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disneyprincemuke · 13 days

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i didn't tell you i was scared * fem!driver

perhaps carrying the burden of being the perfect eldest daughter after all these years have its disadvantages as well

pairings: fem!driver and her literal family

notes: don't even get me started on how fuckin long it took me to write this bro and also let's not talk about how bad this one is ok? thanks

(series masterlist) | (📂 2025: fall from grace)

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being back home has always brought about a sense of peace she hasn’t been able to replicate anywhere else. it’s just a different serenity when she’s back under the blankets of the bed she’d grown up in, surrounded by everything that reminded her of being young and innocent.

oh, how she misses the times when it felt like the world was in her hands. how naïve of her to think that if she worked hard, she’d get everything she wanted.

every single word of rejection slowly dug the trenches she’s managed to find herself in lately.

she’s so deep in that she doesn’t think there’s a way out.

she lies on her back, childhood stuffed animals burying her in the blanket. she bores holes in the roof of her room where her glow-in-the-dark stars stare right back at her.

she can almost hear the ghost of her 13-year-old self whining as oscar and logan prop themselves up on her bed to paste them on her ceiling, making fun of her for being too short to do it herself.

it used to be so simple.

there’s soft knock on the door followed bt the creaking of its hinges as it’s pushed open. a head pops in. “can we go to the store?”

“what?” she turns her head towards the door and furrows her eyebrows. “can’t you just take my car and go alone?”

dalton frowns, “is it such a crime to spend time with my very beautiful older sister?”

she raises an eyebrow. “you want me to pay, don’t you?”

“don’t make me sound so feral,” the young boy huffs with a roll of his eyes. “i haven’t seen you in months… come on, let’s do something together?”

“i don’t really…” she sighs as she meets her younger brother’s stare and hopeful smile. “alright, mate, just let me change out of my pyjamas.”

that’s how she finds herself at a convenience store at 2 in the morning, hands in the pockets of one of logan’s old jackets that he left in her parent’s house, slowly sauntering through aisles with a blank stare.

she’s been staring at a box of cereal for a couple of minutes, debating with herself if she should let herself indulge. but lately, it just doesn’t feel like she deserves nice things.

when dalton finds her, he’s got a basket full of snacks and drinks. he stops at the end of the aisle with a puzzled stare and tilts his head. “didn’t see anything you want?”

she smiles, “not really. and i’m supposed to be watching my diet — too much ice cream, noah said.”

which is just another blatant lie. she hasn’t touched a drop of ice cream since matt had packed his bags and left her apartment. she hasn’t even really been eating.

dalton hums, “i guess… let yourself have a cheat day, though.”

she sighs out a soft laugh and slings an arm over dalton’s shoulders. “maybe tomorrow. come on, let’s pay up before mama finds out i let you convince me to drive you out to the store in the middle of the night.”

she rests her head at the foot of her bed, nose-to-nose with kidnapper as he sleeps peacefully on one of her pillows.

“wish my life was as simple as yours,” she mutters, running her finger along the cat’s nose. “wish i could sleep all day and be adored like you, kid.”

she glances at her phone, lying peacefully on her side table next to the bed. it’s been going off with constant text messages for the past 5 minutes, most from logan and oscar asking about her parents’ anniversary party, and some from matt.

she can’t get herself to pick up the phone and answering feels like such a daunting task. she can’t find the right words to type out and send out as an acceptable response.

“hey,” the door opens and her mother’s head pops in, “busy?”

she lifts her head and smiles slightly. “what do you need me to do?”

“can you pick up the decorations from town? it’s pre-ordered, so you just gotta pick it up. then maybe could you bring home some dinner?” her mother flashes her a sheepish grin, obviously hoping that she would say yes.

“can’t you get dalton to pick it up? i’ll let him use my car if that’s what you’re worried about,” she offers with a small, unnoticeable scowl on her face. her plan for the entire day was to simply lie in her bedroom and do absolutely nothing.

her day simply isn’t complete unless she’s wallowed in self pity.

“he’s barely permitted to drive a car with an adult in the passenger seat,” her mother sighs. “come on, please? i’ll make you your favourite breakfast tomorrow.”

“really? it has to be me?”

“you’ve locked yourself in your room the 2 days you’ve been back,” her mother sighs again with the shake of her head. “i thought you came home early to help around.”

“i came back early to spend my break here. that doesn’t mean anything about helping around,” she complains, yet she’s scrambling to get herself off her bed. she knows better than to get into this sort of argument with her mother — it’s simply not going to be worth it. “but if it has to be me…”

she gets up and drops kidnapper off in dalton’s room. she changes out of her day-old pyjamas and heads to town where her mother had asked her to go.

all the while cursing under her breath about having so much to do on her supposed break. she’d only driven herself back ahead of her parents’ anniversary party to give herself a break from the fast-paced nature of london.

that and the refusal to go back to her apartment when it no longer felt like home.

but she does all that her mother asks of her anyway because her mother says so.

“you need to eat more, my love.” she watches her mother stand from her position on the dinner table and pick up a bowl of noodles. “you look like you haven’t been eating at all.”

“mama,” she tries to protest with a sigh, shaking her head as she tries to push away the bowl from her plate. “i’m not very hungry.”

her mother is insistent. she shakes her head with a soft huff, scooping out a bunch of noodles and putting it on the plate in front of her. “you need to eat more than you’re eating.”

she lets out an irritated sigh and turns to her father, sat next to her mother, for some sort of words to help her. but he just shrugs at her with an apologetic smile.

“i just want you to look like yourself again,” her mother sighs, pinching her cheek tenderly with a small smile. “you’ve had a tough year.”

she scoffs, dropping her head to toy with the noodles on her plate. of course, she uses her shit of a season to justify being an overbearing figure in her life. she would have been more tolerant of it — as she’s been her entire life — but it’s just not a good time for this behaviour right now.

“fine, whatever.”

she glances down the hallway for anyone who would catch her before she opens the door. she’s greeted by 2 beds and an empty room, but an overwhelming familiarity of friendship. a friendship that she’s strayed so far from that it barely makes sense for her to be standing in this bedroom.

on top of the dresser is a framed picture of her, oscar and logan at a karting track in the earlier days of their karting days together. she stands between the boys, oscar and logan leaning into her with their lips pressed against either side of her cheeks.

on the beds, she can see the 3 of them cuddled up together when she was 14 seeking help from the older boys with her homework.

if she thinks hard enough, she sees her 15-year-old self on oscar’s bed with the blankets pulled up to her chin with logan and oscar squeezing in the other bed in the room when she’s having trouble sleeping by herself.

in the far corner of the room, she can see herself at 16 curled up on the floor after her first boyfriend had broken up with her. and oscar walks in with a small scowl but 3 pints of ice cream for them to share while they try to distract her of the pain.

the room’s been cleaned and polished by her mother, preparing for oscar and logan’s return for their anniversary party this weekend.

she makes a sharp turn for the cabinet at the side of the room, pushing through hangers of jackets and sweaters hanging neatly, untouched for god knows how long. she sighs when a familiar red jacket comes into view.

“i told mama this is mine,” she grumbles under her breath, pulling the jacket out of the cabinet. it’s a ferrari jacket that oscar had gotten from his parents when he was younger, but since he’d outgrown it, she’d claimed it for herself.

“oh, there you are.”

she turns around, with a heavy heart and teary eyes, and comes face-to-face with her father. “hey.”

“i’ve been looking all over for you,” he sighs heavily, stepping into the room with caution. “i just wanted to check in on you after what happened during dinner. you know mama meant well.”

she grins with a slight nod. “yeah, i know.”

“and we’re just concerned for you.” he wraps an arm around her and rests his chin on top of her head. “after the year you’re having… we’re all concerned for you.”

“concerned?” she repeats under her breath, looking up at her father. “regarding what? i’m doing fine.”

“personally, i’m just concerned because you’re my princess,” he mumbles, giving her a squeeze. “and you know… i’m your father? i know if something’s wrong, but it’s okay if you don’t wanna talk about it yet.”

she lets out a heavy sigh, relaxing in his arms. she wraps her arms around him and nuzzles her face into his chest, “thanks for not making me talk about it.”

she throws her head back, trying to pull back the hand that’s clasped in dalton’s hands, yanking her towards the garage of the house.

“come on,” dalton mutters, “we’ll have so much fun! just like before!”

“dalton, i told you i didn’t feel like leaving the house today,” she whines, trying another attempt at pulling her hand back from him. “i have some things to settle with my finances and schedule… i’ve put that off for a couple days and kristen and noah need those by tonight.”

“i’m sure it can’t take that long,” dalton whines with a heavy sigh, tugging on her arm. “just a quick movie in at the theatre then a cup of ice cream?”

“dalton, come on, i said i don’t have the time for this!” she shrieks, yanking her arm back and stomping a foot on the ground. “i’ll pay for you to go with a couple of friends, but i can’t go with you. i have adult matters to handle before the week is over.”

dalton blinks at her, shocked at her sudden outburst. “i just wanted to spend time with you before you go off and not come home for months… i’m sorry.”

she opens her mouth to add to her previous statement, but seeing her younger brother with a frown on his face instantly felt like a pierce through her heart. “i– dalton,” she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “i just have so much going on right now. maybe we can go a little later? i just need to finish a couple of things for my team.”

“it’s alright,” dalton sighs dejectedly, shaking his head. he walks past her to head for the stairs. “maybe next time when you’re not being a bitch anymore.”

“what the fuck,” she mutters with eyebrows furrowed, turning around with her gaze following his steps. “you did not just say that.”

“what?” dalton whirls around. “it’s true. you’ve been such a bitch since you came back. you lock yourself inside your room, you never wanna talk to me, you never wanna join me for snacks, it takes me extra effort just to convince you to come out of the house and do stuff with me… you changed, mate.”

she takes a deep breath. “of course, you don’t understand. you’re just a 16-year-old — you don’t fucking know anything.”

“i know my sister,” dalton scowls. he rolls his eyes and scoffs with a dry laugh. “sorry, i mean i used to know my eldest sister. nowadays, you just ignore my texts, never return my calls and never wanna hang out. you’re a flake, rocky.”

“and you’re just a fucking kid, why should i take anything you say seriously? what do you know about anything that’s outside of your stupid video games and secondary school?” she huffs. “and what do you know about what’s going on with me? that’s not fair.”

“i’m not talking to someone who’s not open to criticism.” he glances at her over his shoulder one more time before running up the stairs. “get a grip, mate.”

“hey, i heard you were back early.” the front door closing echoes in the house, ciara putting her backpack down next to the shoe rack.

the other girl sits on the couch, attention unwavering to the tv show she’s put on to watch. “yeah. hi.”

“i bought you dinner on my drive home from campus.” ciara skips over to the couch happily, leaning down on the back of the couch her older sister sits on. ciara turns her head to grin at her. “from the chinese restaurant. i got you some noodles and wanton.”

“oh, thank you.” she turns her head with a small grin and a soft eye, eyes stinging with every blink. “welcome home, ara.” she pulls ciara in for a short side hug and presses a kiss on her cheek. “how’s uni?”

“it was alright,” ciara shrugs. “join me for dinner?”

she hums, returning her attention to the tv screen. “maybe not; i’m still full from the lunch i had. but thank you for getting me dinner.”

“you’re home!” dalton appears at the top of the stairs with a big grin. “did you get me my fried rice?”

“of course!” ciara beams, beckoning him down towards the dining table. “help me set up the table. rocky’s still full from lunch. it’s just us, come on.”

dalton hops over to the kitchen with ciara, not sparing his eldest sister another stare. so she just turns off the tv and runs back to her bedroom.

“oh. i didn’t know it was such a sensitive topic,” her mother shrugs with a soft chuckle. “i was just curious because you said matt was going to be here for the party this weekend and suddenly he’s not.”

the girl shrugs, keeping her stare on the plate. “yeah, but i really don’t wanna talk about him right now.”

“come on, just concerned for your relationship.” she clenches her jaw, feeling a knot form in her throat as she lifts her eyes to meet her mother’s stare across the table. “did something happen?”

“no,” she lies with a small grin. “he’s just got some things to settle back in the states. he’s just busy.”

“or maybe he realised you were a bitch,” dalton mutters under his breath.

“dalton,” ciara warns through gritted teeth, hitting dalton on the shoulder very gently. “what the hell?”

“what? it’s true,” dalton mutters. “you know that more than i do.”

“that’s enough,” her father speaks up. “let’s just eat dinner, okay?”

“no, my love,” a whine comes from behind her, “you put it up wrongly.”

the girl on the top of the ladder looks over her shoulder and meets her mother’s judgemental stare and disappointed frown. “you literally told me to put it here, mama.”

“put it up higher, no– like– i’ll just do it.” her mother offers her a reassuring smile and beckons her to get down from her position.

“no, it’s so dangerous for you to be up here,” she mutters, attempting to readjust the wall decorations to her liking. “just tell me where to put it.”

“you’re,” her mother pauses, “not doing it right. just come down and let me do it.”

she huffs and drops her hands. “fine.”

she climbs down the ladder, folding her arms over her chest as she watches her mother replace her.

“see? isn’t that better.”

but she swears it’s exactly the way she’d put it up just a moment ago.

“is this what you’re going to do the entire time you’re here? just mope in your room with your cat?”

she lifts her head from her pillow and turns, resting her head again as she stares at her mother standing at the door. “is this really how you want to start the day?”

“it’s noon. the day started almost 3 hours ago.” her mother leans on the door frame of her bedroom. “you have to get up and do something. locking yourself up in here,” she pauses to look around the kiddish bedroom, “it won’t make you feel any better.”

“i just have a lot going on,” she mumbles, flipping herself to face the other side of the room. “i’ll come down in a while. i just need a couple minutes.”

“oh, my god, mama!” her voice echoes in the empty house, running down the steps with her mother following shortly behind her. “stop asking me about matt! i don’t want to talk about him right now!” she turns around at the bottom of the steps. “not with you; not with anyone!”

“i’m just trying to give him an answer, my love! he’s concerned for you. he said you haven't answered his messages all week,” her mother reprimands with her hands on her hips.

“that’s between matt and i and you have no say in this, sorry.” she raises her hands in the air to surrender before walking away. “it’s just none of your business.”

she’d just been relaxing in her room by herself when her mother came in trying to make conversation. she’d been receptive at first until she realised that she was trying to get her to talk about matt again.

which, she’s just not ready to open up about yet.

“it is if you’re acting this way! locking yourself in your room all day… fighting with dalton? don't even get me started on the way you can’t even clean up after yourself — you’re an adult now.”

“i’m an adult, yeah, so let me deal with my fucking problems however i see fit!” she laughs dryly and turns to face her mother again. “can i have some room to breathe? please? without everyone following closely behind me and staring at me like i’m pathetic?”

“we don’t think you’re pathetic!”

“i see the sorry in your eyes when you look at me! everyone seems to be looking at me that way lately!”

“my l–”

“just please leave me alone!”

so she gets in her car and drives away. she doesn’t know how long she drives for, tears in her eyes and chest heaving in sobs.

but she finds herself at the park nearby, one that she used to frequent with oscar and logan after school. she parks her car right by the roadside and forces herself onto the empty playground. she sits on the slide for hours until she feels slightly better.

she pushes the front door open with a heavy sigh. the sadness of pulling up in the driveway of her house worries her. it’s like the sadness seems to find a way to follow her everywhere.

everywhere she goes, it’s like there’s a dark cloud hanging above her head and she doesn’t know how to make it go away.

“where have you been?” ciara’s voice startles her, sending her a step back. “we’ve been worried sick for you after you left so abruptly before dinner! you weren’t even picking up your phone!”

“i just needed some time alone,” she says with a heavy sigh. she closes the door behind her and slips out of her shoes. “i was just at the playground i used to go to with logan and oscar. think i left my phone in my bedroom before i left and i went to grab dinner–”

“seriously? you’re not even sorry?” ciara screams, throwing her arms in the air. “we’ve been so worried sick for you since you walked out for no reason?”

she tilts her head. “no reason? mama has been grilling me about things i don’t want to talk about since i came back.”

“she’s concerned for you! we’re all concerned for you!”

“i didn’t ask for your concern! i’m asking you guys to leave me alone; give me some fucking room to breathe!”

“then why did you come all the way here just to lock yourself in your bedroom? if you want to be left alone, you should’ve just fucking stayed in london where you have an apartment where no one will fucking bother you!”

she huffs, hands on her hips. “fine. i’ll just go back. since it’s such a bother that i’m too sad to be here right now.” she stomps past her younger sister and up the stairs, heading right for her bedroom.

“don’t try and guilt trip me to feel sorry for you!” ciara chases after her. “it’s just not fair that you came all this way to be fighting with every single person in this household! just because blythe’s not here, doesn’t mean you’ll get away with this behaviour!”

“i’m not trying to guilt trip you,” she snarls, grabbing her bag from the ground and shoving her things, sprawled all over her room, into it. “but i’m sorry my feelings are such a burden to you guys. cause personally, i’m not having the best time.”

“if you’re not having the best time, don’t bring us down with you! it’s mama and papa’s anniversary! spend a little time not thinking of yourself for once!”

“i’ve spent my whole life not thinking of myself! you don’t know — you’re just a spoilt brat who got everything she wanted growing up! i actually had to work for the things i wanted.”

ciara scoffs, finally stepping into the room. “who gave you the right to act all high and mighty like you’re better than everyone? being the eldest kid doesn’t mean shit, genius.”

“well, what would you know about being the eldest kid? you never had to take care of anyone besides yourself; you never had to think of anyone but yourself.” she picks up kidnapper, sleeping on the foot of her bed and throws her bag over her shoulder. “just fuck off, ciara.”

“you’re not the only one with problems, you know,” ciara scoffs, folding her arms over her chest. “and what, you’re leaving? way to face your problems head-on.”

“i’m leaving because clearly i’m not wanted here,” the older girl sighs, pushing past the girl to her bedroom door. “so let me get out of your hair before my sadness becomes too contagious for your liking.”

“you’re leaving?” blythe says in shock, watching her older sister walk past her without another moment’s hesitation. “but i just got here. and isn’t the part tomorrow?”

“she’s throwing us the dramatics!” ciara announces with a loud laugh, running down the stairs to catch up with her older sister heading right for the front door. “she’s leaving because she can’t face the fact that she could be overreacting this one time!”

“overreacting?” blythe repeats, following both sisters down the stairs. “what are you guys even fighting about?”

“she left for hours with no contact!”

“i don’t even wanna stay long enough for you to paint me to be the villain,” the girl announces, pulling the front door open. “i’m leaving.”

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moongreenlight · 2 months

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Need more secret wife please 😭😭🙏🙏🙏

WIP Wednesday? WIP Wednesday.

Secret Wife p3 SMALL UPDATE that I have been hoarding like a dragon with treasure lol (I am riddled with guilt)

It takes Johnny upwards of two hours sat alone in his car in silence to fully process what just happened. He’d tried to ask a thousand follow up questions in some rapid-fire babble, but he was met with a wall of stony silence. Goes on stupidly for well over two minutes until Ghost knocks him with a cupped palm on his temple. Little rougher than could be considered friendly, but nowhere near harmful. Served to bring him back to earth.

“Take a breath, sergeant.”

The low rumble of Simon’s voice barely rises over the dull roar of the cars around them.

“Fuck off.”

Johnny looks less gobsmacked than he feels.

“Mind your manners.”

A bite. He must’ve quit smoking around you for the time being. Made him more waspish than usual.

“Cannae believe you, bastard. Kept a secret tha’ big from us all this time?”

Simon took a labored breath in. A sigh like the stiffness of his muscles was creating a vice around his lungs. He threw a sideways glance back toward your car a few aisles over. Like he was making sure you were still there and situated. Pursed his lips and rubbed the bridge of his nose while saying something about how Soap was to under no circumstance take you up on the dinner offer. Turned on his heel and made his way back over to you without a goodbye.

Johnny had half a mind to disobey out of sheer bull-headedness but decided against it just before he sent you a message on his last day of leave. Deleted the text he’d drafted and resigned to trying to press Simon more about things when they got back on base.

He tried, persistent bugger that he is, to pester his L.T. to give up more information. When the two of you’d gotten married. Why he hadn’t said anything. Why wasn’t he invited to the wedding? Was there a wedding? Does anyone else know? All fruitless. Snubbed each time.

He would have been offended if he hadn’t come to know Ghost so well over the years. He’s cagey at his warmest, so it’s no real surprise that he’s kept this under lock and key. The real shock came from the understanding that it happened at all in the first place. Johnny had a hard time wrapping his mind around someone as kind and welcoming as you somehow getting tangled with someone as stoic and brutish as Ghost. He tried to conjure up infinitely many situations where the two of you met and the coupling made sense, but he never stumbled on one that felt right.

Your went into labor over a month early. Just a few weeks after the boys had returned to base. Four hours before the boys were due to board a flight that would deploy them for three weeks. It was the only time Simon had ever been late to call. Johnny was sent to go track him down by an extraordinarily eggy Price.

He found him ready to leave, rifle slung over his back like a soldier. Pacing the hall outside your room in the bay. Down a short corridor in the back that usually hosted surgeries. He was whale-eyed and hostile toward the sound of Johnny’s boots echoing across the brick. It was jarring to see him so agitated. His hulking frame tangibly vibrating through the pounds of gear he was sporting. He truly considered just walking away. Spinning some tale about desertion because that seemed entirely less daunting than trying to corner an animal like Ghost.

Johnny eventually got him to leave. It was a non-option at this point, just a matter of getting the big bastard into the chopper. Tugging him away was like leashing a feral dog. He was fanatical, tugging at the lead and choking himself the entire way across the landing pad. Didn’t stop snarling until he was pushed down into his seat by Price and made to shut up.

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lonelym00n · 11 months

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The End.

Part five of The Devil Likes the Pirate Series

Tara Carpenter x Reader

Word Count: 8.9k

Summary: All good things must come to an end, even if the path to get there is a difficult one.

Warnings: Spoilers for Scream VI, some violence, and a few buckets of angst!

A/N: That's it, it's done! For my first ever series, it's not terrible! Sure it could be better, but I'll happily settle for it being good. I never would've thought that my silly oneshot would've turned into this, but I'm so glad it did!

The Carpenter’s apartment goes from being quiet enough to hear a pin drop, to the loud thunder of arguing voices.

Sam orders Tara to pack a bag, to get all of her stuff together quickly so they can take off.

Tara refuses, stating that Sam is overacting and that she doesn’t want to disrupt her life here in New York.

While the sisters are locked in a battle of crossed swords, you are preoccupied with your own feelings of unease. Mindy has been eyeing you with something akin to skepticism for the past few minutes and you are desperately trying not to panic under her scrutiny.

You have an idea of the conclusion that she’s likely come to. The attacks occurred last night, the same night that everyone was conveniently accounted for inside the apartment. Everyone but you.

All the current signs point to you and as daunting as it is, you can’t deny that if you were in Mindy’s shoes, you’d suspect yourself too. It didn’t take a mind as sharp as Mindy’s to piece together what it might mean that Ghostface reappeared at the same time that you were absent.

A sliver of luck is evidently on your side, because no one else but Mindy has stopped to consider potential suspects.

You know that it’s going to be hard to talk Mindy out of her distrust in you, but you have to attempt to sway her opinion before she notifies the rest of the group.

Without alerting anyone else, you cautiously wave Mindy over to you.

Begrudgingly, she makes her way across the room. Her arms are crossed firmly over her chest while you chew your lip nervously.

“I know how it looks, Minds, but it wasn’t me.”

She snorts, “You do realize that’s exactly what the killer would say, don’t you?”

You attempt to swallow the lump that’s formed in your throat. This conversation was going to be harder than you thought.

In the days that you were avoiding the rest of the group, Mindy had opened up to you about her trauma. She’d relayed that her uncle was known as the expert, the guy who knew just what to do to not only survive the killer, but to expose them. A ghost of a smile had appeared across her lips when she told you that she’d followed in his footsteps and taken up the same role.

The task of convincing the expert that they’re wrong is overwhelmingly difficult, one incorrect move and no one will trust you for however long these attacks last.

“I swear that I went back to my room.”

There’s a wide and pleading look in your eyes, but it’s going to take a lot more than that to persuade her.

You’re scrambling for anything that can back up your alibi. “My roommate saw me! I can text her, shit I’ll call her.”

Before you can dial the girl’s number, Mindy’s hand lands on your wrist. You snap your eyes up to meet hers.

“Alright, stop. I know how much you hate talking to her, you don’t have to call her.”

You heave out a sigh of relief.

“You’re not off the hook completely, maybe you were at your dorm but there’s still a chance you could be lying. It’s not enough to check you off my list entirely, but I’ll leave it alone for now.”

“I get it,” swallowing thickly, you nod.

“Good.”

Mindy turns to return back to the group, but stops short.

“You’re my friend and I care about you, but I won’t give you a second chance. If you screw up and do anything else that I find suspicious, I’ll make sure that none of us ever talk to you again.”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, but you don’t need to. You know she’d keep true to her word, and so you can only hope you don’t find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time again.

You remain in your spot against the wall for a while. It’s in your best interest to try and blend in, so you’re in no rush to reenter the room.

Most of the others are still sitting on the couch, Sam’s pacing back and forth on the phone. Tara stands in the entryway of her room with her arms crossed defiantly.

Sam turns to face everyone, “I’m going down to the station.”

She strides over to the door and Tara speeds over before she can exit.

“I’m coming with you.”

Sam goes to argue, but Tara cuts her off, “We’re supposed to stick together, aren’t we?”

Though you are situated directly adjacent to the entryway, neither of the Carpenter sisters spare you a glance as they leave the apartment.

A sense of apprehension creeps up into your chest, and though it’s glaringly obvious, you have a sinking suspicion that everything is about to go terribly wrong, terribly quickly.

Attempting to ignore the fact that you’ve now become a character in a real life horror movie, you survey the rest of the room once more. Mindy and Anika are hushedly whispering between themselves, Quinn has returned to her room, and Ethan is distracting Chad with some video on his phone.

You want to leave, to lock yourself into your dorm room to process the fact that there’s a pretty high chance that you might die at the hands of a knife-bearing psycho in a halloween costume, but you can’t. You can’t risk being alone right now, not only because you’d be privy to an attack, but because Mindy’s words haven’t stopped swirling around in your head. No second chance.

So, despite your want to be alone, you trudge over to the couch and perch on the edge of it. Your hands come up to cover your face as you try your best to think of anything other than the worst case scenario of the situation you’ve found yourself in.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to you and the other occupants of the small apartment, another attack has occurred in the rundown bodega up the street.

Sam and Tara, who just barely evaded the long-barrel of Ghostface’s shotgun, are now sitting in the precinct’s interrogation room, accompanied by Detective Wayne Bailey.

Once he receives both of the Carpenter’s alibis for the attack the night prior, he shifts his questioning to the other members of the group.

Mindy and Chad are promptly vouched for, leaving you, Quinn, Anika, and Ethan vulnerable to Bailey’s queries.

The gruff man asks about everyone else’s whereabouts last night, excluding Quinn who, as her father, he can check off the list.

A reluctant conversation silently takes place between the sisters.

Sam gives her sister a sorrowful look, as if to say, ‘We both know who wasn’t there, we have to tell him.’

Tara’s eyes widen, signaling her response, ‘But Sam-’

Sam places a heavy hand on Tara’s shoulder, patting it lightly. She turns to Detective Bailey.

“Anika, and Ethan stayed over at our apartment after the movie night.”

“And Y/N Y/L/N?”

Sam pauses, trying to avoid catching her sister’s pleading glance.

“She left late last night, we don’t know where she went.”

Bailey jots something down on his notepad before looking back up at the two sisters.

“We’ll call her in for questioning.”

Tara stays frozen in her seat, unmoving. All the while, her mind is shouting at her to jump to your defense.

Her lips, however, remain pressed together in a thin, disconcerted line. She wants so badly to believe that you’re innocent, but a tiny nagging voice sings songs that you’re guilty and that you’re out for her blood, out to finish what Amber Freeman couldn’t.

Distantly, Tara notices that Bailey gets up to leave the room. She and Sam sit in silence, the older girl afraid to say anything in fear of upsetting her volatile sister.

Twenty minutes or so later, Detective Bailey returns.

“Before you ladies go, there’s someone here who wants to see you.”

The sisters stand and exit the room per Bailey’s instruction. A blond-haired woman shuffles forward.

Sam’s eyes light up, “Kirby!”

The blond chuckles, “Sam!”

Kirby greets Tara, the small girl giving her a tight-lipped smile in return.

As the two catch-up, the sight of a figure being led in by an officer snags Tara’s attention.

Back with the rest of the group, you remained in your own little bubble while everyone else chatted amongst themselves.

Following the pattern that has been laid out for you, your peace was quickly disturbed.

You had nearly dropped your phone when it rang loudly throughout the Carpenter’s apartment. You answered the call, only to be told by the police that you were to report to the station. The call was kept brief, but you knew the reason behind it nonetheless.

