying to ignore the way he looked, completely at ease in the spotlight.

He turned a little to the left and his gaze caught mine. I watched as he smiled and shook hands with the people around him before whispering something to my father.

I dug my heels into the floor, glaring as he extricated himself from the elite crowd and slowly began walking over. God, i wanted to kick him so bad.

He stopped in front of me, looking expectant and my anger merely doubled in intensity.

“Anything you wanna say, Jeon?” I snapped.

“You’re beautiful. Breathtakingly so. Red is your color, angel. I wanna see you in it more often. “ He answered at once.

My mind went distressingly blank for a whole thirty second.

“ Did i fucking offer? ” I demanded , angry. “ I’m not dressing up for you. Ever. You ignored me for two entire weeks Jungkook! i didn’t know where you were...what you were doing...”

“Sera, I’m sor -” He began but I squawked in disbelief, shoving him away hard. He stumbled, more in surprise than from the impact but he looked surprised .

I felt myself shaking in anger. How dare he?

“Oh, no. No. You do not get to waltz back in with a simple sorry.... not after treating me like shit the past two weeks...Absolutely not.” I snarled, shoving him again but this time he didn’t budge. Ugh.

I made to move past him but he grabbed my elbow , yanking me back till I crashed into his chest. It was humiliating , the way my body practically vibrated with pleasure from being near him. His arms around me felt like heaven and I’d spent two whole weeks in purgatory.

“You need to stay with me Ms. Hwang. I’m your bodyguard, remember?” He whispered, lips pressing against my neck, breathing in my scent and I glared at his arms.

“No you’re not. Namjoon is!! Where is he?” I asked angrily , but he pulled me closer, hands resting on the bare skin of my back as he hugged me tight, lips latching onto my neck, breathing deep and my knees buckled. i had missed this. So much and even if this was all i got, I wanted to savor it. Savor it even if I hated him for the way he treated me all the fucking time.

“Missed you.” He whispered, lips wet and wanting , damp on my skin as he pressed kisses along my shoulder. I loved it but I knew he was going to leave me again and that just made me angrier.

“You’re a liar.” I choked out.

“No. I’ve lied about a lot of things but never about how you’ve made me feel, Sera. You set me on fire.”

I choked, anger and affection flooding my senses, confounding me because it was like being caught in an endless game of push and pull.

I trembled, fists punching his shoulder in protest but he didn’t move. I could feel eyes on us and it made me flush. How dare he... How fucking dare he.

“Let go of me! You said you don’t want me so let me go!” I said petulantly and he made a small noise of protest.

“That’s not true angel...you know it’s not. I want you... Want you so damn bad , i ache with it.” He whispered the words into my skin and I bristled.

“Fucking liar, let go of me!” i was going to cry. Actually burst into tears in the middle of the ballroom.

He didn’t let go of me.

Instead his fingers fluttered down my bare back, feather light and maddening , tracing a path down my bare skin and I gripped is jacket at the electric contact.

i trembled, my thighs shaking but I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much I wanted him. I swallowed, shaking my head.

There was no music and we weren’t even near the dance floor. I couldn’t imagine how we must look to the people around us. But it was hard to think of that when I could feel him all over my body, could feel his heartbeat pulse right against mine and when his arms felt like an anchor , grounding me .

“You think I need you.” My voice shook a little, “ I really fucking don’t Jungkook and I want you to remember that. I don’t need you. I don’t need to touch you . I’m fine with you never touching me ever again. ” I lied, gripping him harder.

My words didn’t match my actions at all and he seemed to realize it, chuckling lightly and letting me press myself closer into his warm, solid body. He kept his arms around me, waist pressed into mine and thighs hard and solid against mine.

“I know that... i need you far more than you need me.” He said sweetly, kissing my brow and stroking my hair. He slipped his fingers into the strands, running the silky length between his fingertips , his voice brimming with fondness . It hurt, the fact that I couldn’t have this all the time.

