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avatar-anna · 8 months

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bad idea, right?

As you slipped a gold hoop through your ear, you wondered if you were making a huge mistake.

You weren't, you knew you weren't, but the butterflies swirling around in your belly were making you anxious. This was nothing, so why was your body reacting this way?

"Well don't you look hot!"

You turned to look at your roommate, jumping a little in front of the mirror. "Thanks."

She took that as her cue to come into your room, settling on the edge of your bed as you finished getting ready. You normally wouldn't mind, you and Marissa hyped each other up before dates all the time, but you didn't think she would be in favor of this particular outing. That alone warranted you to question whether or not this was a good idea, but you were confident it was, so you pushed it aside.

Well, not good, per se, but not bad either.

"Is that new? I've never seen you wear that top before."

You looked down at your cropped sweater, the one you'd cut yourself yesterday after buying it. The amount of time it took for you to figure out what to wear tonight was too embarrassing to admit—and perhaps what was more pathetic was the hours of shopping you did—but at least you'd settled for something that was on the casual side. The last thing you needed was to come off as if you thought about tonight too much, or worse, you didn't want anyone thinking you had expectations.

Shrugging, you hoped you appeared more nonchalant than you felt. "No, this was just... something I had deep in my closet."

"Really?"

No. "Really."

Having snagged the last earring in the set of holes on your right ear, you moved to the left. You pretended to focus hard on your task, even though you could've done it without the mirror, but now you were trying to hide your blush from your roommate. If she sensed something was off, she'd keep questioning you, and you really couldn't have that.

"I didn't even know you were going out tonight," she said. From the reflection in the mirror, you saw her eye your outfit one more time. "Where are you going again?"

"I never said," you told her. "It was kind of a last minute thing. Someone from class invited me."

"Like a date?" Marissa asked you. "Wait. Is this who you've been going out for coffee with the last few days?"

You winced, your hand having slipped and stabbed your ear on accident. You didn't realize your roommate had been keeping such close tabs on you, which was probably a good thing seeing as you lived in a big city together. But you hoped Marissa wasn't too perceptive. She'd kill you if she knew. So you put on your best smirk and said, "Could be."

Marissa kept peppering you with questions about the "mystery man," but you wouldn't budge. You couldn't. Finally done with jewelry, you turned around and presented yourself to her. "How do I look?"

"Like whoever you're seeing tonight is gonna fall to their knees when they see you," Marissa said.

"Perfect," you said. That was exactly what you were going for.

On your way out, the anxiety in the pit of your stomach continued to build, messing with your head and making you think this whole thing was a bad idea. It probably was, but maybe it wasn't. But then again...

"Fuck it, it's fine," you muttered. Then, over your shoulder, you called out to your roommate, "Don't wait up for me!"

"Text me at 12:30 so I know you're still alive!" Marissa called back from the couch where she was watching, re-watching, Pride and Prejudice. "And don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Too late for that.

*.*

"Thanks for coming over."

You nodded as you took a sip of your wine. "Thanks for inviting me."

Harry grinned before sipping from his own glass. "This isn't weird, is it? I know inviting you over for dinner seems a little forward, but I feel like enough time has passed that we can catch up as friends, right?"

Friends. You really were an idiot. You'd been stupid enough to think that after the first few catch-up coffee dates, this might've been more, which was completely insane. You and Harry broke up almost two years ago now. When he texted you saying he'd moved back to the city, you agreed to see him and catch up, as any two people who used to know each other would. Then it happened a few more times, and then he texted you asking to come to his place for dinner, and you'd been confused but intrigued. Now you just felt silly.

"Y—Yeah. Of course. So, um, how—how are you?"

"Good. Just, you know, getting settled in the new apartment and finding my footing as a proper adult here and not a student. Did you know the Thai restaurant on 28th closed? I went..."

You listened to Harry as he spoke about moving back to the city, your eyes focusing on different parts of his face as you tried to determine which parts of him had changed and which stayed the same. Overall, he looked a little older, but that made sense seeing as a lot of time had passed since you'd last seen him. He had stubble on his cheeks and around his mouth as if he was trying to grow a mustache, something he definitely couldn't do when you were with him. His hair wasn't long anymore, but curled around his ears and reached just past the nape of his neck. He looked tanner, more muscular, more handsome. You could only hope he was thinking you looked more beautiful too.

"—about you?"

"Huh?" You hadn't realized that you zoned out the last few minutes.

Harry grinned, like he knew you'd gotten caught up in staring at him. "I was asking how you've been? Good, I hope? I mean, since I saw you two days ago, I mean."

Nodding, you took another sip of your wine, yet another thing that had changed since you were together. In school, it was whatever you could afford from the off-campus corner store. Now you were drinking from a bottle that had to be expensive. You couldn't even pronounce the label when Harry showed it to you.

"Good, I guess," you said. "Still in school, still working."

"At the MET, right?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. I'm doing guided tours right now, but once I get my master's I can start doing more research-based stuff."

"That's exciting. I know you've always wanted to work there," Harry said, inching closer to you on the sofa. It was currently the only piece of furniture set up in his apartment besides his bed. He'd apologized when you arrived thirty minutes ago. You didn't mind, though maybe you should've. Maybe this really was just a catch-up, not a hookup. When Harry invited you to come over, you thought there might've been some subliminal messaging, but he hadn't made a move, and the less-than-put-together apartment screamed that he wasn't trying to impress you.

Promptly, you attempted to drown your shame and embarrassment with a longer sip of wine.

"Thanks. You should stop by sometime. I get to give out free tours."

"I'd be happy to."

He hadn't done anything wrong, but now you just felt like an idiot. The entire time you were getting ready, you wondered where tonight would lead, debated if you should cancel or not because of said wondering. And in the end, maybe you should've because if tonight had told you anything so far, it was that you were hung up on your ex and all he thought of you was someone who could get him into the MET for free.

Tonight really had been a bad idea. Maybe even a terrible one.

"Um, is your restroom through there?" you asked, pointing at the shut door closest to you.

Harry looked over his shoulder to where you were pointing. "Yeah. Sorry, should've mentioned that earlier."

Setting your glass down on the floor, you stood up and hurried to the bathroom. You sat down on the closed lid of the toilet and pulled your phone out of your purse and shot a frantic text to Marissa.

You: i need you to call me with a fake emergency in five minutes.

Marissa: what? why? what's wrong?

You: i was an idiot

You: i'll explain when i get back

Marissa: five minutes?

You: make it four

Putting your phone away, you turned the faucet on so it seemed like you really had used the restroom. Now that Marissa was going to bail you out, all you had to do was finish your wine—it was really good, to be fair, so that wouldn't be a problem—and wait for her call. This night was not going in the direction you expected, and it was probably for the best to cut it short instead of letting it drag on. Dinner smelled amazing, and you'd wanted to share a meal with Harry more than anything, but now you just wanted to go home and wallow in your own stupidity.

When you came out of the bathroom, Harry was standing in his small kitchenette in front of the stove, stirring something that smelled delicious in a saucepan. With his back turned, you let yourself stare unabashedly for a few seconds before picking up your wine glass and polishing off its contents. With the small clink of the glass being set on the counter, Harry turned around, dimples set deep in his cheeks as he grinned at you.

"Dinner should be ready in a few," he said. "Here, come taste."

You knew you shouldn't have, you'd already made enough slip-ups tonight as it was, but you walked the few steps to his side anyway, opening your mouth when he raised a spoon to your lips.

"Wow," you said, honest shock in your voice when you tasted what he'd given you.

"Good, right? I've picked up a couple tricks over the years," he said, pulling the towel off his shoulder and reaching down to open the stove and pull out a pan.

"Yeah, you could never cook like this when we—Is that lasagna?"

For the first time tonight, Harry seemed sheepish. "Yeah. I was kind of hoping it was still your favorite. You used to love the one from that small Italian place a couple blocks from campus."

Had you read the situation wrong? Harry wouldn't have just made what he thought was your favorite dish on a whim. It was possible he still considered this thing you were doing platonic, but you foolishly hoped you weren't the only one who had expectations.

"Y/n?"

"I—"

Before you could say anything, your phone rang. Damn it, you thought, pulling your phone out of your purse. You answered it, trying to quickly come up with a way to call off the fake emergency. "Hey, listen, now's not a good—"

"I'm locked out of our apartment!" Marissa cried dramatically. If Harry hadn't been watching you, you would've rolled your eyes. You loved your roommate, but she didn't need to wail. "You need to come back immediately or I'll freeze to death!"

"It's the middle of July, M," you said, trying to put some intention in your voice to let her know you were fine.

"You know I have poor circulation and it makes me cold!"

"Have you tried calling the super?"

"I need you!" she wailed again.

"Okay, okay. I'm on my way," you finally said. "See you in a few."

When you hung up, you looked up at Harry, apology dying on your lips when you saw the disappointed look on his face.

"That bad, huh?"

You knew he wasn't talking about the phone call. "Maybe it's just me, but things feel awkward between us. I think we should stick to coffee from now on, you know? That seems a lot more friendly than—"

If you'd had any doubts about where Harry's mind had been regarding tonight, they were completely wiped away when he surged forward and kissed you.

You told yourself the gasp was because you were surprised, not because it felt so good to kiss him again after so much time had passed, though that did not go unnoticed by you. Everything about his lips on yours felt achingly familiar. Harry parted your mouth with ease, his hands sliding down your waist and gripping firmly. Your body reacted almost of its own volition, every one of his touches garnered an immediate response. When he settled his teeth on your bottom lip, your hands gripped his hair, when his hands squeezed your body appreciatively, you wrapped a leg around his waist, when he finally detached his lips from yours and began kissing and licking a stripe down your neck, you sighed and arched your back into him.

It was too good to be true. The way you felt, how pliant your body immediately became, his hair as it tickled your chin the lower his kisses went. It lit you on fire, made you want to burn brighter.

"Har—Harry—"

You didn't even know what you were going to say, but Harry took it as you needing him. He raised his head back to yours, taking your bottom lip between his own and sucking, his thumbs dipping below the waistline of your jeans casually. You leaned into the kiss, wanting more of the fire and intensity from the first one, but Harry wouldn't move any faster. His kiss was slower now, more drawn out, like he was attempting to taste every inch of your lips and savor it. It left you even more breathless than before.

"You thought I didn't want this? Want you?" he said, his teeth nipping at a spot where the zipper on your sweater opened.

"I—"

"Thought that the smell of my favorite perfume on you wouldn't drive me absolutely mad the second you walked through the door? I've been trying to be polite. I've been trying to be a gentleman because it's been so long, but maybe we can skip the pleasantries, hm? What do you think, mon rêve?"

It all became too much as he began to grind his hips against yours. He was still taking his time, as if there was nowhere else he'd rather be at the moment, and to be honest, you didn't want to be anywhere else, either. Using the nickname he used to call you put you over the edge. My dream, he called you, because he swore no one in real life could be so perfect that he had to have been dreaming when you met.

Bad idea or not, you weren't going anywhere. Even if this was just one night, you would make it count.

But the buzz of your phone had you pulling away with a start.

"Don't," he murmured, pressing the word against your lips with his, slowly reaching for the hem of your sweater to pull it.over your head.

"She'll keep calling if I don't answer," you said, obliging Harry's hands and hoping he would understand what you were trying to say. You weren't going anywhere, but if you didn't answer now, Marissa would track you down and come here if she was under the impression you were in trouble.

"Don't go," he said this time, kissing the line of your jaw up to the shell of your ear. "Just stay."

"And what happens if I do?" you asked breathlessly.

This wasn't a rekindling of a relationship, you knew that. Perhaps it was the familiarity of your embrace in a city filled with millions of people making you both feel drawn to each other. You'd broken up a long time ago for reasons that had yet to be discussed, one night wasn't going to change the history you shared just like that. You knew that even as you got ready to come over to Harry's apartment tonight. This was just...

"Two people can reconnect, can't they?" Harry said. He hooked your other leg around his hip and sat you on the small counterspace, his eyes heavylidded as they roved your face. His gaze sent butterflies alight in your belly, making you feel things you hadn't felt in a long time.

Before you knew it, your ankles crossed over one another on the small of his back. Your hand carded through his hair, and you grinned a little when Harry shut his eyes at the feeling of your fingers against his scalp.

Phone call forgotten, you leaned in, but moved slightly so that you kissed the corner of Harry's mouth. You kissed him all over, starting with his cheek, then along his jaw to behind his ear where you knew he was sensitive, making sure to leave a mark, just because you could. You couldn't contain your smile as he groaned and pulled you closer, held you tighter.

Your phone buzzed again, this time with a text. You didn't want to, and you could tell Harry didn't want you to, either, but you pulled away to look at it.

Marissa: hello?? i thought you were fleeing?!

"Are you?"

You held your phone close to your chest, having realized Harry read your text with you. Not letting him see the screen, you typed out a response, then locked it and set it down.

"This could be messy," you said, not sure why you were trying to talk yourself out of this. Or whom you were trying to talk out of this.

"Maybe," Harry said, running his thumb over your lip so that it separated and bounced back into place.

"And you're the one who said we were two friends catching up," you said.

"Friends hook up all the time," he said, undoing his belt with one hand while the other continued to play with you bottom lip. When he fiddled with the strap of your bra, you didn't stop him from gently urging it off your shoulder.

"I think—" the words died in your throat as Harry dipped his thumb past the seam of your lips, effectively shutting you up.

"And I think," he said, lifting you up and bringing you to the edge of his sofa. "I think I'd like dessert before dinner, What do you think, mon rêve?"

This whole evening screamed bad idea. There were too many tangled strings, too many unanswered questions, too many unknown variables. But Harry was already kissing his way down from your collarbone, his teeth grazing your skin in all the spots that made you keen and your breath hitch. Maybe it was a bad idea, but you'd come over anyway. Might as well see it through.