Things only declined from that point forward.

You were nervous, extremely so. You didn’t kill the film teacher, nor did you kill Jason or Greg, but the fact that you were being treated as a suspect for the murders had you anxious enough.

You stood up on shaky legs, fumbling towards the door. Mindy pulled Anika closer to her at your haste, while Chad and Ethan merely side eyed you.

No one said anything as you left, and despite the want to sob into your hoodie, you kept your head high and bit your tongue.

The officer who led you into the station was nice enough, her eyes didn’t scream guilty guilty guilty like your supposed friends’ did.

You kept your eyes firmly on your shoes throughout the walk. A tiny, familiar gasp made you stop short in your path.

You looked up and met Tara’s eyes. You were conflicted at how you felt when you looked at her, your usual longing and adoration joined by several other emotions. Heartache, desolation, and gut-wrenching hurt.

She didn’t say anything to you, just blinked back at you with those gorgeous deep brown eyes, her expression completely unreadable.

You understood well enough that the cops were only aware of your potential involvement because someone had mentioned your name to them. You’d thought that Mindy had somehow silently tipped them off at first and sure, you were wounded by it, but the knowledge that it had been Tara? Well that nearly devastated you beyond repair.

If Mindy giving the police your name was a stab to the heart, then Tara having been the one to do it was six shots to the head and a complete dismemberment of your body.

You were entirely conscious of what the girl had gone through with the Woodsboro attacks, and how her previous girlfriend had been the one behind it all. But even so, was it fair for Tara to be treating you this way?

Since you've fallen for the girl, she’s done nothing but emotionally harm you. It started with her flirtatious teasing that drew you into her like a blissfully unaware moth to a too bright flame. She’d had you hook, line, and sinker, but to worsen your infatuation, she’d kissed you. You were trapped by then, drowning in everything that came in the small package that was Tara Carpenter.

Just as fast as she’d pulled you in, she’d pushed you away. She left you to piece yourself back together, and once you finally repaired the cracks, she was back, admitting that she’d wanted you all along.

And now, immediately after her admission, she’s accusing you of murder.

Though your head spun from the back-and-forth, you knew that you’d stupidly always be patiently waiting for her to reel you back in.

So no, it probably wasn’t fair for Tara to be treating you this way, but it wouldn’t stop you from wanting her all the same. How could you possibly distance yourself from her when she was all that you’d ever wanted?

Your eyes sting with the familiar need to cry at how pathetic you feel. You’re hopelessly in love with the girl who thinks you’ve committed murder. Isn’t that just spect-fucking-tacular.

You throw her a dejected look and allow the officer to continue ushering you into the interrogation room.

If Tara glances your way at any point after your nonverbal interaction, you don’t stop to notice.

You have bigger fish to fry than your ill-advised love for her, like the fact that not only do she and all of your friends see you as a potential murderer, but the NYPD does too.

You’re sitting in the room for a while, left to fester in the stale air. You’ve watched Criminal Minds and Law & Order, you know that this is a common tactic used to make criminals grow skittish. Though you are not a criminal, the biting silence in the room makes the tactic work on you all the same.

Your lip has been chewed raw and as you begin to faintly taste the sharp copper of blood, the heavy door swings open.

Two people walk in, introducing themselves as Detective Bailey and FBI Agent Kirby Reed.

Your skin pales at the title of the woman and the flash of her badge. They’d brought in an FBI Agent to question you?

They pull out the chairs in front of you and take a seat.

Detective Bailey clears his throat, “Y/N, we understand that you’re a friend of Samantha and Tara Carpenter.”

You nod tightly.

“We have reason to believe the sisters are under attack by a copycat Ghostface killer. Are you aware that both Carpenters were recently ambushed at a bodega near their apartment?”

The blood drains from your face at the mention of Ghostface by name. Wait-

“Tara was attacked?”

Kirby and Bailey exchange a look at your failure to include Sam in your question.

You, on the other hand, are mentally losing it. Tara was attacked, she must be so scared, so shaken up. It was easy to be distracted by your own involvement in the attacks, but god, this was Tara’s second time going through it.

Seeing how panicked you are, Kirby has to refrain from placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“She’s okay, Sam too. Just a few cuts and scrapes here and there.”

The fact that she hadn’t been heavily injured comforts you. You nod to Kirby in thanks.

Bailey, on the other hand, doesn’t care too much about your emotions. It’s clear that he’s taken over the bad cop persona, while Kirby plays the good cop.

“So, where were you tonight?”

Oh right, you’re here to be interrogated for murder. Any thoughts of Tara’s wellbeing float away at the reminder that she gave your name to the cops for potential murder.

“I was with Mindy, Anika, Chad, and Ethan, at Sam and Tara’s apartment. I came here as soon as I got the call.”

Bailey grunts and scribbles your response onto the notepad in front of him.

Once he’s done, he lifts his gaze up to meet yours and raises a singular, probing eyebrow.

“And what about last night?”

You bite your lip, suddenly feeling very fidgety.

“I went back to my dorm room and went to sleep.”

“Did anyone else see you? Can anyone confirm that?” Bailey stares you down, a tad bit menacingly.

“My roommate, she saw me this morning before she left.”

Detective Bailey reluctantly accepts your answer, and requests your roommate's contact information to confirm that she’d seen you. You give it to him readily.

Kirby speaks up, voice gentle, “I just have a few more questions, and then we can let you go.”

Something about the way she’s treating you so kindly makes you even more anxious. Whether it’s that or her status as an FBI Agent, you aren’t sure.

She speaks slowly, like your English Lit professor does when she wants the class to catch on to the author’s analogy buried deep beneath the text.

“I specialize in determining whether certain murders have any connection to Ghostface. I know a lot about copycat killers, and what might motivate someone to put on a mask and become a ghostface.”

You get what she’s trying to convey. Boiling it all down, she’s good at telling Ghostface apart from non-ghostfaces. She can tell the guilty apart from the innocent. Wait that means-

Suddenly, you’re no longer scared of Kirby.

Suddenly, you’re hanging off of her every word like she’s a life raft in the middle of a barren ocean. And metaphorically, she is. She’s your last hope in the series of accusing fingers that have been pointed your way.

Her eyes gleam with the sense that you’ve understood her hidden implication.

“So,” she pushes a singular photo in front of you, “Can you tell me who this is?”

The photo in front of you is a movie poster, with all the words edited off. A tall man stares down the camera, complete with blue coveralls and a pale white mask with tufts of hair coming out of the top.

Though you aren’t a huge horror buff, you recognize the character. But is it right to know who he is, or should you lie?

“Um,” you swallow and pause for a second, “That’s Michael Myers, from Halloween.”

Kirby hums, and slides three more photos forward.

The first one has a character that wears a red and green striped sweater, with razors extending from his fingers. Freddy Krueger.

The second picture’s character is donning a menacing grin, and has distinct clown-like makeup on. If the makeup doesn’t give it away, the singular red balloon does. Pennywise.

The third character you are admittedly less familiar with. It’s a bald man with a stark white complexion. A series of nails adorn his head, and he has a long leather getup. In his palm, he displays a glowing box. Pinface? Pinhead?

You lift a sweaty hand to point at the first picture. Your voice is shaky, “Freddy Krueger from The Nightmare on Elm Street.”

You point to the second picture, “The movie IT, it’s Pennywise.”

Finally, your finger lands on the last picture. You’re hesitant, you think you know the answer but you’re still unsure if you should be getting these right or not. Would the killer know all these characters?

“I don’t know the name of the movie. And I’m not entirely sure, but I think that’s Pinhead.”

You think Kirby is pleased with your answer, because she simply collects the pictures and places them back into their folder.

“I know it's a bit of a weird process, but it actually gives me a lot of information. That’s all I need from you, you can go now.”

Kirby’s face remains impassive, not revealing her current thoughts. Detective Bailey, on the other hand, is looking at you with something akin to a scowl.

You stand up, legs slightly wobbly. Kirby and Bailey get up to leave as well. Bailey continues down the hallway while Kirby holds the door for you. Before you can make it fully past the door frame, a strong hand landing on your shoulder makes you jump.

Kirby glances over her shoulder to make sure Bailey is out of earshot. She pulls a card out of her jacket and discreetly slides it into the front pocket of your sweatshirt. “Call me if you need something, or if anything happens. Especially if it’s anything that could be related to you-know-who.”

You look up at her gratefully, nodding. It’s her close-lipped way of saying she trusts you.

She releases your shoulder with a small pat, and you all but scramble out of the police station.

Once outside, you check your phone for any missed messages. Surprisingly, you see one from Mindy, telling you to meet her and everyone else at the park just off of campus.

The same park that led to your Tara-related downward spiral. The same park that was home to the catalyst of your current separation from the rest of the group. Lovely, just lovely.

Reluctantly, you make your way over to the meeting spot, completely unsure of what horrible scenario would be awaiting you this time.

Once at the park, you stop a distance away from the group to take in the scene. They’re seated together on the benches, the only empty seat next to Quinn. Mindy stands front and center, no doubt about to shed her expert wisdom on everyone.

As much as you’d rather turn and walk away, you shuffle forward and make your way over to sit next to Quinn. The group has gone silent at your arrival, but you keep your gaze firmly on your shoes, not wanting to face the judging looks that are being sent your way.

Mindy claps her hands together to break the tense silence, “Okay nerds, listen up. As terrifying as this all is, I’m actually glad I get a chance to redeem myself for not calling the killers last time.”

She takes a deep breath, “The way I see it, someone is out to make a sequel to the requel.”

Anika interrupts with a question, “Um, what’s a requel?”

Mindy gives her a sweet smile, “You’re beautiful sweetie, let’s hold questions til the end.”

After a few comments from Sam and Tara about Stab, Mindy launches into a ramble about sequels and requels and franchises. You’re listening distantly, but are more distracted by the weight of your own exhaustion. Being interrogated by two officers of the law took a lot more out of you than you thought it would.

Your thoughts are placed on a back burner at Ethan’s voice entering the conversation.

“Am I in the friend group?”

Mindy nods, along with a few others.

“Am I-,” his voice breaks slightly, “Am I gonna die a virgin?”

Mindy laughs through her nose, sharing a look with Anika at the boy’s admittance.

“Weird overshare, but that brings us to our suspects.”

You stiffen at the mention of the group’s suspects. So that’s why she’d texted you to come, not just to explain the rules, but to ridicule you in front of everyone.

She gestures towards the flustered boy, “Ethan, the shy dorky kid who no one suspects because he’s so shy and dorky.”

He splutters for a moment, “Wait- I’m a suspect just because I’m Chad’s roommate?”

Mindy scoffs, “Roommate lotteries can be juked, you could’ve fixed it to get closer to us.”

He remains silent, dumbfounded. Mindy moves on.

“Quinn, the slutty roommate, a horror movie classic!”

Quinn arches a perfectly plucked brow, “Sex positive, but thank you?”

Mindy rolls her eyes at the terminology. “How’d you end up rooming with Sam and Tara?”

“I answered their ad online?” She glances at the Carpenters.

“Say no more!” Mindy barks out a laugh, “You’ve already implicated yourself!”

Sam, sensing that Mindy is getting a bit too carried away with her antics steps in, “It was an anonymous ad, Mindy.

Tara nods, “Plus we vetted her, and her dad’s a cop.”

Mindy’s eyes widen and she exclaims, “‘Cuz having a cop dad is the perfect cover, do you not remember how these movies work, Tara?!”

Tara sits back in her seat, huffing.

Mindy shifts her attention to her girlfriend, “Next up, Anika.”

The girl blows her a kiss and Mindy catches it goofily. Her face quickly morphs into a straight look, “Never trust the love interest.”

Anika pales.

“And finally, speaking of love interests.” The horror-loving girl whips to your direction, and regards you more seriously than she had the others. You want nothing more than to shrivel up and shrink down to the size of an ant.

“Y/N, who might I remind everyone, we met while she was wearing a devil costume.”

The feeling of everyone’s eyes burning into you makes you want to throw up.

“We’ve known you the least amount of time, and I can’t be the only one who finds it weird that the only people you’re friends with are here right now. A killer, clearly trying to keep all ties short.”

You flinch and open your mouth to respond, but Mindy continues.

“You were noticeably absent the same night the killings began. And if that doesn’t implicate you enough, your perfect motive will.”

Though you want to scream at how unfair this is, you can only sigh and give in. At this point, you’ve realized there’s nothing you can do to make yourself seem less suspicious. They all think it’s you, so why defend yourself when it would only fall on ears that are unwilling to listen?

“And what would my motive be?”

Mindy grins, victoriously.

“You’re in love with Tara, and not just surface level love, no no no.” She laughs to herself, “You’re actually in love with her, and it goes so far deep that there’s no way out of it.”

The urge to throw up and empty your guts is stronger than ever. You’re pissed, but more so shocked that Mindy has stooped so far as to reveal this to the whole group. And right in front of Tara. She knows now, knows everything. The girl who can’t even decide if she wants to be with you now knows the full extent of your feelings for her. Fucking great.

The last piece of your dignity is gone forever. Mindy speaks again, “She broke your heart when she said she only wanted to be friends. Trampled it even, and you were so upset that you decided to break hers too. Only literally.”

She faces everyone, clearly proud of herself, “There you have it folks, the perfect motive! Break my heart and I’ll break yours, but worse! A flawless romance-horror mashup.”

Everyone remains silent, just blinking at Mindy in astonishment.

Your restrained sniffles break the silence.

You rise, not even bothering to hide your tears or wipe them away. You’re broken, worse than you’ve ever been before.

Before you can stomp away, you meet Mindy’s eyes, letting her see exactly how upset, angry, and ruined you are feeling.

Your tone is even and still as you spit in her direction, “Screw you, Mindy.”

With that, you walk away, uncaring if it makes you look any more suspicious.

Watching as you move further and further away, Mindy finally decides to talk once more.

“I went too far, didn’t I?” She knew she always had a flair for the dramatics and it wasn’t the first time someone had been offended during one of her killer call-outs.

Sam had been the last victim to be scorned by Mindy’s words, “Yeah, yeah I think it’s pretty obvious you went too far Mindy.”

Ever the protective big sister, she glances over at Tara to see how the younger girl has taken the news.

Tara is sat as straight as an arrow, eyes wide and blinking slowly. She looks utterly gobsmacked and as much as a little part of Sam wants to giggle like a child at her sister’s expression, the older and more mature version of her wins over.

“T, you okay?” Her voice is soft like a blanket, a tone she reserves just for Tara.

Tara comes back to life at Sam’s question. She shakes her head heatedly, “No, I’m not okay. Mindy, what the fuck?”

Mindy bristles slightly at Tara’s anger, no one likes being on the receiving end of her chihuahua-like biting remarks.

“Tara I-”

“Mindy, why the hell would you tell everyone that? She told you all of that and you just threw it right in her face?”

Mindy’s silence spurs Tara on.

“It’s one thing to accuse her of being Ghostface but to say all that? Really?”

Tara scoffs and pushes herself out of her seat. She starts striding to catch up with you, to say what exactly, she isn’t quite sure yet, but she’ll figure it out on the way.

To her dismay, a familiar hand catches her wrist and twists her around.

It’s Sam, because who else would chase after an agitated Tara Carpenter?

“Tara, you can’t go after her.”

“She’s upset Sam, and it’s not safe for her to be alone and upset with a killer on the loose.”

Sam frowns, lips almost forming a pout, but nods in agreement. “I know Tara. She’s really upset. But it’s not safe for you to be alone with someone who could very well be the killer.”

Though the shorter girl is still unsure of whether or not you could actually be the one behind the mask, it's the last thing she's thinking of in this moment. A snarl forms on her face, “So you agree with Mindy.”

The older Carpenter is quick to defend herself, “I’m not saying I agree with Mindy, I just don’t think that you and I should split up. Can we keep staying together Tara, please? I can’t let you get hurt again.”

Tara deflates like a balloon, the angry miniature dog that lives in her finally gone. She nods in resignation and lets Sam lead her back to the group.

Meanwhile, you finally make it back to your dorm. You pluck Kirby’s business card out of your pocket and carefully examine it. The only information given is a phone number and her name.

You debate calling her for a moment, maybe you’d be able to find some comfort in the agent. She was the only one who didn’t think you were Ghostface, after all.

You decide against it, choosing to instead stew in your overwhelming emotions. You’d finally been granted time to process the onslaught of events, a brief calm in the inevitable storm.

Just as it was weeks before, your bed remains your safe space. You move to plug your phone into your charger, but stop short upon seeing a message.

Tara: hey, we’re making dinner at the apt and having evryone stay over tn.

Tara: u should come

The invitation leaves you frozen for a minute. Why would she want you to stay over with everyone else? Was this some sick move for her to corner you and reject you once and for all?

You aren’t sure what to respond with, so you leave her text unanswered. You can’t think rationally right now, so you plug your phone in, lay your head on your pillow, and succumb to the swirl of your emotions.

You lay there, staring up at your ceiling and sobbing, for what must be a few hours. Your friends think you’re a killer, and Tara knows the full extent of your love for her.

Your phone, ever the annoyance, interrupts your breakdown with the alert of an incoming call.

Groaning, you roll over and pick it up without looking.

“Hello?,” your hoarse voice croaks out.

“Why hello, Y/N. About time we talked, don’t you think?”

The voice is teasing, like it’s somehow toying with you.

A chill shoots up your spine, and you sit up against your headboard. You sort of recognize the voice, but you can’t place how you know it.

“Who’s this?”

A laugh rings out and it somehow freaks you out even more.

“Since I like you, I’ll give you a hint. What’s your favorite scary movie?”

You drop your phone onto your lap and scramble away from it, as if it was purely responsible for how terrified you feel.

Shit, shit, shit.

Back when you were avoiding everyone, Mindy had insisted for you to watch Stab 1 with her, since you’d never seen it before. You tried to refuse, but she shut you up with just one look. Rolling your eyes, you allowed her to put the movie on.

Though she was providing commentary throughout the entire opening, you’d heard the voice that had spoken with Casey Becker on the phone.

You heard Casey’s killer ask her the same question you’d just been asked.

Fuck.

It was him, somehow, someway, he’d gotten your number and was calling you.

You were on the phone with none other than Ghostface.

Shit.

The person on the line chuckles, their altered voice muffled because of the way the phone is being pressed into your comforter, “Now I’ve got your attention.”

With trembling hands, you pick your phone up. “What do you want with me?”

“To thank you. Y’know because of you, I get a little more wiggle room. More time to be off on my own, carving up another person or two, or planning out exactly how I’m going to kill Tara.”

“Leave her alone!”

“Oooh feisty, but not a chance. I think I’ll burn her alive and shoot her in the head, just like she did to Amber.”

“Amber was a psycho and so are you!”

“Maybe, but you’re the one who everyone thinks is psycho.”

Clenching your fists, you remain silent.

Ghostface continues, “I think I’ve decided I want to play a little game. A new game I made just for you.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, full of pure fear. “I’m not playing any games.”

“Too bad. It’s a guessing game, it’s simple really. You guess if I’m in your bathroom waiting to spill your guts all over the place, or if I’m under Tara’s bed, ready to slice through her skin at any second.”

Your blood runs cold as you turn towards the tiny bathroom connected to your dorm room. The door is shut, and an eerie silence fills the room. Ghostface could be in there right now, and you’d be dead in seconds. Worse, he could be biding his time for the perfect time to strike an unsuspecting Tara.

“Tick tock,” the killer sings.

You steel yourself and cautiously position yourself upright, ready to bolt towards your door.

“You’re in my bathroom, come out and get me you fucker.”

The bathroom door stays shut, and you’re left poised in a tense position, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, I’m afraid you’re wrong.” Oh god.

“Don’t hurt her!”

“I have to. We have unfinished business.” The words are spat out, clearly in raw anger.

The teasing tone plays through the voice modulator once more, “Thanks for being apart from everyone again, it really helps that you’re always able to take the fall for me.”

Ghostface ends the call. You clamber out of bed, toss on the nearest pair of shoes, and sprint out of the door, though not before grabbing the 3.5 x 2 inch card off of your dresser.

While racing like a madman to the Carpenter’s apartment, you dial Kirby’s number.

After one ring, she picks up. “Agent Reed.”

“Kirby!” You’re panting as you hurry along.

“Y/N?”

“Yes! Kirby you have to get to Tara and Sam’s now! Ghostface is there.”

You can faintly make out her rustling around, likely collecting her jacket and gun.

“I’m on my way. What happened, how do you know?”

“He called me, Kirby. He’s setting me up!”

“Shit, okay get there as soon as you can.”

“I’m trying!”

This can’t happen to you, not again. Your stupid emotions about everyone thinking you were guilty fucked things up even more. If they didn’t hate you and suspect you before, your absence now definitely cements your fate.

Your only hope is to make it there in time to help defend against Ghostface.

But alas, luck isn’t on your side. When you arrive at the Carpenter’s apartment, you’re met with yellow caution tape and the flashing red and blue lights of both ambulances and police cars.

Too little, too late.

You aren’t even sure what to do, not knowing if it’s better for you to turn and walk away, or to feebly defend yourself like a broken record. You see a body bag being rolled by on a stretcher, and the sight of it makes everything that you’re feeling so much worse.

One of your friends is dead.

You aren’t angry at them for how they treated you anymore, how they turned their backs on you so quickly. You can’t be angry. Not when someone died at the hands of whoever was behind this. Not when you’re being so cruelly reminded that this isn’t a petty fight, or a game night squabble.

One of your friends is dead.

You’re sad, instead. So immensely sad. And scared, your limbs still shake from the residual fear leftover from the phone call. The killer was taunting you on the phone, so shouldn’t you have been the next one to go? Whoever died didn’t deserve to, not while you just got to freely exist.

But like Mindy had said, you’ve been brought into a franchise, and everyone has a role in a franchise. Your friend is now nothing more than a notch under the famed killer’s belt, a tally for the rankings of a video titled ‘which slasher villain has the highest kill count?’

And your role?

You’re the killer’s toy, their beat-up ragdoll held together by loosened strings that they’d stopped caring about years ago, but still blame for every mess they create.

You’re the scapegoat, the one to blame, traveling down a path of loneliness and carrying around the killer’s sins for all to judge you for. Just when your innocence is proven, you’ll die, a sacrifice the killer is all too happy to make.

You sigh heavily, the weight of your thoughts resting deeply on your shoulders. You can’t feel sorry for yourself though. Not when you’re still alive, still breathing.

You can’t walk away, because running from your problems has just made everything worse.

The cops are distracted, so you slide underneath the caution tape. You sluggishly drag your feet towards the ambulance, further into the throng.

Mindy’s sitting in the back of the vehicle, a blanket wrapped around her shivering form.

You approach her, moving as shakily as a baby deer.

She sees you out of the corner of her eye. You watch as hers widen exponentially, “Stay the fuck back.”

You halt. The fearful and disgusted look in her eyes at the sight of you swallows you whole.

Tears cloud your vision, “Are you okay?”

She remains quiet, just staring at you, unblinking.

“Dumb question.”

Mindy blinks again.

You don’t know what to say, and you don’t get a chance to. You’re being ripped away from Mindy, met with Sam’s blazing eyes.

You can just barely see Tara behind her, looking smaller than ever.

Sam grips your chin, forcing you to look up at her.

“Where the fuck were you?” She barks.

The murderous glare she’s leveling you with has you shrinking into your skin. “I- I was in my room.”

“Liar!”

“Sam, please. You have to believe me, I’m not lying.” You’re crying now, because she’s still looking at you like an untamed beast waiting to rip your heart out.

Near blubbering, you continue, “He called me, Ghostface called me.”

The reminder of how scared and alone you felt on the phone with Ghostface makes your cry even harder, and Sam softens slightly, albeit still glaring at you.

“What’d he say?”

“He thanked me for helping him look less suspicious. He said it gave him more time to plan his next kills.” It’s a conscious decision not to include that he’d specifically mentioned how he’d kill Tara. Sam would rip your head off right on the spot.

She stares at you, trying to decipher if you’re telling the truth.

You heave in a breath, preparing yourself to finish your recount, “He made me play a guessing game. He told me to guess whether he was waiting to kill me, or Tara.”

Sam is scarily still. In the distance, you can see Chad harshly slamming Ethan into a van.

If Sam, Tara, Mindy, Chad, and Ethan are here, then that leaves…

Quinn. And Anika. God.

If you weren’t about to be strangled by Sam, you’d likely curl into a ball and sob at the knowledge that the two girls you’d seen earlier today are gone.

You’d beg and plead with Sam if it meant she’d believe you. “I ran here as soon as I realized he was gonna hurt her. You have to believe me.”

You stare up at her with shiny eyes, praying she accepts your story.

Without warning, you’re released from the death grip that she had on you. Sam backs away from you without saying a word, slinking back towards Tara.

You meet the younger Carpenter’s gaze for one brief second, before you tear your eyes away. You couldn’t afford to decipher how she currently felt towards you. It hurt enough to be painted as the killer, you didn’t need her rejection of your love for her to pile up on top of your already too intense hurt.

From your spot alone, in the middle of the group, you can hear Mindy telling an apologetic Ethan to get away from her. She tells him how the two of you are at the top of her list, and that she didn’t need either of you near her ever again.

Though you aren’t part of the conversation, her words still bruise. You might’ve called her your best friend once, probably still would, but she’d forever condemn your name.

You wallow in your sorrow while Gale shows up, sharing a regretful exchange with the two sisters. Kirby comes soon after, also checking up on the Carpenters.

Gale announces to everyone that she’s found what’s likely the killer’s hideout, and everyone silently follows along while she leads the way.

You walk a ways behind the group, arms wrapped around your own waist both defensively and protectively. A firm body knocks their shoulder against yours, breaking you out of your daze.

Kirby levels you with a worried look, “You good kid?”

“Don’t worry about me, ask the others.”

She clicks her tongue at your response, “Already did, now I wanna know how you’re doing.”

You reach a hand up and drag it through your hair, “Mindy hates me, probably Chad too by association. I can’t tell how Sam feels, if she thinks it’s me or not. And I can’t even bring myself to look at Tara, let alone ask her if she thinks I’m out to murder her.”

Kirby shoots you a sympathetic look, “That’s a lot for one person to deal with.”

You shrug, “Yeah well, nothing I can do about that.”

The two of you finish the walk towards the abandoned theater in silence.

Before you enter, Kirby places a hand on your arm to stop you.

“We’re gonna catch who’s behind this eventually. Why don’t you stick with me for the time being?”

Your eyes light up, “I’d love that.”

And truthfully you would. Staying by Kirby’s side will not only be comforting, but will also ensure that you’re no longer left to accidentally fall into a situation that makes you look guilty. For the first time since all of this started, you feel seen, like you finally have a friend that’s on your side.

She smiles at you and the two of you enter the theater. You soon realize that it’s less of a theater, and more of a shrine dedicated to the Ghostfaces of the past.

Everyone fans out to inspect the items. You’re stuck to Kirby’s side like glue, inching your way towards a display case.

She carefully places her hands atop the case, scanning her eyes across the items.

Pointing out a few items, she speaks out to no one in particular. “Charlie stabbed me with that knife, and that’s the same flannel Jill was wearing.”

You hum sadly, what she went through must have been so horrible.

The rest of the visit to the shrine is lonely for you. Kirby leaves to bond with Mindy, then to check on Tara. You’re left to stand in a corner, trying to blend in with the shadows.

When Kirby returns, the group clusters together, forming a plan.

As you sit by Kirby’s side in the van, the plan quickly goes to shit. The killer’s call is traced back to Gale’s apartment, leaving the Carpenter sisters to race to her rescue.

You and Kirby head back to the precinct for a while, where she combs through her files once more. She gets a call about a new plan, and the two of you hop back into her car, headed back towards the abandoned theater.

Sam, Tara, and Chad stand outside.

Chad points to you, where you’re standing by Kirby’s side. “Is it safe for her to come in with us?”

You swallow at his retort.

Kirby calmly comes to your defense, “Safer than leaving her alone, yes. Where’s Mindy?”

Sam explains that Mindy got separated and had to take a different train with Ethan.

Kirby quirks an eyebrow, “Okay, well it’s better if we wait inside.”

The others go their separate ways, leaving you and Kirby to stand by the door. She double checks the ammunition in her gun, and makes sure her bulletproof vest is intact.

A few minutes pass where you’re left to sit and wait. With Kirby distracted with her gun and you distracted with your thoughts, neither of you notice the figure creeping up behind her.

Kirby falls to the ground, groaning before she falls unconscious. Before you can think of screaming, you’re hit hard in the back of the head.

You land next to Kirby on the ground, head spinning as your world fades to black.

You’re groggy as you wake, but you quickly notice that Kirby is nowhere to be found. You stand and take a minute to regain your bearings.

Once you’ve calmed down, you start to make out the faint sounds of voices in the main room. You slowly approach, stopping dead in your tracks once you see what’s going on.

Sam and Tara are clutching bricks, trying to defend themselves from Quinn and Ethan, who are wearing the ghostface robes and taunting the sisters with knives.