That somehow I was only offered glimpses of this Jungkook. Little snapshots of a what our life together could be but when I tried to draw closer, he always pulled away.

I glared at him wanting to demand more answers

. And then my eyes fell on the small dagger sheathed into his belt. My sister’s words floated into my mind. Was Jungkook running from something?

“Are you in danger?” I whispered, softly. “ Darling, i need to know if you’re in trouble. I need to know.”

He trembled a little at the endearment.

“Baby, I’m going to be fine. Don’t worry about me alright. It’s important that you stay safe. “

The words brought no comfort of any kind.

I stared at him.

“What is it with the people around me spewing platitudes in my face without telling me what is going on! Do you just not trust me?” I asked desperately, hurt blooming.

Jungkook swallowed.

“i trust you with my entire life Sera. But, I just don’t want you to get hurt.” He said gently.

I rolled my eyes.

“Please....you’re five centuries old , so can you leave the whole cliché knight in shining armor back in the dark ages and just treat me like your equal? I’m not a helpless damsel in distress Jungkook...!!”

He nodded, reaching for me again but I pulled away, wrapping an arm around myself. He hesitated, hands stretched out to touch but hovering a few inches away .

“you’re right. I was out of line. But to be fair your father was very firm that I had to stay away from you...no contact of any kind till tonight. “

“And what’s so special about tonight.?” I asked , upset at how little i knew about what was going on. Jungkook’s gaze softened, and he pressed a palm to my cheek, thumb tracing circles on my jaw, before pressing a gentle kiss to my lips.

“ You’ll see. “ He smiled, “ And as for the rest of it, we’ll talk about this . I promise. We will....tonight after everything ends. I need to go now. Your father’s waiting for me,”

I clung to him, feeling abandoned all over again.

“What are you guys upto?” I grabbed his arm but he gently pulled my fingers away.

“I’ll come find you. “ Was all he said before moving away and I groaned in disbelief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Uh oh. I can recognize that look. On a scale of one to ten , how much trouble is Jeon Jungkook in?” Namjoon asked gently, watching me glare daggers at the man in question as he hung around near the front of the hall, surrounded by clan leaders.

He was meeting everyone, apparently a social butterfly and i couldn’t fathom it. The last time we’d had a party he’d sneaked off to get laid with Helena.

Speaking of who,

“She’s going to castrate him. I can feel it.” The sultry eyed vampire, sat next to me, her long nails tapping the scarlet drape of the table as she watched me, eyes heavy and hot, gaze trained on my neck.

I’d never felt more like prey.

“ Nice to meet you Helena.” Namjoon said casually taking the seat next to me. Great. I was caught between two vampires that knew exactly how gone I was for Jungkook and exactly how ....not gone he was for me. The night just kept getting better.

“Always a pleasure daddy.” Helena said , eyes dancing with wicked mischief and Namjoon choked on his wine, spewing it all over the table. I stared at the pair in disgust.

“Disgusting.” I snapped. “Look at him. He hasn’t looked at me in an hour. How am i supposed to believe that he wants me so much I set his skin on fire.” I demanded shrilly.

Both of them went quiet. They looked very uncomfortable and i felt myself flush.

I glared at them , self conscious.

“What?! Jungkook said so himself.” I protested.

Both of them began guffawing.

“I’m never letting him live this down.” Namjoon chuckled and I rolled my eyes. I could feel eyes on me, everywhere. Everyone’s gaze flitted to me every few minutes. Some of the younger vampires hovered a discreet distance away but had their gazes trained on me .

Everyone looked at me except Jungkook. There really was no justice in this god forsaken world, was there?

Did he really think I was weak and harmless? I suddenly felt foolish . I wasn’t weak. I wasn’t powerless.

So , so far from it in fact.

I didn’t use my abilities because of how morally ambiguous they were. My father had drilled it into my head, right from childhood, that I couldn’t use my powers without explicit permission from him and I had listened to him.