"Fuck it, it's fine," you muttered, gripping Harry's hair between your fingers and directing his path of burning kisses with little care for the aftermath that was sure to bite you in the ass tomorrow.

*.*

Harry was gone the next morning. Disappointed? No. Surprised? Maybe. It definitely meant there wouldn't be an awkward goodbye, but it also meant this really was a one time thing.

Which was good. You got it out of your system, got him out of your system. Last night was just a trip down memory lane. An excellent trip, but it was over now.

You stretched your arms above your head, working out the aches and pains from last night's fun. It had been a while since you'd been sore from having sex, and you'd kind of missed it—knowing that the night before had been so good that it carried over into the next day. Days, sometimes.

Searching for something to cover you up, you spotted Harry's shirt from the night before. Walking around in one of his shirts wasn't what you were going for, but it would have to do until you found your own clothes. Sliding it over your head, you prepared to stand on wobbly legs when the turn of a lock sounded at the front door.

Frantically, you rubbed at your eyes and whipped the shirt back off before lying against the pillows again as if you were still asleep, which wasn't hard seeing as you were still exhausted. Your heart was racing as you heard Harry step into the room, humming as he fiddled with his keys and kicked off his shoes.

You figured he would wake you up, but he didn't. To your surprise, Harry slid back into his bed next to you, his arm snaking around your waist and lips sponging kisses onto your bare shoulder. "You awake?" he mumbled, his thumb rubbing circles on the warm skin just beneath your breast.

Pretended to wake up, you breathed in deep and said, "A little."

"I don't have a coffee maker yet, so I went down the street. There's a latte with your name on it in the kitchen."

You smiled wide without really meaning to. You'd been thinking he'd just left to avoid an awkward conversation, but it seemed like you were both eager to put it off as long as possible. Shifting in Harry's arms, you turned to face him through half-opened eyes. His hair hung in his face, grazing the sunglasses he'd yet to take off. His sweatshirt was a little cold to the touch from being outside, making you shiver a little.

"Are you cold? Here." Harry pulled the sweatshirt over his head and helped you fit it over your head, which still had your hair wrapped in a silk scarf from last night.

When it was on, you grinned at the feeling of his warmth wrapped around you, of a cologne that was foreign to you but just as head-spinning. Reaching up a hand to his face, your fingers grazed his sunglasses. "What are these for?"

"My terribly embarrassing dark circles. I get those now," Harry said, one corner of his mouth turning up into a grin.

"Hm."

You weren't sure if he was in the mood to chat or drink the coffee he bought, but now that you were facing the broad expanse of his chest, all the tattoos that were familiar and the ones that weren't, you didn't want to do either of those things. Leaning forward, you kissed his chest, creating a path with your lips all across his body. Harry's stomach flexed, and you could feel the quickened beat of his heart when you passed over it. It made you grin as you worked your way down and sucked a hickey on his hip.

"You can tell me to stop," you said, just before reaching the waistband of his sweatpants and underwear, prepared to do away with both of them in one go.

"I don't want you to," Harry panted. He groaned at the cold air as you rid him of his clothes. "Still—Fuck, Y/n—Still reconnecting?"

You nodded, too caught up in what you were doing to speak. After a few minutes, though, just as you felt he was close, you inched your way back up and kissed him, your leg sliding over his waist.

"Yeah. Reconnecting."

*.*

"Harry?"

When you came home later that morning, Marissa was already awake and waiting as you walked through the door in your jeans and a hoodie that definitely didn't belong to you. She took one look at the sweatshirt and shook her head at you with a sigh.

"Yeah."

"He's the one you've been meeting for coffee?"

You hung your head. "Yeah. He moved back about two weeks ago."

Marissa slid you a mug filled with steaming black coffee, the smell alone waking you up slightly and bringing common sense back to your brain. You took it between your hands appreciatively, blowing over the top instead of meeting her eye.

"You know this isn't going to end well, right?"

Now it was your turn to sigh. "Yeah."

But fuck if it didn't feel right.

#harry styles #exrry #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x yn

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spamgyu · 5 months

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LOVE OF MY LIFE // Mingyu x Reader (ONESHOT)

description: what if soonyoung never got the girl? what if mingyu ended up fixing things before it was too late? - companion to right where you left me and the rest of the always!au

pairing: Mingyu x Reader

genre: angst and very very light fluff

They said if you love something, let it go.... and if it comes back, it's meant for you.

She knew their relationship had run it's course, the two having more bad days than good ones.

But why was letting go so hard?

It had been five months since she was in his room, begging for him to not end things – despite the constant heartache she was enduring while they were together.

Five months but the wounds still remained so fresh. Every single day feeling worse than yesterday.

Unlike him.

It was as if the four years they had spent together was nothing for him, bouncing back into the single life within weeks of their separation as if he didn't once tell her that he loved her to the moon and back. As if they didn't plan their future together, promising that he would be by her side as their hairs turned gray.

This was the third time he had brought a girl around. Each time, being someone different.

She didn't know which hurt more. The fact that none of them came close to resembling her, or the fact that he seemed to be happily dating around.

Was she never his type? Was that why it never worked out?

All while she couldn't get herself to even delete the images of him on her phone, he had moved on and wiped all evidences of them off of his social media.

Y/n watched from the other side of the room as he introduced his new fling to their friends, playing with the straw of her drink.

Jeonghan followed her gaze, the smile on his lips falling once he realized where she was looking. "He's so fucking stupid." He grumbled, pulling y/n's arm to force her to turn her back from Mingyu who had yet to realize that his ex was in the corner of the room – heart clearly breaking.

As if it could break more than it already has.

It was Jeonghan's birthday and he had invited the gang to the small celebration in his new apartment.

Meaning y/n's attendance was mandatory; being childhood friends and all.

She should have known he was going to bring someone around.

Why wouldn't he?

They were both single.

It wasn't like he wasn't allowed to date.

"Hey, we're out of White Claw. I'm gonna head out and grab some, you wanna come?" Soonyoung approached the two, motioning for y/n to follow him.

She knew what he was doing.

He had been one of the boys who Mingyu and the mystery girl had been speaking with, making eye contact with her from across the room.

Y/n knew she could always count on him to rescue her when her stupid ex was up to god knows what.

Letting out a sigh, she nodded, setting her drink down on a nearby table.

Y/n allowed Soonyoung to assist her with putting on her jacket, whilst she drowned in the thoughts of Mingyu. Wondering how he was doing, who the girl could be, how long would it be until he found a new girl to bring around, and how come it was so easy for him to move on and yet... she was still there... sitting at the table set for two.

Waiting for him.

The cold October air nipped at her nose as the two made the quick journey to the corner store at the bottom of Jeonghan's apartment building.

"He's not dating her." Soonyoung broke the silence.

"Didn't ask."

"I know."

She never did have to ask.

He had always been able to read her mind, answering all the questions that she was afraid to vocalize.

"He wasn't dating the other girl either."

Y/n stopped in her tracks. "What are you doing, Hosh?"

Halting when he realized she no longer was matching his pace, Soonyoung turned around to look at the girl who stood under the bright lights of the laundromat. "Well he wasn't going to clear the air." He shrugged.

"I don't care what he does."

"Yeah you do."

Yes she does.

She still checked his social medias, checking to see what he was up to. The man who she used to spend nearly every waking moment with was now just someone who she knew behind the screen.

Y/n cared.

So much.

"Why do you care if I know he's not dating those girls?"

"Because I know you'll spend the rest of the night over thinking. You'll let that shit ruin your day."

God, why couldn't it just have been Soonyoung? Why did she have to fall for the wrong friend?

Soonyoung was everything and more.

He knew her better than anyone else, tending to her needs before she even knew it was something that she was missing.

He did it so effortlessly.

And yet, y/n was pining for a man who she no longer knew.

A complete stranger.

"Aren't you tired of always looking out for me?"

Soonyoung shook his head, walking over to her and slinging his arm around her shoulders. "You're my best friend. I'll always have your back."

Best friend.

In the past two years, it was no secret that the two have gotten closer. Despite Soonyoung's confession of feelings to her, after the fight that would have ultimately later be the catalyst of her and Mingyu's break up, the friendship between the two bloomed.

He was well aware he wouldn't measure up to Mingyu, pushing his feelings aside to provide comfort for the girl.

Besides, it was just a silly little crush.

He wasn't stupid. He knew that no matter how far Mingyu distanced himself from her, his gravitational pull didn't allow her to be set free. Somehow, she was still stuck orbiting around him.

It was a pity.

Mingyu was giving the poor girl's heart a hard enough time, Soonyoung knew that it would be no use if he did it as well.

The two were back in the apartment in no time, despite taking a detour of walking around the block before heading back up – as requested by y/n.

"We're back! Hope you guys didn't miss me too much." Soonyoung sang as he entered the door, earning laughters and hollers from the group.

All except Mingyu; who sat on the couch, eyes following every move of hers.

Everyone had gone from mingling in small groups to sitting around the living room, playing Uno Extreme.

Or what Seungcheol called "Uno with Jeonghan's rules".

"What took you guys so long? What you do? Make-out?" Chan snickered, scooting closer to Minghao to make room for the two on the floor.

It was a running joke of the group that the two were secretly dating; especially now that everyone had been well aware of Soonyoung's vocalization of feelings towards y/n.

Word travels quickly in a small collection of people.

"Chan!" Soonyoung and y/n scolded.

"Kidding!" Chan laughed. "Okay, Hao, draw 12."

"That's not a thing!"

"Yes it is. Jeonghan sa–"

"Jeonghan is full of shit." Minghao crossed his arms over his chest. Without Soonyoung to join in the fun, Minghao had been the target of everyone – silently plotting to make sure that he would end up with the whole deck by the end of the game.

"Just draw 12 dude!"

"Can we just please restart? Y/n and Hosh are back and I don't like this round."

"Fine." Jeonghan held his hand out for the everyone to hand him their cards, obnoxiously shuffling the pile.

"Count me out, I'm not in the mood to be yelled at by Kwan and Hosh." Y/n laughed as the cards were being dealt – recalling to their last game which got a little too heated, all because Jeonghan had coached her to hide half of her pile.

This was of course quickly discovered by Seungkwan and proceeded to make a scene.

In his defense, a tall glass of all the left over liquor was on the line for the loser to chug and he had about twenty cards in his hand.

"Can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen." Soonyoung winked, earning a shove from the girl.

"I'm grabbing drinks, put your orders in." She stood from where she sat; earning a chorus of jumbled replies from everyone. "Relax, I was being nice. I only have two hands."

"I'll help." Mingyu spoke up above the mess of voices, stepping over Jeonghan and Seungcheol's legs to make his way over to the kitchen.

The silence was almost deafening as the two collected the various cans of drinks from the fridge, the only sounds to be heard were the indistinct voices of the group from the room nearby.

"How are you?" Mingyu asked, watching the girl attempt to balance four tall cans in her arms.

"Good." She replied.

More silence.

"I heard you got the job at Solar." He continued.

"Yeah. First day was last month."

"Come on, Star. I'm trying here."

Y/n began walking away, content with the drinks she was able carry herself, but quickly stopping in her tracks once the word left his lips.

Star.

The pet name he had given her when they began dating.

It began as a joke, claiming that she always seemed to have stars in her eyes whenever she rambled on and on about any topic she was passionate about. It soon gained more meaning as their relationship progressed.

"You're my star. The one thing that shines during the darkest times of my life." He would say.

Now, she can't even bare to look or hear that word. Let alone hearing him say it.

"Don't." She turned to him, her face pale upon the mention of the word. "Don't do that."

"Sorry, I– it was a slip up." He took a step towards her, only for her to take a step back. "Don't be like this."

"We're not friends, Mingyu. We're in the same friend group, but we're not friends. You don't get to call me Star. You don't get to just act like nothing happened." She kept her voice low, keeping her composure.

He had no right to act normal. Especially if he was the reason why she was so broken.

"So what? Are we just never going to speak to each other?"

"God, Mingyu. It's only been five months!" She exasperated. "You may be okay, but I'm not. So yes, maybe I don't want to talk to you."

"Who said I was okay?"

"I–"

"Oops, sorry I thought you guys were struggling– I can come back."

The two turned their heads to the source of the voice.

Soonyoung.

"Of fucking course. Here to save the damn day." Mingyu mumbled.

Obviously not quiet enough as y/n's ears had been able to pick up what he had just said. "What's that supposed to even mean?"

"Super Soonyoung, always there to save the day. Whoopdeedoo."

Before she could make any further actions, she felt Soonyoung's hand on her shoulder; silently telling her to back down.

"You see." Mingyu nodded over to his friend's hand. "You said I'm okay. You're wrong. I'm not okay. Not when I see you guys doing whatever the fuck you guys do right in front of my face. You don't think it hurts? Seeing my ex and my best friend?"

"Mingyu..." Soonyoung began.

"No, you don't get to put your two cents in." He shook his head.

And just like that, it was as if she was transported back in time.

To the last few months of their relationship where their fights seemed to always circle back to one single topic.

Soonyoung.

No matter how many times she reassured him that Soonyoung was nothing but a friend and it was him that she loved, Mingyu couldn't seem to get his brain to comprehend that the two were able to be friends with no feelings involved.

Not when he knew his friend had a little crush on his girlfriend.

Y/n remained faithful him to the very end, keeping her word that it was him.

It will always be him.

But he had his mind set and there was no changing it.

"I'm leaving." Y/n deadpanned, passing the eight cans to Soonyoung and heading straight to the door – ignoring the questioning looks from the others.

"Fuck." Mingyu breathed upon hearing the door slam close.

"You're a fucking idiot, you know that right?" Soonyoung quipped.

"Yeah, thanks I got that." He replied sarcastically.