Detective Bailey stands in front of them, waving around a gun as he monologues.

To your dismay, Quinn notices you.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite accomplice.”

Bailey turns to face you, grinning.

“Come on over, join us!”

The rest of the group can’t see from where his back is turned, but his gun is aimed at you and his eyes are threatening. You comply, terrified as you inch forward.

When you’re within reach, Bailey reaches out and wraps an arm tightly around your shoulders, the force of his arm nearly knocking the wind out of you.

He turns to taunt the two sisters, “We couldn’t have done it without her. Your little girlfriend was a great help, Tara.”

Sam and Tara look shocked and then betrayal fills their eyes.

You’re confused, caught up in fear and panic.

Sam’s scoffs, “You needed four people just to take me out? That’s pathetic.”

Only now do you realize what’s going on. Bailey’s making it seem like you’ve been helping them all along, still not allowing you to be innocent.

Your eyes are wide and begging for the umpteenth time, “Wait, I didn’t help them!”

Ethan rolls his eyes, a tiny hidden smirk on his face, “Drop the act! This is the fun part Y/N, remember? Like we talked about.”

You try to wiggle out of Bailey’s grip, but he’s unwavering.

Your struggling causes you to meet Tara’s eyes. She looks devastated, like her worst thoughts were coming to life.

“Let me go! I didn’t help them, Tara please! Please it wasn’t me! They’re lying!”

Your cheeks are wet with your tears.

Bailey looks between you and Tara for a second before a smirk slowly spreads across his face.

“Well Tara, it looks like it’s up to you.” He tucks his gun into his waistband and pulls out a knife.

He gestures to you with the knife, “Girlfriend, or killer?”

The knife presses against your abdomen, ready to strike.

Time pauses for a second, while your eyes are locked on Tara’s. You’re pleading, the most desperate you’ve been up to this point. Your life is quite literally on the line, and if Tara chooses not to trust you, you’re dead.

Her mouth is agape, opening and closing, as she glances to Sam for help. Sam shakes her head and mouths a trust no one to her sister.

Tara remains conflicted.

Bailey growls, “Girlfriend or killer, Tara. Choose one.”

Tara’s gaze hardens, but you can still see how her eyes are flitting around worriedly.

She’s biting her lip hard.

You decide to try to sway her one more time, this is the girl you love, who knows how much you love her, though not by your choice. You don’t know if she returns your feelings, but this isn’t the time to be fearful of rejection. At least if she still doesn’t believe your innocence, you’ll die knowing you did everything you could to save yourself.

You don’t sound desperate anymore, just broken. “Tara, I- I love you. And I wouldn’t do this to you, or Sam, or any of our friends. You know me better than anyone else, so you should know I’m telling the truth. I have been all along.”

The room is still and silent.

Tara looks into your eyes, and whatever it is she sees, it makes her finally open her mouth to respond. She’s looking right at you as she speaks, “I believe you.”

It’s then that the room erupts into chaos.

You’re blinded with pain as Bailey’s knife enters your insides and twists around.

“You got it right Tara, but you’re too late.”

The knife is pulled out and thrusted back in. A trail of blood leaks out of your mouth.

Quinn and Ethan laugh. Tara’s screams ring loudly throughout the shrine, but she is held from running towards you by Sam.

You’ve lost track of how many times the knife has entered your body. The pain is so intense that you can’t even feel it anymore.

Your vision is spotty, and you slide limply out of Bailey’s grip to crash unceremoniously to the ground.

You’re left to wonder why no one’s ever said how sickening it is to feel your own life draining from your body. Maybe because they didn’t live to retell the pain?

As your eyes drift shut, you think back to the first night you’d met Tara. How you found her to be so alluring, so painstakingly beautiful. You remember the offhand internal comment you made after hours of blushing under her relentless teasing, when you’d said to yourself that this girl would someday be the death of you.

You’d laugh at the irony if you had enough energy to do so.

With the hopes of being reincarnated into a simpler life, you finally stop fighting death’s cold grasp and allow yourself to fade away.

And fade away you do.

Until the paramedics are pumping you full of drugs, their arms flying around you with practiced precision. They’re stitching, and bandaging, and doing everything they can to save your life.

Somehow, someway, they do it. They save you.

A week later, your eyes open for the first time.

The room is empty, your only company being a vase full of wilted flowers.

You’re covered by a thin blue blanket from the waist down. You’d reach down and assess the damage, but your arms don’t want to cooperate, still too weak to comply with your brain’s request.

Besides, you’re alive, shouldn’t that be all that matters?

It’s then that you hear two voices out in the hallway, growing louder as they likely approach your room.

The door opens, and you suck in a breath. It’s Sam and Tara, the latter of the two clutching a fresh bouquet of flowers in her uninjured arm.

They haven’t noticed you’re awake yet, still continuing their previous conversation.

“Hi.” You mentally kick yourself for always having the most awkward greetings.

They gasp and turn to face you.

“You’re awake!” Tara flies towards you and carefully embraces you, mindful of your barely healed injuries. You make a small noise in response, though eventually slowly lift your arms to return the hug.

Sam leaves to go inform the nurse of your condition.

The small girl pulls away to set the flowers down, before moving to gingerly sit on the side of the bed.

She lifts a hand to cup your face, silently stroking your cheek with her thumb.

“I owe you a huge apology,” she begins.

You shake your head, “We have plenty of time to talk about that, let’s just exist for now, yeah?”

She nods, big brown eyes scanning your face nervously. You watch curiously, as she seemingly works up some confidence.

“Is it true, what Mindy said?”

You pale, and meekly nod your head, knowing she’s referring to when Mindy exposed your love for her.

She’s launching herself towards you again, stopping with her lips mere millimeters away from your lips, a silent question of permission lurking in her eyes.

You glance down at her lips, wondering if they’re as soft as they were the first time you’d kissed her.

She takes that as your answer, and closes the gap. You’re drowning again, in everything that is Tara Carpenter, but there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

There’d be time to talk later, to work through your issues of trust with her and everyone else, but for now?

You were perfectly content with the blissful feeling of being consumed by Tara, of her expressing everything left unsaid with just her lips.

You’re scarred and hurt, beaten and bruised, but none of it matters.

You’re kissing Tara, and she’s enough. More than that, she’s all you’ll ever need.

Bonus note: Everyone thank @cartierdreamx for the happy ending, as much as I love it, r's death would've really fueled the evil angst rat that lives inside of me. Send me your thoughts, I'm so excited to hear what you all think after reading!

Taglist: @thenextdawn @dreifhraniquo29 @fanboy7794 @thelonewriter247 @simp4natasha @cartierdreamx @btay3115 @friedryes @bananasplits-world @alexkolax @ordelixx @adaydreamaway08 @youralphawolf72

As always, so sorry if I forgot to add anyone to the list that asked to be added! I tried my best to add everyone!! <3

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x you #scream fanfic #devil likes the pirate series #lonelym00n fic

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eksvaized · 1 month

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Part Four König / Ghost / Reader [ Previous 〡 Next ] ︱AO3 ︱Wattpad ︱ taglist (if you want to be added - let me know!): @strawberrygato, @ghostslittlegf, @eskalotte, @abcdbleh, @yawning-grave81, @liamwholover, @valira-demaur, @idek101-01

You don’t immediately confront König about the texts you discovered on his phone. Initially, you keep quiet because you’re still trying to comprehend and process the shocking revelation. The words you read are still swirling around in your mind, causing you to question everything you thought you knew about your relationship. However, as you remain silent, a creeping sense of doubt infiltrates your thoughts. You question your own judgement, wondering if perhaps you have misunderstood the situation. You wrestle with the notion that maybe there’s an explanation, a context that you’re not privy to.

The very notion that König could betray your trust and cheat on you is too painful to even consider. While there are times when he seems distant and you sometimes feel that he doesn’t pay enough attention to you, deep down, you still want to believe in him. You want to have faith that the man you love would not hurt you in such an unimaginable way.

And then, there comes a moment, when you find yourself aimlessly standing in the kitchen. Your eyes, almost instinctively, drift towards the window. There, you catch the sight of your neighbour. As your gaze lingers on him longer than it should, a pang of guilt washes over you like a tidal wave. Suddenly, it hits you like a bolt of lightning, the realization that your thoughts are straying, straying into a territory that you never intended to venture into. It makes you question whether you are really any better than König.

Your boyfriend might occasionally engage in harmless flirting with other women. Yet, you are in a similarly precarious situation, guilty of the same act of letting your eyes wander. You find yourself infatuated, even slightly obsessed, with the man who lives across the street. Even now, at this very moment when you should be returning to your living room, where König is waiting for you, you find yourself rooted to the spot, unable to move.

You let out a weary sigh, the weight of the world seemingly pressing against your chest. Your hands reach up to rub your face. The thought of confronting König has been gnawing at you, consuming every waking moment with a dread that’s nearly unbearable. You know deep down in the pit of your stomach that you should have a conversation with him. Yet, the haunting fear of the unknown keeps you paralyzed.

The morning has started off on such a high note, with König in a great mood. The last thing you want to do is to cast a dark cloud over the day. So, for now, you decide to push the matter aside, tucking it away in a corner of your mind. Yet again, you make a solemn promise to yourself, a vow sealed with the weight of your own resolve, to broach the subject of his potential infidelity the following day. Tomorrow, you would face the storm head on. But for today, you allow yourself a moment’s respite from the looming storm.

However, when the promised tomorrow arrives, you cannot break the silence. Again. Your lips remain sealed, your words swallowed by the anxiety of what his response might be. As the hours turn into days, and then into weeks, you find yourself trapped in a continuous, never-ending loop of silent mornings that stretch out before you, each one more daunting than the last.

Every day, you wake up filled with a newfound determination, believing that today would be the day you would finally gather the courage to ask him the daunting question that’s been relentlessly haunting your thoughts, echoing in the empty corners of your mind. But every time the moment arrives, every time you find yourself standing at the precipice of confession, you bite back the words, swallowing them down as they rise in your throat.

The question stays unasked, lingering in the air between you like a ghost, because you’re terrified of what Konig might say. You fear the rejection, the disappointment, the potential heartbreak, and breakup that his answer might bring—you fear the change that might come. But above all, you fear falsely accusing him. And so you remain silent, caught in a cycle of fear and anticipation, waiting for a tomorrow that might never come.

* * *

“Trust me… I’ll make up for it when I come back, okay?” König’s words echo in the hallway as he steps closer to you. The intensity of his gaze is almost palpable, and the air seems to thicken. As he leans down, his lips find their way to your forehead. It’s a gentle touch, soft and tender, sending a comforting warmth seeping through you, spreading from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

His hands find their place on your waist before venturing further, sneaking under the hem of your shirt. The feel of his gloves lightly grazing your bare skin sends a shiver down your spine, a ticklish sensation that has you squirming in his arms “I know you really wanted to visit your family, and that you are disappointed that the plans had to change, but this… this is the last time I’m breaking my promises.”

You’ve considered the idea of going alone, but the thought of flying on your own is daunting and the prospect of traveling across the country by yourself is something you’d rather not do. So, a part of you wants to trust him, to believe in the sincerity of his words. However, there’s this lingering voice at the back of your mind, a constant nagging reminder of past experiences, urging you not to place too much hope on the chance that König would keep his word this time.

As he leans down to kiss you, his hands trace the contours of your body. They glide downwards in a slow motion before settling on your hips. His fingers hook around the belt loops on your jeans, exerting just enough pressure to tug you gently, yet insistently, closer to him.

König pauses then, creating a moment of suspense that makes your breath hitch. As his eyes focus on you, his forehead comes to rest against yours. The intensity of his gaze is magnetic, drawing you in and holding you captive.

In the quiet space between heartbeats, he breaks the silence. His voice, low and husky, “I’m going to miss you.” The words hang in the air, a poignant reminder of the inevitable parting that looms ahead, adding a bittersweet edge to the tender moment you two are sharing.

You give a slight nod in response; the words stuck in your throat, unable to find their way out. You’ve always found it excruciatingly hard to bid him goodbye, to watch him walk away with the haunting uncertainty that he might not come back. The fear always nibbles at your heartstrings. But this time, it feels distinctively different from the departures that preceded it. This time, he tenderly wraps his strong arms around you, pulling you into the comforting warmth of his embrace, holding you so tightly as if trying to imprint the moment into his memory. His voice, a soft murmur laced with raw emotion, tickles your hair as he leans in to whisper the three words that make your heart flutter: “I love you.”

* * *

As each day passes by, one following the other, they march in a slow, monotonous rhythm, a procession of identical hours and minutes that seem to stretch into infinity. You fall back into your mundane routine, the familiar patterns offering some semblance of normality. You fill your hours with activities, tasks and hobbies, each one designed to distract you from the overwhelming sense of loneliness that threatens to consume you. This feeling, this insidious companion, becomes particularly potent whenever you are alone in the house.

One of these mundane activities is doing laundry. It’s a chore that brings you face-to-face with König’s oversized duffle bag, which is practically bursting at the seams, indicating it’s full of dirty clothes. With a sigh, you approach it, lift it with an effort, and start extracting the smelly, forgotten laundry. You can’t help but crinkle your nose in disgust — König’s disregard for cleanliness, particularly his tendency to leave his dirty clothes lying around when he returns home from a mission, is a habit you’ve always found distasteful.

As you lift the worn-out duffle bag for one last shake, ensuring every last piece of clothing has been retrieved, a crumpled, forgotten piece of paper tumbles out and lands softly on your lap. It piques your curiosity. Casting the bag aside, you pick up the paper, your fingers tracing its creased edges as you attempt to smooth it out.

It’s a hastily torn page from some notebook, its edges rugged. Something has been scrawled across it in messy, rushed handwriting, as if the thoughts were too fast for the hand to keep up with. The once vibrant ink has smudged, faded, and blotched in places, making it a challenge to decipher the words. So, you bring it closer to your face, your eyes squinting in concentration, your mind eager to decode the what was written so hastily.

Meet me at the usual spot when you come back. -S

Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t pay much attention to the note. After all, it’s not uncommon to find a medley of objects, ranging from old notes to various pieces of paper, interspersed amongst König’s possessions. He has a habit of stuffing it all in the side pockets of his bag, rather than disposing of everything.

However, on this occasion, the mere sight of a single initial inscribed at the end of the note instantaneously triggers a wave of memories, all leading back to the cryptic messages you had encountered on König’s phone. While there isn’t any concrete evidence linking the note to Sarah, a gut feeling, combined with a series of coincidences, leads you to believe that this note was penned by her.

Throughout the entire day, you keep the note tucked away with you. It sits in your pocket, feeling heavier than a handful of stones. Now and then, you find your hand subconsciously reaching out to touch it, just to reassure yourself that it’s still there. You are gripped by the fear of misplacing it, consumed by the thought of it slipping out of your pocket unnoticed, or worse, accidentally throwing it away with the day’s rubbish. .

You are filled with a profound sense of regret, a feeling that gnaws at your heart. You wish you had discovered the note sooner, at a time, when König was still within reach, still at home.

You can’t help but allow your mind to wander to what could have been. It’s crazy how something so small could hold such big implications. It is the missing puzzle piece—the catalyst you needed to muster the courage to confront him, to have a heart to heart conversation about the questions that have been haunting you for weeks now. However, he is no longer here to provide the answers you seek. His presence replaced by an echoing silence and cold emptiness.

Yes, you can call him, while clinging to the hope that he hasn’t decided to turn off his phone and that he will be willing to pick up. But you yearn for more. You want to see the expression changing on his face as the truth finally sees the light of day. You want to witness that moment of raw honesty, not just hear it.

Your evening culminates with you sinking, almost melting, into the plush cushions of the couch. The room around you is bathed in a soft, dim light, the last remnants of the day’s glow that are gradually fading away, surrendering to the impending darkness of the night.

You seek refuge from the tormenting thoughts that have taken a firm grip on your mind, and attempt to distract yourself with a bottle of wine. This bottle, which you found hidden deep in the far corner of one of the kitchen cupboards, had been lying there neglected, its layer of dust indicating its long-standing disuse.

You’d hoped that the warmth of the wine trickling slowly down your throat would offer some semblance of solace, a temporary respite from the turmoil within. However, the wine doesn’t seem to be working its anticipated magic. Instead of the calming effect you’d hoped for, the chaos inside your mind persists, relentless and unforgiving. It leaves no room for tranquility.

The note, those haunting words etched upon it, along with the vivid image of König and Sarah together, play in your mind like a broken record. The heart-wrenching thought of them together is like a punch to your gut, making you reel with a pain you’ve never known before. All these thoughts, these nagging reminders of a reality you’re not yet ready to accept, continue to circle in your head. They are like unwelcome guests who have not only overstayed their welcome but have also made themselves too comfortable, refusing to leave the confines of your already burdened and overwhelmed mind.

At this point, you are at a loss, unsure of your own emotions. You stand on the precipice of an emotional abyss, not knowing whether to let your pent-up frustration take the reins. To yell, to scream, to let it all out in a burst of cathartic anger, or to let the tightly held dam of tears break loose, allowing yourself the release of a heart-wrenching cry. A cry so deep, so raw that you might just end up crying until you’re completely spent, until you’re hollow and numb, devoid of any feeling.

You grumble when the doorbell rings. A sense of annoyance bubbles up within you, prickling at your skin like a thousand tiny needles, since you are certainly not in the mood to entertain unannounced guests. In your quiet frustration, you stubbornly choose not to move at first, silently praying that the person standing on your doorstep will take the hint and leave. But much to your dismay, the doorbell rings again. Again. And then, again. The repeated disturbance finally causes your patience to snap like a twig.

With an audible groan, after it becomes clear that the uninvited visitor won’t leave, you angrily pull yourself up. You march towards the door; your mind filled with bitter thoughts, ready to confront and cuss out the person who dared to disturb you.

As you reach out to twist the knob and open the door, the words you had been rehearsing seem to become lodged in your throat, rendering you momentarily speechless. A look of surprise paints your face as you take a sharp breath in. Standing at your doorstep is your neighbour.

His gaze, piercing and inquisitive, travels down your body before snapping back up to meet your eyes. It is at this moment that you suddenly become aware of your appearance. You are clad in one of König’s old, worn-out shirts that hang loosely on your frame, coupled with a pair of grey joggers that have definitely seen better days. Your hair is dishevelled, a wild mess that you haven’t bothered to tame, to say the least.

To top it all off, the haunted look in your eyes is unmistakable; in a sense, you are indeed being haunted. The note, stashed away in your pocket, seems to radiate an intense heat that burns through the fabric of your joggers. It feels as though it’s searing your skin.

“You’ve come to borrow another cup of sugar?” You inquire, your voice laced with a rich, unmistakable layer of sarcasm. The once overpowering feelings of hesitation and intimidation that had previously gripped you, rendering you silent during your last encounter with him, have now dissipated.

“No.” The word falls from his lips as he shakes his head. A few rebellious strands of his hair tumble forward to obscure his eyes. It looks like he just stepped out of the shower—his locks are still slightly damp, and you can’t help but notice the way they’ve darkened from their usual shade.

Your eyes wander, drawn to the subtle changes in him you hadn’t noticed before because of your nervousness, but the movement of his arm pulls your attention away. Your neighbour extends his hand towards you, his fingers curled something. His action effectively diverts your attention from his appearance. “But I wanted to give you back this.”

Upon closer look, you realise it’s the cup you had lent him. You nod, reaching out to take it from him. Your fingers brush against his. Just days ago, such touch had sent a jolt of electricity coursing down your spine, made your heart beat faster, and even caused you to blush. But right now, it all is replaced by an all-consuming numbness and emptiness that has taken up residence within the deepest corners of your heart.

You want to tell him that he really didn’t have to go through the trouble of returning the cup. But there’s a question that’s been burning at the back of your mind, a question that you’ve been wanting to ask him for quite some time now.

“What’s your name?”

“Simon,” he says. There’s a moment of silence that seems to stretch on but only lasts a few heartbeats.

His brown eyes dart towards your vacant driveway. The absence of your boyfriend’s truck does not go unnoticed. Then, as if on a silent cue, they flit over your shoulder, taking in the hollow emptiness of the hallway behind you. Every corner, every shadow, scanned with an almost unnerving precision. And then, within the blink of an eye, his gaze returns to its original position, resting on your face, studying you with an intensity that’s hard to ignore.

“Y/N,” you also say, deciding to introduce yourself as well. It feels only fair after all.

It’s clear to you that you should shut the door right in Simon’s face, just like you did the last time he showed up late in the evening. However, the weight of the note in your pocket feels extraordinarily heavy, and it ignites a burning desire within you to retaliate against König. The wine, which has been flowing freely tonight, is clouding your judgment and leading you to make irrational decisions.

“Do you want to come in?” you ask, a question that in the sober light of day, you will probably regret.

“Won’t your boyfriend be mad?” Simon replies. For a moment, you find yourself puzzled, wondering how he knows about your relationship. But then it dawns on you—his house is right across the street. There’s no way he could be ignorant of your comings and goings, and he’s certainly not blind or stupid. He must have spotted König at least a few times.

“He’s not at home,” you say, a hint of defiance in your voice.

You half-expect Simon to turn down your invitation. But to your utter astonishment, he takes you up on your request and steps over the threshold, into your home.

After you lead him to the living room, you pour him a glass of wine, draining the last drops from the bottle. Sitting down on the armchair, he leaves you to claim the entire couch for yourself. The conversation, initially, is awkward and stilted—you find yourself grappling for the right words to say, and his intense scrutiny doesn’t help.

His lips are curled into a smirk, his gaze shamelessly scanning your figure with a heated intensity that causes a rush of warmth to flood your cheeks. However, you find solace in the wine; the more you concentrate on the swirling ruby liquid in your glass and drink, the easier it becomes to maintain the conversation.

You expect him to make advances, to reciprocate the flirtatious overtures that you not so subtly weave into your sentences. But even when you let slip a few obvious innuendos, a few candid remarks about the palpable loneliness that you feel, or about his undeniable attractiveness, Simon doesn’t seem to register them. Or if he does, he does a commendable job of feigning ignorance.

As you sit across from him, you can’t help but notice the way he listens to your every word, his attention never faltering. It’s as if your conversation is the most important thing to him at that moment. His eyes—always focused on you. Somewhere along the way, amid the banter and the wine, you find yourself veering away from idle chit-chat, starting to open up to him. The conversation takes on a more profound tone, and you begin sharing things you never thought you would. You pour your heart out, peeling back the layers, revealing parts of yourself that have been hidden for so long.

“If you want to know the truth instead of trying to come up with your own version of it, you should just ask him and stop avoiding the difficult conversation just because you’re afraid of its outcome,” Simon says after you share with him your suspicion that your boyfriend might be cheating.

You’re not entirely sure why you chose to unveil such personal turmoil to him. Perhaps it was his empathetic gaze or the fact that he was simply there. At the right moment. Regardless, it feels incredibly cathartic to finally unload the burden that has been weighing heavily on your heart, even if the person you’re entrusting this secret to is essentially a neighbour—a person you barely know.

The atmosphere is saturated with a silent, heavy melancholy, palpable in the surrounding air. Simon catches a fleeting glimpse of the sadness mirrored in your eyes. He’s quick to offer consolation. His words, tender and sincere, gently brush away the dark, brooding clouds that had gathered in your mind, casting a shadow over your thoughts. Eager to distract you from your worries, he shifts the conversation to a lighter note.

He starts talking about everyday occurrences, sharing amusing anecdotes, and recalling some old memories, all in an attempt to bring some normalcy back into the equation. This strategy, simple yet effective, seems to work its magic as your gloomy mood gradually lifts.

As the hours unfurl and slip away, you find yourself deeply engrossed in a multitude of topics, ranging from the mundane to the profound. Simon appears genuinely interested in getting to know you. His demeanor is open, warm and encouraging, prompting you to open up and share parts of yourself that you usually keep hidden away. As you share stories about your life, yourself and your relationship, you answer his volley of questions with refreshing honesty.

However, it’s only much later, when the conversation has dwindled and you’re left with your thoughts, that you realize that Simon, despite leading the conversation and asking all the questions, has shared very little about himself.

Eventually, exhaustion creeps in. You lower yourself down on the couch, stretching your legs out, the stiffness in your joints slowly dissipating as you sink deeper into cushions. Without realizing it, you drift off to sleep, an empty glass still clutched in your hand. The last thing you remember before sleep completely engulfs you is the sound of Simon’s voice, a soft cadence in the background, narrating his recent move to America for work. What surprises you is the lack of an accent, quite unusual considering he hasn’t spent a significant amount of time in the states yet. You want to comment on it, but the thought remains unspoken, swallowed up by the encroaching fog of sleep.

When you awaken, the armchair that he had been occupying is empty. You assume that he must have gone home—the house is quiet, devoid of any sound of footsteps.

The soft glow of the moonlight illuminates the darkness, offering you just enough light to navigate through the house without stumbling. But as you make your way towards the bedroom, the soft glow of a light turned on in the hallway catches your attention. You halt and see Simon’s silhouette. He appears to be engaged in something, though from your position, it’s hard to tell exactly what. Several doors are left slightly ajar.

“What are you doing?” You ask, your voice piercing the silence. Simon looks startled at your sudden question. He turns around, his body stiffening before eventually relaxing.

“I was just looking for a bathroom,” he explains.

“Oh,” you respond, suppressing a yawn and scratching the back of your head as you point towards the room across the corridor.

A/N: finally I was able to edit this chapter-- it took me so damn long because of all the midterms (which literally left my brain scrambled) >.< but thank u for the patience & hope you enjoyed it!!

#simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #writing #ghost x y/n #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod #ghost cod #konigxghostxreader #konig call of duty #konig cod #konig #konig x reader #fem!reader #ao3 fanfic

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mariposa-writes · 7 months

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Shattered Bonds

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Word count: 2.6k

Overview: In the aftermath of your brother's mysterious death, a shattered bond of trust separates you from your closest friend, Simon.

CW: Grief and loss, substance abuse, mentions of death, mild violence, mental health.

Author's Note: Thinking about doing a second part to this. Let me know if I should make it a happy or sad ending. Please like, comment, and REBLOG.

Your deepest nightmare had manifested itself into reality. You were completely and utterly alone.

Although, to be fair, your residence was currently bustling with individuals. Some were acquaintances from high school, while others were mere strangers. Nevertheless, none of their presence held any significance.

For in that very moment, you were truly alone in this world.

Your brother, confidant, partner in mischief, your lifeline—had passed away. You grappled with the daunting prospect of life without him. The idea of moving forward, devoid of his calls, embraces, or even his woefully bad dad jokes, was unfathomable.

You sat on your couch, surrounded by well-intentioned individuals attempting to offer solace, their words often fading into a distant murmur.

"He's in a better place now."

"He'll always be with you."

"Your brother was a great man."

_______

A month had crawled by since the funeral, each day stretching out like a lifetime. From the moment you woke up to the departure of the last guest from your home, time moved at a glacial pace, as if it had forgotten how to flow.

The ache in your heart remained as profound as ever, a constant companion through these long, lonely weeks.

Your nightly routine had undergone a transformation, abandoning its structure and order. Instead, you settled for a quick shower before cocooning yourself in the familiar embrace of your sweatpants and a t-shirt that had once belonged to your brother. The fabric still carried his scent, a faint trace of his presence that offered a small measure of comfort in this new, uncertain reality.

The kettle on the stove reached its boiling point, its shrill whistle slicing through the heavy air just as a knock echoed at your door. You took the kettle off the burner, wondering who it could be at this late hour of the night.

"What are you doing here?" You questioned, your gaze drilling into the man before you.

"I came to make sure you were okay," he replied.

"Cut the act, Simon. You ignore my calls, don't bother with my texts, and now you think you can just show up out of the blue?" You huffed, your indignation evident.

"I know, I'm sorry," he admitted.

"Sorry?" You questioned incredulously. "This has been the most excruciating month of my life, and you were nowhere to be found!" A tear welled up in your eye, and you sniffled. "I needed you," you admitted weakly, your vulnerability surfacing in the midst of your anger.

He stepped closer, his hand gently resting on your waist. "I'm here now," he whispered, his voice filled with genuine remorse. With a tender gesture, he pulled you into his chest, enfolding you in the warmth of his embrace as his arms wrapped around your weeping form.

You had the impulse to resist, to push him away, but the exhaustion of the past month had drained you of all resistance. Instead, you surrendered to the solace of his arms, seeking the comfort that had been absent ever since you'd received the devastating news about your brother.

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the occasional sniffle or a quiet sob that escaped your lips. Simon held you tightly, understanding that words couldn't mend the pain, but his presence might provide some respite.

As time passed, you both remained locked in that intimate embrace, sharing the weight of your grief. The world outside seemed to fade away, and in that moment, it was just the two of you, united by loss and the fragile bonds of friendship.

Eventually, you pulled away, wiping away your tears with the back of your hand. "It's cold, come in. I was making tea." You offered, feeling calmer than you had all month now that Simon was here.