Had played the role of the harmless human who just happened to have really intoxicating blood inside her veins.

But somehow that had ended up with me being pushed out of the loop with the man I loved. Jungkook thought I was some kind of helpless damsel he needed to keep safe and it just...it irked me.

It was laughable that he thought something could be dangerous to me.

It was laughable because I was easily the most dangerous creature in this entire room.

i pulled my phone out, texting furiously.

I want to see you.

I stared at Jungkook waiting for him to see. He pulled his phone out read the screen and to my utter chagrin he slipped the phone back in without answering.

All right, That’s it.

I stood up slowly, Namjoon stiffening next to me.

“Where are you going? “ He asked warily.

“To mingle.” I said casually. “ you can stay here, daddy. I’ll be fine by myself. “

He spluttered again and Helena laughed lowly.

“I like her. “ Her voice rang out and i smirked, making a beeline to wards the front of the room, where Jungkook stood with a few other vampires around the same age as him. They all straightened at the sight of me, lust evident in their eyes and I saw Jungkook go a little stiff when he noticed I was alone.

“Where’s Namjoon?” He said shortly.

“With Helena.” i said with a shrug.” Evening gentlemen.” I smiled softly, parting my lips lightly, letting my tongue dart out and wet them before leaving them parted, tongue peeking out.

Jungkook pressed in closer, arm darting to wrap around my waist but he seemed to think better of it, pulling away again.

“Sera...” He began warningly but i cut him off. Jungkook didn’t know what he had.

And I was too fucking beautiful to be ignored tonight.

“Isn’t someone starting the music? What a terrible bore this party has been...” I said loudly and the men scrambled closer, almost tripping over each other.

Pathetic really but at least they served their purpose.

“Should we get you another drink, Sera?” One of them said.

“Let me go find that Dj...” The tallest of the lot wandered off.

“You’re right..are you hungry..? Where’s that waiter?” The one right next to me lifted a hand, waving the nearest uniformed helped and I smirked at Jungkook.

“Having fun?” I asked.

“You need to go stay with Namjoon.” He said stiffly.

“where’s the fun in that? “ I hesitated, locking my eyes with him and lightly lifting my heel up to rest on the chair right next to him. The slit in my dress fell open, exposing the entire length of my leg, especially the red lace of my garter.

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the dagger strapped to my thigh, the red and gold stark against the milky white flesh. I rand a forefinger up from my knee to the top of the garter belt, lightly circling the tip over the sharp edge of the dagger.

“Don’t...” He growled. I smirked.

“Don’t what?” I whispered.

“Don’t fucking do it, baby... I’ll be really , really mad if you do. “ He was almost shaking with the effort to not grab me and i could feel it. Feel the urge to put me in my place, simmering beneath his skin but he was helpless.

Any wrong move on me and he would have a dozen daggers in his heart within the next second.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about .” I feigned ignorance, purposefully pressing the thick of my finger into the edge of the dagger, gasping as it broke skin, tearing my flesh and drawing out my blood.

A collective gasp ran through the crowd around us and it was quite the sight, an entire group of century old Vampires going stiff as boards, nostrils flared pupils blown wide open as they all stared at me .

I smiled wide, trying to inject a note of contrition into my voice.

“Oops. That was clumsy of me. .” I giggled, holding my finger up. the blood beaded over and spilled , trickling down my wrist and I locked my gaze with Jungkook’s, bringing my arm up, licking the scarlet fluid up, tracing its path with my tongue all the way to where the dagger had nicked me before sticking the finger into my mouth with a lewd pop.

A vampire, about three feet away from me was breathing heavily , grabbing the chair next to him and sinking into it. His fangs were out and his breathing was erratic. i watched his eyes flash red and I laughed.

“I’m sorry. “ I said sweetly and he gave me a blank smile.