"All she's ever talked about is you. Every single day since the break up she had done nothing but think about you." Soonyoung began, recalling to all the times he sat in silence; listening to the poor girl talk about her ex who seemed to careless about what she was up to or how she felt. "She would rather have bad days with you than have good days without you. I'll never measure up to you. She's got you on a fucking pedestal– which honestly, I don't think you deserve but she does! I had a crush on her, okay so what, but you're the love of her fucking life. I could bring the world– hell, I can bring the whole universe to her and it will never be anything compared to what you do. Can't you see that?"

Mingyu chewed at his lip, processing all that his friend was saying.

Men weren't like women. They didn't talk problems through, they simply brush their problems away and jump back into reality as if the hanging tension above their heads didn't exist.

Which is exactly what the two had done; ignoring the elephant in the room to further avoid opening a can of worms.

This had been the first time Soonyoung and Mingyu have attempted to address the topic of Y/n. It was a touchy subject.

Especially for Mingyu.

"You're telling me that the girl you've been dying to be with since freshman year is finally single and you didn't even think once to pursue it?" Mingyu scoffed.

"How could I when all she can ever talk about is you?" Soonyoung forced out a laugh. "You know, her camera roll still has all your pictures together. All the shit you gave to her while you guys were together are sitting in a box in her closet. Nothing Jeonghan and I say can get her to move on. I know you still love her. I see it every time I go near her."

"I–"

"Stop pretending you're okay."

Mingyu licked his lips. "Is she– do you think I can fix this?"

"You can probably murder me in front of her and she wouldn't bat an eye."

"Good, because I've considered doing that many times."

"Just go after her." He rolled his eyes.

She should have thought her walk out through.

Fall had rolled into the city much earlier than expected and her jacket provided her little to no defense against the cold temperature; shivering as she waited for her uber.

Which was minutes away.

She should have just hid away in Jeonghan's room.

"Y/n!" A voice called out.

It was him.

"Leave me alone Mingyu."

"No. I– please listen to me." He jogged over to where she stood, at the end of the curb.

There was no escape. Stupid uber delay.

She flashed him her phone, showing the ETA of her ride. "You've got twelve minutes."

Running his fingers through his now outgrown hair, a new look she had yet to get used to, Mingyu took in a deep breath. "I'm not okay. I should have gone after you that night when I said I wanted to end things. I should have taken it back. These past five months have been hell and I have been pretending I was okay because I thought– God, I thought you and Hoshi were together. It didn't help that everyone would joke around about it and– and I– I shouldn't have let my insecurities get in the way. I shouldn't have brought any of those girls around, making you believe I was with them. I've been trying to set Hao up with my coworkers since his breakup with Kaia and– I'm–"

"You're rambling."

"I fucked up, and it seems like I keep fucking up but– I'm sorry. I want you back. I need you back"

As much as she wanted to be angry with him, she couldn't.

Just like all the times he had left her hanging, y/n's heart had found a way to soften for the one and only man that had captured it.

She was angry at the situation – frustrated at the fact that no matter how many times she had reassured him that she and Soonyoung would never be a thing, he still refused to believe her.

But she was more frustrated at herself, for absentmindedly feeding into his insecurities by continuing to hang around the one person that had caused the issues in the last months of their relationship.

"Star, please say something."

"I'm sorry too."

He shook his head, hesitantly taking a step towards her; his eyes staying locked on hers. Almost as if he was asking for permission. "It's all me. All the problems, the fights, the shortcomings. All me."

"I'd rather have ten million bad days with you–"

"Than good days without." He completed her sentence. "I know I– I spoke to Hoshi. Well– more like he gave me an earful."

Y/n couldn't help but crack a smile. She had expressed to Soonyoung many times how she would rather have gone through war and back with the boy she loved than live a peaceful life without him.

Who would have thought he was listening to all her endless rambles?

"I thought I was doing what's best for you back then." Mingyu reached up to place a warm hand on her cheek, smiling once he felt her lean into his touch. "I– I didn't think to ask you what you felt."

She missed him.

His touch.

His gentle voice.

His love.

The sudden ring of her phone, signaling that her ride was soon approaching pulled them out of their moment; both looking down at the device. "One minute."

"If I ask for you back, do I have a standing chance?"

"Why do you ask stupid questions?"

tag list: @leah-rose03 @yoonzinuhh @musingsofananxiouspotato @woofie-nctzen-fanarts

«« [an]

alright. final installation to my always!au

this is for my team mingyu girlies out there.

#mingyu angst #mingyu x oc #mingyu #mingyu fic #seventeen fic #kim mingyu #mingyu x reader #seventeen #idol x reader #hoshi #mingyu scenarios #mingyu x you #mingyu x y/n #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #spamgyu

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

Text

Man-Sized

8/9 God's Away on Business

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

I'm 20 minutes away. You home?

Sure! You're always welcome.

Simon never told her if he was a minute away. Something was different here.

The key turned on the lock of her front door sharply 20 minutes after he had sent that text, and she went to greet him.

Their hug lasted longer than usual, and she could feel the relief and sadness just pour from him. He embraced her like a 200-pound shadow, then kissed her gently on the cheek, not mouth — that kiss spoke of companionship rather than lust, and her heart melted against his chest.

He looked like hell. Not only drained but like he had been through hell. Something awful must've happened if a man like Simon couldn't conceal the emotional maelstrom he was evidently in.

"You just got back?"

"Yeah."

"How was it?"

She didn't usually ask How was work. It wasn't really work. It was something else.

Simon didn't answer, he just took off his jacket and shoes like he was sleepwalking. He continued that sleepwalk to her couch. It had become some sort of a safe place he had carved out from the world to curl in, even if he never curled in anywhere, simply sat down with a manspread that usually made her mouth water. But seeing him stare off into space like he had just seen a mushroom cloud in the distant horizons didn't make her want to jump his bones. It made her want to close him in a hug and shelter him from all the pain in the world.

"I lost people yesterday."

"Oh. Oh shit."

Something like this was bound to happen at some point. Her first feeling was relief from knowing that Simon had survived unscathed from whatever horror he and his team had been through.

"That's… I don't know what to say."

Now that he had poured some of that exhaustion on the floor of her hallway, she noticed that he was enclosed in a shroud of latent need for revenge. The air seemed to thicken around him: of course he would deal with heartbreak by silent wrath. His eyes reminded her of the Antarctic stare; they just kept staring off into the void while also appearing sharp and aware, like he might burst into action from the slightest little threat such as a sudden sharp sound. Her tiny little home, soft lights, and messy book piles seemed childish and nonsensical compared to the ominous man who had seen too much.

"23."

"What..?"

"23. The number of people I have lost in total."

Shit… Fuck. She tried to remember something useful from the psychology books she had gobbled up not too long ago. But she couldn't turn into a therapist and offer him treatment. He might only laugh at such tries, anyway. Surely they offered counseling services or trauma therapy in his workplace for these kind of situations… But Simon probably steered clear of those, too.

"Is Soap alive?"

"Yeah. Wounded."

Compassion took over, and she finally walked to him, sat down, and reached to place a hand over his.

"Sometimes I wonder if thousands of people are worth one good man," he said with a deepening, impending fury, a tempest barely held in confinement. "Not to talk about three."

Thousands of people…

That meant… Wow. Okay.

He was definitely working on preventing missiles or some shit. Saving the world.

Sweet Jesus… And she had just joked about it.

"This world could use another flood."

The shroud turned into a whole cage that prevented her from comforting him. The hand underneath her palm seemed to tingle and burn as if it was coated with tiny spikes.

He was always so dramatic, but it didn't make him sound whiny or childish. It was actually scary. He was the weapon of mass destruction, an atom bomb in one man, about to detonate and level a whole city with a blast and nuclear winds.

"Have you ever thought about… quitting, you know? Doing something else?" She offered him a choice like someone would offer a doughnut to a murder victim, hoping it would make the pain go away.

"I was an apprentice to a butcher before I enlisted."

"Well, that's… a bit different from what you're doing now."

"Is it?"

Another sliver of information about his past, and she wasn't necessarily surprised. The worlds they lived in were like night and day. She had a safety net, friends who didn't kill or fear being killed, she had a degree, access to education, a promising career in the culture field ahead of her. Simon had a rough childhood and a dark past; he had chopped corpses of dead animals for money and then pursued a career in killing humans. He had lost 23 and killed God knows how many people.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"You got any food?"

"Sure. Um, no. But I'll order something."

She moved to rise from the couch, but he turned his hand and seized her by the palm. The warm fingers closed around hers and gave her a soft squeeze.

"I like that pasta sauce you make."

"The Bolognese?"

"Yeah."

"Then that's what you shall have."

There wasn't much else she could do. He wouldn't, or couldn't talk about it, so she ran to the nearest market to grab minced meat and some fresh herbs because dried ones simply wouldn't do right now. She made him food and seasoned it with as much love as she could while he put up a floating shelf she had gotten for books that didn't fit in her bookshelf anymore.

The scene was domestic, almost traditionally so. She had never thought of herself as a woman who would happily cook for a man. A man who put up her furniture for her. But then again, she had never thought she would date a man like Simon in the first place.

She suggested they watch a few episodes of a new tv show she was binging while they ate. Then he went to the shower, and she soon stood at the door, asking if he wanted to be alone. There was no answer, which in Simon's case meant it was safe to proceed. He was facing the cascading water as she stepped in to hug him from behind.

Perhaps it was the simple things. Even when the world was burning or war was raging or families were being torn apart, it was the simple things even then: some good, homemade food, some distraction, no matter how brainless and meaningless, some skin-on-skin connection and a good night's sleep.

It wasn't much; it wasn't a therapy session or a resurrection or anything life-changing. It wasn't much… But on the other hand, perhaps it was perfectly enough.

She gathered he might not be in the mood right now, but when he grew hard just from her embracing him, she slithered a hand down and stroked him shyly. He didn't stop her from pumping him to a release filled with weary sighs while he merely leaned on the tiles as she tried her best to alleviate his pain. He grabbed her hand after and laced their fingers together, used her hand to hug himself while a single, almost inaudible sniff pierced the sound of running water. It immediately turned into him clearing his throat — Simon didn't know how to cry.

He usually slept with boxers, perhaps a shirt on too, but this time he wore a whole set of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt into bed.

"You got that Glock here somewhere?"

He checked the mag and gave the gun a routine inspection, which seemed more like a comforting procedure than having anything to do with actual necessity. He had left it to her fully operational and with a weighted note to remember to rack the slide before firing.

It dawned on her that his gift served a whole other purpose too. It had been planted in her apartment, and not just for her protection.

A bleak thought passed through her mind about whether she would die that night in the hands of a traumatized, paranoid soldier, but she crawled into his arms nevertheless. He fell asleep right away — a sign of deep exhaustion. She wanted to caress him, hold him, but he rarely let her. Even now, when he was at his most vulnerable, he was the one who spooned her as they drifted off into sleep while there was a knife tucked under his pillow and a gun sitting on the headboard of the bed.

But instead of a possible homicide victim, she felt like a sleep toy when he tightened his grip on her through sleep with a sharp, irritated rumble when she tried to change position only slightly. It was then that she cried the tears he could not.

***

The darkness woke her up with a nightmare. Not a cold sweat one, but the kind where you were free falling and woke with a jolt just before the impact.

It was a familiar dream where she tried to hide from her abuser, the one who was supposed to love her but had turned out to be a grooming hunter. The most nightmarish thing wasn't that she was being chased again. No: the most aggravating thing was that she still felt weak. She was a grown-up now, she had more grit, she should've been perfectly capable of fighting back with words and fists. She wanted to voice her will, shout at him to leave her alone, even hurt that man, find some weapon to stab him with, just fight back somehow — but her muscles never worked, and time was running out: he was getting inside the building she was hiding in.

This time, it was different. With ecstatic thrill, she realized she could call for help. This time, she had a weapon called Simon. But the rotten thing was that he didn't answer the phone. He didn't come to her aid even when she sent distressed texts, and she was alone, weak, nothing but trash to the man about to come and bend her under his will again.

It was just a dream, but waking up was always a relief. She was breathing like she had just been saved from drowning. To her surprise, Simon was fast asleep, probably too spent to stay vigil, which was both unsettling and heartbreaking. He was hard against her, and she realized it must've bled into her dream, adding to its menacing nature.

Still, the relief was immeasurably sweet as she noticed Simon was physically here, holding her. Trauma was a bitch, but it didn't get to her this time. Nothing could hurt her. No one could come and take her away from the heavy, safe cage of his arms. The ripples of the nightmare slowly turned into something entirely different. How she could get wet just from feeling him thick and pulsing against her back after such a night terror was… well, it was new.

What had happened in the shower before they retreated to bed was fucking hot. Despite the evening full of grief and loss, that simple, urgent, shiver-ridden handjob in the shower was so beautiful that she could've cried from that alone. He was so done in that she finally got past the wall that seemed to prevent her from touching him. The connection was so pure that she didn’t quite know where she ended and he began.

She had never felt this kind of bond with another human being before. She hadn't even known that there were men like Simon, and perhaps there weren't. He was one of a kind.

Curling up together amidst a burning world, a selfish world, a world sinking like a ship, was so utterly beautiful that it was breaking her heart into pieces.

She shifted, sure of Simon waking from her turning around, but he only stirred a little and fell back asleep. Her hand seemed to have a will of its own as it found its way under his pants and caressed him. The thick flesh pulled against her palm, calling her to give him more of that stress relief, to drown him in love. Surely he would only be pleasantly surprised if she woke him up with her mouth.

She didn't get far before a hand shot out. Fingers scraped against her scalp and grabbed, yanked her by the hair, then raised her from between his legs.

Fuck… Of course.

How could she be so stupid?

"That's not a good idea, sweetheart," he said with a sleepy, slightly alarmed grunt. "Even though I appreciate the gesture."