You led Simon into your cozy living room, the scent of tea already permeating the air. The familiar surroundings of your home offered a sense of security, and you found yourself beginning to relax, the tension in your shoulders easing.

As you settled onto the couch, you couldn't help but think about the history between you and Simon. He had always possessed a calming presence, a quality you had sensed from the first time your brother had brought him home, introducing him to your family as his best friend.

Since that day, Simon had become a constant presence in your life. You struggled to remember a time when he wasn't there, a reliable and steady companion through the ups and downs of life. His absence during this difficult month had been a stark departure from the norm, but you were determined to cherish the connection that had endured for so long.

Simon nodded appreciatively as you handed him a steaming cup of tea. "Thank you," he said softly, his eyes reflecting the depth of his regret.

______

Simon stayed around after that, choosing to sleep on your couch instead of returning to base. You didn't protest; in fact, you found comfort in his presence.

The days were a mix of tension and familiarity, with the occasional awkward moments, especially when you couldn't help but recall how Simon had left you when you needed him most. However, there were also moments of ease and comfort.

Growing up, you, Simon, and your brother had practically been inseparable, spending weeks, if not months, together in your house. So, in some ways, this situation wasn't entirely new.

As time passed, the two of you settled into a natural routine. Simon would depart during the days, his destinations often a mystery, while you worked from home, only venturing into the office when absolutely necessary.

This morning, like many others, Simon had already left before you had even gotten up. It was a pattern you had grown accustomed to; he usually went to bed later and rose earlier.

While preparing a cup of tea, your gaze happened upon the calendar magnetically adhered to your fridge. Today's date stood out, encircled and embellished with doodles, marking your brother's birthday. You hadn't forgotten what today was; in fact, you preferred not to dwell on it. The weight of his absence had made every reminder a poignant stab at your heart.

You found your gaze fixated on the calendar for longer than you'd like to admit, your thoughts mired in a swirl of emotions. Finally, you abandoned the idea of making tea, pouring out the water, and instead retrieved a twelve-pack of beer and a bottle of vodka from the fridge.

Slamming the fridge door shut, you felt a surge of frustration as that date continued to taunt you from the calendar. Placing the bottle of vodka on the counter, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You yanked the calendar off the fridge, crumpled it up, and forcefully deposited it into the trash can, as if by doing so, you could erase the painful reminder of the day.

With your work computer carelessly stashed into your bag, you abandoned the day's responsibilities. Instead, you reached for the TV remote, its familiar weight comforting in your hand. You powered on your favorite show, seeking refuge in its distraction.

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed the bottle of vodka, uncorking it with a swift motion. Without hesitation, you lifted it to your lips, taking a shot. The fiery liquid burned its way down your throat, and you welcomed the sensation, hoping that the alcohol would soon numb your senses to the point where you wouldn't remember the day of the week, let alone the painful date etched in your memory.

______

The sun had begun its descent on the horizon when Simon finally returned home. He anticipated finding you either at the table diligently working on your tasks or perhaps sitting on the couch, engrossed in a show or book. However, the sight that greeted him sent a pang of sorrow through his heart.

There you were, sprawled out on the couch, your form limp and vulnerable. Empty beer bottles lay scattered on the floor around you, and a half-empty bottle of vodka sat ominously on the coffee table, a stark testament to the attempt to drown out the pain that had overwhelmed you.

Simon let out a heavy sigh, the weight of the situation pressing upon him as he dropped his bag on the floor. With a sense of determination, he made his way over to you, gently picking up the empty bottles and disposing of them in the kitchen trash. The half-empty bottle of vodka found a new home in a cabinet that he hadn't seen you use before.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice filled with both worry and understanding. "Let's get you to bed."

With gentle strength, he carefully lifted you from the couch and carried you to your bedroom. There, he assisted you in changing out of the alcohol-scented clothes and into a clean t-shirt and a pair of comfortable shorts, maneuvering your body with utmost care. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, his actions were marked by a deep sense of compassion and an unwavering commitment to helping you through this difficult time.

He tucked you snugly into bed, making sure you were comfortable before reaching for the cord on the lamp. Just as the room dimmed, your hand reached out and gently grasped his wrist. Your voice was groggy as you asked, "Can you stay with me tonight?"

"Of course," he answered without hesitation. He got into bed beside you, providing the reassuring presence you so desperately needed.

You wasted no time, curling up in his side and laying your head on his chest. His arm circled around you, keeping you securely tucked into his side.

You lay there in silence, desperately attempting to coax yourself into slumber, yet sleep remained elusive. Your mind had become a battlefield ever since Simon had unexpectedly appeared at your doorstep, relentlessly tormenting you with a single, haunting question.

No matter how hard you tried to move past what Simon had done, it proved to be an impossible task without an explanation. His abrupt disappearance from your life continue to baffle you, leaving a gaping void that couldn't be filled. In the quiet of the night, you summoned the courage to confront him, unsure if he was already asleep.

"Simon?" you whispered hestantly.

"Hmm?" came his drowsy response.

Taking a few deep breaths to steady your nerves, you pressed on. Asking the question that had relentlessly gnawed at your thoughts ever since Simon had taken refuge in your home. "Why didn't you come to the funeral?" Your voice was barely louder than a mouse's, laced with uncertainty

"I was working," Simon repeated, but you weren't convinced. you knew him too well. His voice had that ever-so-slight elevation that only someone intimately familiar with him could detect.

You leaned in closer, your eyes narrowing in the dim light of the room. "Simon, we've been through too much together for me not to know when you're lying. What's the real reason you didn't come? Why didn't any of the task force come?" Your words carried a mixture of frustration and hurt, a reflection of the years of friendship that seemed to be unraveling before your eyes.

Simon let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. His reluctance to meet your gaze was evident as he finally confessed, "I was investigating your brother."

Startled, you sat up abruptly, putting some distance between yourself and Simon. "Investigating my brother?" your voice trembled with a mix of confusion and concern. "Why? Did he do something wrong?" The thought of your brother being involved in something illicit or dangerous sent a shiver down your spine.

The weight of Simon's revelation hung heavily in the air, and tears welled up in your eyes as you absorbed the shocking news. Your brother had dedicated himself to the military, pouring his heart and soul into his service. The idea of him being labeled as a "dirty officer" by the very institution he had sacrificed so much for was a painful blow.

Reluctantly, you found the strength to voice the question that you dreaded to ask. "Do you think he's dirty?"

Simon's silence spoke volumes, confirming your worst fears without a single word. The truth lay heavy between you, a bridge burned and a bond strained by the shadows of doubt.

With a heavy heart and a mind clouded by a whirlwind of emotions, you rose from the bed, determined to put some distance between yourself and Simon. The betrayal and uncertainty weighed on you, and you needed space to process it all.

As Simon made a move to approach you, you whispered, "Get out of my house," your voice barely audible in its initial plea. When he remained rooted in place, his expression confused and lost, you steeled yourself and repeated the command with a firmer resolve. "Get out of my house, Simon," you gritted through your teeth, your eyes reflecting the pain and anger that simmered beneath the surface.

His voice, pleading and full of desperation, called your name, "Please, we can talk about this." But you remained unmoved, consumed by a potent cocktail of hurt and betrayal. How could Simon, the one person who knew your brother as well as you did, lack faith in his innocence? Your brother was a beacon of integrity, and you couldn't fathom that he would ever betray his country.

Simon continued, his words slipping into your thoughts like a venomous serpent. "All the evidence-" It was as if a red mist descended upon you, a sudden surge of anger and frustration. In a fit of overwhelming emotion, you grabbed the nearest object, a lamp on your nightstand, and hurled it towards Simon. He reacted with lightning reflexes, narrowly avoiding the projectile, which shattered against the wall where he had been standing just moments before.

"The evidence doesn't matter!" you yelled, your voice filled with raw emotion. "He's innocent, and you know it! Stop lying to yourself!" No amount of evidence could sway your unwavering belief in your brother's goodness. It pained you deeply to see how easily Simon had been influenced, how easily the whole task force had been swayed, by what they had seen or heard, casting doubt on the man you knew your brother to be.

Simon, concerned for your well-being, moved closer and gently restrained your flailing arms, preventing any further outbursts that could lead to harm. "Listen," he implored, his voice earnest, "I'm trying to prove his innocence. It's just that everything I uncover makes him look worse. I can't keep going down this path and risk further damage to his reputation."

"Sounds like it's already been ruined," you retorted bitterly, your gaze filled with a mixture of frustration and contempt as you looked at Simon. The weight of your brother's tarnished reputation hung heavily in the air, a painful reminder of the chasm that had grown between you and the person who had once been one of your closest confidants.

Simon gazed at you with a mix of determination and remorse in his eyes. He nodded solemnly, understanding the depth of your pain and the importance of the task ahead. "I'll do everything in my power to clear his name," he vowed.

With a heavy heart, you replied, "Keep looking. Don't come back until you clear his name. I don't want someone in my house that doesn't believe in him."

Simon nodded once more, silently accepting your terms. He turned and left your room, his resolve renewed to uncover the truth and restore the faith you once had in him.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #Simon ghost Riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod #modern warfare ii #modern warfare fanfiction #soap cod #john mctavish #captain price #gaz mw2 #john price #kyle gaz garrick #koing

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shina913 · 1 year

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The Boyfriend Experience | KTH

The Boyfriend Experience: Taehyung

The BFE: Masterlist

Pairing: Escort!Taehyung x Fem!Reader

Rating: M🔞

Genre: sex!workAU; exes to something; smut; some fluff; hint of angst

Warnings: legal sex work (in this AU); sex for hire; cussing; explicit sexual conversations; alcohol consumption; dirty talk; Tae and OC have filthy mouths; hair pulling; fingering; clit play; breast play; oral (F-receiving); heavy petting; protected sex; multiple orgasms; stamina!

Word count: 7,023 words

Summary: 💬 If I can hire a massage therapist to help relieve my back pain, a hairdresser to cut my hair, a mechanic to service my car and a handyman to replace a broken door, I should be able to legally hire a man to have sex with me.

A/N: Yes, yes, a couple days later than promised but...life happened! Anyway, I try to make each experience relatively unique but I am one person and sometimes, I find myself drifting towards the same themes. But hopefully each one is unique enough where it would still be entertaining! Thanks to my sis, @internetjunkdrawer for looking this over 😘

Your boyfriend of over two years turned to you one day and said that he didn’t want to be in a long-term relationship any longer. You’d been living together in the last year and things seemed perfect.

But at some point, he claims to have had an epiphany and expressed his desire to travel more, experience new things, and ‘find himself’. It sounded like an awful cliché and you were understandably crushed. What else could you do? You loved him but you were not going to beg him to stay.

He moved out shortly after breaking the news to you. You still followed each other on social media and saw glimpses of his new life–traveling around, drinking champagne on a boat off the coast of some paradise.

He looked so carefree, happy…you were envious of it all. You would also love to leave everything behind and go soul-searching. You would also love to just yell out, ‘fuck it all’ and jet off to some random island and live off the sea.

But other responsibilities were calling your name. As quickly as you’d shred those bills and toss them up carelessly in midair, you’d be waiting to catch each piece of paper before they hit the ground, taping them all together to settle them.

Instead of spending your days doom-scrolling through Taehyung’s exciting new life without you, you just dealt with the breakup in the best way you knew how–throwing yourself into work.

Pretty soon, a year passes. You worked a fast-paced office job and for a while, that worked as a distraction. But at the end of the day, it didn’t do much to get your mind off your loneliness.

You’ve always been a relationship girl and you thought that Taehyung was going to be “the one,” until he wasn’t. At this point in your life, the prospect of casually dating seemed so daunting. You wondered how your peers kept up with it. Just thinking about the logistics was excruciating, but you still wanted to give it a try.

You weren’t itching to jump into a relationship again but you certainly craved some fun and excitement. Although, let’s be real…you craved for sex. You needed hot, sweaty, skin-on-skin contact and that familiar rush of flirting just because.

You thought that it’s been more than enough time since your breakup and you were ready for it!

Well, it turned out that casual dating was nothing short of a disaster.

Some of your prospects seemed more comfortable with being flirty text-buddies but they ghosted you as soon as you pressed them to meet. What the fuck was deal with that?

Some of those who did turn up looked nowhere near close to their profile photo. And then there were just some whom you felt that you had absolutely zero sexual chemistry with.

These apps only caused you distress and the thought of one-night stands were hardly worth the morning-after awkwardness.

Was it too much to ask the universe to have a time period dedicated to you, having the time of your life, followed by receiving a good dicking-down from a man whom you found attractive and was solely focused on pleasuring you at the drop of a hat?

For a while, that seemed like an impossible ask.

Until one day, during a particularly heated bitching session at happy hour, your friend Yuriko, hinted at this ‘very exclusive’ dating service that she just joined. To you, ‘exclusive’ was synonymous to ‘expensive’ and you didn’t want to pay more than what you had put into these other dating apps.

But…after a series of frustrating dates and equally disappointing sexual partners, you prod her about it.

The Boyfriend Experience.

It was an escorting app. You were very skeptical about it but she suggested referring you to the company so you could get in–since it was ‘exclusive’ and all. The price range made you hesitant to jump the gun but she told you that there were no commitments or any other binding contracts with the exception of an NDA. If you weren’t satisfied, you could terminate at any point, and they would give you your money back.

That seemed unusually bold for this type of business to guarantee a refund if you weren’t 100% satisfied.

You were a few drinks in during happy hour and thought, at least there was some assurance that you’d get your money back if your guy turns out to be a terrible lay!

******

Your friend said that you should hear back as to whether the escort service has accepted your referral in about five business days.

But it’s been over a week now and you still haven't received a notification. You thought it was hopeless and decided you’d just get back into the dating pool again.

Later that night, you tucked yourself into bed, vibrator and lube at the ready for yet another exciting Saturday night of solo masturbation. Right before getting into it, you hear a buzz–not from your little toy, but from your phone.

You’d normally ignore it and rather take care of business first but something compelled you to check it.

Welcome to the Boyfriend Experience, YN!

You gasped. Actually gasped. It was like scoring a coveted golden ticket. Except, instead of touring a candy factory, it was…well…a dick factory.

You scrolled through images of escorts they had on their roster. They were all intriguing in their own way. Some photos were professionally taken with the occasional sprinkling of personal selfies–mostly closeups of their abs or gifted crotch areas–trying to prove that they didn’t stuff any rolled socks down their underwear. Some photos included the escort in settings that reflect their personalities–each profile had a list of varied interests and specialties that would fit any client’s needs.

Could you really follow through with this? You’ve considered yourself a bit of a prude. There was that fear of shame that niggled at you from the back of your mind.

Then you thought, men did this all the time! Women also had desires and needs…and currently, that ache between your legs was demanding to be serviced.

Now was the time to push yourself out of your comfort zone, albeit in the wildest way possible!

It was about 9:45PM when you hit send on a message to your chosen escort. He had abs you could grate a slab of granite on. He looked like he had a nice face…if it was actually his.

While waiting on a response, you fire a text to Yuriko.

[You] 9:50PM: What if these photos weren’t of him? What if it’s fake?

[Yuri] 9:51PM: You can DM them and ask. They’ll send you a photo to confirm 😉

[You] 9:53PM: Girl, what if he’s a murderer?

[Yuri] 9:55PM: Oh, he’s a murderer, alright…a murderer of pussy 💀

“Fucking Christ, Yuri,” you breathed out, laughing.

Forty-five minutes pass and you haven’t heard back. It was a Saturday night–must be busy for him. At this point, you had lost your lady-boner so you decided to just knock out.

******

The next day, you wake up to a response from him. He asked straightforward questions about time, date, and other logistics. He asked if you’d like to take advantage of the half-hour mini-date at the club, which you turned down. You wanted this to be as no-frills as possible.

The exchange felt professional, as if you were booking a spa appointment.

You asked if he could send you a real-time selfie of him holding up a photo of your name. Minutes later, he DM’ed a photo and you exhaled a sigh of relief–it was indeed him.

Looking into how the site vets escorts helped you relax further. He asked you about what kind of fantasies you had in mind, but you told him you’d rather have a drink and get to know each other as ‘normally’ as you could.

Your session was set for next Friday night, he told you what his rate was for two hours. It was a bit steep but…he looked hot and at least Yuri could vouch for their services.

******

You were distracted at work that day with more butterflies than your average Friday feeling. As soon as you got home, you gulped a glass of wine and put on a dress and heels, as if you were going on an actual date. You were a bundle of nerves. A small part of you worried that he’d see you and terminate the date. You read under the terms that they are well within their rights to do that.

What if he thought you weren’t worth the money you were paying him?

To your surprise, he didn’t run away. He was very punctual and polite. You weren’t sure if those were adjectives you’d ever use to describe an escort but–he was!

Obviously, he was also very attractive. You expressed how nervous you were and he immediately put you at ease. You offered him a glass of wine then casually chatted about your lives, nothing too deep or familiar.

He asked you about your job and how you came to know about the service. It felt very similar to an actual date, except the chemistry felt instantaneous than any other date you’ve been on.

The intimacy happened naturally. It started with a light grazing of your arm, a cheeky touch of your ass while you were putting away some dishes in the sink. There was nothing forced or mechanical about it. It’s as if he mastered the user manual on how to turn you on.

‘Unbelievable’ seemed like such an inadequate way to describe the sex…but it was! It’s like he knew everything your body craved before you did.

There was a certain level of commitment to your pleasure and your needs that you had never experienced from past lovers before. He didn’t expect you to do anything for him nor did he allow you to try and return the favor.

It was all about you. As he left, you told him his price was selling him seriously short.

******

Admittedly, you felt a little dirty afterwards but only in the way a one-night stand always made you feel, in the back of your mind. You still worried that it was embarrassing. Fear struck you at the thought of anyone you knew finding out even with the NDA in place.

Your need for sex had gone to the extreme except that this was way more satisfying than picking up any random guy at a bar.

By the second time you booked him, you felt braver, more empowered. By your third session, the shame and awkwardness wore off. You saw the same guy four times in total, on a monthly basis. You have officially made it part of your self-care routine.

Some women liked mani-pedis or getting their hair done while you preferred feeling a man's weight on top of you.

Obviously, you were fully aware that your relationship was strictly business, but it was nice to feel familiar, in a way. You kept in contact and had casual chats while arranging your next meeting.

It felt almost like a special friendship, except that there was no stress over ‘what any of it meant’, or whether he was ‘giving off signs.’ There were none of those complicated mind-games that usually came with casual dating. It was refreshing!

Your fifth booking was certainly a memorable one.

As you were preparing for your monthly meet-up with your usual, he sent you an urgent message saying that he was feeling ill and apologized profusely for not being able to make your date. However, since you’d been such a great client, he didn’t want to leave you hanging so he had spoken to his other colleague to show up in his stead to make it up to you.

[You] 5:20PM: You really don’t have to do that–we can reschedule when you’re better!

[J] 5:25PM: No, this is last minute and I know that we were both looking forward to it! But my friend will take very good care of you, I promise!

[You] : Hmm…I don’t know. Send me his profile?

He forwards you the link after a few minutes.

[J] 5:35PM: I promise you, he’s great! I’ve known him for a while. If you like me, you’ll definitely love him.

[You] 5:40PM: 😅 How are you so sure?

[J] 5:42PM: Just trust me on this! Don’t I always deliver?

Multiple orgasms during every date? He had certainly met and even exceeded your expectations each and every time.

[You] 5:45PM: You got me there. 😏 I’ll wait to hear from him then. Feel better, baby!

[J] 5:46PM: Thank you, love 😘. He’ll be at your door at 8 tonight!

You scrolled–more like skimmed–through his friend’s profile. The photos were mostly of his body. There weren’t any that included his face, except for one where he was looking away from the camera. You were about to text him when his alert came through, confirming that he’d be arriving at your address in a couple hours and that he was looking forward to meeting you.

It was enough to distract you from the nerves. So, you texted him back saying that the feeling was mutual. Then, you went about your evening, preparing for your mystery date’s arrival.

It certainly added some thrill to it–not knowing who would show up. Since everything had gone so smoothly with your previous date, you thought that this escort service wouldn’t compromise its reputation with a dud. His body seemed good enough for you that his face was the least of your worries.

You get a knock on your door at 8 o’clock, on the dot. Also very punctual, like your usual. You liked him already!

You stop by the mirror at the entranceway, checking your hair and making sure you had nothing between your teeth.

When you open the door, your jaw drops. The next few moments play out like a scene out of a movie.

“YN?!”

“Taehyung?!” You gasped at the sight of your ex-boyfriend. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” Taehyung’s tone was accusatory.

You scoffed. “I live here!”

His eyes widened. “You…" he gulped, "You live here?” He asks in complete disbelief.

The man standing in front of you looks freaked out. He turns his head from side to side, looking around the hallway and at your door, making sure that he has the right apartment number.

You gasped out loud when realization sets in. A realization that you refuse to believe. Mortified, you ask, “Oh my god…a-are you–”

The look on his face confirms your fears. “Your 8 o’clock? I’m afraid so,” he grins awkwardly.

“Oh shit,” you choked out.

It turned out that he had been using a fake name. And though you had used your real first name on the site, it was pretty generic enough. You had also moved out of the old apartment that you shared not long after you broke up so he didn’t recognize the address.

Moments later, you both burst out laughing. It was hysterical, really.

“Well, this is awkward,” you croaked.

“Uhm…I could just go?” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

You stared at each other in silence. His eyes rake you from bottom to top and you suddenly feel a little self-conscious.

You’d forgotten that you decided that you wanted to look extra hot tonight–a silky slip dress that clung onto every curve and a thigh-high slit.

“Can I at least offer you a drink? For old time’s sake?” You gave him a polite smile and opened the door wider.

He hesitates for a second but only to confirm that you were sure about letting him in. Once you gesture for him to come in, he obliges, and you tell him to make himself at home.

When you go back into the kitchen to retrieve the champagne, you remember something and go into your storage closet.

You balance the bottle of champagne and a banker’s box and set it in front of him while you pop the bottle.

He chuckles when he opens the box. It was filled with some belongings that he left behind when he moved out.

“Oh wow…I thought I had lost these 45’s,” he remarks while he holds up a couple of vintage vinyl records that he purchased when you were together.

“Yep, it’s all there,” you tell him after pouring champagne into glass flutes that you set out.

“I’m surprised you hadn’t thrown these out,” he murmured while he superficially rifled through his things..

You’d hung onto this box for nearly a year. One would say for sentimental reasons but no matter how much it hurt when you broke up, you couldn’t bring yourself to throw away his personal belongings. You’d sooner donate them to the nearest charity consignment store.

You shrug your shoulders at him when you settle on the couch next to him. “I wouldn’t dare throw away classics,” you answer him quietly.

He gave you a rueful smile. “Well, I appreciate it.”

You pick up a champagne flute, hand it to him and clink your glass against his.

“So, Taehyung…what have you been up to?” You ask after taking a sip of champagne.

He laughs heartily, nearly choking on his drink as you follow suit.

You drink in silence for a minute, staring, waiting for the other to speak first.

“Are–”

“How–”

You both break into laughter again. He gestures, signaling that he yields the conversation to you.

“How have you been?” You ask him.

“I’m good. You?”

“I’m…doing pretty good, too.”

“I see that. Nice place,” he remarked after he gave the room a brief once-over.

“Yeah. I got a promotion about a year ago. That’s the only reason I can afford this spot. Otherwise, I would have moved in with Yuri.”

He nods softly. “Yuri…” he repeats your friend’s name. “How is she?”

“She’s fine. She still hates your guts,” you added jokingly. “But…she was actually my ticket to your little operation here.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Oh…well, thanks for the heads up on that. Wouldn’t want to answer her booking.”

You laughed. “She has her usual, I think? So maybe you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Still, though. Would not want to cross paths with her!”

You both take sips of your drinks again.

“Does this mean you’re not seeing anyone currently?” He asks.

You scoffed. “You think I’d be booking escorts if I was seeing anyone?”

His shoulders lifted. “We have clients who are…” he paused to think of the right term. “You could say, attached.”

You were shocked. “Really?”

“Oh, of course. That’s why part of the service is discretion.”

You puckered your lips and squinted one eye at him. “Have you ever gone out with somebody who was married?”

He kept his face neutral. “What do you think?”

You stared at his blank expression for a bit, trying to get a read on him–then your eyes widened. “Kim Tae-hyung!” You gasped.

“I won’t confirm nor deny,” he laughed before downing the rest of his champagne.

“You’re a savage,” you say to him.

He raised his hands innocently. “I never said anything, YN!”

******

You and Taehyung had been so distracted in getting caught up in each other’s lives that you barely noticed that over an hour had passed.

You were attempting to sit up, recovering from laughing so hard from some anecdote that you were bonding over. When he helps you up, the strap of your dress slips off your shoulder.

“Oops!” You giggle, clumsily trying to reach for the strap, which you couldn’t seem to get a grip of.

“Here, let me.” He leaned closer, finger curling around the strap to slide it back up your shoulder. His hand lingered there for a bit. It sent a shiver down your spine.

His face was too close to yours, it took all of your energy to tear your eyes away from his mouth. They drift to the empty bottle of alcohol instead.

You cleared your throat. “Excuse me while I put this away,” was all you could say before gripping the neck of the bottle for dear life while you walked towards your kitchen.

You bent down to open up the cabinet under the sink, where you kept your recycle bin and dropped the bottle there.

When you turned around, you see that he was standing right behind you.

“I thought that maybe you needed some help?”

You straighten your posture and cock your head slightly. “You thought I needed help putting an empty bottle away?”

“Among other things,” he says with a low voice then suddenly holds up the empty champagne flutes and the appetizer plate that you had laid out. You hadn’t even noticed that he held anything in his hands.

You chuckled and walked towards him, taking the dishes from his hands, making sure that your fingers brushed against his.

“You’re a guest. You should just sit and relax.”

You turned back around towards the sink. While you wash and rinse the glasses, he stands beside you, watching your every move.

You eyed him from your peripheral and poked him on his side to knock him into his senses. “What’s up with you? You act like you’ve never seen me wash dishes before or something.”

“I just didn’t think I’d see you again.“

“To be honest, I thought you’d be off the Mediterranean coast or someplace where it’s warm and sunny all the time.”

He chuckles. “It was fun getting lost at first…then reality set in and I had to come back.”

“You should have just told reality to fuck off.”

That made him double over in laughter. “Wow, YN! I love this new side of you.”

You turned the tap off. “Shut up, don’t patronize me,” you smiled. “Just saying. Things don’t always have to be heavy.”

“You’re right,” he agrees emphatically.

You picked up the clean dish and dried it with a towel. When you were done, you walk to the cabinet closest to him. It was a tight squeeze so you brushed past him. You distantly hear him inhale sharply.

With that reaction, you decide to play a little game with him. The champagne has long-settled into your veins. You stand on your toes to reach up and place the dish back on its shelf. It didn’t really belong there but you knew the effect it would have when you reached up that high and with your hemline being lewdly short.

You see his reflection on the glass, watching your dress hike up, revealing a hint of your ass to him. You linger there for a bit, pretending to push the dish securely in place.

When you were satisfied, you turned back around to finish up with the champagne flutes, brushing past him again. You picked up a glass from the sink to dry it.

“I know what you’re doing,” his voice has a hint of warning.

“What?” You ask with a straight face.

“You’re trying to seduce me,” He states.

“Me? No,” you deny innocently, picking up the second glass to dry it.

“Oh,” his face fell slightly. “I was gonna say, if you were…it’s working.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “And why would I need to seduce you? Isn’t that what I’m paying you to do?”

He laughed huskily. “It is. But I’m always up for a role-switch.”

You stopped and set the glass down on the counter. “And what makes you think that I’d be into that?”

He shrugged. “The thrill of it?”

You said nothing but the look on your face confirmed his suspicions.

“I will say, though—I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.”

You scoffed. “Guess that cockiness hasn’t gone away since we last saw each other, huh?”

He smirked then leaned in closer. “I seem to remember you liking it…the cockiness.” He put more emphasis on that syllable.

You licked your lips, shifted your weight where you stood and suddenly switched tact. “You know that I was heartbroken when you left me?”

His expression softened and traces of guilt marred his face. “I’m…I’m sorry. I was just feeling…I don’t know…like, I couldn’t give you all of me. And I knew you deserved better.”

You chuckled and folded your arms across your chest. “That sounds like such bullshit.”

He remained serious. “It’s true. You wanted a future, wanted to get married. I just wasn’t in that place and I didn’t know if I would ever get there–at least, not at the point when you needed me to. I didn’t think it was fair to carry on through that.”

You nodded and stood in silence for a minute, staring at the floor. Afterwards, your eyes flicked up at him. “You know, if this conversation happened six or ten months ago, I probably would have smacked you really hard on your face.”

“And I would have gladly accepted that,” he said sincerely. “You deserve someone who is sure of themselves and on the same page as you are.”

He slowly backed away from you and picked up the dried champagne flutes himself to stow them away. After he shuts the cabinet, he turns and leans back against your kitchen counter.