“That’s alright, my lady . “ He was almost choking from the effort to stay composed. Poor thing. I let my gaze flit back to Jungkook who had a terrifyingly blank look on his face.

“You little whore.” Jungkook whispered softly and i lurched.

“Yours . If you want me. But if you don’t...then anyone’s really.” I shrugged unrepentant.

“Really? You think any of the vampires here’s gonna want you after the stunt you just pulled? No one wants a needy little slut.” He said casually but I could see him shaking a little. There was a teeny tiny crack in that cocky attitude and I’d never wanted to stick my fingers in something so bad.

I felt myself grin in anticipation.

“It’s not about what I think, Jungkook. Its about what I know.”

He stared at me.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You think I’m helpless, Jungkookie.... But the truth is... I can turn every single person here into my own personal marionette if i wanted to. “ I shrugged.

Jungkook’s eyebrows lifted, lips parting in surprise.

“I’m listening.”

I moved to the table in the corner, patting the chair next to me. He took the seat next to me and I smiled.

“Now watch....” I snapped my fingers, signaling the waiter with the glass jar of lemon soda and vodka in his tray.

“Can you let my father know I want to leave the party early with Jungkook here?” I asked gently. The waiter flushed, but nodded and I casually slipped my finger into the lemonade jar, dipping lightly in the fluid.

Jungkook grimaced .

“That’s disgusting.”

I laughed.

“Now let’s see who gets to drink it.” I followed the waiter as he moved around stopping in front of a group of very young vampires, about four or five of them. Two girls and three guys. They all took glasses of vodka from the waiter and i sighed.

“You know what makes my blood so powerful Jungkookie? “ I said softly. “ It’s the fact that it is sentient.”

Jungkook went stock still still next to me, lips parting in shock.

“What?” He croaked.

I nodded.

“My blood is sentient. It can feel and see and control. If my blood mixes with yours, it will dominate your thoughts and feelings. I will literally take over you. But it also needs my instruction. So it’ll put you in a trance..... Leave you feeling boneless and disoriented , easier to manipulate. People think its because it tastes so good and they enjoy the feeling. They don’t know what the fuck they’re opening themselves up to...by letting me inside. “ I wrapped my arms around myself.

“I’m painted as the beautiful, kind and precious human who needs to be protected....only because I am anything but. In this room, Jungkook....I’m probably the one capable of wrecking the most havoc.”

“Sera...”

“Nobody knows except for my father and I because...well... just the scent of it makes people chase me down. Can you imagine what they’d do to me if they knew the true extent of my powers.” I said bitterly. I let my gaze shift back to the kids with the drinks. The drinks that were tainted with my life essence.

I watched them take sips of their drink and felt the mild tingling in the back of my head. Like a gossamer thread forming and wrapping around me and I swallowed. It was easy to ignore and I never had any trouble ignoring it when I let my family feed from me. Because I trusted them.

But these kids though. My body thrummed, focusing on one person.

The girl in the red halter top.

“See the girl with the red top and black skirt....” I swallowed. “ She slit the throat of an old woman on her way here.”

Jungkook swore next to me.

“I can see the woman... she’s on her knees , begging for her life. She’s really old.”

That wasn’t all. i could feel the grip of the dagger, the push of the blade against skin, the pull as the flesh gave in, the blood spurting out onto my fingers the scent of death as she bled out.

I felt nausea bubble and I severed the connection forcibly. The girl’s pretty face didn’t match her filthy insides. i couldn’t stay in her head. The tendrils began wrapping around my head as the four of them took more sips.

“When I want... i can influence their thoughts. It takes more effort but it’s possible. it’s why my father wanted to make sure you actually wanted to be with me. He thought I’d coerced you . which I can . if I want. But I didn’t. I don’t do that ever. ” I shook my head.

Jungkook’s brows raised.

“By coerce you mean....”

“It can be as simple as influence your decision... but if I really put in the effort, i can make people physically do what I wanted. “

“Physically?”

I smiled.