He gentled his grip on her as if it had only been something naughty that had accidentally, in the spur of the moment, turned into too rough a treatment. Her scalp was burning, but what shocked her more was witnessing how quick his reflexes could be.

She was dealing with someone who had gotten used to being touched only with violence, with pure intention to cause harm. The darkness was the time for phantoms; they appeared in her bedroom as if she had called them forth with her mouth. The nightmare was still fresh on her mind, giving ground to having another talk about things neither of them wanted to discuss… But she had wanted to ask a certain question from the moment she had seen all those scars.

"Have you ever been tortured?"

The hand caressed her hair now, and she cursed that they almost always made love in the darkness. She wanted to see him, needed to see him, to make sure that that hand belonged to Simon instead of a ghost.

"Just ask how many days."

"How many days?"

"98."

She had expected the answer to be something like two or three days. That Simon had survived full-on torture without breaking for a week, at the very maximum.

98 days covered over 3 months.

He took her hand and brought it to his ribs, on a protruding scar she had seen many times. It wasn't the most prominent, but it was, apparently, one with the meanest memory.

Shouldn't have asked… Shouldn't have asked…

"Got slapped up on a meat hook like those pigs back there in the butchery. You believe in karma?"

"Simon.. Jesus Christ."

"Nah, the hook was the nice part. It's the brainwashing that really gets to ya." He rubbed himself with her hand as if to relieve a long-forgotten pain.

"If the mind breaks, you're done."

Simon wasn't living in the same world as her. He lived in the same realm as Roman slaves who were slaughtered for entertainment in the Colosseum, as soldiers freezing to death on the Eastern Front of World War 2, as political prisoners tortured in North Korean internment camps.

"This is horrible."

"What's horrible is you wakin' me up like this and not finishing the job."

Shivers of ice seeped down her spine. He was so unfazed… and it wasn't just denial or a defense mechanism. He was simply in terms with what had happened to him — what had been done to him. He didn’t turn his gaze away from the abyss. She wouldn't call it healthy or normal, but it was mature as hell, something so profoundly self-sufficient and fearless that she knew she would never meet a man like Simon.

Feeling both scared and aroused, she granted his wish and took him back in her mouth. They had just talked about meat hooks and psychological torture, but he was hard as a rock. The moan that left him as she went deep and flattened her tongue against him was an exhausted and deprived sigh, and she felt tears welling up.

He was broken and perfect and beautiful, he simply wouldn't yield. Not in any storm, not before a hurricane, not amidst a fallout, not in the thick of whatever apocalypse would come and rain upon this world. The least she could do to honor such a man was to make him sigh like that.

The moans that left him were different from when he was fucking her. They sounded fragile, arduous, and brought pain to mind. His enemies had tried to break him for nearly 100 days and failed. She couldn't stop thinking about where all those scars had come from — mutilation, beating, cutting, flagellation, not to mention being suspended on a meat hook…

Had it ended in him being buried alive? Or was that a whole other story? And who had been in the coffin with him? An enemy or a friend?

He said the physical torture wasn't even the worst of it…

She thought about how he always looked so incredibly tired, was so paranoid about someone coming to get him. He had most likely been subjected to sleep deprivation and constant interrogation, other slow methods meant to break someone psychologically. Methods that escaped her imagination.

Tears ran down her cheeks, and she sobbed against him, like a pathetic woman who knew nothing of the world’s darkness. A killer's hand found its way in her hair again, this time with the gentlest caress.

"Dove… C'mere."

Whatever test this was, she felt like a total failure when releasing him and letting him pull her into another staunch embrace.

"I'm sorry," he said softly while petting her hair like she was a child who had had a nightmare.

He shouldn't be sorry for anything. He shouldn't be consoling her for his own torture. Her own past seemed like a walk in the park compared to this, her depression was laughable. Even when she knew these kinds of things shouldn't be compared.

"Sometimes forget that you're a civilian."

How on earth he could forget that was beyond her. What Simon had forgotten, though, was what civilian life was like. What ordinary, day to day life looked and felt like. Why would he want to continue his job after everything he had been through?

Unless he didn't care if he got killed.

Unless he wanted to get away. Had been wanting to get away for years now, just like her…

The tears were running in streams now, and her nose was stuffed, broken sighs passed through her mouth as he kept her in one piece with a simple hug.

"Gotta say it gets me fuckin' hard when you shed tears for me,” he said, amused, while she was crumbling under the weight of their darkness.

"You're always so cocky," she sighed, trying to get air through her mouth because her nose was clogged from the tears.

"Isn't that what you like about me?"

When she wouldn’t speak, he turned her around to lie on her stomach and started to caress her back. Slow and steady, purposeful. He cherished her from neck to waist, rubbed the knots between her shoulder blades, soothed tension in places she didn't even know she had any. It was the gentlest touch she had felt since childhood, a caress of her entire being.

How poetic, that a butcher was the only one to have touched her with such mercy.

She should be the one doing the comforting, but here they were again. All those psychology journals, all those books, all that education, and he was the one who knew what to do, how to handle his shit. And her shit too.

"C'mon... Tell me you like it."

The callous hand cupped her ass, slid down her thigh, beckoned it to lift to gain access to her. It was just an inspection due to her not having said a word, and he must've taken it as a sign of her being proud and stubborn... And then the night laughed at her with a gratified haze as his fingers met her wetness.

"Alright, have it your way. But you're always drippin' for me… That's how I know ya like it."

He relished in what he found, spread the moisture all over her folds, causing her hips to rise up to present her pussy to him — like it was normal that she was soaked after such a sad evening and a fright of a night.

But Simon didn't seem to regard it as perverse at all. To him, it was quite natural, mostly an endearment, as he climbed on top of her like a god of war about to get a taste of bliss after a hard day on the battlefield.

The bulged tip found her entrance with a familiarity that was only sublime. He was such a tease when he wanted to be, coating himself with her before going straight in.

"Got your eyes and your cunt wet for me. If that ain't love, don't know what is."

Words escaped her again as he stretched her wide, and she could feel his hunger, both their hunger. He simply had more patience than she did to not act upon it right away. He set a pace that was sweet and slow, so greedy that it made her grab the sheet in a tight fist.

"You're hopeless," she sighed while her back arched to meet him in perfect sync, the rhythm they had established long ago was the most divine for both of them. Perhaps he wanted to feel alive too, especially on a night like this. His hand found hers, the one grabbing the sheet, and she opened for him, interlaced her fingers with his, and squeezed. The sadness turned into a lazy, warm pool of love and arousal, even euphoria.

"That's it sweetheart… what else? Tell me how much you like me."

It was never straight-shooting with him. She couldn't just say that he was driving her insane. It had been embarrassing enough to spill all that love in the air when she had been drunk, with him between her legs like a bloodhound that had caught scent.

So she told her what he disliked about him. Those things happened to be the ones she absolutely loved about him as well.

"You talk too much," she offered, already out of breath.

"Never hear that at work."

"Probably because you don't fuck your co-workers."

He laughed at that, so uncharacteristic and unbridled that it made tiny bubbles brim all over in her, too.

"Know a few dolls who wouldn't mind if I did."

Jealousy bled instantly. No — it clawed at her insides. Simon had women on his team? He had discreetly left them unmentioned up until this point.

It crossed her mind that maybe he was the lovesick one now. But that couldn't be true… He was just being arrogant, as always.

"Don't worry darling. I'm all yours."

That husky purr drove her only more nuts. He even sent his hands down to her waist and held her steady while making it known to whom she belonged.

"Think you can handle me?"

The next thrust was punctuated, his balls pressed against her clit, rewarding him with a tight moan she simply couldn't hold back. The appeased rumble above her told her that he only got a kick out of this childish boasting.

"I don’t know. Your ego is too big for me," she tried to sound dry during yet another delicious fucking.

"Got somethin' else that's big," he bragged, voice covered in molten gold. "Right? Just for you."

On that, she refused to entertain him. He knew perfectly well just how big he was. Simon didn't do relationships but had surely had his fair share of women who had run into his arms more than gladly. Far more eagerly than her, or at least, with far less dignity. It was despicable, but she was jealous of his past too and envied every single one of them, whether the women he'd had amounted to dozens or hundreds.

"You like big men?" He brushed her hair aside from her cheek as if wanting to see her face to read the answer from her expression, even if it was too dark to see anything.

"I like men who know when to shut up," she blurted.

A laugh, rough but hearty, echoed in the bedroom.

"Marry me."

Her eyes went wide, her jaw opened, a quick gasp passed through…

"Or don't. 'S not worth the pension."

A joke… He was joking.

Her eyes fluttered closed, but her mouth was left hanging open; then it slowly but surely curved into a quivering little smile. This goddamn man would be the end of her.

He caressed her again, then brushed a thumb over her lip in a soft, yearning gesture that told her he wanted to kiss her but couldn't from this position. The gentle lovemaking in the dark thick of night was sweeter than any pain, and she did something rebellious: she reached for that thumb, captured it in her mouth, and sucked.

"Fuck…"

It was a surprised huff. Completely taken aback.

She swirled her tongue around it, gripped it tight, mouthed it like it was his cock — and could feel his hips buck unexpectedly.

"Not gonna last long if ya..-"

The hurried explanation ended in a lengthy groan, and the body above her went rigid, then shuddered. He came without warning, the thumb was pushed even further into her mouth, and he was buried in her to the hilt, hissing and moaning like it caused him pain.

He was always a gentleman when it came to her pleasure, never chased his own before she had gotten hers first. It must drive him a bit mad to spill so soon — especially when it wasn't even the first time today.

It was the softest cataclysm she had ever seen, another stealthy peek behind those high brick walls. His body crushed her, the massive arms closed in around her, he rubbed his face somewhere in her neck… and he was trembling. Perhaps it was his way of weeping since he couldn't cry actual tears.

He was finally speechless, gathering himself after an unusually weak moment. He swallowed, panted, then swallowed again. Struggled to regain control, snatched it back like an injured soldier. But he wasn’t angry, nor was he ashamed, he was pretty damn delighted.

"Now look at what you did," he scolded, but the tone was playful. He slipped out of her mouth, the heavy chest was throbbing against her back, and she mourned the fact that her skin only met cotton.

"You had it coming."

Arousal made her voice thicker than usual, and he buried his face further in her hair.

"Really…"

And again, he wouldn't pull out. She was just gathered in his arms and dragged to lie on her side. Her back met a solid chest, and the hand traveled up her throat, making her expose her neck for him to wolf from behind. It was probably her weakest spot – and as soon as he noticed it, he took advantage of the knowledge. He even used teeth on her, made love bites like they were some horny teenagers. She would have to wear high collars for classes next week…

"Does that feel nice?" The attentiveness was nearing unbearable proportions, his voice so close to her ear that her eyes rolled back. He was big, even when soft, and continued to rub against her after slipping out. Another hand dove down to assist her reach her own peak.

"Judging by how wet you are, it does."

He was right, as always. The tears were dry, but her pussy was not; she was so wet that it was a miracle how he was able to be as precise as he was.

How the hell could one man be so good at everything…

"You're too sweet for your own good," he whispered when she shattered against that chest and those fingers, her own flexing against his arm as she came. She let him carry her to the shore, break on it like a wave. The broken cries were such a signature, the music of them such a tell, that it really didn't matter that she didn't, couldn't use words with him.

This was the best therapy either of them could get, no matter what any book or professional said. They were wildly alive, they had found each other through horrors and blood and tears. Somehow, he had found his way to her orbit, collided with her in that dark, grimy, degraded place where she danced for money for a tortured killer like him. Her job was a good workout, and it paid the bills, but it had also brought Simon to her, and she had never been more grateful for deciding to go on those pole dance classes years ago.

"I have to wear high necks to school again," she said afterward in his arms, all snug and prepared to glide back to sleep.

"Serves you right."

He was hard again while she was feeling sore and puffy and content — and slathered, with both of their juices, which he used to lazily guide himself through her folds.

"Ready for another round if you are," he offered.

That would be his third one already… The ungodly amount of stamina on this man was frightening.

"I- I don't think I can."

It was mostly an acknowledgment of his size, and they both knew it. Simon just tightened his hold on her, appearing quite pleased with this outcome. Won another round, the gloating, lovable bastard.

"Alright, dove. Let's get you some sleep."

***

The next morning, when she was making him an omelette he suddenly began to speak.

"I usually fuck everything up when shit hits the fan, no matter the cost."

She turned off the stove and moved the pan away to stop the hissing sound threatening to drown his voice.

"This time, I just wanted to get back."

It was a confession of another kind… A compliment. Might even be the highest compliment she had ever received from this man. Simon wanted to stay alive and return to her rather than avenge his fallen ones.

Still, there was bound to be recoil, some survivor's guilt — or a bitter self-reflection moment of a superior.

"Are you blaming yourself?"

"I don't know. No, that's not what I meant."

"I realized…" His brows drew together in an attempt to search for the right words. "I realized there that… You might be the only person I can trust."

She was moved, ripe for walking to him right then and there and relieve that tension in his shoulders. Freaking finally give him that massage he had yearned for since autumn. There was something profoundly wrong with her that she hadn't done it yet.

He always attended to her. It was supposed to be a display of authority, but she knew that the best leaders didn't lead with fear; they served. It was high time someone served him.

"It's not a good sign," he muttered.

"I would see it as a great sign," she said with a shy smile, but it died on her lips as she saw how he only appeared to fall deeper into misery.

"Right? Simon?"

"I thought I already dealt with this shit 10 years ago."

That sentence sent ice down her back. Her skin broke into goosebumps, they seemed to travel all the way up to her head. Her palms were already sweating by the time he spoke again.

"You see, everyone I trust either dies or…" Simon was staring inwards into some distant memory she knew nothing about. She went to sit on the small piece of furniture that could almost be called a dinner table. Not necessarily because she wanted to get closer to him, but because her stomach was churning and she feared she might faint in her little kitchen.