You exhaled sharply. “Well, lucky for you, I’ve changed my perspective recently. I feel like, for the longest time, I was looking for Mr. Right. And I think that was adding to my frustration.”

He watched carefully as you sauntered towards him. “So, I’ve decided, for my sanity…to settle for Mr. Right-Now.” You brought your face up to his. “Are you up for that?”

The corners of his mouth twitch mischievously. “I’m up for whoever you want me to be tonight.”

“Good. Now give me a kiss and make it all better again,” you quietly demand.

He tilted his chin up and bit into his lower lip. “My friend warned me about this…and when I found out it was you, I couldn’t believe it at first.”

You cocked a challenging eyebrow at him. “People change. You should know.”

“I know. And I like it.” He grabs your face between his hands, forcing you to look up into his determined eyes.

Your mouth opens and he takes advantage of your lapse in willpower, thrusting his tongue into your mouth, exploring and lapping every corner. He’s kissing you, almost violently.

Arousal explodes throughout your entire body as you kiss him back, matching his fervor.

You run your hands across his suited back, your fingers delving into his dark, wavy hair. You knotted through the strands and pulled hard. He groans, a low sexy sound in the back of his throat that reverberates through you.

His hand moves down your body and past the hem of your dress, grazing the back of your thigh, until his fingers are digging into the fleshiest part of your ass. Then he moves between your thighs, brushing over your clothed clit very gently. You jerk at the sensation and you let out a cry of pleasure. He slides his finger under the material and slowly circles your burning core. All you could do is helplessly moan into his mouth as he continues his excruciatingly slow, controlled drives with his fingers.

He broke away from your kiss. While you’re in a pleasure daze, he switches your position around to back you against the kitchen counter. He hooked his fingers onto the band of your thong, pulling it down. When you wriggle out of them, he takes you by surprise when he drops to his knees to lift your dress, propping your leg up onto his shoulder.

You are half-conscious about what he was about to do when you stopped him. Due to the nature of these dates, safety was always a priority. Condoms were always a necessity and oral sex was optional–for obvious reasons.

“W-wait, Taehyung. I thought you didn’t do–”

“I know, we don’t have to, but I want to. I want to please you.” He paces a lingering kiss on your inner thigh and gently suckles on the flesh.

That made your breath hitch. You don’t remember him being this attuned to your needs before. You had great sex then but he didn’t always seem this eager to please you. It certainly brought a different dynamic to the table.

“But if you don’t think–”

“Can I trust you?”

His eyes staring up at you, he confidently answers, “Yes.”

After a brief pause, you lifted your skirt up higher and leaned back. “Continue.”

With your prompting, he wrapped his mouth around your wet heat. You dragged out a deep sigh when he groaned into your core. His tongue relentlessly licked every fold, every crevice. He sucked and teased your clit, making you tug at his hair even tighter.

You felt your left leg start to buckle with your impending orgasm. Just then he replaces his tongue with his thumb and rubs your aching bud. The friction inching you closer and closer as your walls clench at nothing. You sank your teeth deeper into your lower lip making you wince in pleasure.

He slid his ring and middle fingers into you, massaging your tender tissues while his tongue fluttered over your clit. Your mouth went slack and head lolled back in pleasure while your hips rocked against his face.

“Your cunt is so sweet,” he murmurs against your folds. “It’s just as I remember it.” He gripped both your ass cheeks and brought your center closer to his mouth.

What a difference a year made. You don’t remember him being this good with his mouth but you didn’t really care about how he was back then. Right now, his tongue and lips were goading you into an orgasm.

“I just want to spread you out and lick you until you beg for my cock.”

While one hand gripped at his head, your other hand clung onto the edge of the counter. “I can beg now, if you want,” you breathed out, your climax threatening.

“You’re so fucking wet and ready for me. I want to hear you say my name when you cum.”

And just like that, you fell apart with a drawn out, high-pitched moan, mouthing his name incoherently. You were desperately trying to catch your breath, but he didn’t let you. Next thing you knew, he was upright, lifting you off your feet, bringing you both into the bedroom.

After he sets you on the mattress, you shed the rest of your clothing.

You made quick work of undoing his jeans, his cock already visibly straining against his boxers.

The moment he pulls them down, your mouth starts to water. He had such a pretty cock. The memories begin to stir again.

As if reading your mind, he shakes his head.

“Tonight is all about your pleasure, baby,” He brushes his fingers to your cheek and seals his mouth over yours once more.

He moves lower, placing wet kisses down your neck and onto your collarbone, stopping to suck on each perked nipple.

Before you knew it, he was back down between your legs, sinking his mouth on your cleft–as if he just hadn’t had his fill of you in the kitchen.

“Fuu…uuck,” you choked out as you felt the deep suction from his mouth. Your hands fisted the sheets beneath you, back arching as Taehyung pinned your hips to the bed and fluttered his tongue across your folds.

Your vision started to blur as your core tightened with another threat of an orgasm. Your pulse quickened with the steady feel of him humming into your center.

Your thighs quake with another building orgasm threatening to attack you from every direction, and your grip on his hair increases. He gets the message, sucking on your clit harder and more frequently. The strokes of his fingers become firmer as you're bulldozed by pleasure and rocketed skyward. Then your mind goes blank, except for the bliss of release riding through you.

Holy fucking shit!

He reached down on the floor to where his trousers were to grab some condoms out of his pocket.

When he settles back into the mattress, he’s cradled between your thighs. Not long after, you feel the wet, slippery head of his hardon push in. Your mind is a jumble of thoughts, but then he rests on his elbows and gazes down at you, like you're the only thing that exists in his world.

You move your hands so your palms are on either side of his face.

“God, I forgot how sexy you sound when you cum,” he says softly as you stare up into his eyes, drowning in them, pleasure and desire flooding between you. You smooth your thumb across his moist lips and slide it into his mouth, withdrawing slowly and resting the tip on his bottom lip. He plants a light kiss on the end and smiles down at you as he lifts his hips while maintaining your eye contact, my pelvis shifting to meet him.

You sigh in pure, unapologetic pleasure as he slowly, unhurriedly and reverently slides deep inside of you. You close your eyes and slip your hands to the back of his head as he fills you completely. He holds still, his cock pulsing inside you. His breathing changes to quick, fast bursts of breath--it was a familiar trait. He was struggling to maintain control.

“Fuck, I’m so hard for you,” he says between pants.

You force your eyes open and gasp a little when you feel him jerk inside you. “I missed this pussy,” he whispers, his voice cracking. You inhale sharply at the words.

“Hmmmfuck, yessss, Taehyung–fuck me harder…”

You know he’s in a lust-filled daze and to be honest, so were you.

His hips surge at your prompting. Your hands fall away from his head and squeeze at your breasts. He circles his hips into you, drawing a collective moan from both of you.

He withdraws and pushes deep and high. You try to rein in your scattered thoughts, but a deep groan escapes. He places his hands over yours, pinning your wrists on either side of your head.

Thrust. “Taehyung!”

“So good.” Thrust.

“Fuck!” He pulls back and rams back in.

“Ah!” He stills on a few deep breaths. He withdraws and slowly plunges back in.

“Are you gonna cum for me, Taehyung?” You ask, shifting your hips up to capture the deep penetration.

“Yeah…you want me to?” He pants.

You reached up with a free hand and rested it against his throat. “Fuck, yes. I want you to cum hard for me,” you breathed out.

He lowered his neck against your touch. You didn’t close in on his flesh, even though you were tempted to. “Yes…and I want you to make a mess all over my cock,” he countered. “Want to make you cum again and again.”

He pushes high and grinds firmly, a sweat breaking out across his brow. “Don’t hold out on me, YN.”

His words hit you like a lightning bolt. He’s about to fuck another orgasm out of you. He rams into you repeatedly. Another perfect grind and your internal muscles spasm furiously, tremors inching their way into the center of your nerve endings. Your core stiffens.

“Oh my god…I’m so close…” you cry, throwing your head back.

He hits you with a full, hard strike, and your eyes squeeze shut at the feel of his hips smacking up against your flesh.

You came with a hoarse scream, your breath feels as if it was punched out of you. He stops his movements completely as he goes rigid, his forehead pressed against yours as he growls through his climax.

Your back arches on reflex when the rush reaches its climax and sends you tumbling into the deep pool of pleasure. You cry out again, your body trembling in his hold as the pulsing recedes, slowly and lazily with his continued even strokes, fully emptying himself into you.

Your breaths are rushed and pulses frantic.

The intensity of the last few minutes waning away as he gingerly lifts his head to look down at you. He smiles faintly and slowly withdraws himself, making you wince at the emptiness.

As sanity returns, you open your eyes and turn your head sideways at him. Taehyung is staring up at the ceiling, his expression is soft, tender. You turn to your side, bearing your weight on your elbow, stroking your fingertip on his nose.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

“You can say that again,” you deadpan.

“We’ve never fucked like that before!”

You exchanged looks and suddenly burst out laughing again. You laugh so hard until your elbow gives out and you’re flat on your back on the mattress.

******

You remained sitting on the bed with the sheets pulled up under your armpits while you silently watched Taehyung get dressed. You reach over by your nightstand.

“Hey, before I forget…”

He turns around to see you holding up an envelope. “YN, I can’t accept that–”

“Can’t? How come? It’s the rate that was agreed upon.”

“It’s what you and he agreed on,” Taehyung says, referring to your original escort. “I was just covering for him.”

You sighed, feeling slightly confused. “Look, Taehyung…let’s not make this weird–”

“I’m not making it weird! It’s okay, YN. Really,” he chuckled, waving the money off.

“Right but…service was rendered and I’m a paying customer.”

Taehyung paused while smoothing his shirt, looking offended for a second. “YN, I am not taking your money. Just think of it as a random catch-up fuck.” He turns away from the cash that you held out to him, grabs his pants off the floor and sits at the edge of the bed to put them on.

“If we didn’t have history, would you take it?” You say to him while his back is turned towards you.

He pauses again and you see his shoulders slump over slightly. You scoot closer to the edge of the bed, and sit next to him, still dressed in your bra and panties.

“Look, Taehyung–I didn’t think I’d ever see you again–much less, in this setting. But, business is business, right? I know the night started off awkward but…I hope that we wouldn’t end it on that note.”

He sighed heavily then looked up and returned your gaze, giving you a small smile in return. “I’ll only accept this if you let me take you out for dinner tonight.”

You roll your eyes and chuckle at his acquiescence. “Fine.” You present the money to him again and he takes it this time.

You rise from your bed and walk towards the bathroom to clean up. “I’m still a cheap date, by the way,” you call out past your shoulder.

He laughed again as he stood up to finish buckling his belt. He knew exactly where he'd be taking you.

******

“Mmm…godddd, that hits the spot right there,” you moaned in appreciation.

Taehyung watched you suck the sauce off from your thumb while you savored your taco. La Corneta was a frequent late-night ritual for you and him back when you were together. It’s been ages since you’ve stopped by this taco truck.

You’d almost forgotten how delicious their carnitas tacos were–especially after sex.

“Don’t tease me like that,” he remarked with a warning.

You paused mid-bite. “What? Give me a break, I haven’t been here in a while.”

“Really?” He asks in disbelief. “You always said you loved the tacos here.”

“I know,” You nodded, taking a bite out of a chip with some salsa. “Haven’t been back since we split up.”

His face falters a little from guilt, but he doesn’t make it obvious. “I see,” he says softly, picking up another tortilla chip and holding it to his mouth.

“It’s just that…I usually had a craving for this place after we’ve had a good night of fucking.”

His ears perk up and his eyes lift up at you.

“And I haven’t had that in a while so…” you give him a knowing look before trailing off, taking another bite of your taco.

He shifted in his stool and leaned in. Not that the bistro-style table and chair wasn’t small enough for you to sit closer but he wanted to whisper in your ear. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

After you swallow your last bite, you turn your head to him, and lick the excess sauce off your lips. “I’m just saying…I really love these tacos.”

He smiled then his eyes drifted to your mouth. He reached out to swipe the corner, then licked the leftover sauce off his finger. “I do, too.”

He walked you back to your apartment and you ended the night with a hug going your separate ways.

When you laid in bed, you stared at your phone screen. There were two icons on your BFE app now–two escorts you’ve ordered. Your finger hovered over Taehyung’s icon. Although the sex was unbelievable, you weren’t sure if you wanted to see him again.

Sure, the app guaranteed some layer of anonymity but this was something that you did not foresee. The beauty of the service was the no-frills, uncomplicated nature of it. And you wanted this to remain your own thrilling secret.

You swiped at the row for Taehyung’s icon and a red button appeared, prompting you to confirm whether you wanted to delete it from your history.

The inner turmoil ate at you but there have been too many hassle-free orgasms for you to stop. With a groan, you push the power button on your phone to lock your screen, effectively canceling any action you were trying to execute.

You place your phone back on the nightstand and sink into your pillow and sheets. When you take a deep breath, you catch his scent still lingering in your bedroom and you feel the faintest flutter in your belly.

Guess you would just count down the days until your next fix. It might even warrant another late-night trip to the taco truck!

You’ve reached the end! Thank you so much for reading!

If you loved it, please comment, reblog, or send me feedback! 📩. I love hearing from readers! If you didn’t like it so much, I would still like to hear about it. Help me become a better writer! 💜

Tagging: @internetjunkdrawer @deepseavibez @itdoesntmatterwhy @yu-justme

#bts fan fiction #taehyung #taehyung x reader #kim taehyung #bangtanbathhouse #btswritingcafe #btshoneyhive #btscarnivalnet #taehyung smut #bts smut #bts kim taehyung #bts taehyung #bts v #kth smut #TheBFE x kth

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ryverbind · 10 months

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Faceless Fixation {Sal Fisher}: Careful [12]

Honestly, Dark Autumn Complex is doing it right. They aren't in a giant hotel/casino mashup where all of the big guys perform, they're in a little bar down the strip. Still enough room for tons of people, but it isn't crawling with bodies like bugs under my fucking skin.

And it's a really nice bar, by the way. Mostly an indoor venue, but they have a little patio right in front of New York, New York-- and also some really tasty looking chicken wings.

My only complaint is the copious and nauseating amount of liquid covering the floor. Yea, people are living it up in here, but I think they're living a little too hard. This is definitely a toxic mixture of vomit, alcohol, and urine-- but I'm not the one who's going to actually confirm that.

Todd, on the other hand...

"For fuck's sake," the man hisses, taking knee-to-chest steps through the nasty flood on the floor. "I shouldn't have come. It'll take me weeks to get this stench off of my shoes."

"Oh, come on Toddler. It's not that bad," Larry harumphs, elbowing an unamused Todd in the ribs.

I snort, shaking my foot out after passing through a particularly goopy substance. Is this even real? It has to be a fever dream. "Actually, it is that bad, Lar. Even The Hangover wasn't this over the top."

Larry rolls his eyes next to me. "You're just a bunch of weaklings. Right, Sal?"

My head drops down at the sound of his name. I'll only add to the mess on the floor if I so much as look at him. He really hurt my feelings, and it's embarrassing to admit that.

The man doesn't say a word, but then again, none of us should have expected him to. He's a little... no. I shouldn't be angry, I should be upset. He hurt my damn feelings. More importantly, I should be focused on why his words hurt so damn bad. It's not like I expect something better from him.

Why do I have expectations at all in regards to him?

Not to mention, there's the daunting fact that he's finally texted Lexi. I don't know what to do-- I don't even think I want to reply. But unfortunately, there's a part of me that would feel horrible for making Lexi ghost him when he clearly cares about her to some degree.

Too many questions, not enough answers, and way too many worries. I'll file this all away in my cabinet titled Later.

Our group continues to push through the crowd. We're about an hour early, as per request on behalf of Ash who's hoping to find hot girls. Can't hate on the game, I just hope I have a bed to sleep in tonight.

I watch my every move, all three boys trailing behind me as I walk along the sopping ground. The LED's flash across feet and skin, and more importantly, the slick floor makes the light reflections seem even brighter. That means I'm blinded the entire way with only a few moments of relief and clarity.

There's one step I take in which my foot catches against something, so I desperately grab onto Ash's forearm to keep myself steady. She doesn't even look back, just lets me hold onto her-- I guess she's used to having me around already. That's cute. So, I balance myself then let go, traipsing through this toxic quarry of sorts.

Something I've never learned, no matter how many times it's made itself known to me, is to never trust myself. Or my feet, for that matter. If there's an open opportunity for me to be clumsy, my body will absolutely break in two to ruin my day and everyone else's.

Our prime example tonight is when I slip on a meticulous placed slice of banana bread that has had a wonderful time soaking up all the liquids on the floor.

The entire ordeal mimics the classic banana peel take-down. I mean-- really. My hands fly up, my legs about damn near follow me as I start flying toward the ground, unable to catch myself with Ash's arm this time.

I'm bracing for impact and a nasty swim in the thick contents below when hands slide under my arms, catching me right before I can hit the ground.

There's an awkward beat of silence where I'm hanging from hands with my ass hovering over the ground. I take a breath and glance up. Another beat of silence when I see that it's Sally who caught me.

He's leaned over me, watching me with agitated, narrowed eyes and his fluffy hair falling around his face. His fingers are digging into the flesh of my arms, his rings cold against my skin. The way heat envelops me in a millisecond both pisses me off and has me fighting for a way to get out of this situation.

I huff out a frustrated breath, blowing my hair away from my mouth and slapping a glare onto my face that I know he'll be able to see in my gaze. And then those infuriatingly pretty eyes of his roll before he puts some weight onto my arms, helping me back into a standing position.

I bite the inside of my cheek when he pulls his hands away from me quickly. I hate how much I enjoy his touch, but I blame the accent. I blame the style. I blame the allure. I blame it all. Even the asshole personality.

And I sure as hell am not about to thank him after what he said to me earlier. So I dust off my skirt, making sure it didn't manage to touch the... secretions... on the floor. But as I'm double-checking myself, he grumbles out, "Careful."

My head snaps to the side to look at him so aggressively that I'm worried I've snapped my neck for a moment. Did he really just say that? Have the gates of hell opened up on earth? Is this the end of times? Because there's no fucking way he just told me to be careful.

"Damn, Vi," Larry breaks my stare-off with Sal for a moment as he walks around us. He claps a hand on my shoulder, a gorgeous grin plastered on his lips that distracts me for just a second, only a second. "Falling for me already?"

"If that was me falling for you, then this has to be a Stockholm Syndrome thing because there's no way I wasn't going to slip on this floor," I reply, cocking an eyebrow when his smile falls into a pout.

"Awe, c'mon. You wouldn't be complaining so much if you actually fell," he notes, tilting his head inquisitively. "In fact, you'd be doing a backstroke right about now had you hit the floor."

No wonder he and Sal are best friends.

Todd walks past Larry, cackling the entire way as he passes us up. And Larry knows he's won, so he raises his eyebrows, a sly smirk pulling his lips as he turns away to catch up with Ash.

And then it's just me and Sal again.

I watch him closely, waiting for him to say something since he's looking at me like he has words just on the tip of his tongue. And then I hear a syllable leave his undoubtedly pretty mouth and immediately cut him off with, "If you're going to be a cunt, you might as well shut the fuck up right now because I'm absolutely in the mood to punch you in the middle of all these people."

He looks confused, shocked for a moment. I can even see his eyebrows because they're scrunched together, but then he seems to understand my words and proceeds to roll his eyes so hard that it literally looks painful.

"Larry gave you enough hell," he says shortly, adjusting his stance as he regards me with those forever irritated blue eyes. "I was going to say, do you remember what I said to you? That shitty stuff?"

Is this some kind of trick question? Because who could possibly forget the shit he said to me? But then again-- he just acknowledged that it was shitty... what kind of Sal Fisher am I witnessing right now?

I watch him with wary eyes, too afraid to look into the angry facade of his because just beneath that facade is an actual drop of vulnerability. And I don't think I like seeing him this open and fucking... fucking understanding.

"I guess that's a stupid question," he mumbles to himself, never breaking our eye contact. But then he sighs and speaks yet again. "I saved you. That's all the apology you're going to get."

A weight so heavy lifts from my soul and I feel like I'll start floating any second now. The barbed wire around my heart loosens, the boulders bouncing around my brain shrink. And I'm left with feelings I don't want to have, but feelings that are welcomed either way. I feel like, for the first time, Sal and I are on even ground. We both know something was wrong, and he even apologized, even if that apology was saving me from social suicide and reminding me to be careful. He wanted to make up for the way he broke me earlier. And he did.

And I also want to say that finding common ground with Sal is fucking weird.

"This is weird," I voice, suddenly tensing up over the awkwardness floating around us.

Sally's eyes close with relief and he seems to relax just a bit. "It is fucking weird. So can we forget about today and just continue the way we have been?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake. That's even weirder," I sputter out, taking a quick step away from him as my heart flutters over his words. I can't believe his willingness to let bygones be bygones is so fucking hot to me. Maybe it's because this is something I didn't think I'd ever get from him. I'm not sure. "Yes, fuck, anything to stop you from being sentimental. Please."

"Cool. Glad we agree," he grumbles, looking up and past me. Then he actually starts walking, intent on passing me.

But my eyes bug out of my head. "No, not cool! I don't fucking want us to agree-- just shut up. Stop fucking talking," I grit out as he passes me, turning to walk behind him.

Sal's head turns, eyes acknowledging me with disbelief. His voice is higher-pitched and filled with aggravation as he says, "How are you going to tell me to shut up when you fucking never do it yourself? Hypocrisy isn't cute."

"Oh, yea?" I retort, folding my arms against my chest as heat wells in my chest. He really is always fighting me, and he should be thanking me right now. I was just trying to end whatever weird shit was just happening. "Don't talk about hypocrisy Mr. I-Want-To-Fuck-You-But-I-Don't. Go try that one on for size."

"Didn't I just tell you to forget that?" he says exasperatedly. "Do you deliberately ignore every bit of sound advice you get?"

"If it's coming from you-- hell yea, I ignore it," I snort, stopping my walking when we finally catch up with Ash, Larry, and Todd who are standing in front of the stage.

Sal turns to me with fury burning in his eyes and I relish in it. This is normal. This is back to what we were doing just earlier today. No apologies, no forgiveness-- just going back to what we know.

"Wow, yea." He says, showing off dramatic jazz hands. "That sounds about right. Dumb bitch can't do anything but tear herself apart."

"Boo hoo," I answer, placing my hands on my hips. This is a good one. No one can hear us so we can just wail away on each other-- keeps me busy. It's pretty fun too. Exercises my funny bone. "Sounds like something the selfish prick would say. Assume that everyone's falling apart while he's so put-together, right?"

"You--" Sal starts, voice piercing straight through me with its sheer ferocity, but he cuts himself off with a frustrated groan, eyeing me with a sickening glare the entire time. "What fucking ever. Just shut up."

"Happy to know I won," I chirp, smiling sweetly at him.

I'm sure he's about to burst and reign hell on me, but a security guard approaches us. A flash of fear slams into me and I shrink in on myself when I realize this guy has probably been watching Sally and I yell back and forth at each other for a few minutes.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Sally dip his head down too, a sign of nerves and shame. Hm. Serves him right.

The security guard, a huge and burly man that somehow stands a bit taller than Larry stops in front of Sally and I. He has an impenetrable glare in his eyes and a face so emotionless that it sickens me just thinking about how strong he must be.

And worse, he isn't looking at me. His grey eyes are dead set on Sally beside me.

I gulp, a chill running down my spine as the guard crosses his arms over his chest. Sal looks like he's about to literally start shaking and, hell, I don't blame him. I'm not far off from doing the same.

Sally's the type to put up a fight, clearly, but sometimes you have to know when fighting is no use. When fighting means you'll get thrown into a hospital. This is that time and I've never viewed this asshole as intellectual before, but I think he's making a good call by holding off right now.

Eyes still set on the bluenette, the security guard finally speaks in a deep, booming, authoritative voice. "I need you to come with me," he says to Sally and I feel like I'm going to shit myself.

Holy crap, I do not want to end my night on this type of scenario. With the fact that I got the notorious Sally Face arrested. I do not want that sitting on my conscience because the second this motherfucker gets out of jail, he's coming for me. Aw, fuck.

I watch the security guard with a gaping mouth, noting the way Sally's eyes widen. They're so big right now that I'm a tad worried they'll roll right out of his face, but I focus on getting out of dodge first.

"Um," I mumble shakily, shrinking back a bit more. I'm so going to throw up once this is done. "Is everything okay, sir? Are we in trouble?"

My main goal is to not die right now. And if the man who hates me most gets arrested or something tonight, I won't have a head in a few days. There's no doubt.

Okay, sure, I'm probably really overreacting but anyone would be in this situation. I mean this guy is huge and so, so intimidating.

The security guard looks down at me with aggravation and confusion flashing across his face. He raises a blonde eyebrow that could cut air and suddenly I think that vomit sesh I was saving for later is going to happen now.

"Who the hell are you?" He asks, looking down at me and squinting his eyes. "I'm here to grab the blue-haired kid in the mask and the really tall, super emo, questionably buff guy."

I blanch for a moment, staring up at the behemoth security guard that I just embarrassed myself in front of. What did Sal and Larry do? Are they both about to get arrested?

I glance over at Sally and he matches my gaze, shrugging subtly. His blue eyes are filled with wariness and concern as he turns his eyes back to the man.

And then the security guard looks like he's about to drop kick both of us, if his horrifyingly intimidating glare is a hint at anything, that is.

"Come on," he growls out, making me flinch in fear. "North wants you," he points to Sal, "and the really massive emo guy with the Dave Grohl hair. Can you hurry the fuck up?"

My eyes widen. Oh, for fuck's sake. Dark Autumn Complex's lead singer asked for Larry and Sal, which, hold on, how do they know that the boys are here? Is that even possible?

My eyes narrow as quickly as they previously widened. Something's weird about this.

I watch Sally from the corner of my eye, noting the relief that swamps his pretty azure irises. He puts a hand to his chest and breathes deep, throwing his head over his shoulder to call for Larry who turns to us with a raised eyebrow.

Larry sees the giant security guard and stiffens up like a Tom and Jerry character come to life. It's comical up until the guy gets into position to bolt out of dodge.

He crouches down and sets his right foot forward, ready to race through the crowd to escape the security guard. But right now, when North is asking for him, and with this freaky guy retrieving him-- that doesn't need to happen.

Sally groans and motions Larry over, shaking his head at the taller guy. "It's just North," Sal reassures. "He wants us for something. I don't know what."

Larry doesn't look convinced, but he walks over to our small group. "So he fucking sent the 'roid mall cop after us? Does he not know me and my history with the justice system?" He scoffs and glances over at the security guard who looks like he's barely holding back some unyielding rage. "I'm with Vi on this one man, I'm totally an anarchist."

"Larry," I hiss, heat enveloping my cheeks as a very real and very concerning tsunami of genuine fear for my life slams into me. Why would he say that in front of the justice system he supposedly has a bad relationship with? And why the hell did he have to rope me into it? "Shut the fuck up. Just go with the 'roid--" I cough, eyes close to flying out of my head because of my mistake. It's not my fault that the nickname stuck, but it's definitely damning. Fucking hell, Larry. "Just go with this nice security guard." I smile, wide and fake as fuck as I look over at said security guard who's hands are fisted at his sides. I grimace and glance back at Sal and Larry who look like deer caught in headlights. "Now," I grit out.

Both boys are clambering after the security guard in seconds. Larry may be a heathen and Sal may be clueless, but at least they were smart enough to read that play.

I heave a sigh of relief as both boys disappear into the crowd. I've never had trouble with police before in my life and I'd really like to keep it that way.

But as I walk forward to meet Ash and Todd, I think of a couple things.

My friends are standing right behind the barrier that separates us from the stage. We're as close as we can possibly get, and even that is way too close for me. Meeting my idols is something I sincerely don't want to do because I'll probably pass out. The thought of embarrassing myself in front of someone so amazing feels like a death sentence, so I'd like to avoid making eye contact with North, South, and/or East.

Maybe I haven't mentioned it before, but all three members of Dark Autumn Complex choose to go by one of the four main cardinal directions on a compass. The only member, or direction, they're missing is West. Whether they're looking for someone to fill the spot or just didn't want a member to be compared to Jade West, I'll never know. But why wouldn't someone want to be compared to Jade West?

To each their own, I suppose.

The point is that I don't know the reasoning behind their names, but the way it goes is: North is the singer and guitarist, East is the bassist, and South is the drummer. That's how it's always been.

I step up next to Ash, wrapping my fingers around the cool, metal barricade. Multiple neon colors flash around us as the crowd grows thicker. And as a result, the little swimming pool at our feet grows thicker too. You know, maybe I wouldn't let Ash buy me new clothes... but I think I'll let her buy me some new shoes after this fiasco. This is quite unique.

Our concert grows closer with each passing second. Ash and Todd meet some fans in the crowd while I hide away, trying to pretend I'm some random woman in a mask. Sally and Larry never return. I'm assuming they'll stay backstage... but then again, I still have some questions I'd like to have answered. And there are quite a few...