“Remember the boys from my college ? the ones who nearly drained me out?”

He nodded.

“My father didn’t have them defanged. They did it to themselves. Literally stuck their own hand into their mouth and ripped their fangs out . Because I wanted them too.”

Jungkook looked like he’d stopped breathing.

I swallowed.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to tell you that if you’re trying to protect me by withholding information, its kind of unnecessary. I can take care of myself.”

“Alright. What do you want to know?”

“Just tell me what’s going on “ I sighed. Jungkook gave me a piercing look.

“Remember Joo Won’s mother?”

“The witch you killed?”

“Her father’s out for my blood. He doesn’t know where I am as of now. Your father thinks one of his lackeys must be in attendance today so he’ll know where I am.... and he’ll come for me. And when he does... I’m going to end it .”

I stared at him.

“ Okay. “ I swallowed. “ How dangerous is he?”

Jungkook laughed without mirth.

“I’m not sure if I’m coming out of this alive.”

Blood rushed to my ears, so fast I felt momentarily lightheaded. My entire body rejected the mere idea of Jungkook getting hurt. And to hear him talk of it so lightly, it messed me up badly. The fragile hold I had on my mind snapped.

“No.” I said angrily.

Across the room, the girl in the red halter stumbled, clutching her head .

Anger and the urge to hurt clawed up inside me and I tried to get it under control.

Fuck, I had to sever the connection fully before i did something terrible to her..

But it wasn’t happening,

In fact the more i tried to get away the more her conscience seemed to be wrapping around mine.,

Distance. I had to put distance between us.

I need to leave now, I pushed the thought in through the connection and i watched her as she stumbled away from her friends, hands buried in her hair.

“Sera what the fuck... “ Jungkook grabbed my arm, eyes wide and panicked and I trembled.

I felt guilty and scared because there was a reason i didn’t do this and the reason was quite simple. This power...or whatever you wanted to call it, It was bigger than me. I couldn’t control it .

My blood was sentient and sometimes it could control me , just as easily as it controlled others.

“She’s just leaving... I just made her leave because I’m not .. I can’t. ...fuck...” My head swam as I tried to get my bearings.

“ okay that’s it...we’re getting out of here.... ” Jungkook stood up, reaching for me and I blinked, disoriented and dizzy. “Come here, baby I got you...”

I let him wrap his hand around my waist, half lifting , half dragging me out of the ballroom and into the hallway. I gripped his chest, stumbling. I wasn’t tired, just struggling to get my head on straight .

But the scent of him calmed me.

“I need you.” I whispered. “ I need you to be safe Jungkook. I’ve spent too long pretending to be something I’m not but with you... I’m.. You... You make me feel human. Truly human. “

“Fuck... hang on. I’m gonna take you to my cottage.”

I blinked

“your what?”

“My cottage. Hang on...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Jungkook opened the door to the cottage, I felt a little like myself again. But my body thrummed , my skin on fire, my fingers trembling with adrenaline.

“you look like you need to lie down.” He said gently.

I glared at him.

“The last thing I need is to lie down.” I snapped.

He held his hands up.

“Alright. Calm down, baby..... Why are you so upset?” He asked soothingly and I scoffed.

“ You fucked me in public and the next day you looked like you’d been handed a death sentence, when my father suggested that you court me and then... you disappeared for two whole weeks....and now you turn up and tell me that your life is in danger. You do all this shit and I’m not allowed to be upset? ” I said angrily.

He hesitated.

“I merely meant it would be dangerous. I am not actively trying to die.” He said softly.

“As for the rest of it.... I’m not the same person I was a month ago Sera.... You.. You’ve managed to claw you way into my heart and the only reason I didn’t want to court you was because of what I was involved in. I told you that...the baggage I’m carrying is too much for me to even think about being with you.... That’s the only reason. “

I stared at him.

“Are you telling me you fell for me too?”

Jungkook smirked a little.