"Everyone I love, dies."

She forced a hand reach out to grab his as she tried to call him back to the present moment and back to her.

"That can't be true. I mean, that can't be set in stone kinda true."

"Who knows."

The walls were suddenly so high that she couldn't get to him even when they were holding hands like this.

But this was the most precious thing in her life. She would fight for it if she must.

"I'm willing to take that risk," she said without fear.

"I admire your courage."

He didn't say he was willing to take that risk too. She hadn't quite prepared for that, nor for what came after.

"I can't do my job if I'm…"

"If you love someone?" She offered when he wouldn't continue.

She fucking hated his job at this point. She hated his dead father, and she hated the Manchester slums, she hated everyone who had hurt him and betrayed his trust. But it was like peeling an onion when it came to Simon: there was always a new layer underneath the one that was shed away. Who knew what was hidden at the core, or if she would ever even reach it?

"Well, what about… your mom?"

"Dead."

"You have siblings?"

"Dead."

Holy shit. Things were even worse than she had thought.

"What about friends? Like, off work?"

"Not anymore."

Terror began to swell and roll inside her like a tidal wave. A menacing calm before the storm, an eerie silence a split second before the explosion.

"You have nobody?"

He stared off into space, telling her with that look alone that he had no one. He released her hands, or rather, forced her to release him. Then he dropped the atom bomb.

"I didn't mean for things to go this far."

All her fears, long since lulled to sleep, crawled through the earth to suffocate her.

It was true after all: she had been just a bit of fun, a one-night stand that had turned into a plaything. A plaything who had latched itself onto a man who didn't want extra baggage.

"What a nice thing to hear." Her voice was metal, and Simon wouldn't say anything, proving her worst nightmares true.

He had had enough of her and now wanted to end things. The beautiful dusk had rolled into a knifelike dawn, and it was time to finish the show.

"Then why are you still here?" She finally dared to look up at him, and he looked confused, like he didn't know the answer to that question.

Things spun out of control so fast that she felt faint in the head. It was hard to think rationally when all their shared memories were suddenly covered in a wicked haze of shallow fucking, noncommitment, and her being an absolute fool for having believed that Simon would want her for the rest of his life.

"I get it that you're a super secret soldier spy, that you have to sneak around and give me a heart attack every other week. I get that we can't be together as much as I would like. But if you don't even want this, then what the hell are you doing here?"

His eyes were wide, his throat worked an arduous swallow. He looked more hurt than ever, more in pain than he had been last night due to the death of his teammates.

But to her, it was the look of a poker player who had got caught red-handed in cheating.

How dare he joke about marriage and elaborate on how sweet she was during the night, only to set everything on fire the next morning?

She was just a sweet little stray cat he liked to pet and pamper and fuck when he had the time, a nice little vacation from work filled with excitement. Everything needed to be exciting to him, he needed a dose of adrenaline and knife play and showering bullets to make him hard so he could fly back to grey London to get a go with his pole dancing little school girl.

Putting up shelves, seeing pictures of her spending Christmas with the family, tea and omelette in the morning were too mundane, too boring. She had been another kind of adrenaline shot.. But now she was only a dry syringe with the words I love you spoken in the air.

She got up and took a few steps back, tried to cut off a love that she already knew wouldn’t die, would never, ever die.

"This is so fucked up. If I'm just some momentary lapse in your life, then…" she shook her head at a loss for words. He had been silent for the whole outburst, but at her last suggestion, he cut in.

"No. Never. You're–"

She was so riled that she couldn't even hear his words. "You know what? Go do your job then. I'm sick and tired of waiting for you to come home to me, only to hear something like that. God…"

He snapped his mouth shut after she cut him off and simply raged on, all the longing and confusion of whole months streaming out of her mouth with an annoying high-pitched account. If she hated her voice right now, she could only imagine how it must sound to him. Her irritating hysteria only worsened the situation, especially when Simon remained so fucking calm.

"This is just…" She laughed through tears she didn't want him to see. With sheer willpower, she fought those tears back to the abyss. He would probably just get off on seeing her cry.

After all, she was the sweetest girl there was. Too sweet for her own good. The most gullible, naive piece of shit.

"I don't know how this is gonna work."

He stared at her with chest heaving, then his breath settled into a calm, ordered roll, his expression turned to stone. The rage was directed inwards before it could lash out at her. The man called Simon turned into Ghost, a professional killing machine, so quickly amidst a raging storm that she could hear the eye of it reach them, the whole world around her go silent. Or perhaps she was momentarily deafened by that cold-hearted stare that turned away from her with a final, lingering tinge of sadness. Even that was gone by the time he rose from the table and walked to the hallway.

Her heart was struck with a blade; she bled dry before she could even take a step to follow him. She saw him put his shoes on, then reach for his jacket, which he flung on with heavy shoulders and a broad back turned to her like a shield.

Simon was resigning.

He was fucking leaving.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. He reached for his pocket and drew out a cigarette and a lighter, the flash of cold steel stinging her eyes although there was little sunlight because the day was grey. The Zippo was something she had found for him from a thrift store, and it had the tusked Snaggletooth logo of Motörhead on it. It felt like the perfect gift after noticing Simon had played the band's music from some old, burned cd when he had taken her on that shooting trip. He had ruffled her hair when receiving it, evidently pleased. "Knew you were a keeper," he had said when she told him she loved Motörhead too.

Her eyes were brimming with tears, the cigarette was sent between his lips, and he wouldn't look back, only marched to the door with heavy steps.

The fear wouldn't die even when she tried to tell herself that he was only going for a smoke to calm his nerves from her sudden fit. They would talk things through when he got back.

Which was why she never said anything, didn't follow him.

The door slammed shut, and she swallowed and turned to get a sip of her coffee. Her hands were shaking, the coffee was cold, and she realized she had just basically told him to get out. That cold-blooded stare still haunted her, and she wanted to go check if Simon was truly there, smoking on those steps and being a wall, her wall, against the cold, uncaring world.

She played the conversation over and over in her head, what was spoken, and the frost of horror turned her senses sharp, her ears started to ring from the silence. Simon had told her he trusted her and she had just freaked out — hadn't even let him finish what he had tried to say.

She wanted, needed to tell him right this second that she was sorry for being such a lunatic. She turned for the door, then walked back, forced herself to remain calm.

He needed space, and she didn't want to upset him more than she already had. He was older than her, used to nuclear seasons and warheads and blunt trauma, he was sharp as a whip. He wouldn't get rattled so easily. He would come back, smelling of fresh smoke, he would tell her what to do. That they would make it work no matter what. Flesh out a plan.

Because that’s all she wanted to hear. That he was serious and wanted this to work as much as she did. That it was just some miscommunication.

But her instinct told her that something was terribly, horribly wrong.

Minutes passed, and she finally went to open the door, and there was no one there. The streets were silent, the grey clouds even darker still, hanging over her like doom. She was feeling nauseous, a shudder went through her whole body, then her teeth started to rattle.

She closed the door and turned and tried to take a step, but her knees gave in and she slumped somewhere on the floor of her hallway filled with shoes and dirt and emptiness.

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ckret2 · 9 months

Text

Super totally normal things happening in Gravity Falls today.

Just. Incredibly normal.

Chapter 13 of Human Bill Is The Mystery Shack's Prisoner And Mabel Has Decided To Be Nice To Him, featuring: medical marvels being used for stupid reasons. You can read the previous chapters here!

####

"... So there you have it," Pacifica said, running a gloved hand through her hair and gracing the country club members with a pristine plastic smile. "You too can have a full, beautiful head of hair in seconds."

The watching country club members clapped politely. Mabel slyly peeked at the woman next to her and tried to copy her Fancy Clap, patting one hand's fingertips on the other palm.

Dipper didn't clap. He'd been staring out a floor-to-ceiling window, making direct eye contact with an albino peacock, for the last five minutes. When he moved his head, so did the peacock. A bead of sweat dripped from Dipper's hairline. The peacock's gaze followed its progress down his cheek.

The assistant who'd just massaged Hairy Fairy lotion into Pacifica's hair carefully stoppered the bottle, delicately wiped it clean with a golden handkerchief, threw the handkerchief away, and handed the bottle to Pacifica so she could hold it out to the crowd. Pacifica said, "And it only takes a couple of drops to give you a full head of hair, so this little bottle will keep you looking beautiful for years. Using it all at once would make you look like Rapunzel."

Mabel gasped softly. "I want to look like Rapunzel."

Dipper dragged his gaze away from the peacock and whispered, "Do you want it enough to spend ten thousand dollars on it?"

She considered this. "Yes," she said. "Think about it, Dipper. I could make it into a rope, and then: grappling hair."

Dipper pictured Mabel firing her grappling hook and losing her head when she ran out of "rope," and shuddered. "Hey." He elbowed Mabel and pointed at the assistant. "Is it just me, or is he a little overdressed for June?"

The assistant was covered from his feet to his forehead. Nothing stood out too much about a man in a suit in the kind of country club Pacifica visited—he didn't look like a member, but he sure looked like a member's servant—but whenever he stood at an angle that gave a glimpse up his sleeve, it was clear his gloves went far further up his arm than was typical. What was really strange was the silk bandana covering the bottom half of his face, like a Wild West bandit's butler, and the designer sunglasses shaped a bit too much like goggles.

"Yeah, you're right," Mabel said. "In the commercial yesterday, the person who did Pacifica's hair looked like they were in a hazmat suit. Do you think...?"

"But Pacifica doesn't have any protection at all," Dipper said. "If it was dangerous, they probably wouldn't have hired her and risked her family suing, would they?"

"Maybe her 'modeling gig' was getting cloned. And this is Pacifica's clone stunt double for the beauty industry to test its products on!" (The woman standing next to Mabel gave her a worried look.)

The Hairy Fairy spokesman who'd presented Pacifica—a thin man with a too-big mustache and a suit that matched Pacifica's hair—stepped forward to take over the presentation again. "Wasn't that magical, folks? That's exactly why we call this stuff 'Hairy Fairy'—because it's like something out of a fairy tale!" The spokesman laughed; several country club members joined in. "And definitely not because of any other reason. Now, are there any questions—no, no questions?" The spokesman pointedly ignored the raised hand of the woman next to Mabel. "Then who's interested in placing orders today? You can order later, of course, but we have a limited stock and it's going fast—if you're intrigued, you do not want to miss out on this exclusive opportunity to buy a bottle without having to compete with the common masses. Maybe you sir, with the receding hairline? How about you, ma'am—having second thoughts about that bob cut...?"

Her job done, Pacifica had started edging away from the front of the room. She caught sight of Dipper and Mabel and tilted her head toward a nearby hallway.

The twins quietly slipped from the crowd and followed her. Dipper looked at the albino peacock, pointed two fingers at his eyes, then at it, and left.

The peacock fanned its tail threateningly.

####

"So—funny thing," Pacifica said, leading Dipper and Mabel into a wood-paneled and Persian-rugged locker room. Several boxes of Harry's Hairy Fairy Formula were stacked against a wall, in hopes the club members would make some purchases. "I asked my manager why the Hairy Fairy commercial was airing in Gravity Falls, of all places, and get this: our marketing campaign is targeting communities whose population of over-65-year-old men has a high enough average net worth to afford our prices. Ultra rich balding old dudes. And Old Man McGucket has made so much money selling his patents that he's raised the average worth of the entire town's elderly male population. So, basically, the commercial's running for his benefit!"

Dipper laughed. "Whoa, seriously? If he wanted a hair growth formula, he could probably invent one in his bath tub with motor oil."

"I know, right?"

"This is the fanciest locker room I've ever seen," Mabel said. "All the lockers are made out of real wood!" She pulled open a locker that hadn't been properly shut. "Wow. Adult golf clubs."

"Oh, yeah," Pacifica said. "Most country clubs have golf. There's a full 19-hole course outside."

Dipper frowned. "Isn't golf usually 18 holes?"

"This is the rich people's country club. They go the extra mile here."

Mabel stood on one of the velvet-cushioned benches between two rows of lockers to give herself enough height to experimentally swing a club. "I've never played adult golf before."

"I play here from time to time, when my parents bring me along to network with their colleagues' offspring. I could let you in sometime if you want."

"That sounds great!" Mabel punctuated the exclamation with a full swing of the club. It hit the ceiling. She stared in horror at the long scratch she'd left in the wood, then started sheepishly practicing more modest swings, acting like nothing had happened. "Is adult golf better than mini-golf?"

Pacifica paused. "No. It's super boring."

"Aww."

"But coming here is more fun with friends," Pacifica said. "Thanks for, um, showing up to watch my demonstration, by the way. And for... trying to dress up." Dipper had paired his usual t-shirt, vest, backpack, and trapper hat with a nice dressy pair of slacks. Mabel had knit a sweater covered in dollar signs. "Don't tell anyone, but I was actually kind of nervous about doing it live, in case something went wrong? Having you guys there really helped. I knew I had to look perfect in front of the normal people in the audience."

Mabel groaned lightheartedly. "Pacificaaa! You got so close to saying something sweet and spoiled it at the last moment."

"I knowww. Being too sincere still feels weird. I had to water it down."

Dipper said, "Hold on. Before we say anything else: I need you to prove you're you and not some kind of clone. Tell me something only the original Pacifica would know."

Pacifica raised a brow. "Seriously? I'm like a minor celebrity, who would clone me?"

"You'd be surprised, Pacifica." Dipper adopted that squinty-eyed look and mysterious voice that he thought made him look like a worldly adventurer. "You'd be surprised."

"Okay, uh..." She sighed huffily. "The first time you played Bloodcraft, you got so mad at me for trying to get you into the armor shop to upgrade your embarrassing newb gear, because there was a dragon attacking the town."