Do North, Larry, and Sally know each other? I mean, for the guys to be called backstage, they must be acquainted somehow. But since they are, why hadn't they mentioned that they knew Dark Autumn Complex personally?

Larry said that he could get me backstage, but I thought that was a farce. I still fucking think it's a farce. My spidey senses are tingling and there's something that just doesn't add up.

For example, again, no one mentioned that anyone was friends with Dark Autumn Complex. Another eyebrow raising detail is that Ash and Todd didn't get asked backstage. Why? Do Ash and Todd know about the connection too? Maybe they don't if they haven't brought up the friendship either...

I tap on Ash's shoulder once I notice a group of girls walk away from her. My gorgeous, jade-eyed and strawberry-lipped friend turns to me with a stunning smile gracing her angelic face. She looks down at me, tilting her head in question as she waits patiently for me to say something.

But I narrow my eyes. Everyone's a suspect in my non-murder mystery right now.

"Are Sal, Larry, and DAC friends or something?" I ask, pressing my lips into a thin line.

Ash's brows furrow and that's my first red flag. Why the hell is she doing that?

But then she says, "Didn't they tell you about that? We're all friends with Dark Autumn Complex." Her voice is just as sweet and tender as always. In fact, she seems a little shocked at the fact that I'm new to this information.

"Yea, no. I just thought you were all fans," I chew on my bottom lip, contemplating the friendship confirmation. "Well, why didn't North invite you and Todd backstage?"

Ash shrugs, not too worried about that apparently. "North and Sal are buddies because they both play guitar. North's been waiting for, like, ages to see what talent Sal has. And Larry has some history in music. That's why Sal brings him along for practice-- Lar has really good ears and can tune a guitar to fucking perfection. With all of those similar interests, North, Sal, and Larry naturally got closer than Todd or I were able to." A smile pulls at her lips again. "I'm good friends with East, but I have time to meet him later."

I raise my eyebrows at that last bit of information. After all, Ash answered all my questions so I feel much better. All the gaps are filled in and there are no more red flags.

"Oh?" I say suggestively. "And how close are you, exactly, to East?" My lips stretch into a little smirk when Ash rolls her eyes at my teasing. She's just so easy to offend.

"Not like that, you little slut," she jokes, winking at me.

"Oooouuu," I hum, leaning closer to her with a little grin. "Call me that again."

Poor Ash groans, rolling her eyes yet again as she throws an arm around my shoulders. "Shut up. I can't believe you're so into degradation." Her voice falls into a mumble as I look up at her with a smile, but her next words nearly make me choke. "Sal would love you." She shakes her head and looks down at me. I struggle to slap a stoic expression onto my face after hearing that. I have way too much information. I was hoping my new knowledge would stop after finding out that DAC and The Faces are buddies.

But, then again, my entire body warms at her words. While it's shocking information, it's also very interesting information.

"Anyway," Ash cuts off my thoughts. "It really isn't like that. I am so not into guys. Sometimes I find that one in a million, but, fuck, it's hard. I much prefer women."

I shrug, still reeling over whatever it was she let slip about Sally. I might as well just throw "Sally Face (Sal Fisher) has a degrading kink" into a file cabinet to save for later when I'll actually have the time and desire to mull over that.

"I don't blame you," I decide to tell Ash. "Men really suck sometimes."

Ash scoffs like she's just had an epiphany. "They really fucking do!" she exclaims, throwing her free arm up into the air.

I'm about to yap about the topic a bit more to distract myself when the neon lights over the crowd suddenly shut off. They're all pointing to the stage in front of us now.

When the hell did Dark Autumn Complex walk out here?

All three characters are set up on their respective sides of the stage and I suddenly feel like I'm going to throw up again. They all look so immaculate, so pretty, so mysterious.

My stomach turns with a mix of nervousness and excitement. A group I genuinely look up to is standing less than six feet away from me, doing some last minute checks on their equipment. My head feels fuzzy and I almost keel over with the way my heart repeatedly slams into my ribcage. I've never had this opportunity before in my life. I can't help but imagine if this is how I would have felt meeting The Faces for the first time if we were never friends.

I'm about to take in and observe their dark clothing when a screen lights up behind the band with HELLO written in big bold letters. This is interesting.

All I'm able to see before turning my attention to the screen is the striking, electric blue of North's guitar as the light catches it. Holy hell, that's a nice instrument.

North turns their body to the side, holding out a hand that gestures up to the screen. They glance at the crowd over their shoulder, then look back to the screen.

A booming voice is heard over a speaker and I almost shit myself for a second, the sound so loud that I have to cover my ears. But then, Ash, Todd, and I are all cackling. No fucking way.

"Hello Dark Autumn Complex bitches and cunts! My name is Larry Johnson. You may know me from the online streaming group called The Faces," Larry's stupid ass voice is full of confidence and pride as he snarkily opens up for the band. Wow. I don't even blame DAC for having him do this. If anyone could engage a crowd, it's definitely Larry. "If you'll all kindly turn your attention to the screen, I'm going to walk you through some rules that Dark Autumn Complex has set up for this little concert of theirs." Suddenly, Larry groans. "Ugh. Rules. Fucking boring, right?"

North drops their hand and shakes their head as the crowd starts to giggle. Like I said, Larry is perfect for this kind of job.

The screen changes from HELLO to some other stuff that Larry very sweetly explains with his adorably snarky gamer voice.

"So, first up, if you couldn't tell, no one from the band is going to talk. They want to keep their identity completely concealed, so as a precaution, you will only be hearing their instruments and singing." Larry's a bit more serious. I find myself admiring the way he knows when to be more tactful regarding sensitive or important information. It comes off as very genuine and so sweet. He cares. "They also want to say that they're extremely appreciative of your attendance tonight."

The crowd cheers and I do too. All of the screaming and clapping is infectious, even more so when North bows to the crowd, followed by East who waves at everyone, and finally South who puts a drum stick in the air.

"Next and finally," Larry begins again. "As you can see, there is a microphone in front of North who also, obviously has a mask on." The high self-esteem is reflected in Larry's voice again, an amused lilt in his tone. "The microphone is a fucking prop, you haters. Let that man pretend he's singing into it and not the little tiny microphone taped to his face under the mask, okay? He's a sensitive little guy and absolutely needed to have the prop or else it was going to, in his words, feel weird."

Okay, so North is a guy. Good to know.

North visibly cringes, throwing his arms up in exasperation as he turns back to the screen. I just know he's cursing Larry in his mind. No doubt about it.

Larry cackles a bit scarily before ending his opening segment. "But without further ado, I present to you, Dark Autumn Complex in all their might and glory."

The packed crowd around us cheers. Ash throws an arm around my shoulder and screams at the top of her lungs, so I join her. My eyes never stray from the stage filled with exceptionally hot looking musicians who are looking between each other as the audience quiets down.

They're all in black-- no other colors. Straight black clothing, which makes them all the more appealing. From what I can tell, based on where I am, East, the bassist, is exceptionally tall. But North and South are about average height. Other than that, there's nothing else of note other than their insanely elaborate masks.

It's clear that they have some other kind mask on to hide their hair-- probably black ski masks-- and then another mask on top of that. I can't see them all that well, but even from here the colors are gorgeous and it just feels like they must have been expensive.

North's mask is red, gold, and black. I can see some kind of drawing on part of it, but can't tell what it is exactly. The same goes for the other members-- East who's wearing a primarily black mask with white and gold, and finally South who's sporting dark blue with white and gold. Other than their colors, all three masks match.

We love hot people.

I feel like I'm going to happy vomit everywhere when East starts up a song with this sick riff on his bass. Even better, it's my favorite song by them. The same song, in fact, that made me so upset the other day. Wherein Christine Daaé Became Her Own Phantom.

I sing the lyrics as the rest of the band kicks up the song. It's crazy to see them live and realize they sound just as good in real life as they do in a recording. That's such a flex, considering so many people sound much different when they get out on stage. For their very first concert, they don't seem nervous about it at all and that helps the crowd become more immersed, makes the music so much better.

DAC goes through a few of their songs, some older and some newer, like the song they released about a month ago. I'm all jitters and a fluttering heart during the entire set, finding that my eyes never stray from the amazing band rocking about on the small stage.

They've gone through most of their songs after about forty-five minutes and at this point, I'm assuming that our concert is over. I'm already expecting the worst case of post-concert depression to hit me in a few seconds here, especially when the screen pops on behind all three band members again. And, naturally, this is followed by Larry's voice.

"Alrighty, sluts and whores," he starts happily. I roll my eyes but let a smile envelop my face anyway. "You're in luck tonight. While DAC may be ending this amazing fucking concert soon, they've decided to play a brand new song for you. From what I've heard, they've been working very hard on it. So be grateful, for fuck's sake!"

A new song? Really? Here, out in the middle of Vegas?

"The name of this new song, which also happens to be my favorite so far, is 'Actually Carrie Underwood Doesn't Like Me," Larry giggles a bit over the name. "Another insane title. I'm fucking pumped."

I look over at Ash who looks like she's about to have a brain orgasm. Then I look at Todd who probably couldn't care less, but he has a little light in his dark gaze that says he might be really excited about this.

I glance back up to the stage as my feet go numb. It might be excitement, or it might be from having to slosh around in liquid for nearly two hours. Maybe it could be both. But the point is that a shiver runs through my entire body, electrifying me in a way that's so addicting that I wish there were a way for me to make this concert last forever. It's going to hurt so bad to walk out of here and go back to the hotel later.

My attention and gaze are solely focused on North as he starts the song with a serene little melody on that gorgeous, electric blue guitar.

And almost immediately, before I can even take a moment to appreciate the short guitar solo, everything turns metal as fuck. And I'd go as far as to say that this is the hardest song the band has ever made. Yea, they're a rock band and they put out some really good and heavy hitting stuff, but this is different. This is angry.

"Look at what I've become-- My mother's careful knitting is undone. Sixty stitches and a price never paid, Might as well have sliced me with a blade.

All gaping wounds and pity, Disgust has never looked so pretty. My own disgust or theirs; Or is it just hospital rooms and wheelchairs?"

I officially think I'm with Ash on the mind-jizz bit. This is good. It's deep, it's angry, it's got that hidden meaning that no one will ever understand. It's something that only the writer will only be able to fully comprehend. Even if they would tell someone else what it was about, it'll never compare to everything that goes on inside their head when they think of this song.

"Self-inflicted cuts and scars, Just like the first which left me marred. So sick of the metallic taste Of the way I'm two-faced.

Bursting with hopes and regrets Falling through like fingers in fishnets. Regard myself as something to dispose of-- You think me a disgrace, don't you, my love?"

Leave it to DAC to fuck with my head again. As always.

I nearly crumble to the floor again-- this time with no one to catch me. The second North screams out the word 'fishnets' and grabs onto that prop microphone of his to get into the moment, I feel my heart skip a beat. My head is suddenly filled with memories of Sally weaving his fingers through my own fishnets just yesterday night. It feels silly to immediately remember that scene because of a song, but how couldn't I? The lyrics are literally the same as what happened to me.

And in the long run, that's the entire reason music exists. So it can resonate within those who find their own meaning in the lyrics. So others can create something from a pre-determined scenario. Make it their own.

But hell, I really don't want to think about that asshole while I'm trying to enjoy this new, really amazing song that one of my favorite bands just dropped. Live and in person.

"There's a monster in your bed, In your head, It's me-- Too bad I'm not dead.

Shove my face in a pillow case And curse the human race. Why'd I have to suffer? Why the character development to make me tougher?"

Ash is gripping onto my wrist so tightly that my arm is starting to tingle. She's excited and so am I. What's there not to like about dark lyrics and angry riffs?

We all listen closely, literally everyone on the floor. East is standing in front of South and they watch each other, playing wonderfully and completely invested in the music they're making. Meanwhile, North walks languidly across the stage, ditching the prop microphone and singing into the one that actually works instead. It's a win-win-- he can still sing, but he can focus on playing his guitar rather than fucking around with something that doesn't even work.

I can't help but watch him, my gaze never falling away from North's every movement. His hands expertly playing his flashy guitar, his head tilted down to watch his finger movement, and his black dress shoes taking calculated steps. I've never seen a musician wear dress shoes in the middle of a concert before in my life, but I'm certainly not complaining.

Regardless, it's very interesting.

"Years of therapy couldn't fix me-- No llores por mi. Such a futile attempt at a kill, Was it really worth the thrill?"

No way did this suddenly hot individual just spit out Spanish in the middle of a song. Is he single? If so, I think I'd like to change that. Anyway--

"All I am is rage and revenge-- Every little bit of me is unhinged. I'd say there's nothing to fear, But I'm no Shakespeare.

There's a monster in your bed, In your head, Blood red, Filled with dread. It's me, And you'll wish I was dead."

No. Nope. Absolutely not. I don't have some stupid celebrity crush on a person I've never met because they're openly not shallow and just as torn apart as I am. Not at all. Not a chance.

But the way North shuts his eyes and tilts his head to the ceiling as he sing into the microphone again does something to me. Makes a little corner of my brain light up. Sends shivers through my body. And I really don't like any of it, but what can I do? The heart wants what it wants. It's all shallow feelings anyway. For all I know, North could be the complete opposite of what I want in a person. Not to mention, he's already way out of my league.

"Some things cease, others never end, But my broken brain and diced up heart won't mend. You needn't expect much-- I'll never get too close to touch.

It's over now; Fatal words for your vow. So sick, I don't know how... Never anything more than thou."

I stare up at the stage with stars in my eyes, nearly jumping out of my skin when North makes eye contact with me for just a split second-- then he moves on and most likely makes eye contact with a ton of other fans too. It's nothing special. He's doing what all musicians do and looking out at his fans. Sudden eye contact is nothing rare. Just subtle.

The music calms down, just an eerily slow and melancholic mixture of notes that North and East meld together on their instruments. And then, the next lyrics are whispered. So soft, so terrifying, so angry-- but calm.

"There's a monster in my bed, In my head, Held together by a thread, A fucked path I tread, Memory of where I once bled. It's me. You better fucking hope I'm dead, Before I slaughter the monster I once fled."

I nearly yelp when the LEDs suddenly shut off, leaving everyone in a pitch black room where only the bartenders have lights. And with the sea of people around me, those distant lights are just a speck of dust in this abyss.

But then, music starts playing on the speakers again-- The Misfits, I think-- and the LEDs snap back on. But the entire band is off-stage. They're gone. Disappeared without a fucking trace.

I blink at the empty stage, noting the perturbed sounds of confusion flitting about me from other fans. It sucks that they left so quickly, but at the same time, this adds to the mysterious air that the band carries. I want so badly to find them hiding in the crowd. I want to sneak backstage and get into their room. I want to run off to the bathroom and hope that, by some ridiculous chance, I bump into one of the members.

And more than anything, I'd love to see North again.

I turn to talk to Ash, finding her pretty glossed lips set in a frown. Bet she'd be shocked if I kissed that frown off her right now.

"What's with the disappearing act?" I ask her, watching as she turns to me, that frown of hers morphing into a quizzical look.

"I actually don't know," she murmurs, looking over her shoulder to see Todd talking to someone, probably another fan. "But something about that giant hunk of man heading this way tells me that we might be able to find out," she continues, voice dropping to a seductive little whisper. I look over her shoulder with her, noting that the same intimidating security guard that scooped up Sal and Larry earlier is headed this way.

I grimace. Okay, so yea, I wanted to disappear and find Dark Autumn Complex two seconds ago but if this guy brings us backstage to actually meet them, I'm going to spontaneously combust. I can't meet a famous person. I can't meet someone I look up to like this. I'm going to make a damn fool of myself.

The security guard reaches Ash, Todd, and I. And he sighs. Fucking sighs upon making eye contact with me.

"Do I have to explain why I'm here again?" he asks, nodding over at me with a blonde eyebrow cocked. It's definitely a warning. If I want to test him right now, he's just going to fuck off and maybe throw me out of the function too.

"Nope," I tell him, my voice quiet and reserved. Very close to shaking. Fuck, someone's going to have to drag me back there because I won't be able to willingly walk backstage on my own.

My heart is pumping a thousand miles a second. At least, that's what it feels like when Ash grabs my hand with a beaming smile on her face.

Todd points behind him, saying something I can't hear to the security guard. He sends Ash and I a little wave then literally melts into the crowd.

No. No, did Todd actually just ditch us? Oh my gosh I'd much rather take a swim in this disgusting ocean at my feet.

I don't really have time to contemplate on the situation anymore as Ash gives my arm a yank, dragging me into the sea of people around us.

She and I are led through a bustling crowd, bodies crowding our every shift and turn. Lights flash all around us, Ash's hand grips tightly on mine, and it hurts too much to watch the floor crawl beneath me. It feels like I'm walking on quicksand and the solid, shadowy strangers slamming into every inch of me-- even into parts of me I didn't know I fucking had-- is making me panic.

I tilt my head up, staring at the wooden, planked ceiling above the crowd and the balcony that's left empty for people who pay for VIP seats. Must be nice.

The lights suddenly change color-- going from a normal white to red and, thus, adding an eerie touch to the already terrifying atmosphere.

Finally, Ash yanks me through a doorway, said door slamming closed me with a loud thud-- courtesy of the guard who led us back here.

"Damn," Ash breathes, so I turn to her, noting her flushed cheeks and euphoric expression. "Doesn't that just give you a rush?" she asks, looking down to me with a grin as she momentarily squints her jade irises.

I stare at her blankly. "No," I reply bluntly. "Actually, that freaks me the fuck out," I continue, squeezing my eyes shut. I want to scream. "I want to scream."

"Then do it. Not like anyone out there's gonna hear you," Ash's nonchalant response resonates in my brain and I open my eyes again, looking at her with a flabbergasted expression.

"Are you serious?" I murmur, "I can't do that here, That's social suicide."

"Just do it, Vi!" Ash happily exclaims, trying to convince me with her stare alone. "It's just us right now. Us and these guards and I fucking promise you they've seen worse than two women screaming at absolutely nothing."

I just look at her, waiting for her to say she was only kidding. But she only looks back at me, that ever-present smile on her lips and ecstatic emotions flashing through her viridian eyes.

Fuck it. It's a good way to get rid of nerves and it's just us.

"Okay," I whisper, tilting my head down a bit. "Anxiety scream on three?"

Bold of me to assume that Ash could reach peak excitement.

Ash's smile widens into a grin and I watch her eyes fill with so much excitement that I'm afraid she'll go crazy for a moment. "Anxiety scream on three."

I nod, confirming yet again as I say, "One."

"Two."

I gulp. "Three."

Ash and I both let out the most banshee-like, horror movie-worthy, tortured person screams we can possibly muster up. Not a single person flinches around us, no doubt having expected this based on our conversation. But that makes it ten times better because then it's like there's no one else there in the first place. Just me and Ash.

At some point, I need to breathe and I'm shocked Ash is still going by the time I keel over and cough up half a lung.

It's a mix of laughs and gagging over our sore and dry throats once Ash finally stops her scream. My hands are on my knees, tears in my eyes as I fight for my life to actually take a good, deep breath.

Ash has her face angled toward the ceiling as she coughs out bellowing laughs-- they're cackles, really.

I stand after a moment, pushing a hand under my mask to wipe at my wet cheeks. But then I look past Ash and notice the three people in all black standing off in a corner of the room-- all of them with three matching masks.

I sober up immediately, clearing my throat and straightening my posture. Fuck, when did they walk in?

Shit, I don't know how to react. I feel so embarrassed to have been caught recovering from a vulnerable moment. And hell, maybe they walked in while we were screaming. Fuck, that's even worse. But at the same time, I'm elated to almost nearly be face-to-face with one of my favorite bands. They don't beat Breaking Benjamin, but damn, they're so close.

It feels like falling in love. Especially when North and I's gazes connect.

Butterflies erupt from the depths of my stomach like a volcano overdue for an explosion. My cheeks heat up as I wonder if I look good enough. My hands grow clammy and my fingers begin to shake, and a very specific type of fuzziness in my head accompanies my racing heart.

I don't know what to say. I suddenly would rather walk out of the room and brave thousands of bodies than actually accept this chance to meet one of my favorite bands. I mean, they aren't going to talk to me anyway. They'll probably just watch me as I babble. Yea, it's better to just leave. I'm five feet away from them-- that's close enough to meeting to me. Time to go.

As I take a single step back, all three band members eyes on me, Ash grabs my hand and keeps me rooted in place. I look up to her, fear holding me still before I can ask her to let me go. But she doesn't let me get a chance to speak either.

"Hi, boys!" Ash chirps, waving a hand at the group. "Nice to finally meet you!"

All three are men?

My gaze travels back over to the group. The singer and guitarist, North, dressed in black slacks, black dress shoes, a black turtleneck, and black leather gloves. His mask is red with gold and black accents, the top portion a sheet of music. Very fascinating.

Then there's East, wearing a black mask with white, silver, and gold accents. He's in black jeans, a black Deftones shirt, black converse, and a leather jacket to top off the look. He also has the black leather gloves to match his outfit.

Finally, South has a blue mask with gold and white accents. He's wearing a black sweater, a white collar peaking out of the top. Black jeans, very fancy black boots, and, of course, black leather gloves.

Damn, they are so fucking cool. I really need to know what the gloves are about though. Everyone saw their hands earlier, what's the point?

"Vi," Ash says, forcing me back to the real world and away from ogling. "Say hi."

"Hi," tumbles from my lips like involuntary and unplanned vomit after a night of multiple screwdrivers that were mainly vodka (yep, that explanation is coming from an experience that will never leave my soul).

It's awkward, and even South rears his head back like he smelled three day old sardines. North simply tilts his head a bit. East is stock still. Worse, they're all still looking at me.

I cough, clearing my throat a bit. Okay, so I can't avoid this. Great. We love it here.

My feet move forward as I bite down my anxiety and bashfulness. I walk until I'm just a foot away from the three men and raise a hand in a pathetically awkward wave. "Hi," I murmur. "My name's VioletViolence. If you can't tell, I may or may not be, like, a big fan." I try to add some humor to the situation, but it's weak and it shows. I can hear Ash hiss awkwardly behind me. "Sorry," I decide to tack on, wincing lightly. "I don't know how to do this."

They all continue to stare at me. I'm considering just saying thanks for the eye contact before walking out.

But then North decides to take pity on me and sticks a hand out, his black glove on full display for me. He's so close that I can see the small bit of pale skin that shows-- the bit of skin where his shirt sleeve and glove don't quite meet. I try not to pay too much mind since the entire band prefers to be anonymous and faceless.

I hesitantly grab onto his hand, my heart pounding at a speed that should probably pronounce me as dead by this point.

His hand is warm and envelops mine fully, his fingers gently wrapping around the back of my hand. I can hardly even feel the cool, smooth leather of the glove because his hand is just that warm underneath. It's calming, intoxicating even.

I pull away before he can, offering a hand to both East and South who shake my hand immediately.

Once I shake hands with the three, I stand directly before North again-- the head of the small pack. He watches my every move, but I can't even make out the color of his eyes due to how incredibly concealed he is. It's almost frustrating. I want to know what he looks like.

I don't ponder. It's not my place to wonder who they are. After all, why should I be a hypocrite? I'd shit if anyone figured me out.

"You guys did so awesome," I say, grinning as Ash walks up beside me and envelops East in a big hug, droning on about how she's so excited to finally meet her favorite bassist after talking to him online for so long. Her voice is so insanely obnoxious that I start wondering what her motive is.

I look back to North who nods at me in thanks. But then it goes quiet. What the hell is supposed to happen here? Maybe Ash is good at rambling, but I'm not and I don't want to ramble. Especially when I won't even get a response back.

North glances over my shoulder, then looks over his own shoulder before turning back to me. Is he looking for something?

He pats his pocket, but his hand pauses mid air before he can pull anything out, and he motions over to one of the guards instead, pointing at something on a table full of snacks. The guard walks over and picks up a clipboard for North to see, and the masked man nods in response, using his hand to mimic writing.

Next thing I know, North has a clipboard and a pen in his hands. He looks at the contents of the clipboard-- a back stage guest list with all The Faces names written on it, as well as mine. But he rips the paper off the board and flips it over to the blank back and starts writing.

I listen to the quiet scribbles, trying not to sweat in anticipation and anxiousness.

Finally, after what feels like minutes but was probably only a few seconds, North hands me the clipboard and the pen.

I flip it around to look, my insides twisting about as I nervously glance at the scrawled handwriting. All caps, but small.

'ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ?'

A little smile quirks my lips. How funny. Me and the lead singer of an amazing band having to communicate through a pen and paper. It just feels silly.

"Sal and Larry?" I ask, glancing up at North who nods, then holds a hand up with his pointer finger as a symbol of the number one. I think about that-- one? What does that mean? Hm... "Oh," I voice, thinking I know what he's trying to say. "Another one? Todd?"

North nods again.

I shrug, holding the clipboard between my arm and side as I flip the pen around my fingers. "Honestly, I'm not sure about Sal and Larry. I figured you guys would know. They've been back here since before the show." I frown a bit. Where could they be? "As for Todd," I continue, "he dipped into the crowd. I don't know if he'll be showing up."

North lifts his head in kind of an 'ah' way, like he understands now that I've explained. Then he motions for the clipboard again, so I hand it back along with the pen.

He scribbles again before handing everything back to me. I look down, scrunching my eyebrows at the message.

'ɪ'ᴠᴇ ꜱᴇᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠɪᴅᴇᴏꜱ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴀʟʟʏ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴄʀᴀᴢʏ ᴄʜᴇᴍɪꜱᴛʀʏ'

Holy fuck, what part of this do I address first? I ask myself this, but the first reaction I have is a raging blush on my cheeks. "You watch my videos?" I squeak out embarrassingly. I haven't even made another video yet and it's been nearly three days now...

North hesitates for a moment before nodding, so I continue. Albeit, I continue with a racing heart and the clammiest hands on this planet. "And you think Sal and I have chemistry?" I can't help but giggle at that. North just shrugs in response.

I smile at him, feeling a bit calmer with this topic as a distraction. "I'd beg to differ, but if that's what it looks like online, I won't complain. I'd rather everyone think we were just... that we just have a weird friendship. I don't want them to know that things are actually just as tough as we make it seem."

Why am I blabbing so much? Imagine if Sal walked in and heard this. He'd peel my scalp from my fucking skull.

North motions for the clipboard yet again so I struggle to get it back to him as quickly as I can. More awkward scribbling, then he holds the clipboard up to me instead of handing it back. I guess he anticipates having to write more.

I lean a bit closer, squinting my eyes to read what's written-- curse my shitty vision and contact prices.

'ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜᴇɴ, ɪ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏꜱᴇ.'

I suck in a breath. "Well, he's definitely hard to be around. But he hasn't done all that much to make me say I dislike him." I think about it. I mean he's rude to me, but it's nothing I haven't dealt with before. And either way, I don't have to mention that I borderline hate the guy... "He's aggravating and rude, but I'm starting to get used to that. Maybe that's just how he is." I trail off toward the end because I've seen Sally in other social settings. He really isn't like this with anyone else. It's just me. It's always me.

But then something more important resonates in my mind. I'm literally telling Sal Fisher's friend about how awful of a person he is.

My eyes widen and I look up, noting North's stoic eyes that hide any and all emotion he could be feeling. I start to panic, waving my hands at my sides as my mouth works silently, trying to find words to say. My stomach churns and I struggle to hold down all the fear that wants to break through my skin.

"Ah, fuck. I'm sorry," I say shakily, bringing my hands in front of me to crack my knuckles. "I don't mean to bad mouth your friend. He really isn't all that bad, I just..." I trail off and shake my head. "I'm just making this so much worse."

I hear what sounds like a muffled snort come from North. The sound makes my insides go still while I wait for his response that's currently being written.

He holds the clipboard up to me, settling into a very nonchalant stance.

"ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴏᴋᴀʏ. ʜᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴅɪᴄᴋ."

My mouth gapes, but then I look into his slightly squinted eyes and can't help but grin. Well, at least we agree somewhere and he isn't angry with me. That helps a lot.

Suddenly, the little connection between us is interrupted. A woman walks into the room and she motions over to Dark Autumn Complex with the most outlandish expression I've seen all day.

"What the hell are you three doing?" she asks, voice falling off into a scoff. "I told you we have shit to cover. You can come hang out with everyone later. Can't any of you listen?"

My eyes widen as I watch the band members all glance to each other. That's one scary manager-- if she is their manager.

North looks back to me, gives me a quick wave, then walks off with the other two members. And they disappear as quickly as they came. I almost feel like the interaction never even happened.

Ash and I shrug at each other, then have a fuck it moment and pick through the snack table.

For a full two uninterrupted minutes, I sit there, snack on chocolate-covered strawberries, and ponder whatever the hell just happened. I think about my own feelings as well.