“You were fucking me all the time without touching me. How could I not fall for that utterly shameless gaze of yours. You were your heart on your sleeve and your heart is always filled with filthy thoughts about me Sera. You make it way too obvious. “ He said teasingly.

“I don’t want you to die.” I said petulantly.

“That makes two of us. “ He smiled. “ What do you want, Sera?”

“Want you.” I said automatically, too raw and upset to think too much about it.

“You have me.” He stepped closer, hands resting on my shoulder, eyes earnest and i hated how much I wanted to believe him . But heartbreak after heartbreak after heartbreak had taught me that it was all a lie. I didn’t have him and now ....there was a possibility I could never have him.

“No, I don’t.” I shook my head, angry. “ Don’t lie to me. I don’t have you.”

Jungkook made to touch me again but I shoved him away, hard.

“you’re angry. “ He said thoughtfully. “ I understand that. You have every right to be angry. And I’m sorry I can’t tell you what you want to hear right now...Not until this whole debacle ends. But Sera...look at me...”

I bit my lips staring at him.

“I’m here. Now. I’m not going anywhere. It’s just us. You and I. Don’t worry about what happens next. Don’t. Let’s not worry about any of that. I’m here and I’m telling you I’m yours. You have me now.”

I stared at him, tilting my head as I took him in.

He didn’t move , merely staring at me evenly.

“You know.... you aren’t the only one who hates being ignored.” I said softly.

I felt weird.

Different.

None of the usual nervousness or anticipation but instead a sort of burning need to take. To reach out and pin him down , force him to follow through on his promise that I had him.

“ I’ve been giving too much of myself to you, Jungkook ...for way too long. I think it’s time I get something back.” I whispered.

His lips curled in a small, impish smile and he looked a decade younger. His eyes flashed with mischief and anticipation. He looked eager....desperate even and I wondered if this is what I looked like all the time with him.

“And what would that be...my queen?” he whispered meekly.

“You. “ I said simply. “ All of you. Your words... your pain...your pleasure... your moans and your very breath. I want to take all of it.”

I could see his pupils dilating even from the distance between us.

“Its yours, sweetheart” Jungkook bowed his head gently, holding his arms out. “Tell me where you want me...how you want me...”

I glanced around the room. Not the bed. Not yet.

There was a very sturdy looking chair in front of the small table in the corner.

“Put that in the middle of the room and sit down.” I pointed at the chair.

He smiled.

“You want me to stay dressed?” He asked carefully and I nodded.

“Very well.” He moved to get the chair, placing it in front of the bed. He sat down carefully.

“Anything else?” He asked gently.

I narrowed my eyes at him

“Yes. Keep your mouth shut unless I ask you something.” I said with a smile. His eyes widened in surprise. But he didn’t protest.

I took in the sight of him on the chair, dressed in his perfectly fitted tux , legs spread and hands on his knees, eyes wide and alert as he stared at me. Pretty red mouth shut obediently.

I moved closer till I was standing right between his thighs. His hands came up to grip my waists instinctively and I glared.

“Hands’ to yourself Jungkook. You don’t just get to treat me as you fucking like and then touch me without my permission.” I snapped.

He lowered his hands , letting them rest on his knees again.

“Do you want to touch me , baby?” I whispered pressed my palm to his face before letting my fingers trail up to his hair. it was soft and silky to the touch, the strands like fine silk.

“Yes.” He answered simply.

“Then you need to earn it.” I threaded my fingers' into his raven locks, gripping hard and yanking his head back . i stared, fascinated by the ivory length of his neck, the little mole there and i pressed a kiss to his skin. I let my teeth sink in , just a little and then a little bit more. When he shifted, I pulled back, licking the skin to soothe the sting. His breath caught and he gasped, eyes widening a bit and a small, ‘ fuck’ leaving his lips.

I pulled back , keeping my fingers in his hair , gripping lightly, before reaching down with my free hand.