Dipper grimaced. "I didn't know that going into a building cancels a combat encounter, okay! I've played games where the enemy follows you through the next loading screen, I did not want to fight a dragon in an armor shop."

Pacifica laughed. "You were like, 'Are you just gonna let him burn down the town,' waving around your little tutorial-level handgun. As if the dragon didn't have twenty levels on you—"

"Okay, okay, got it. I believe you. You're Pacifica."

"It's really polite of the dragon to wait outside while you're shopping," Mabel said. She put on a fake deep dragon voice: "'You two find some cute clothes; I'll just be out here breathing... FIRE!'" Her next swing collided with a chandelier, smashing a couple of bulbs. Mabel jumped off the bench to stuff the golf club back in its bag and slam the locker shut. "That... wasn't polite of me."

Pacifica opened her mouth. Dipper cut in before she had a chance to speak: "Okay, before my sister gets us kicked out for destroying the ceiling: we did come here for a reason."

"Right!" Mabel put on her Serious Face and focused on Pacifica. "Could we get a little of that hair stuff?"

"No," Pacifica said flatly. "I said you could come to watch my demonstration, and that's it."

"Pleeease?" Mabel begged, hands clasped together. "Just a tiny bit? It's really important. I have this friend—" She paused. "That's the wrong word. Not a friend, more like an enemy—an enemy that I'm trying to be nice to—? It's complicated, I'm not making any sense—"

Pacifica said, "Hey. You don't have to explain. I'm a popular mean girl. You just described, like, every single one of my friendships."

Mabel went on, "But anyway, he got this awful haircut and it is ruining his life and I need this stuff to fix it."

Pacifica put a hand on Mabel's shoulder. "Listen. I empathize, really. But I can't just hand this stuff out, even to friends. I'm not even saying that to be a jerk, I will literally get in so much trouble if I give this stuff away."

"Even just a few drops?" Mabel pled.

"They would measure it. I'm not kidding!" Pacifica started pacing. "You have no idea what this company is like. Hairy Fairy's formula is crazy controlled, down to the last drop. Even I don't get free samples. There's a limited supply—something about the active ingredient going extinct? Anyway, they only have a few thousand bottles total and stock's going fast."

(As Pacifica spoke, wrapped up in her monologue, Mabel realized she could mosey behind her and rummage through one of the boxes without Pacifica noticing. Dipper watched and said nothing.)

"Besides, it's not something for public consumption," Pacifica went on. "There's super specific application techniques, it's got to be handed over to a trained hairdresser to apply, I can't even tell you everything about the handling techniques because just to get hired on as their model I had to sign like a mountain of non-disclosure agreements—"

(Mabel retrieved a bottle, pulled out the glass stopper, and rubbed it against the palm of her right hand so she could sniff the fragrance.)

"So, like, even if I did let you take some home, you'd probably apply it wrong anyway and it wouldn't do you any good—"

"Uhhh, Pacifica? Dipper?" There was a note of suppressed panic in Mabel's voice. "Why do I look like Grunkle Ford?"

Pacifica whipped around so fast her hair smacked Dipper's face. All three of them gaped at Mabel's right hand, which had just sprouted a sixth finger.

And then, as they watched, the finger extended—and developed into a full second hand sprouting off the same wrist.

Mabel opened her mouth to shriek. Pacifica clapped a hand over it. "Be quiet, you'll get us in trouble!" she hissed. "See this is why professionals need to apply it!"

Horrified, Dipper asked, "Wait—you knew?"

"Uh, yeah? Why do you think they made me sign an NDA just to help advertise the stuff?"

"But—hold on—it can do this? And it's being sold to grow hair? If it can grow limbs, it could revolutionize medicine! It can heal injuries, reverse amputations, produce donor organs—!"

Pacifica shrugged. "Yeah, but the beauty industry paid better, sooo..."

Mabel tapped Pacifica's arm with her double hand. Pacifica shuddered and jerked her hand off Mabel's face. "Ew."

"Dipper," Mabel said, eyes wide. "Imagine all the cool new shadow puppets I could do!"

Dipper stared at Mabel. "I'm glad you're taking this well."

To Pacifica, Mabel said, "Is this why everyone who touches the stuff is covered in hazmat gear?"

"Yes," Pacifica snapped.

"But you're not! What's protecting you from getting mutated?!"

"Nothing! The first time we tried to film the commercial, I tilted my head at the wrong moment and grew a third ear," Pacifica said. "The danger is the whole reason they hired me: I am super good at staying calm while getting hazardous cosmetic procedures. My mom taught me to never show weakness in front of somebody I'm paying to alter my appearance." She cast a nervous glance toward the locker room door. "And now I'll get in so much trouble for letting you find out—and you're gonna get in trouble just for knowing—"

"Wh—us?" Dipper said. "Why us?"

"You literally just stole product. There's hundreds of dollars of lotion on Mabel's hand right now—"

"Don't worry about it!" Mabel put the bottle back in the box where she'd found it and clumsily closed it up. "We'll just sneak out and nobody will know anything happened!" She took off her sweater and wrapped it around her hands like a muffler. "Ta-da! What do you think!"

Pacifica grimaced, and looked at Dipper.

He shrugged. "Do you like the thought of losing your job better?"

####

"Hey, Mrs. Le Mónjelo," Pacifica said, smiling politely. "Hi, Mr. And Mrs. Oilbaron, good to see you... Hi there, senator, I haven't seen you since your fundraiser dinner—oh you bought some formula? That's awesome, I know you've got portraits for campaign season coming up soon..."

Trailing a step behind Pacifica with Mabel, Dipper leaned forward and hissed in her ear, "And you don't think you should warn any of them about—?"

Pacifica elbowed him hard. "I signed an NDA," she hissed. "Besides, as long as they read the instructions and let a hairdresser do it, they'll be fine."

"Pacifica!" A woman with red lips and redder hair stopped in front of them, smiling widely. "I haven't seen you here since the badminton club disbanded, what a pleasure."

"Oh hey, Mrs...." Pacifica blinked, drawing a blank. "Uhh..."

"Who are your little friends, here? I don't think I know them." The woman focused on Dipper and Mabel. "Do your parents ever come here? How do you know Pacifica?"

"Oh no," Pacifica said, "they're from California, they're just visiting. Their great uncles, um... own a startup... in the tourism industry."

"Oh, I see," the woman said, disapproval in her voice. "New money. Well, you'll grow into your wealth. It's good to be exposed to it from childhood, I always say. It's a pleasure to meet you." She reached past Pacifica to grab and shake Dipper's hand, then reached for Mabel—

Mabel jerked back, turning her hands away from the woman. "Aaahahah I can't do that! Sorry!"

The woman blinked at Mabel in bewilderment. "W—?"

"Because," Mabel said. "Because—I'm a hand model! Gotta keep the ol' moneymakers pristine!" She shook her dollar-sign-covered "muffler" demonstratively. "Yeah, me and Pacifica met through modeling."

"Oh," the woman said, now looking suitably impressed. "Do you protect them all the time? What remarkable dedication to your craft. Have I seen any of your work anywhere?"

"Uh, yeah," Mabel said, "did you catch the... two page spread in the... spring issue of... Diamond Rings Monthly... For Teens?"

"We should get going," Pacifica said, shooting Mabel a glare. "We don't want to miss your... finger yoga class."

Dipper buried his face in his hands.

"Right! Finger yoga! Can't miss it!" Mabel skipped toward the door. "Nice meeting you, ma'am!"

"A pleasure," the woman said, then mused to herself, "I don't think I've picked up that issue yet."

Outside the country club, an albino peacock glared balefully at Dipper through the wrought iron fence around the property. Mabel glanced around to make sure nobody was watching, then unwrapped her sweater, made a mocking three-handed finger-peacock, and blew a raspberry. The peacock let out an offended honk.

"Thanks for covering for me," Pacifica said. "And sorry about your hand. Hands. I can call my mom's plastic surgeon to get that fixed, he's super discreet—"

"No no, it's okay," Dipper said. "Don't worry about it."

Struggling to pull her sweater back on over her double hand, Mabel said, "We know this Hand Witch, she'd be thrilled to take a donation."

Frowning, Pacifica silently mouthed hand witch.

"Buuut," Mabel said, "if you want to make it up to us, maaaybe you can get us a few drops of that stuff—?"

"What?! After all that, you still—" Pacifica stomped a foot. "No, absolutely not! And if anything, covering for me is the least you could do after wasting some product and risking me getting in trouble when they figure out the bottle's off! You don't get it! I can't afford to endanger this job! I have a family to support!"

Mabel and Dipper stared at Pacifica. They exchanged a look.

Mabel said, "Pacifica, you are thirteen."

"What the heck are you talking about," Dipper asked.

Pacifica stared at them, mouth open, face going red. "I—That—I'll—" She groaned. "I'll tell you if you promise to keep it a secret."

They both nodded.

Pacifica whipped out her phone. "I'm texting you an address. Meet me here after seven."

Dipper and Mabel leaned over Mabel's phone together. "That's kind of out of town, isn't it?" Dipper said.

Mabel said, "We can take the long way back from the Hand Witch's cave."

Dipper and Mabel waved bye to Pacifica as they walked off—at which point Mabel realized she could move all ten of her right fingers independently, and she trailed behind Dipper, distracted by making her fingers roll like a wave.

####

Ford said, "All right, what are you up to?"

Bill looked toward the living room doorway. He was sitting on the sofa, watching a Russian-language romcom, with a bowl filled with hard cider and colorful marshmallow cereal. He'd stuck a neon green straw that had been curled into the word "Queen" in the cider-cereal. "Do you mean the movie or my lunch?"

"I meant Mabel. Don't think I haven't noticed that you're trying to recruit her as your newest minion."

Bill rolled his eye. (Ford wasn't sure if his other eye was still glued shut by paint and makeup—the majority of Mabel's makeover had flaked off—or if Bill had just gotten into the habit of keeping it shut.) "Minion's such a strong word, Stanford! She wants me to feel comfortable here. I appreciate that and I accepted her help."

"And I don't suppose you've been taking advantage of her generosity to manipulate her into doing your wicked work, have you."

"If by 'manipulate' you mean 'telling her what would make me comfortable when she asked,' then I suppose I have." Bill scoffed. "When did you get so paranoid?" He took a sip from his boozy cereal.

"Around the time I learned the monster I thought was my friend was trying to destroy my dimension."

"Well, I have no idea who you're talking about, but he sounds like a real piece of work."

"And it's not paranoia when it's about someone who warrants that much distrust," Ford said. "Now tell me what you're up to with my niece."

Bill scoffed again. "If I were 'up to' something, I wouldn't tell you. And if I was innocent, you wouldn't trust me even if I told you the truth. So why are you asking me what Mabel's doing instead of her?"

Ford's scowl deepened; but he said, "You're right," and trudged off.

"There, see?" Bill called after Ford. "You didn't actually want information from me. You just wanted a confrontation! If you're looking for a little verbal fencing, we could be doing it over chess."

"Not on your life, Cipher."

"Checkers?" he suggested. "Parcheesi? DD&MD? Go Fish? Candy Kingdom? Oui-Oui Spirit Board?"

Ford didn't reply.

Bill shrugged and settled back in his seat.

Ford trudged back. "All right." He gestured impatiently at the TV. "Is this broadcasting from Russia?"

"Sharp as ever, Ford."

"How the devil are you picking it up from here?"

Bill's grin widened. "Want me to show you?"

Ford contemplated the slippery slope of allowing Bill to share his knowledge with him again, said, "No," and trudged off.

Bill was right—there was no reason for Ford to ask Bill what he had Mabel doing rather than asking Mabel herself, except that he'd wanted to talk to Bill. He was frustrated. Since the day they'd locked Bill in the Mystery Shack, Ford had spent every waking moment poring over all the old notes he'd kept during his interdimensional travels, every scrap of research he'd accumulated on Bill that he hadn't burned at the end of last summer, all the data he'd recorded on the portal to the Nightmare Realm and the rifts around Gravity Falls it had left behind, looking for something he'd missed that could explain why Bill was back and what it would take to get rid of him for good.

But so far he'd found nothing. Not a hint. And part of him felt like if he could just face Bill down again, have it out with him, that some stuck gear in his head would finally shake loose—

Obviously, that was stupid.

This morning, Stan had pointed out how exhausted Ford looked. He'd told Ford he wasn't about to kill the triangle if he worked himself to death first. He'd said Ford needed somebody helping him. Stan couldn't help—not considering the kinds of advanced sciences he'd need to master just to enter a conversation on destroying something like Bill Cipher—but he was right that Ford couldn't do this in isolation. Here Ford was trying to futilely provoke Bill into giving something away; what more proof did he need that he was at the end of his rope?

When Soos had finished with the latest tourist group and led them into the gift shop, Ford waved him over from the other side of the room. "'Scuse me, folks," Soos said, with a wink, "it looks like one of our professional paranormal investigators might have something mysterious for me to check out."

(Ford glanced down at himself. He supposed he did look like some sort of mysterious investigator of oddities. Which he was, but knowing he looked like one felt kind of cool.)

Soos went on, "So you guys check out the merch and I'll be right back. We've got a sale on postcards!"

A woman with a fanny pack asked, "Does that investigator have six fingers?" Several tourists murmured appreciatively.

Soos tried to think of an answer that avoided framing Ford like he was part of the Mystery Shack's freak show, said, "No," and left.

"Sorry to bother you at work," Ford said. "I need to borrow your cell phone to text Mabel."

"Oh, sure dude." He fished it out and handed it over. "Is something going on?" His gaze drifted toward the "Employees Only" door to the living room. He didn't need to mention Bill.

"Hopefully not, but that's what I'm trying to find out." He went silent for a moment so he could focus on typing on the glassy keyboard.