North was ridiculously nice, especially compared to some of the people I've met before (*cough* Sal Fisher *cough*). He was easy to talk to, even with our speech barrier. We still found a way to communicate, and I'm glad we did. I enjoyed getting to converse with him, however short the moment may have been. Do I have more of a viable reason to crush on him? Yea, absolutely. maybe he isn't as out of my league as I thought. He knows who I am. He watches my videos. And he's nice? That's, like, twenty extra points in my book.

I won't get too ahead of myself though, not when there's this stupid thing going on with Sally. I really need to figure that out first.

And like I specifically said-- I had just two minutes of silence. And after those two minutes are up, the giant metal door that Ash and I walked through a few minutes ago swings open and bounces off of the cement wall beside it.

Lo and behold, in walks Larry and Sal. They're both out of breath, carrying at least four bags in both their hands. Larry's face is red, though he still has that signature grin. Sal's neck is covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

And suddenly, a thread of an idea begins to weave itself through my mind. The thread quickly turns into a full, fleshed out, and calculatingly mapped theory that I'm almost 75% sure about.

And it scares me. Deeply.

Fishnets. Masks. Height. No talking. The sudden disappearance. Sal and Larry's perfectly timed arrival.

I watch the boys with terror in my eyes. I track every step they take toward the snack table. My gaze follows each little treat that they lay out. My ears zone in on their mumbled story about missing the new DAC song to pick up some of their favorite snacks.

But I don't believe any of it. Not a word.

Because I wholeheartedly think that Sally Face and Larry Johnson are two of three members of Dark Autumn Complex.

There are too many coincidences. Honestly the timing of Sal and Larry walking in and the lyrics about fishnets are what set me off the most. There's no way someone can nail an event so closely without having experienced it. And there's just no way Sal and Larry can walk in here like it's nothing after having enough time to quickly change their clothes and grab some random bags of snacks on their run back over here.

It's genius, but it fills me up with dread all the same. No fucking way. I keep getting shocked, but each time, the discovery is so much worse.

Larry randomly boasts about in front of me, wiggling his eyebrows as he skips up to me with that sexy smirk. It has no affect on me right now though. I'm contemplating, I'm theorizing, and I'm genuinely horrified.

He grabs my hands and brings me a little closer to him. I swallow thickly, watching him and waiting. Ideas are running through my head, driving me up the fucking wall. I don't know what to do. I feel like I'm right on the cusp of confirming this unfortunate discovery.

I refuse to have a crush on Sal Fisher.

"Quiero comerte viva," Larry suddenly drawls, pulling my attention away from my desperation for a second. I don't know what he said, but it was random enough to confuse me. But, I at least know the language.

"You speak Spanish?" I decide to ask him, clearing my oddly hoarse voice.

He chuckles, winking at me. "No, but I am an intellectual in the art of romance. I know how to woo the ladies."

I pinch my lips together and give him a pitiful look. "It's not a very good wooing if no one even knows what you're saying."

Larry frowns at me, seemingly thinking about that. But before he or I can say anything more, Sally walks past us and toward Ash. And he says, "It means, 'I want to eat you alive.'"

I choke on air, struggling to take a breath in. Sal just said that to my face and it was hot as fuck. Not to mention, Larry said that to me in another language. That's really hot too.

My head snaps to Larry who looks impressed. "Oh," he says thoughtfully, tilting his head. "So that's what it means."

And now I have to think about how ridiculous Larry is. About why and how Sally just happened to know what that Spanish phrase translated to. And on top of that-- their hidden identities as member of DAC.

But the doors that I believe they disappeared into just a couple minutes ago reopens, and a fresh wave of utter confusion and shock rocks my body all over again.

North, East, and South walk back out, facing us. But they also come face-to-face with Larry and Sal, which means... I was wrong. And I don't know if I'm disappointed or extremely fucking relieved.

Sal, Larry, and Ash talk animatedly to Dark Autumn Complex who simply listens to them without answering. All the while, I stand behind, watching.

Maybe I assumed that Sal and Larry were part of the band because I was desperate to find someone like me. Searching for someone, anyone who was hiding behind another identity. Hoping I wasn't the only selfish person with more than one name. Because I feel guilty about it.

I know I feel guilty-- deep down, I genuinely feel bad for lying to Larry and Todd. Even Sal. He may be a dick, but he and Lexi seemed to really connect. And I didn't have the guts to even tell him who I really am. I still don't.

And so I thought I discovered something in this fucked up situation that I created. Discovered something that never existed in the first place.

_____

A/N::::: hi babies :3 sorry it's been so long, but if it helps any, i have a lot planned! as always though, of course.

I present to you another ryver original *screams* but i've been super excited about this chapter. i'm even more excited about the next though!!! eeeekkkk!

i have chapter thirteen completely written up and fleshed out, i just have to go in and fix a few things and give it a proof read. 'cause i mean, 10,000 words worth of smut is a bit of an overkill right? ;)

For now, here's Dark Autumn Complex's masks.

North's mask ^^^ (fyi, his outfit is inspired by Noah Sebastian. Look him up and see him in a turtle neck. it'll change your life😫)

East's mask ^^^^

South's mask ^^^^

i'll be posting the next chapter in a couple days so i can give myself some time to catch up with you guys. until then, happy days and sweet nights. i love you all endlessly <333

#sal fisher #sally face #larry johnson #ash campbell #todd morrison #travis phelps #enemies to lovers #sally face fandom #sally face fanfiction #fanfic

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evenweirderscience · 1 year

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top 10 dr phil telepathic battles

#ghost's daunting text #putting this here bc its just a repost

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thesugarclubs-blog · 1 year

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Taste of Fate - AU Bucky Barnes x OC

warnings: civil war Bucky, strangers to lovers, ghosted date, smut, 18+

word count: 11.5k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1312808798-taste-of-fate-colette

Masterlist

The cold breeze nipped at Colette’s nose and blew her dark hair into her face as she walked down the busy New York street. Pulling her wool jacket tightly around herself, she made her way to the large brick building. A black sign with white writing told her she was in the right spot. The Brooklyn Kitchen was supposed to be one of the best cooking schools in the city, and it was an experience that Colette had always wanted to try.

She had been seeing Kyle for a few weeks and the two had originally bonded over their love of food. Kyle wasn’t exactly the normal type of guy that she would set herself up with, but that was what had intrigued her the most. She was stepping out of her comfort zone and still found things to bond with him over. He was sweet and not as pushy as she was used to from other guys. After their first date, Colette had mentioned doing this class and when he seemed just as excited as she was about it, it was booked.

A swarm of butterflies danced in her stomach as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and leaned herself against the brick wall as she waited. Looking down at her phone, she huffed out a sigh. 2:56 pm. No text messages or missed phone calls.

“He’s probably inside…” Colette mumbled to herself, as she spun and gripped the black metal door handle with her gloved hand and shuffled herself inside.

She pulled off her gloves and shoved them into her coat pockets before shedding it off her shoulders and placing it on one of the only empty hooks that still lined the wall. There were 6 counters that littered the brick room, and at each stood two people, except for one where a tall, muscular man stood by himself.

Her eyes traced his thick arms where a red Henley clung to his muscles, up to his long dark hair that was tucked under a black baseball hat. She caught a glimpse of his ocean blue eyes as they flickered to her over his shoulder.

But no sign of Kyle, as the clock hit 3 pm and the class was about to begin.

“Fuck this,” Colette muttered to herself and walked further into the room. She paused by the counter at the back, unsure where to go now.

She glanced around, noting the only empty workstation, and made her way over. Ingredients were piled up in a wicker basket, and next to it a Brooklyn Kitchen branded apron and a set of polished knives.

Colette quickly stored her things, surveying the room as she did. Most of the couples were set up already but the lone man was standing looking a little lost, his apron hung around his neck but was not tied and he was eyeing the knives cautiously. He must have sensed her eyes on him because the next moment he was looking right at her.

“Looks daunting doesn’t it?” She chuckled nervously, hoping he didn’t think she was rude for staring.

He offered a shy smile, his cheeks dusting pink as he glanced down at the knives in front of him.

"A little, yeah," he chuckled. "Never really done anything like this before."

She offered him a big, warm smile that made him smile in return. He was cute, bright blue eyes, high cheekbones, and soft stubble dusting his chin. His long hair fell loose, some strands falling in his face from the base of his hat that he quickly tucked behind his ear. The longer she stared at him, the more she was kind of grateful that Kyle wasn't coming.

"Well, you're in good company," she replied. "I'm pretty new to this too. We can be overwhelmed together."

The relief in his eyes was palpable as his smile got wider and he nodded. Colette tied up her own apron and he quickly followed suit. Before he could say another word, the door opened and someone who clearly looked like the instructor walked to the front of the room.

She was a bit shorter than Collette with a round face, greying hair tied back into a ponytail and soft features that had a look of wisdom to them, as she stood at the front of the room and gave everyone a quick once over before introducing herself with a warm smile.

"Hello, everyone. I'm Evelyn and I'm gonna be your guide in today's class."

“You all have an ingredients list in your baskets. I’d like you to check through first of all to make sure you’ve got everything.”

Colette took her list and started to pick through her basket when she heard muttering from the guy next to her.

“Everything OK?” She asked with an encouraging smile.

“What the hell is ch-chorizo?” He stammered at the unfamiliar word, a deep furrow forming between his brows.

Colette grinned and held up the dark red sausage, waving it slightly and giggling as his cheeks turned even pinker than before.

The corners of his mouth upturned slightly as they flickered from the sausage back to her making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. God, he was cute. She watched as he found his own chorizo package and pulled it from the basket, waving it gently at her to signal he’d found it.

Colette tossed him a reassuring nod before turning back to her own basket. Glanced at the door, realizing that by now Kyle definitely wasn’t showing up.

“You,” a voice called drawing her attention to the small woman in the white coat, Evelyn reached her station with a raised brow, “you had a partner, no?”

It was Colette’s turn for pink cheeks as the instructor stared up at her, “uhm, yes but he… he is sick.”

The woman narrowed her eyes slightly before looking at the man next to her. Colette’s gaze followed, she could tell he was trying not to listen as he continued pulling things from his basket and inspecting them.

“You two will pair up.” Evelyn waved the two of them together.

Colette’s eyes went wide as the man froze both of them gawking at the woman.

There was a tiny flutter in her stomach- she chalked it up to nerves and balanced her hands on the edge of the counter. This will be fine. So what if Kyle stood her up? She could figure this out, she didn’t need-

“I’m sorry your friend didn’t show.”

Her new cooking partner’s words interrupted her spiraling thoughts. Her cheeks burned as they made eye contact, immediately drawn into the man’s soft, blue eyes. How did he-

He offered her a slightly pained smile. “You, uh, said some of that out loud.” Great, she thought. Already off to a great start.

She looked around the room, noticing a couple of questioning eyes on her before their attention went quickly back to their tasks again.

Evelyn cleared her throat. “Bans, right?” She looked at the confused man. “Get over here and continue with your list. We’ll get through the recipe together shortly,” With that, she made her way over to another couple.

Colette sighed and buried her face in her hands. Shame washed over her. She was here to have fun and learn, not to have a meltdown in the middle of-

“It’s Barnes actually. James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.” She looked up from the sudden closeness of his voice.

He stood right next to her with an outstretched gloved hand with a warm smile on his lips, a hint of redness forming on his cheeks.

Colette took his hand and shook it. “Colette Grey” she smiled nervously at him. They stood there awkwardly for a few moments before she dropped his hand and turned back to the ingredients list double checking that they had everything needed for their dish.

"So you know why I'm here..." She swallowed tightly trying not to look back at him. She felt like all she could do was stare but his presence beside her was not something she could just ignore. His broad shoulder brushed against her as he leaned down and helped her with the ingredients.

"It's silly..." Bucky said quietly, handing her another package.

Colette breathed out a laugh and shook her head, nudging her small shoulder into his arm lightly, "As silly as getting stood up?" she questioned, turning her eyes back to him with a soft smile.

All her friends had told her that she could do better than Kyle. The man didn't even have a bed frame and owned 2 mugs that he just rinsed out the one time she'd gone to his house. Her friends certainly were going to get a kick out of this. Hopefully, she could soften the teasing by telling them about her new friend.

"I uh, it feels like I haven't cooked in 70 years..." he laughed softly, shooting her a crooked smile, "so I thought it'd be good to get out and try this..."

“Nothing silly about that,” Colette replied softly, “and hey, maybe with two of us, we’ll actually make something edible!”

“You say that but I haven’t cooked with half of these ingredients before, so it’s pretty much all on you.”

Bucky nudged her playfully as he spoke, the most relaxed smile on his face yet, and Colette felt her skin warm all the way from the tips of her ears. She was certain her whole face was pink when she glanced up at him next, soft eyes studying her only to be snapped away when the instructor clapped her hands at the front of the room.

"You'll want to make sure you follow the directions on the sheets I'm about to hand out! And working together is important!" The instructor looked directly at Bucky and his face turned bright red.

"You think she heard me?" He asked with a wink.

Colette couldn't help but collapse into giggles, and she looked up at him, his bright eyes sparkling as he smiled.

"How about this: Since we're both pretty much helpless, we help each other out. You can read me the directions and we'll try not to burn the place down. Teamwork."

Bucky bit his lip, nodding. That lip bite was going to kill her. She was so glad Kyle didn't show up today.

"Teamwork," he agreed.

"Let's do this!" She whisper-yelled as she rubbed her palms together in exasperated excitement which caused his mouth to turn up in a beautiful smile that had the corners of his eyes crinkling.

And if her heartbeat stuttered at the sight of that, it was nobody's business.

His mesmerizing blue eyes lingered on her unsure smile a little longer, as she started to occupy her hands so her mind wouldn't go wandering places that weren't appropriate in this setting. Especially around all these knives.

“Alright, everyone! Listen please!” Evelyn clapped, her voice commanding the attention of the room. “We’re going to work through the instruction sheet, you have a timer there if you need it, and if you get stuck just hold up your hand and I’ll come over.”

“Feel like I’m back in damn school,” Bucky grumbled, adjusting the straps on his apron.

Colette patted his arm reassuringly and then gestured to the sheet of paper in front of them.

“So partner, what’s first?”

She didn’t miss the smile that spread across his lips, giving a full view of the sharpness of his cheekbones as he leaned forward to read the list.

“Well, it says here to slice the chorizo into rounds.” He glanced up at her brows knitted together, “whatever that means.”

She chuckled softly, taking a peek at the couples near them watching as they sliced the sausage. Colette raised a finger, pointing at them, “I think something like that.”

Bucky turned to her and gave her a wide grin. He picked up one of the knives by the handle and twirled it in his hand between his fingers, so the blade of the knife spun dangerously close to the palm of his hand. Colette's eyes widened as she watched.

“I … thought you haven’t cooked all that much. Because that is some serious knife skills you’ve got their partner.” Colette said stunned

"Yeah old trick," he turned the blade over once more, the light reflected off the steel and twinkled in the dark rings of his blue eyes as he looked over at her.

"Where did you learn how to do that?" She asked as he positioned the chorizo under the blade awkwardly, "curl your fingers," she pointed to his hand, the blade dangerously close to his skin. She shook her head, rounding him and leaning over his arm, she wrapped her fingers over his and them out of the way of the knife. "Like that," she said, looking up to find his expression softened as he watched her.

“Uh, you know… Military.” Bucky fumbled, his face turning red though Colette couldn’t tell if it was from how her front pressed against his back as she guided him, or the fact that his answer was obviously vague to cover up the truth of his familiarity with blades.

Whatever it was, she could tell cooking was not the setting in which he had learned his skills and she giggled as Bucky looked around to the other pairs of cooks to see what thickness they were cutting the chorizo.

“That seems too big.” Colette smiled, as she pulled away from him once he got the hang of curling his fingers to protect them from the sharp edge.

“You got a problem with the size of my sausage?” Bucky asked, glancing at her from the corner of his eyes and Colette felt her whole body flush with warmth.

She burst out into giggles suddenly, earning a side-eye from the woman next to them and an eyebrow raise from Evelyn.

“Oh, Jesus. I definitely didn’t mean it like that,” Bucky mumbled, “sorry.”

“No, no. Don’t apologize! You just tapped right into my sense of humor.”

Bucky just nodded, his own cheeks a little rosy as he continued slicing the chorizo.

He was being super precise, and steady with the knife as he cut the sausage into neater, smaller pieces. Just as he was finishing up, Evelyn did that deafening hand clap again as she launched into discussing the fastest way to chop an onion.

They both listened as she demonstrated at the front of the class, dicing the onion so fast that Colette flinched a little and took a deep breath. She definitely felt out of her depth. She looked up at Bucky, grabbing the onion from the table.

"You wanna chop this?" She asked. "You handled that sausage pretty well."

He began to giggle, shaking his head.

"I'm never gonna live that down, am I?"

"Nope, sorry, bud. You're doomed to that humiliation forever."

"I thought we were partners. If you're gonna give me a hard time, you've at least gotta dice the onion." He elbowed her again. "See, I said dicing. I'm learning."

Colette's giggle began to mirror his.

"We are partners! I look pretty and read the directions, and you handle the knife stuff," she quipped.

Part of her just really wanted to see him flip that thing again. His cheeks flushed again as he rubbed the back of his neck, the tip of the knife pointed at the cutting board.

"Well, I think that jerk who stood you up is missing out on a great partner." His eyes met hers as he gently took the onion from her hand, their fingertips brushing before she heard him add, "Pretty one, too."

She felt heat flood her cheeks and down her neck at his words while little zaps of electricity traveled up her fingertips from their brief touch.

As her lower lip caught between her teeth, Colette couldn't stop herself from gazing into the clear blue of his eyes a second too long to be appropriate before turning away from him and hiding behind her curtain of hair.

"Tha— thank you," she stuttered shyly.

His cheeky smirk prevailed for a while longer before his attention diverted back to their instructor as demonstrated how to cut the onions.

“Dicing’s really small!” He exclaimed, gesturing with the knife toward where the instructor had demonstrated.

“You can do it, big guy. I have faith in you.”

Colette saw him square his shoulders at her words of encouragement and he attacked the onion with gusto, remembering to keep his fingers out of the way as she showed him.

“Get a load of you, Bucky! You could be on Masterchef!” She exclaimed with a bright chuckle.

Once again that adorable confused look crossed his face, and his chopping slowed, “Master—I don’t, what is a Masterchef?”

Colette stared up at him for a moment something about the curiosity and confusion in his voice softened her smile. “It’s a TV show.” She said quietly.

His eyes widened for a moment, an awkward chuckle leaving his lips as the air between them grew thick, “oh—I uh don’t watch very much TV.”

Bucky cleared his throat and continued chopping the rest of the onion. “Well,” Colette started softly. She decided to take a different approach, and she lowered her eyes to the list in front of them.

“While I figure out what pans we need, why don’t you…” her voice trailed off. She glanced in his direction, still not making eye contact, as she heard his chopping slow once again.

“Why don’t you tell me how you like to spend your time? Since you’re obviously not watching TV.” She finally made eye contact and flashed him a small grin. As his eyes widened, she was pretty sure she felt her knees knock against each other.

"I could get used to this," he gave her a tight smile.

"To cutting onions?" Colette giggled, she gave his arm a squeeze.

"Well, more so cutting onions with a pretty sous chef," he said, watching her intently and waiting for her reaction.

Colette felt herself blush violently making a list of activities that she could take Bucky to do to help him discover more of what he liked. She quickly shook the thought from her mind, embarrassed with herself for trying to make plans with an absolute stranger, though he was admittedly a very cute stranger.

But something in her wanted to see that gorgeous smile and those magnetic blue eyes well after the cooking class ended.

She didn’t say anything about it though, just looked down at the instructions on the paper, trying to figure out what they needed to do next.

“Alright!” Colette and Bucky both jumped as Evelyn suddenly spoke. “Everyone should be done with the onion, onto cutting the chicken! You want to make sure they’re nicely cubed, gives a more even cook.” She demonstrated quickly and then gestured at everyone to do the same.

Colette glanced up at Bucky, getting caught in his blue eyes for a moment.

“Um, okay so, cubes. How hard can that be?” she asked, grinning when Bucky straightened up, chest partially puffed.

“Easy as pie,” he said and grabbed a chicken breast. It slipped out of his hand and smacked onto the counter. “This shit’s slimmer than I remember,” he said as Colette giggled.

“Yeah, it’s pretty gross. I’m actually glad she put me with you because I think I would have just given up at this point otherwise. You’d have to pay me a lot of money to touch that,” she remarked, the end of her sentence giving way to a squeal as Bucky wiggled his slimy fingers in her face.

Bucky laughed as she jumped back, his nose scrunching as the joyful sound filled the kitchen space. It was gorgeous, rich, and deep, and when he snorted at the end, Colette fell into giggles all over again.

Somewhere in the room, someone shushed them and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Maybe it was a bad idea putting us together, I think we’ve been branded the troublemakers.”

“Story of my life,” Colette replied.

“And it seems like getting paired with troublemakers is the story of mine.”

"You're a troublemaker?" She asked, a teasing edge to her voice.

He grinned, slightly bashful as they worked. Every time his eyes met hers, she melted. She couldn't stop smiling. Or giggling. Something about him just reduced her to a complete puddle. Colette didn't want this class to end.

"Just a little. I think it's why we work so well together."

“You should be cooking now,” Evelyn sang, with a pointed look in their direction.

“Shit, Sweetheart, I think we gotta get some of this stuff in the pan!” Bucky exclaimed.

Colette threw him a mocking grimace and scraped the sliced chorizo into the wide-bottomed frying pan, turning the heat on medium as the instructions suggested. She was definitely ignoring the extra flash of heat that rippled through her when he called her sweetheart.

“Low and slow people!” Evelyn all but shouted as she walked between stations, eyeing the pans, “we don’t need any fires starting.”

The pan sizzled as the chorizo began to smoke. The smell wafting between them made her stomach growl softly.

She caught his gaze out of the corner of her eye as she cleared her throat with an awkward grin.

“When was the last time you ate?” He asked.

Colette eyed him at the question. It was blunt and almost accusing.

Bucky must have caught on to her confusion as he shook his head, “no, that’s not I just meant, your stomach growled.” He said shyly.

Colette would normally have been embarrassed, but something about this broad-shouldered softy put her at ease. “How did you possibly hear that?” she asked with a laugh.

The spicy smells wafted around them as he smiled, his nose crinkling slightly. He grabbed a wooden spoon from the counter and handed it to her. “You stir,” he said, his smile softening.

He looked down at her, his eyes falling to her lips for a split second before meeting her gaze once more. Colette felt her stomach lurch with an entirely different type of hunger. “And maybe,” his voice was lower now, “we can go grab a cup of coffee and a snack after class.”

“A snack?” She smirked, “I know this cute little cafe with all the best desserts,” she began to ramble as she stirred the food so it didn’t burn. She looked up at him expecting to find him watching the food as she had been but he was staring at her. Heat licked at the back of her neck, “of course, we’ll have to get one of each.”

“Of course,” he smiled, his tongue darted over his bottom lip. “How can I figure out what I like if we don’t,” he replied.

Colette’s mind was racing with a million ways they could figure that out, her cheeks began to burn from the amount of blushing she had been doing, and to keep herself from absolutely melting she shifted her focus back to the pan.

The oil had begun to seep out of the chorizo and Bucky was still cubing the rest of the chicken so she scooped up the onions he had chopped earlier, adding them to the pan which hissed and sizzled. A cloud of smoke wafted up from the pan, stinging her eyes more than she had anticipated, causing them to water and her belly to grumble again because despite the pain the food still smelled really good.

“Oh gosh,” Colette cringed, squeezing her eyes shut as they began to burn more.

“Shoot.” She heard Bucky say, the sink at their station turning on telling her that he was washing his hands before she knew it, there were large warm palms on her face.

Bucky was holding her cheeks and he told her not to move as he blew on her eyes to stop the stinging; it was a gentle, yet firm action, and damn did it feel nice.

Her chocolate brown eyes fluttered open to meet his ocean blue ones, and a soft smile graced his lips, as his thumb swiped away the one tear that escaped down her cheek.

"You okay?" Bucky spoke softly, keeping her face in his hands.

His callouses were rough against her skin, but it was countered by how soft his touch was. Every nerve in Colette's body ignited as a blush crept up her neck. Suddenly every morsel of her thoughts about Kyle rushed out of her head and was replaced with her new blue-eyed cooking partner who had managed to be more of a gentleman to her in the hour and a half of them knowing each other than Kyle had been in the last few weeks.

Colette cleared her throat, and nodded slowly, keeping her eyes locked with his, "much better, thank you..." she whispered.

“Anytime doll,” Bucky replied lowly, his hands slowly falling away from her face, fingertips lingering, leaving a tingling in their wake. Colette shivered and looked down, gasping as she remembered the food. She turned down the stove, the pan smoking slightly.

They salvaged it, Bucky tossing in the chicken once the onions were softened and Colette took over chopping veggies and prepping the rice.

“Look at us! Cookin’ like pros now, sweetheart!” Bucky grinned and it took everything in Colette not to do something stupid like kiss the stranger turned cooking partner that she was definitely crushing on.

Their coffee date was motivating her to get through the last of this cooking class. So until then, she stuck close to Bucky, hands brushing every so often as they both reached to stir or taste, and she hoped the spark she felt every time wasn’t one-sided.

As they cooked, Bucky glanced down at her.

"You wanna team up to do the dishes?" He asked.

She grinned, her mind still miles away, daydreaming of having coffee with him. Colette could picture it all in her mind clear as day. She even knew the perfect spot to take him. There was a cozy cafe around the corner where she liked to go to read sometimes.

"It's a date-- I mean, uh... yeah..." Her cheeks reddened and Bucky smirked at her.

"I thought coffee was a date, but if you wanna pack dishes in there, too, I think we can make that work."

Her stomach fluttered and he reached out one more time, swiping something off of her cheek. This man was getting bold. This little spark was definitely mutual.

"You had an eyelash," he breathed.

Suds landed perfectly onto the top of his nose rendering him speechless. Colette bit her lip watching as a wolfish grin spread across his cheeks.

“Oh you’re in for it now,” he lurched towards her, scooping up a small pile of suds with two fingers before swiping it across her own nose. Giggles ensued as she gasped up at him.

Colette couldn’t help but scoff, grabbing the metal take-out containers for their food and chucking them at him which only made Evelyn give her another glare before she turned on swift heels to check on the other cooks.

“Sweetheart, you keep acting like that and we’ll never be allowed to take another cooking class in this town again.” Bucky grinned at her, those cute laugh lines hiding under his stubble causing her heart to fly.

Colette bit back another smile, taking the containers she'd thrown and him back and swiftly packing their food to go though she had desperately wanted to start digging in because of how hungry she was.

Dessert and coffee were calling her though and so was the smile plastered across Bucky's face.

The two of them thanked the teacher, and giggled through an apology for their trouble, before retrieving their jackets from the hooks and heading back out into the cold February air. As they walk, their hands brushed together, and Colette pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. All she wanted to do was link their fingers together but she wasn't sure at that moment if it'd be too forward.

"The uh, the cafe is only a couple of blocks away," she softly smiled up at him, nervously tapping her fingers against the side of the food container as she held it close to her body.

She took note of how out here, Bucky seemed tenser than he had in class. His eyes darted around the street and flickered down to her every once in a while.

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked, nudging her elbow lightly into his arm.

"What?" Bucky's head turned to look at her, clearing his throat and nodding once, "Ye-yeah, everything is fine. Just - looking forward to the desert."

“Mmm, me too!” Colette replied happily, brushing off the moment with a soft smile which Bucky seemed to appreciate. “They do the best lemon meringue pie and a bunch of chocolate options too if that’s more your thing.”

She glanced up to see Bucky looking down at her fondly.

“What?”

“Oh nothing,” he chuckled, “you’re just a breath of fresh air that I didn’t know I needed.”

Without prompting, Bucky’s pinky caught Colette’s, his hand sliding into hers effortlessly and like that’s where it had always belonged. This man knew what he was doing, the smirk on his lips not quite hidden by the lingering shyness in his eyes.

The two of them walked to the coffee shop, the sun still shining as they move through crowds of people. She could feel his eyes on her the entire time, her entire body heating up beneath the weight of his gaze. Colette finally mustered up the courage to glance back up at him.

"You like to stare, huh?"

He blushed immediately and began to stammer.

"I-- uh... do you... not like it?"

She smiled as she squeezed her hand.

"I never said that, just an observation."

He grinned and gave her hand a little squeeze back. She was surprised that he was so gentle considering how much bigger he was than her. Colette had to push aside thoughts of his Herculean frame pressing her against a wall, his mouth on hers. She cleared her throat.

"You sure blush a lot when I look at you."

She grinned.

"Do you not like that?"

"I never said that just an observation," he replied with a flirtatious grin.

Colette returned the grin shaking her head, “in all fairness I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who stares at me so much.”

Bucky’s gaze met hers, sparkling blue eyes glistened down at her. “In all fairness, you deserve to have someone stare at you.”

She cocked a brow biting her lip as his words finally registered, making him grimace.