“You have such a pretty neck and it make me wonder what it feels for your kind...sinking your teeth into people and feeding from them. Too bad I don’t have fangs. But you know what I do have?” I winked .

I brought my leg up, the front end of my shoe resting on the small empty space on the chair , right in the V if his legs. If he moved even a little, my toes would brush the straining length of his cock visible even through the black of his slacks. He was so hard I knew it must’ve hurt.

I gripped his hair harder and tilted his head down to he could stare at my thighs, specifically the dagger in my garter.

“I want a taste . Of you. Can I?” I asked gently staring at him, fingers fiddling with the dagger and unsheathing it.

He nodded.

“Words. Please.” I smiled.

“Yes...fuck yes.....please...Sera...”

“Good boy.” I winked, bringing the dagger up to his neck. It was really sharp and I used the tip to lightly draw a small dash, an inch below his ear. I watched the blade tear through the flesh, light and delicate, the skin cleaving and scarlet liquid bubbling up. I chased the flow with my tongue, licking it into my mouth and Jungkook trembled in the chair, jerking forward.

The movement jolted my foot onto his crotch and he grunted, grabbing my ankle when I made to move it away, keeping my heeled foot on his clothed cock. I swallowed, little out of my league but i stared at him, at the sheer intensity of the desperation in his eyes and I inhaled ....before gently bringing my toes down to press into his cock.

He moaned, thighs trembling and I dropped the dagger to the floor.

I slipped both my hands into his hair, holding his head in place as i bent low to capture his lips with mine, sticking my tongue inside his mouth while grinding my foot down into his cock. I licked into his mouth, chasing the warm heady taste of him, my fingers tightening in his hair for leverage and I wondered if he was wet.... If his cock was weeping precum, dribbling into his slacks .

I pulled back to stare into his eyes but he had them shut.

“Look at me.!” i demanded,” wanna see you...”

His eyes fluttered open, doe- like and warm and swimming with pleasure and I’d never felt more powerful in my life. I moved my foot slowly, in small controlled circles for a few seconds.

“You wanna cum in your pants like this? Rutting on my foot like a little mutt? Or do you want to get on the bed and touch me like you wanted to...?” I whispered softly.

Jungkook swallowed and his fingers tightened on my ankle. .

“Wanna cum like this.” He said taking me by surprise. I raised an eyebrow.

“Really... then what about me...? I want to get fucked too Jungkook ..? How’re you gonna do that if you cum so fast.....” I snapped, gripping his hair harder and he groaned.

“I... I’ll fuck you again... i promise.. I’ll fuck you hard and make you feel good... just..let me cum...please.. It fucking hurts...” The way his voice cracked a bit on the last few words made my heart jerk inside my ribs. I found myself fighting the urge to give him everything.

I smiled instead, kissing his lips again.

“Thank God for fast refractory periods huh, my big bad vampire?” I bit his lips, tugging it between my teeth , before reaching between us and slipping the shoe off my foot. Jungkook trembled, gripping me for support when I pulled my foot away and I let him cling to me for a second, before dropping the shoe down and pressing my bare foot on his erection. I spread my toes over the head, pressing down just a little and he inhaled sharply when i circled my toe on the wet patch .

“Go on them. Make yourself cum.” I whispered, leaning down and kissing him again. He grabbed my ankle with both hands, rutting up into the balls of my feet, hips thrusting up and I let him lick into my mouth, messy and wet as he chased his pleasure.

I felt him stiffen underneath me, followed by a wash of dampness under my sole and I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close and letting him bury his face into my neck as he trembled through the aftershocks. He gripped my waist, hands shaking as he held me and i waited, worried if I should take my foot off or not. I could feel my legs beginning to cramp and I swallowed.

“You okay?” i whispered.

“Yeah.” He grunted. “ Fuck..that was...” he laughed a little.

“We’re not done.” I said pressing a kiss to his cheeks and stroking his hair back gently.