There. He exited the conversation with Mabel and offered the phone back to Soos, but not before noticing one of Soos's recent conversations was with Fiddleford. "You and Melody go over to Fiddleford's from time to time, don't you? To... watch foreign cinema?"

"Oh—yeah, dude! We've been introducing him to the anime classics! He's gotten surprisingly passionate over Neon Crisis Revelations. Like—really passionate. I think we might have to retire mecha anime for a while," Soos said. "Sometimes Tate watches, too. Not every week, but... they're working on it. We, uh—actually kinda wanted to ask if you might want to come, sometime? When you're not working on the... 'Goldilocks' project? I get it if you're too busy or just not interested or whatever, but you seem like the kind of nerd who'd be really into anime. No offense. I meant it as a compliment, actually—most people consider an accusation of liking anime to be pejorative, but I think it speaks well to their tastes—"

"Soos." Ford offered him a small smile. "I was actually trying to figure out how to politely ask for an invitation."

"Oh. Phew! Mutually awkward social encounter: successfully navigated!" Soos held up a hand. "Up top!"

Ford high-sixed him. He appreciated having the little social successes celebrated. "Let me know if Mabel texts back, would you?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Pines!" Soos flashed Ford a thumbs up as he left the gift shop.

"'The Goldilocks project'?"

Soos started. "Oh! Wendy! Wow, I uh... totally forgot you were like... right there."

"Yup." She had her elbow propped next to the cash register and her chin in her hand. "Five days a week."

"Right. Right." Soos tugged his collar. "It's... it's nothing. But it's secret. But it's no big deal."

Wendy blinked at him. "Right."

"Right." Soos gestured vaguely at the tourists moseying around the gift shop. "I, uh, I should... bye."

Wendy watched him go, frowning.

Whatever "crisis" had happened on the first day of summer, it wasn't over. Something was wrong. She felt it every time she was at work, every time Dipper and Mabel made up an excuse to hang with Wendy away from the shack, and every time the Stans ventured into the Mystery Shack to draw Soos aside for a quick conversation. She felt it in her bones. Which seemed like something her dad would probably say, very loudly, so she hated feeling things in her bones.

It probably wasn't her business. Okay. Fine. Sure. Pines family stuff. She was just an employee/family friend, she didn't need to know all about their personal lives.

But—her gaze drifted toward the "Employees Only" door—much more of this, and she might have to start snooping anyway.

####

(Hi! Author here! I appreciate hearing what y'all think and what y'all enjoyed! Thanks! Next chapter and the conclusion of the Hairy Fairy plot arc coming this time next week!)

#mabel pines #dipper pines #pacifica northwest #(for the art)#(also they're the main characters this chapter and next)#bill cipher #human bill cipher #(for the overall fic)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #bill goldilocks cipher #my writing #my art

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anuncalledbridge · 11 months

Text

Leap of faith

Summary: you didn't expect you'd be pulled into a verse where there is no Avenger, no Peter, and no Ned.

Pairing: Miles Morales x (half filo) Stark!reader

Warning: knife, cursing, cursing in tagalog, violence, mention of death.

Previous part

It has been two days since you've been pulled by that strange portal. By some mysterious matter, Gwen and you somehow got into visions academy, an academy which you heard are only for the rich and intelligent kids. Vision Academy wasn't hard and it wasn't easy either but you could manage same goes for Gwen, she was rather exceptional herself.

When night falls you always find yourself feeling alone, sure Gwen was there but she is either sleeping or completely ignoring you. You miss home, you missed your dad, that's the only thing you and Gwen had in common, missing home.

You grabbed your suit deciding to sneak out, you looked at Gwen "wanna go for a swing?" You asked, she was burying her nose in a book "No, I feel tired" she lazily replied.

"Suit yourself, pinkie" You jump from your two-story building and shot a web on a building. You were too deep in your thoughts as you swing. Yesterday you went to visit Manhattan and found absolutely nothing. Manhattan looked so empty without the avenger tower.

There was a spider person like you in this verse but to your surprise, it was a guy, there was no explanation as to how any of this happened but since you got here you made it upon yourself to make some sort of device to get yourself home but it was quite complicated than you thought. The multiverse was somehow in shambles, you hoped that Dr. Strange finds a way to fix this while you were trying to go home.

You sat on a tower watching the city lights; you sat there for a while, thinking of something, anything other than this madness.

You got bored eventually and just decided to look around, your line of sight traveled to each civilian until it landed on a lady being mugged by someone.

"Okay! Need to get these pent-up feelings out!" You stretched your limp arms then you started to shoot your web to the next building.

"Woo! " You shouted, dodging a huge truck as you made your way to the crime "Help-- help me please!" The lady sounded so defeated her broken sobs were heard a mile away making you pick up your pace.

"Ain't it a bit rude, interrupting her well-deserved walk?" You spoke out of nowhere, making the culprit look up from his current position "Who are you!?" He shouted, quite terrified seeing a new sight other than their local hero.

"That's what they always say" You jump from a small building then you started to walk over to him "Never, 'oh! How are you amazing spider-woman?' you know what I mean? No?" You taunted.

"Stay where you are! Or else this bitch dies" he gruffly grabbed the woman's arm as he pointed the knife at her neck.

You gasp "Calling a woman 'bitch'? How would your mother feel if he saw you right now? Pushing you out of her vajayjay must've been a huge disappointment" You clicked your tongue in feigned disappointment.

"Oh well! There's nothing we could do about that" You shrugged. You swiftly shoot your web at the girl, successfully pulling her to you as she yelps at the process.

The culprit backed away dropping his knife and sprinting for his dear like "Hey! Where are your manners!" You shouted.

You were about to go after him but then a silhouette suddenly appeared in front of him catching him off guard, before he knew it he was already stuck on a wall, webs all over his body.

You saw Spiderman right there in front of you, he was talking to the culprit about something then his sight averted to you.

"Saw your little stunt, who are you?" He asked as he inch his way towards you "Ha? no no English." You tried to salvage this situation with your god-awful accent only to receive a laugh "No need to hide, heard you talking about pushing someone out of there-- you know how it goes" he winced.

The lady from earlier had already left after thanking you, so it was just the both of you plus the culprit who was on the wall "Who are you?" He asked again "tangina, papatayin ako ni Gwen nito" (fuck, Gwen is gonna kill me) you muttered. It didn't bother you much but Gwen, Oh dear.

Peter didn't understand a thing you just said, the only thing he caught was the name 'Gwen' "Whose Gwen?" He asked

"No one! It's nice doing business with you Mr. Daddy long legs!" Before you got time to swing your ass to Gwen he said something and you froze.

"I'm Peter, Peter Parker." The deafening silence made Peter uncomfortable a bit. In your verse Peter wasn't the Spiderman, instead, he had lived a pretty normal nerdy life and was your best friend who was obsessed with the star wars lore and Legos.

This Peter was much older than you, you can tell. Peter took off his mask and it completely left your mouth hanging open. Instead of luscious dark brown curly hair, he was blonde, and as you guess he was much much older than you.

"Is this what old age does to you!? Turn you blonde?!" You gestured your hands around him in exaggeration "Time has not been good to you, babes" Peter was offended for all he knows, he was perfect.

"She can talk.." he muttered. "No this isn't fair" he shook his head with a furrowed brow. "I don't know your name and your Identity" he sighs, looking at you expectedly "Oh! Right. Wait a minute, barbie"

"I'm pretty gorgeous so be warned" It feels like you were revealing yourself in a Roblox group chat with a bunch of kids that you and your Peter tried to prank. you pushed the nanotechnology spider logo on your suit and there reveals your face.

"Im--"

"Y/n!"

You didn't expect this...Peter, not your Peter, engulfed you in a tight hug, making you stumble back "O-okay.." you awkwardly said not knowing where to put your hands.

For what felt like minutes he started to sob "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" his breath was ragged if mistaken he'd have a panic attack "Dude, hey...what happened?" You finally asked.

Peter pulled away from you, as he wiped off his tears "I thought you...d-died" he had a hard time looking at you, guilt pooled in his eyes "whaaatt?" You dragged your word, still not processing his statement.

He chuckled softly but the pain is evidently still there "You're mistaken, Peter. I'm not from here, I just happen to stumble here"

"What?" He asked finally discarding his previous feeling "I was pulled by something close to a black hole, which terrified the hell out of me by the way" Peter paced around, still not meeting your gaze, afraid that if he did, he might cry again.

"Kingpin.." he muttered, he was thinking for a while then he finally looked up at you "Wait, how come you're here early? He didn't activate the machine yet" his voice was painted with confusion and a tinge bit of solemnity.

"Beats me, but that is a horrible name" You made a face of disgust while Peter smiled fondly, seemingly remembering something that includes you "You're still the same y/n, well except for the part where you spoke in a different language" that made you smile, although you have no idea what you're getting yourself into or who this exact copy of you is.

"Wanna grab a coffee or something?" You asked, as you ready yourself to swing "at this hour? Sure, why not" he put on his mask and with a last nod he took off swinging, you following behind him.

----

"You married Mj?!" You gaped at him, shaking his head as he took a bite of his burger "Yeah I did, she helped me a lot since... you know" he looked down at the city, he was trying to say something but he was having a hard getting it out; finally he let out a long sigh then he looked at you. "Y-you were too young when you died, Y/n. I couldn't forgive myself"

"Hey, it's not your fault. Even if it's not me I know she won't blame you either." You rub comfort on his back, you don't know a single thing about comforting.

Peter's usual demeanor came back after a few words of horrible comforting and encouragement, and you think he finally has the closure he deserves.

You told him everything about the verse you live in, from the Avengers to your Peter and your father.

"Wait, so this Captain America guy, is always on your 'ass' because you're being too unnecessarily loud?" He questioned "Yes! Good thing I can curse in my own language so he's got nothing on my ass... although he found out one day, didn't hear the end of it. My dad was a snitch" you muttered the last part.

Peter laughed "Your suit is awesome by the way," He asked "I made it!" You smugly said. Peter let out a huff in amusement. "You? You made it?" He said as if he didn't believe your statement but he knew full well that you were capable of making something like that.

You scoffed "Of course I did, I mean how couldn't I?" Peter rolled his eyes at you, he then averted his gaze back to the city. Hanging out with Peter made you miss your Peter more; Sure they were different in so many ways but they somehow share the same traits.

"I've got to go Peter" You sat up from your position, as Peter did the same following your action "See you around?" He asked, "Of course!" You outstretched your hand for a fistbump and he gladly reciprocated.

You both went your separate ways, as you continued to swing back to your dorm. The whole way there you were thinking about how you're gonna tell Gwen this but that didn't really register when you arrived back at your dorm.

Will you're not inside your dorm, more like outside banging the hell out of the window "Gwen! Open this window right now!" You shouted but not too loud, careful to not wake up your dorm neighbor "Hoy Gwen! Anak nang- open this right now Gwen!" (Hey Gwen! Son of a-- open this right now Gwen) You groaned.

Gwen wasn't asleep, you can clearly see the light from your shared bedroom. To no avail, you just decided to give up "tangina, mandaan moto Gwen!" (son of a bitch, mark this day Gwen!) You spoke lastly as you tried to find a window that can access the hall, you just hoped the security guard was asleep.

You found one "Take that Gwen!" You muttered. You already took off your mask and covered your suit with a jacket. You gently closed the window as carefully as you could to not cause some attention. You smiled to yourself "'Another night another slay and I served--" and you spoke too soon.

You felt someone crash into you but you didn't fall it just surprised you, but the person who bummed you did. Miles groaned as he tried to focus his vision, he swore a huge guy must've bummed into him but then he looked up.

"Oh"

"Are you okay, wait-- are you sneaking out?" You asked as you help him up "N-no" he stuttered. He regained his balance then he finally got a good look at you.

Your hair was disheveled and you got a bag forming under your eye but you still look good, at least that's what you think about yourself.

You hummed looking at him suspiciously "Right..." He looked anywhere, avoiding your observant eyes "I-- uh, I was trying to--" he rubbed his neck with his dominant hand while his other hand was gesturing around.

You laughed "Dude relax, I'm not gonna snitch on you-- unless you're trying to snitch on me" You feigned seriousness "No! I-I swear I will not!" He replied almost immediately.

"I'm just playing with you, but if you don't want to get caught, don't go this hall if you're trying to sneak out"

"Then why are you here?"

You pursed your lips and clicked your tongue "I- you-" Miles knitted his brow together, awaiting your reply. You let out a sigh.

"you know what? I think I'm gonna snitch on you" You narrowed your eyes at him. Miles laughed, his previous nervous demeanor decapitated and instead, he tried to cover it up with faux confidence.

"you can't do that now, can you? I'm Miles Morales." he smiled. He had that kind smile that can make you melt.

"You're new, right? I-- I'm actually new too" You noticed he was growing nervous. You nodded "I guess...I saw what your dad did earlier" you smirked, as he groaned in embarrassment.

"Please don't make me remember that," he said with an exaggerated sigh. The scene between Miles and his Dad brought a frown across your face, it awfully reminded you of your dad.

"Oh, I doubt that. That's gonna stick with you as long as I'm near" You started to walk as he followed after you.

"I never caught your name--"

"Probably because, I didn't throw it, Morales" you blatantly said. Miles rolled his eyes a growing smile made its way to his lips.

"I didn't mean it like that, and just call me by my first name, it's weird" You chuckled "Sure, Morales" Miles threw his head back laughing.

The pair of you blindly walked through the hall, forgetting about the curfew entirely "Aren't you going to sneak out?" You asked Miles.

Miles chuckled nervously "I was gonna, but I'm just too tired, you know?" Miles wanted to sneak out and talk to his uncle but he didn't want to miss this opportunity into making friends.

"Am I really that good to hang out with for you to miss your daily sneak-out sesh?" You smirked as you leaned in closer to him. Miles was tense he couldn't say a word, your breath was fanning onto him and he can basically smell your perfume.