“That sounded way creepier than intended,” he breathed out a laugh before pausing for a moment “you’re just the prettiest girl I’ve gotten the courage to talk to in a long time and I meant what I said earlier about your friend standing you up. He is an idiot.”

“Most men born this century are no offense,” she quipped.

“None taken,” he smirked at her, fixing his hat on his head. She had an inkling Bucky was full of secrets he was just waiting to share with the right person.

Colette slowed her steps as they reached the stop and before she could get the door Bucky opened it for her. “Thank you,” she whispered sliding past him.

The cafe smelled like heaven and Colette couldn’t help but do a small happy hop as she thought about the many sweet treats she could potentially shove in her face but also screaming at herself in her head when she found herself considering what Bucky’s lips would taste like.

Everything about him was just so comforting though, the wave of butterflies in her stomach had been fluttering uncontrollably for some time now and she was sure that if she had decided to dramatically throw herself at him and pretend to faint like a damsel that Bucky would catch her in his strong arms and let out the most beautiful laugh in the process for her acting so silly.

She settled on getting a chocolate brownie with vanilla ice cream and a caramel drizzle… You know, just in case he decided to kiss her.

Bucky ordered a strawberry cheesecake, and the two carried their treats to a small table tucked in the corner by the windows.

"I - I have to be honest here, I haven't been on a first date in... a really long time," Bucky admitted as they sat down.

Colette cocked her eyebrow as a grin formed on her lips, "Date huh?" she questioned.

His eyes widened, and he brought his gloved hand up to rub the back of his neck, "I mean, I - sorry, I shouldn't assume anything... I -"

"Bucky!" She interrupted, with a giggle, "I was kidding, I would love if this was a date"

He let out a breath, the smile appearing back on his face, "you are trouble."

“It’s my middle name,” she grinned, taking a spoonful of her dessert and placing it between her lips. Her eyes fluttered shut as she tasted everything. “Oh my god, this is amazing!”

Bucky’s laugh choked off and she opened her eyes, meeting his, a little darker than before as he stared at her. Right at her lips, she noticed with a small smile.

“See something you like?” she asked slyly, and Bucky blinked back to awareness.

"I don't stand a chance against you, do I?" He chuckled, shaking his head.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Colette replied as she took another bite and then pushed her brownie toward him. "Here, try some."

He looked flustered. Maybe the sugar would take his mind off of it. She offered Bucky her spoon and he took a small bite, his eyes widening as he smiled and nodded his head. Colette noticed a little speck of caramel on his lip, and couldn't help herself. Before she knew it, she was reaching out and wiping it away with her thumb. She let it linger on his mouth for just a second before Bucky's mouth dropped open, that darkness returning to his eyes.

"Sorry," she murmured, wiping her thumb on a napkin. "I got a little... carried away."

He grinned. The spark between them was instantaneous. She knew nothing about this man and yet she was comfortable enough to wipe caramel off of his fucking lip. What the hell had gotten into her? Heat flooded her whole body.

"I wouldn't say that." He paused for a moment, his eyes studying her face, lips curling into a soft smile. "You're real pretty when you're flustered, though."

“If you don’t stop saying nice things to me I might have to take you home,” she teased.

“Maybe that was my plan all along,” he took another bite. “Play dumb, flash a smile. Charm the gorgeous sad girl.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t charmed,” she smiled. “You’re very smooth Bucky Barnes.”

“I haven’t heard that in a long time angel,” he looked up at her through his heavy lashes with a soft smirk on his face.

“I haven’t had someone flirt with me so much in a long time.” She said and for some reason she forgot to smile, her mind wandering to all jerks who had stood her up over the years.

“Don’t do that,” Bucky said, his brows furrowing as he shook his head.

“Do what?” Colette asked, unsure of what she’d done.

“Frown. You break my heart when you do that," he said and she hadn’t even noticed his hand had reached out across the table, his fingers searching for hers.

Colette let their fingers curl together and Bucky took her hand with a smile, bringing her knuckles to his lips before gently kissing them.

“Only smiles from here on out sweetheart.” Bucky grinned and she melted faster than the ice cream on her plate.

"Well, if you keep talking like that, I think I can agree to those terms," Colette chuckled, pulling her spoon between her lips as she watched Bucky for a moment.

The conversation flowed from there, Bucky asking her questions about what she did, and some of her favorite things. The two enjoyed their desserts as much as they enjoyed each other's company. Laughter echoed through the cafe as Colette watched Bucky relax and come alive in front of her eyes.

"The last date I went on was... with a girl named Bonnie, or was it, Connie?" He questioned, licking the last of the strawberry jam from his spoon. "Anyway, we went to this expo and... actually, she kind of looked like you a little bit" Bucky smirked, tilting his head to the left, "anyway, it didn't work out..."

Colette laughed, and cocked an eyebrow, "What do you mean she looked like me?"

"Not exactly! And no in a bad way I promise, I think it's just," He thought for a second, "I have a thing for brunettes, that's all" he answered, laughing awkwardly.

"Ah, gotcha," she tsked, swiping her tongue along her bottom lip, "Well I have to admit I am a little glad it didn't work out with Bonnie... Or Connie." She teased.

He chuckled.

"Yeah, me too, actually." He looked up at her. "I don't think it would have worked out anyway."

"Yeah? How come?"

He shrugged and looked a little sad.

"Lotsa reasons."

Colette gently tapped his foot underneath the table.

"Hey, you said smiles from here on out, mister."

His laughter was the best thing in the world. A little raspy and his eyes crinkled at the edges when he did it. Sometimes, his nose scrunched up. She really liked that part.

"Right, gotta take my own advice, huh?" He sighed and bit his lip. "Thanks for being my partner today."

He really meant it. It wasn't just a ploy to get in her pants, even though, she definitely wouldn't say no to that.

"Any time, Bucky. Thanks for being mine."

"Any time, doll."

“Even if I do get you almost kicked out of class?” She laughed setting her spoon down.

Her eyes met his when he didn’t answer, the light dusting of pink now returning under the light shade of stubble. “Especially so.”

Colette’s smile faded for a brief moment. God, he was sweet and he seemed to like her loudness and the way her laugh would quickly turn into a cackle. Not once did he tell her to quiet down or seem like he was embarrassed to be with her. He was her breath of fresh air.

She cleared her throat realizing she had been quiet for entirely too long, “well, should we uh-get going?” Colette stammered as Bucky let out a soft chuckle.

“Sure Darlin, let’s go.”

They made their way outside, Bucky once again held the door open for her as she tucked the food containers under her arm. Stepping aside she brushed against the brick building. She heard him toss a thanks back to the girls behind the counter before stepping onto the sidewalk offering his hand for her to take and without hesitation her fingers intertwined into his.

He smiled down at her, their eyes meeting for a moment before he reached up, brushing back the bangs that had fallen out of place. Electricity crackled through her as his fingertips brushed her skin causing her to suck in a breath, watching as his eyes darkened.

“Colette,” he breathed softly, “I’d really like to kiss you now.” His fingertips lingered on her skin, “would that be okay?”

Her cheeks flushed under his touch, so delicate across her skin as they hooked behind her ear and his palm rested against her cheek. His eyes ghosted over her features, his throat bobbing as they studied her lips patiently waiting for an answer.

"I thought you would never ask," she cooed, barely able to breathe as she wrapped a single hand into the collar of his shirt.

He gently guided her chin upward, the world growing quiet around them as he took her bottom lip between his and kissed her better than she had ever been kissed before. She stifled an embarrassing moan that threatened to ruin the moment as she tugged him closer, chasing the taste of salty-sweet cheesecake that lingered on his tongue.

The tingling sensation that began to work its way from her toes to her heart was almost too much and Colette couldn’t help but fall back into the brick, bringing Bucky with her as she did.

She just needed to feel him pressed against her, to be sandwiched in her desire and she brazenly let her own tongue run across his bottom lip but just as she did she felt Bucky pull away hesitantly. He was bright red, blush nipping at his ears and he tried to vocalize something but he seemed to be absolutely failing.

“Was that too much?” Colette asked nervously, kicking herself for always being just a bit too bold.

“N-no… No that was great. I just- I um… I think we’re blocking traffic.” Bucky said as the door to the cafe opened next to them, practically swinging into Bucky’s side as people tried to exit.

Colette giggled and curled her fingers lightly into the fabric of his shirt. Her eyes flickered down the street before returning to Bucky. Every nerve in her body was on fire, and she didn't want to say goodbye to him just yet.

"Ok look, this is going to sound a little forward, but I promise I don't mean it the way it sounds," she smiled at him, and looked down the street again, " I only live a couple of blocks away, do you want to come over? Have a drink, and maybe actually eat some of the food we cooked earlier."

Bucky swallowed thickly and traced her features with his eyes, "I um, I - yeah, I would like that"

Going up on her tiptoes, she placed a soft kiss on Bucky's lips, pulling back with a smirk as she moved to intertwine their fingers once more, "Sorry... I couldn't resist"

“Never apologize for that darlin’,” Bucky murmured, the light, faded flush on his cheeks returning. Colette grinned at him and started walking in the direction of her place. Their hands swung gently between them as they strolled the sidewalks and into her apartment.

“Why don’t we get these in the kitchen, get plates and silverware?” Colette said as she led them down the hallway.

Bucky followed her. He was quiet, and she glanced over his shoulder to see him looking at some of the pictures she had hung on the walls. Old friends from college, her parents, and a couple of pictures of her with some ex-boyfriends. She kept those ones up because she looked really good in them. Over time, her eye just stopped landing on the guy next to her, it was like he faded into the background. Bucky stopped in front of one and Colette smirked.

"Don't go getting jealous, gorgeous."

He grinned and shook his head.

"Not my style, doll. You look pretty in this one."

She knew exactly what picture he was pointing at. It was from a friend's wedding a summer back. She paid a lot of money for that dress and no way was she going to be the only one to see how good she looked in it. In fact, it was still hanging in her closet. Maybe she'd wear it for Bucky if they got a second date.

"Yeah, that's the reason it's still up," she quipped, winking at him. He laughed and she beckoned him into the kitchen. "Come on, handsome. There's food to eat."

She held out her hand and he gently grasped it, bringing it up so that he could press his lips against her knuckles. Colette blushed furiously.

"You don't stand a chance against me?" She teased, trying to keep her composure. "I don't think I stand a chance against you."

"Good," he breathed. "We're on equal footing then."

She grinned, “I don’t know about that, keep calling me pretty and biting that lip of yours I may just fall in—“ Colette stopped herself before the word vomit became too much.

Bucky tugged on her hand gently, pulling her back towards him. Dinner or.. after dessert dinner could wait. She bit her lip feeling his hand wrap around her waist pulling her to him. Her chest heaved against his and she was sure that he could feel her heart trying to escape out of her rib cage.

He reached up to press his thumb against her bottom lip, gently pulling it free. “Ditto sweetheart.”

He looked at her like he was tempted to steal another kiss from her lips as he leaned in and hovered over her. As his lips parted she closed her eyes, waiting to be graced yet again in such a short period but instead she felt his breath on her ear, "do you have forks?" He asked.

She pulled back, her brows knitting together in confusion, "That was mean," she pouted.

"Food first, then kissing," he mused, his lips tickling her cheek. "I can't kiss you when you haven't been fed properly, it'll weigh on my conscience," He narrowed his pretty blue eyes on her the second she opened her lips to argue, "and the brownie doesn't count."

"As long as you promise," she said, tempted to take a kiss regardless of his silly declaration.

"Oh darling, that's a promise I won't break," his eyes flickered to her lips.

Colette grumbled, the lust coursing through her burning but she turned around quickly, yanking open one of her kitchen drawers and removing two forks which she placed on the counter much more aggressively than she meant to.

She could hear Bucky chuckling behind her and oh goodness how she wanted to swallow each one like it was medicine. Her body broke out in goosebumps when she felt him place a gentle hand on the small of her back as he moved to stand behind her while she opened up the food containers.

Somehow the contents were still pipping hot and Bucky wasted no time, grabbing one of the forks and scooping up the tasty-smelling food. Colette was caught off guard when he held it up to her mouth.

Honestly, she almost passed out from sheer frustration and exasperation when he gave her a devious grin and huskily said “Open up sweetheart.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Colette kept her dark eyes locked with Bucky's as she took the fork between her lips, a low moan escaping her chest. Two could play at this game. If he was going to leave her frustrated in her own house, she could make him feel just as frustrated.

Bucky's tongue swiped across his bottom lip as she watched as his throat bobbed. A fire ignited in her belly and pressed forward to ghost her lips over his with a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

"I really think dinner can wait until later..." She whispered, brushing their noses together before she hooked a finger in the collar of his shirt, and turned slightly so her body was flush with his.

"Colette I - ..." Bucky stuttered quietly, tracing his deep blue eyes over her features and watching the way her chest heaved with her breath.

She shook her head and pressed her back into the counter, pulling Bucky into her, "Bucky, please..." she whispered again, pressing her lips to the edge of his jaw as he placed one hand beside her and tucked his other under the hem of her shirt gripping lightly into her skin.

Colette was desperate to feel his skin against hers, but he still had his gloves on.

“You wanna take those off?” she asked softly, flicking her eyes up at his hand by her head.

Bucky grimaced and pulled back from her, standing straight. “Colette, there’s something you should know,” he started, pulling off one glove and then the other revealing a mismatched set of hands, one flesh and one metal.

Her eyes widened and Bucky stared at her, his leather gloves balled up in one hand. She didn’t really know what to think, her eyes focused on the metal hand glinting beneath the light. But when her gaze landed on his, that’s when the gravity of the situation began to settle in. He looked terrified, his pulse racing in his throat, and the grip on his gloves getting tighter. Slowly, she reached for them and he let her pry them from his hands. Colette set them down on the counter behind her.

“Don’t need ‘em here.”

Bucky didn’t look convinced, it was like he was waiting for some other shoe to drop. She grasped his metal hand, surprised when he let her turn it over. Slowly, she began to trace the lines and ridges, staring up at him.

“I’m not afraid if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His eyes brimmed with tears and she brought his palm up to rest against her cheek, kissing his metal wrist. He looked like he needed more reassurance, more kindness, more something. That was easy for her.

“I promise, Bucky.”

She let out a breath that she hadn't realized he was holding as bright blue eyes searched her features. His cool metal thumb began to rub small circles over her cheek, sending sparks shooting through her nerves. Bucky leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers as his eyes slid closed.

"I don't know who blessed me enough to stumble upon you today but--" he lifted his head again, tilting it slightly to catch her gaze, "I'm happy they did."

She linked her fingers with the metal ones still pressed against her cheek as she leaned into his touch.

"Ditto," Colette whispered back, breathless and wanting every part of him no matter the scars or the pain. She'd embrace it all because even though they just met, a part of her guessed he'd do the same for her.

Bucky took a deep breath and she watched as the metal in his arm clicked and shifted almost as if it was alive. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“I didn’t do anything,” she licked her bottom lip.

“You’ve done a lot more for me in the last five minutes than I can properly explain,” he swallowed tightly.

“How about you show me,” she urged him, knowing that he needed the space to work around whatever barriers he had put up around himself but needing more of the touch that he had been so hesitant with.

A soft curve formed on his lips and he ducked down just enough to scoop her up around his waist, Colette nearly squealed from the movement, his fingers gentle as he set her carefully atop the counter. He kissed her again, slowly this time, chasing the spark that fizzled and popped every time they connected. She leaned into his hold, his hands curving around her lower back and pressing curiously into the exposed skin beneath her shirt.

Colette had never felt as needy as she did that day, wanting to feel Bucky’s lip on hers again but she moved more gently than she had before, sensing trepidation in him still. She leaned in close to him, rubbing her nose against his, licking her lips, and pressing a soft but firm kiss on him. Bucky sighed heavily into it, humming as he did.

His warm fingers ran up her spine under the fabric of her shirt while his cool metal hand wandered up her side, treading ever so close to her chest but never actually touching it causing her to whine. Colette could feel him smiling against her lips, kissing her deeply as he did, tongue sliding into her mouth so effortlessly.

He still tasted like strawberry cheesecake and she wanted to savor him just as much as he was savoring her. She slid her hands under his shirt, blindly mapping every muscle of his abdomen and chest, fingers tracing over scars she had no doubt he hated. Bucky pulled away just a little when she grazed the skin around his shoulder and she quickly broke their kiss, shushing him gently and pulling him closer.

“You’re gorgeous I swear.” She whispered to him, kissing him softly.

With that, she gripped the hem of his Henley and helped him pull it over his head, leaving it in a puddle on the floor with his hat. Colette pressed her lips to his chest and ghosted them over his skin, landing small, soft kisses along the jagged edge of his shoulder where metal met skin.

Her fingers lightly danced over the muscles on his abdomen tracing every dip and bump she could find. She could feel Bucky's breath quicken and the grip he held on her thighs tighten as a low moan dripped from his mouth, causing her to smirk into his skin.

Moving from the counter, Colette looped her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans and gently tugged him towards an open door in the hallway.

"Colette, I don't want you to think that I -" He whispered, but allowed himself to be pulled along with her, keeping his eyes on hers.

She shook her head, "I don't"

"But I just - "

Colette halted in the doorway, and stood up tall to capture his lips with hers once more, "Bucky, my sweet boy, let me show you beautiful you are to me..." She spoke quietly, before pulling her own shirt over her head as she slowly walked back into her room.

He followed like he was in a trance, watching her as she undid her jeans, letting them fall to the floor as she sat on the edge of her bed. Bucky stopped in front of her and she tugged on his belt loops again until he was in between her legs.

“Can I?” Colette asked her hands on Bucky’s waistband.

He nodded then rasped out a quiet “Yes, please.” Colette smiled at him, undoing the button and slowly pulling the zipper. She helped his jeans slide to the floor then she leaned in eyes on his still and pressed a kiss to his cloth covered dick. Bucky let out a strangled sound, his eyes were dark and desperate.

Colette pulled back, taking his metal hand as she slid back on the mattress, Bucky climbing on, following her lead until he was laying propped up on the pillows, with her straddling him.

She watched his breath hitch in his chest and his throat bobbed. Colette’s fingers gently grazed his jawline and he melted into her touch, but anxiety lingered. Muscles were coiled beneath her, his entire massive body tensing.

Colette had the feeling that nobody had been gentle with him like this for a long time. She leaned forward, placing kiss after kiss along his jaw, down his neck, and along his collarbones until her lips met gnarled and scarred flesh that sat next to metal. Whatever hurt him, whatever did this, she just wanted to make it go away.

Beneath her, Bucky twitched and she fought back tears, swallowing the lump that was growing in her throat.

“Colette,” he rasped, his voice crushed beneath the weight of the secrets she knew were buried beneath muscle, bone, and metal. Colette had a feeling they were bad. She wanted to make him forget for a while.

She lifted her head, her eyes meeting his blue ones that were glossy with tears. Just like her own. She smiled through them.

“Bucky, I don’t know who hurt you, but I promise I won’t.” She paused. “Do you believe me?”

He nodded, the tears in his eyes finally spilling over and rolling down his temples. Colette kissed them away before pressing her lips to his forehead.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered.

She kept repeating that as she kissed both his cheeks and the dimple in his chin, "I've got you, Bucky" following almost every kiss she laid on his skin, wanting to help assure him and calm him down.

She kept her weight lifted a little off his lower body so he wouldn't be overwhelmed even though every fiber of her body wanted to feel connected to his but, as he trembled under her lips, she only thought about him and hoped that she could show him how beautiful he was and turn the nerves to pleasure.

Her lips pressed under his ears, taking pride in the shuddering breath that left his lungs and how his hands had drifted to her thighs and his grip tightened for a moment before loosening.

"I want to touch you, Bucky," she breathed. Her warm breath was so close to his ear that she saw goosebumps raise on his skin.

"I want to show you exactly how I feel about you," she begged, a whimper escaping him at her words.

"About all of this," she finished as her hands drifted up his abdomen over his scars and to the marred skin of his shoulder.

His breath shuddered again, eyes sliding closed as her roaming hands paused.

“I want to—“ he whispered making her sit up a bit, “but—“

She rested her hands against his cheeks, urging him to open his eyes to look at her, and when he finally did she could feel her heart begin to shatter at the broken and scared look lurking beneath the sharp angles of his stubbled jaw.

“It’s just been a long time,” he admitted and knew it wasn’t the whole truth but the last thing she wanted to do was load him down with questions.

Tears welled in her eyes again as he reached up to push back the hair that had fallen in her face, “we’ll go as slow as you need.” She whispered, “and if you say stop, we stop.”

His hand slowly wrapped around the back of her neck sending fireworks shooting along her spine.

“I want this.” He breathed, sounding as if he was trying to encourage himself. Bright blue eyes met hers again, “slow?”

Colette smiled warmly leaning into him, “slow.” She repeated before he pulled her into him, lips slotting perfectly against the others as the courage she had been hoping he would regain slowly filled him again.

She let him explore her skin as they kissed, slowly sinking into his warm curves as if she had always belonged to him. She gave him the freedom to control the pace hoping it would help him regain whatever confidence had been stolen from him.

She stifled a soft moan as his cool metal fingers flickered beneath the strap of her bra, tugging it gently over her shoulder. He pulled from her lips, peppering the untouched skin of her collarbone and shoulder as he worked the other strap down.

“You smell so good,” he said, his lips hovering over the swell of her breasts. She sat back, letting the light that cracked through the closed curtains cast over her as his fingers ghosted over the lace of her bra tracing the streak of sun that draped over her down the plane of her stomach to her belly button.

He swallowed tightly, “I have seen every dark corner of the world, but never have I been so blessed by a view as I am right now.”

Colette nearly sobbed, fighting not to wrap herself up and hide from sheer embarrassment. She chewed on her lip as his finger traced a line back up to the cups of her breast. She reached behind her and unhooked the clasp letting it fall loose into his hands.

She whimpered quietly as Bucky’s hands traced the edge of her panties.

“Colette, can I- I want to taste you,” Bucky mumbled, their lips still attached until she pulled away, nodding quickly.

“Please, Bucky if you’re sure-“ She cut off as Bucky carefully flipped them over, sliding down her body, panties following and off her legs.

Bucky bit his lip and groaned as he bent forwards, inhaling deeply. “No idea how much I want this,” he grunted and pressed a kiss to her inner thigh before licking a stripe up her folds.

“Fuck!” Colette cried, one hand flying to Bucky’s head, burying in his hair and holding on as her other slapped up and hit the wall behind her.

Her head pressed back into her pillow as she felt his big hands wrap around her upper thighs and grip them tighter, pushing them wider to get more access.

The tip of his tongue traced around her bundle of nerves lightly eliciting a deep moan from the depths of her throat as her legs started to shake in his hold. He'd barely touched her and she was reduced to a puddle of moans in response to his exploring tongue.

"Oh my— fuck!" Colette's moan turned to a shout as his tongue slipped inside her wet folds, burrowing deeper as his electric eyes connected with her barely open ones.

The groan that left him at the sight of her pleasure-wrecked body coursed through her pussy and sent waves of pleasure up her body.

Colette's hand moved to grip the fabric of the pillow beside her, as her back arched and pushed her hips further into Bucky's face. If this was his skill level out of practice, she knew she was certainly in for a ride the next time.

"God Bucky -" She rasped, her words getting broken off by a whine as he slipped a finger inside her, curling it against her G-spot.

A jolt of pleasure shot up her spine as he hummed against her clit, taking it between his teeth and sucking. She could see him grinding his hips into the mattress desperate for some pleasure of his own and she needed him almost as much.

She reached down and tugged his hand up, getting his attention as she pulled his mouth back to hers, tasting herself on his tongue, "I need you.." She breathed against his lips, "if you're ready for that..."

Bucky’s chest heaved as he stared down at her, his blue eyes watching her cautiously, before nodding his head slowly, "please," he groaned in response, kissing her once more as he shoved his boxers down his legs and kicked them off into the room somewhere.

He centered himself between her legs and let out a deep breath as he leaned his forehead against hers, "are you okay?" he spoke quietly.

"I was just going to ask you that question..." Colette softly smiled up at him, and cupped his cheek, "I'm okay if you're okay..."

A crooked grin pulled at his lips, and he ducked down to kiss her again. As he did, he guided himself between her folds, gasping at her tight, wet heat around his dick.

“Shit, baby, ‘m not gonna last long,” Bucky moaned as he slid another inch into her cunt.

“It’s okay, fuck- just like that, oh Bucky,” Colette breathed as his hips pressed flush against hers. He waited a moment, letting her adjust, his body trembling.

“Shh, it’s okay honey, whatever you need,” she murmured, leaning up and kissing his chest as he pushed himself up above her and slowly began fucking her.

As their hips moved in tandem, moans, and whines echoed through Colette's apartment, mixing together in perfect harmony. She felt cunt fluttering and clenching around him as a fire began building in her lower belly, pleasure flowing through every vein in her body.

Bucky leaned down and buried his face in the crook of her neck as his hips picked up the pace. He peppered her skin with small nips and kisses with deep groans breaking through, "you feel so good, angel" he whispered into her skin.

"God Bucky, just like that -" She breathed, wrapping her arms around him, "I've got you - fuck" she moaned.

Bucky's cock twitched inside her and the fire grew tighter, teetering on the edge of completely letting go. Colette's head felt fuzzy, and she heard a soft sob leave her lips, clenching tightly around him. He must have heard her because his head came snapping back up as his blue eyes searched her features.

"It's okay, Bucky, I'm okay..." she whimpered, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth to stop another moan.

He shook his head and pressed his forehead into hers, "I need to go faster, baby...."

"Please..." She nodded, pressing her lips back to his and swallowing his moan as his movements became quick and uncontrolled.

Pleasure was coursing through every pore of her body as her hips started to lift in an attempt to meet his own. The pace was heavenly as she felt his hip bones almost bruise her when he hugged her closer.

His flesh hand slid down her back and sank into her skin, making her arch further into him while his metal gripped the pillow next to her head tightly enough that they both heard it tear.

Both their eyes merely flicked to it before connecting again.

"Sorry.." he whined between thrusts.

“Don’t be,” Colette gasped as Bucky changed the angle and brushed against her spot. “There! Oh fuck, Bucky, don’t stop!”

“C’mon baby, lemme feel you, need to feel you,” Bucky whined, biting at her lower lip gently.

Colette’s breath hitched as she felt her orgasm overtake her, pleasure coursing through her body and lighting up her veins.

“Oh shit!” Bucky grunted as she tightened around him, his hips tripping as he came too, pumping his hips hard.

Colette breathed heavily, her chest heaving beneath Bucky’s, the two of them staying pressed close together, even as Bucky rolled over onto his side, Colette snuggled up into him.

The two of them stayed there in silence for a while, listening to each other’s breaths and just living in the moment. Colette suddenly pressed a soft kiss to Bucky’s chest and pushed herself up and off the bed. Extending out a hand, she nodded her head towards the kitchen, “come on you, I can hear your stomach growling,” she giggled.

Grasping her hand, Bucky moved out of the bed and came to stand in front of her, a wide smile on his face. He grabbed his boxers and pulled them on quickly as Colette pulled on her panties and the two of them padded back out into the kitchen.

She bent over in front of him and retrieved his shirt from the tile floor, and pulled it over her head, spinning around with a wicked grin on her face, “how does it look?”

Bucky leaned against the counter, a soft smile dancing on his lips as he watched her, “you have no idea how perfect it looks…” he answered.

She giggled and turned to scoop some food onto the two plates they’d gotten out earlier, flickering her eyes over to Bucky every once in a while. She could feel him watching her, not in a weird way but with admiration. It was a sweet feeling of him being safe and wanted in her space.

Swooping behind her, Bucky wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed a kiss to the crook of her neck, as he tried to sneakily take a fork full of food and shove it into his mouth with a deep chuckle.

“Isn’t that cold?” Colette exclaimed, spinning slightly to look at the shit-eating grin that was plastered on his lips.

Bucky shrugged, and shook his head, “It’s not that bad actually”

Colette followed suit, eating some off one of the plates before looking back at the big man behind her, “that’s actually really good”

Taking the plates off the counter, the two of the sank to the floor in a heap of giggles as they reminisce about their class. It certainly was not the way Colette expected the evening to go but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

As they were eating, she quickly reached onto the counter and pulled her phone down, clicking it open to see 1 new message from Kyle.

“Sorry I forgot about today but my buddies mom needed help with something”

Colette rolled her eyes, slid her phone back up to the counter, and returned her full attention back to Bucky. The man that in the span of a few hours made her feel more alive and more loved than anyone else ever had.

“What was that?” Bucky questioned as he took another bite.

A smirk crossed her lips and Colette shook her head, “It was nothing… Nobody important”

Bucky nodded once, and picked up another fork full of rice, holding it out to her which she gladly accepted with a giggle. She shifted her weight and placed her lips against his, tangling her fingers into his long dark hair.

When she pulled back, Bucky smiled softly at her and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek with his metal fingers, “thank you for making today worth it…” he whispered.

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