He hummed, gently gripping my ankle and lifting my foot off his crotch. I brought my leg down, wincing a bit.

“Should we get on the bed?” He whispered.

I nodded, yelping when he stood up with me still in his arms, he carried me over to the bed, dropping me lightly.

“Strip.” I said quickly. “ All of it. Want you naked and stretched out on this bed for me.”

He moved quickly, stepping out of his clothes with ease and I sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing the black tie he discarded. I took off my panties, leaving my dress and the garter belt on.

Jungkook naked was a sight i could never tire off and I watched as he climbed into the bed, lying down in the center, legs splayed slightly and hands by his side.

“Bring your wrists together up over your head” I said quickly and he moved his wrists up , letting me tie them to the head board with his tie as i sat straddled on his chest. I was wet, sopping wet and I felt the trail of dampness I left on his rock hard abs.

“I’m gonna sit on your face and you’re gonna make me cum. And then , I’m gonna ride you .” I whispered.

“Fuck.”

“That’s the plan.”

I scooted forward, resting one knee close to either shoulder before gripping the head board with one hand and the hair on top of his head with the other. Tugging him closer, I lowered my pussy onto his mouth, groaning when i felt soft pressure of his tongue against my center, licking tentatively.

Jungkook knew what he was doing, and he licked into me with practiced ease tongue slipping into my slit, curling against the walls, before tracing circles around my clit. He used his lips to suckled on the hardened nub , following it up with quick little licks and i slipped a hand between my legs, stuffing three fingers into my cunt to get myself off faster.

“Oh...fuck... I want... “ I could feel myself shaking and he sped up his movement, licking my lit in quick little strokes and my orgasm hit me like a wave, drowning me in pleasure. I scooted down before losing my strength, collapsing on top of him. The orgasm having knocked me right out of my headspace. I was trembling and shaking, lethargic and completely out of it.

”Baby...you okay?” Jungkook’s concerned voice came from above and I whimpered.

“I’m... I’m sorry.... I’m so tired... I...”

“Don’t worry baby .. i got you. “

I heard the sound of wood splintering and blinked, glancing up. Jungkook had tugged his hands free from the restraint, breaking the headboard in the process.

I gawked at the scene in disbelief.

“Did you just....?”

He grabbed the hem of my dress, ripping it up and off me quickly.

“Fuck..... want to pound you into the fucking mattress my little princess... Such a little tiger aren’t you kitten... so fierce and hot... i loved it baby...you were so good to me ...made me feel so fucking good...” He maneuvered me onto my back and i felt myself blushing at the praise, face heating up as i gripped his shoulders.

He grabbed the back of my thigh, spreading my legs before lining himself up against my pussy.

“Fuck...” He slid right in , knocking the breath out of me and i clung to him, whimpering as he pounded into me, hips working so fact I was sure I was going to have trouble walking for a week after this.

I could feel my orgasm build from the sheer intensity of the thrusts, the hard thick length of his cock pounding into my cunt till i felt swollen and bruised and tender and when it finally tore through me , i was drooling a little, eyes damp with tears and fingers numb from gripping him too hard.

Jungkook fucked me through the orgasm and chased his own each push of his hips leaving me battered and I bit my lips to stay conscious . When he finally stilled, his cock throbbing as he came for the second time, filling my insides with the wet warmth of his cum, I felt myself shake like a leaf caught in a storm, my entire body ice cold and trembling. A thin layer of sweat coated my body and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t recover from this for a really long time

“My pretty pretty queen....” He whispered , pressing kisses all over my face as he hugged me closer and I mewled at the warmth of him.

“Don’t leave me .” i whispered, unable to fight the tug of sleep and exhaustion.

“I’m right here, baby.” His voice was soothing against my ear as he held me closer.

Maybe I could have him after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s note : okay. well. that happened. if you don’t give me feedback this will be the last smut scene.

but please do give me feedback . i love hearing from you guys.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

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