Suddenly a whistle echoed at the end of the hall making both of you turn your head to the source "Isn't it a bit too early to shag your classmate!" The guard shouted. "you'll both face deep consequences about this!"

"Run." You whispered into his ears, and Miles swore he could feel goosebumps. Before he even got time to process his dilemma, you grabbed his arms without warning, and god you were strong.

"Isn't it a bit too early to listen to the exclusive spider man Christmas song?!" You shouted with a laugh. Miles who heard your statement snorted and let out a bark of laughter.

"I didn't know you had such great taste in music!" Miles counter back and laughed. He peeked from his shoulder to see the guard who was running after the both of you; the way the guard ran made Miles laugh even harder his stomach hurting.

You looked back seeing the same thing and just like Miles it had you crackling. To say the guard wasn't flustered was an understatement, that enough made him determined to catch you both. Both of your laughter was so loud some of the students came out of their dorms and that alone distracted the guard from chasing after the both of you.

It took you a while to find a safe place to finally get peace. Mile was out of breath, he was panting like a dog; with laughter mixed with a full lap run, who wouldn't?

"you look dehydrated," you said out of amusement.

"Really? I didn't think it was that obvious" he remarked between ragged breath.

You sat down, him sitting down next to you, he was still out of breath "Why are you so unaffected-- I mean like, you basically ran through the whole school" You side glance at him "Mama mo blue." (Your mom is blue) that was so out of pocket even for Miles. Honestly, you didn't feel like talking, you loved Mile's company but you were just too tired, everything was just so overwhelming.

"No she's not, bet yours is" That made you chuckle, Miles understanding parts of your Filipino jokes brought you smiling wider.

"My mom is dead." You laughed seeing Mile's color drained from his face "I'm so sorry--" he was genuinely trying to apologize but he burst out laughing making you laugh harder.

"I'm serious though-- I'm sorry" his laughter subsided, replacing it with a sympathetic look "No need, Miles. It was a long time ago" You smiled reassuringly at him.

Miles grinned, looking mischievously at you "What?" You asked "You called me by my first name" he wiggled his brows "Oh fuck off, dude" You punched his shoulder gently but he still made a sound.

You felt your phone buzz, averting your attention to your phone. Miles watched your smile turn into an annoyed frown as you saw the text on your phone.

"where are you?" you mocked in a high-toned voice. Miles let out a huff of amusement watching you "Now she's worried when she was the one who locked me out!" You complained.

"Roommate?" Miles asked feeling quite the same as you. You hummed.

"my roommate is always on his computer 24/7 sometimes I can hardly sleep at all," he said still looking your way. "Will, let's just say my roommate likes to play pranks with me" you muttered.

"Didn't it cross your mind that maybe she does that because...you always start it"

You scoffed "Strong accusation, but fair point-- and I need to go, she's spamming me" You stand up from your position as Miles frowned.

"You still didn't tell me your name," he said while standing up. You narrowed your eyes, surely you won't tell him your name but you thought of a cool nickname to piss Gwen off.

"Gwendolyn Garcia" you held back a laugh, pursing your lips to conceal it. "Will see you around, Gwendolyn" he enthusiastically said.

"Copy that" Hearing that made Miles groaned loudly and you throw your head back laughing. You both went your separate ways with the previous event still in mind. Miles for sure will cherish the night. You in the other hand still can't sleep.

_____

Tag list: @itstooearly-its3am

#miles morales x you #miles morales #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x reader #spiderman into the spiderverse #fanfic #spiderman #mcu #captain america #tony stark #stark!reader #stark!daughter #peter parker #gwen stacy #ned leeds #spider man: across the spider verse

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sihtricfedaraaahvicius · 2 months

Text

Halloween chapter 11

Note: so, uh, this came out way earlier than expected. I'm sorry about that and sorry for what you're about to read. please read this post before you read this fic.

Warnings: angst, mention of blood, death, injuries. There are other possible triggers but I cannot state them because it will spoil the entire fic, so please proceed with caution if you have been triggered by earlier chapters of this fic.

pairing: Modern!Sihtric x you (f)

summary: Something had changed between you and Sihtric.

wordcount: 3,3k

Masterlist

Sihtric woke up, completely oblivious of the time as his room was darkened and quiet. He felt his wrists ache, a reminder of the metal chains he had been restrained with before he fell asleep. He liked it when you chained him up, because you did it so carefully and gently, making sure he wasn't harmed in the process, but he always felt he had been tugging at the chains a day later. He turned around in bed, wanting to pull your body against his but he couldn't find you next to him. He whined softly, hugging the sheets instead, and he smiled when he remembered how your lips had felt against his after you had restrained him. He tossed and turned a few times, not being able to fall asleep again now that you weren't next to him anymore, and he then got out of bed.

He smiled when he found you sitting at his table, drinking tea, and he took a seat across from you.

'How are your wrists today?' you asked compassionately.

'Not too bad,' Sihtric said and held his hands out to you, showing the bruising on his skin.

'Poor thing,' you whispered at the sight and gave him a faint smile, 'it's like the full Moon changes you. It looks like you tried to break out of the chains.'

'I only break out of rope.'

'I bet,' you smiled, 'that's why we don't use rope on you.'

'There's no fun in rope,' he chuckled.

'You remain a mystery, Sihtric,' you said sweetly, 'now, tell me about the dreams you've had.'

Sihtric looked at you for a moment, puzzled, but then remembered how the last thing you had discussed before you had him chained up was that he had been having vivid dreams lately, and he shook his head lightly as he recalled them.

'The dreams,' he said, 'I don't believe they were just dreams.'

'Then what do you believe they are?'

'You'll think I'm insane,' he mumbled.

'Try me.'

Sihtric looked at you, quietly, contemplating if he was going to tell you what he truly believed. He was afraid he'd scare you off, despite all the things you'd been through with him already. Something felt different today, but he didn't know what. He noticed you were a little distant lately, and waking up without you next to him had already unsettled him to start with. He couldn't point out what the problem was and he was afraid that telling you about the dreams he's had lately would only push you away further. But he also loved you and couldn't lie to you. And you knew that too, so when you saw he looked troubled this morning, even more so than usual, you knew it would be a matter of time before he'd open up to you. And so you waited patiently for him to speak.

'Why are you sitting so far away from me, love?'

'It's just better to keep some distance right now, Sihtric. I'm sorry, but after yesterday...' you sighed, 'just, please talk to me… what about those dreams?'

'I believe these so-called dreams I've had lately are more,' he paused and rubbed his eyes, then sighed, 'a reality of sorts. Like… it's more than a dream. It connects us.'

'Us?'

'Yes, us. You and me, sweet thing.'

Sihtric smiled softly and you felt yourself blush, his charm always got to you and swept you off your feet, even when he sometimes frightened you.

'So I'm not sure they are dreams,' he continued, 'it seems to me they are bits and pieces of… of previous lives we've had.'

'Previous lives?' you frowned, 'that we had? Together you mean?'

'Yes,' Sihtric said and took your hand, 'don't you feel it too? The connection we have?'

'Sure,' you chuckled, 'but previous lives? I'm not sure how I feel about that. What did we do in those previous lives then?'

'Well… in one life we met and fell in love, but I was a- a vampire,' he mumbled, realising how stupid he just sounded.

'A… vampire? You believe in-'

'I know,' he said quickly, 'I know how that sounds. But just hear me out…'

You listened carefully when Sihtric told you about the "dreams" he had as of late. He told you how he had killed you as a vampire and how it had tormented him. How he had accepted his death and how he found you again in a next life, in which you were a maid and he was cast out from the village. You fell in love again, as you were supposed to, but he was cursed and one simple kiss would lead to your death. But you had loved him and so you decided to follow him into death, hoping to be together forever, but there was no such thing and Sihtric said he then found you again, in another life, where he was a musician and about to get married to you when he was shot right in front of you. And Sihtric told you how it all seemed connected. He pointed out how the chandelier that almost killed you, when you were a maid, resembled that time when Sihtric's chandelier fell down from his ceiling one morning in his home, after Skade had cursed you at the party. He explained how his blood kink is probably related to his previous life as the blood sucking vampire that killed you, or that maybe he was simply a descendant of the Vampire of Bebbanburg. He told you about his deal with the Devil and that maybe that also had something to do with your past lives and your connection. He wasn't sure about it all yet as he was still figuring it out himself, but none of that mattered to him.

'What matters,' Sihtric said as he lightly stroked your hand with his thumb, 'is that we're meant to be, little bat. We were always meant to be.'

You pulled your hand away from him and jumped up, almost knocking over your chair. You grabbed your bag and coat before you made haste out the door, leaving Sihtric behind, who was baffled, confused and most of all heartbroken that you had left without a word. What he had been afraid of had just happened, he figured he had truly scared you this time, maybe for good.

But he didn't know that the real reason you left like that was because you couldn't show him the tears in your eyes or let him hear the lump in your throat when you'd speak, because you were in love with him and it frightened you. Everything frightened you after the things he told you, because you believed him. You believed everything he said and you believed he wasn't insane. But you were scared. So you just left him that morning and didn't see him again until several days later.

Sihtric looked absolutely stunning when you found him sitting on his bed, leaning back on his elbows, his hair freshly shaved again on one side while his curls still graced the other side. You thought he was always stunning and he always took your breath away, which is exactly what made him so dangerous. He was always sweet and charming, and he was different from everyone else you ever met before, in every possible way. But you weren't blind to the horrors that were part of him and you had grown very concerned lately.

Sihtric jumped up from the bed when he saw you, and he immediately wrapped his arms around you.

'Little bat,' he breathed as he held you, relief washing over him, 'I've missed you so much. I was afraid you wouldn't come back.'

'Sihtric,' you chuckled and took a step back, 'we went over this already, we have to keep our distance.'

You smiled kindly at him and he cupped your cheeks, ignoring what you just said, and he pulled your face to his and locked his lips with yours. Your eyes were wide open and you gave him a light shove, pushing him away from you.

'Sihtric!' you gasped and quickly looked back over your shoulder, making sure you were truly alone, 'stop… stop doing that.'

Sihtric stared at you, confused, and he scoffed. 'What are you talking about? Since when can't I kiss you anymore?'

'You just can't do that!' you hissed and quickly closed the door to his room.

'My love,' he laughed softly and took your face in his hands again, 'you're not making any sense right now,' he whispered and kissed you once more.

You desperately wanted to fight it, but your need and lust for him was too strong and you allowed yourself to kiss him back. Finally. Sihtric couldn't remember the last time you had kissed each other like that, as you had barely seen each other lately and he didn't know what had changed between the two of you. You just seemed to disappear sometimes and he knew you were busy with work, so he didn't make a point out of it, but his heart ached when you weren't with him and he had longed for you gravely.

'My queen,' Sihtric breathed in between kisses and he picked you up in his arms, 'to be without you is a punishment,' he whispered and seated you upon the table, positioning himself between your thighs, 'and not the kind of punishment I enjoy,' he sighed and moved his hands up in your hair, kissing you eagerly and deeply.

'Sihtric,' you murmured against his lips, but he silenced you with a passionate kiss before you could say another word.

The kiss became more heated, his fingers squeezing your thighs while your hands were on his neck, getting lost in his touch, his taste and his scent. You both ran out of breath and he shoved your skirt up while you pulled his white shirt to keep him close.

'I want you,' he almost growled, 'I need to feel you so bad, my angel,' he peppered your neck with soft and wet kisses, 'I've missed you so, it's been unbearable. I need you-'

'Sihtric,' you choked on his name as he left a love bite just below your ear, 's-stop,' you mumbled, 'you… you have to stop.'

'Why?' he chuckled, 'you're mine, aren't you?' he hummed and captured you in another kiss, until you pushed him away again and jumped off the table.

You adjusted your skirt and quickly hid the mark he had left with your hair, then cleared your throat and tried to compose yourself again. But your flushed cheeks betrayed your desire for him.

'I… I don't understand,' Sihtric said, confused, 'why… why can't I-'

'Sihtric,' you said quietly, 'who do you think I am?'

'What?' he scoffed, 'you're mine… you're… you're my love,' he said, but then uncertainty began to sound in his voice, 'my… my little bat. You're mine. Honey, I don't understand what is going on-'

'Where do you think you are?'

'What?' he gazed at you, confused, 'we're home… right? We're home, baby. Why are you-'

'Who do you think you are?'

Sihtric scoffed again and tears began to well up in his eyes as a feeling of panic crept into his body.

'I… I don't understand,' he said softly, 'you're scaring me, love, why are you asking all these questions?'

'Tell me who you are,' you whispered, fighting your own emotions as you watched Sihtric slowly spiral in front of you.

'I'm… I'm Sihtric,' he shrugged, not understanding what was going on with you, 'it's me, darling.'

'How did we meet?'

'What?'

'How did we meet, Sihtric?'

'We… we met almost half a year ago,' he said, doubt painting his face, 'at the… at the Halloween fair.'

'At the fair,' you repeated, 'and then what happened?'

'Uhtred and Gisela set us up. We connected right away and it felt like we've known each other forever,' he smiled and lightly touched your cheek, 'which we have, my darkness, I'm sure of it.'

You swallowed hard and took a step back, colliding into the table behind you and you had to compose yourself again. Sihtric looked at you with pain and confusion in his eyes after you backed away from him, his wild eyes darting all over you while tears blurred his sight.

'Go on,' you said.

'I… I took you on a date,' his voice trembled, 'we went on a date, sweet thing, don't you remember? I took you… I took you ghost hunting, out in the woods, at the old Willow house.'

'The Willow house?' you asked bewildered, 'Sihtric-'

'We were attacked, which turned out to be another trick from Skade,' he talked over you, 'I told you I had been there before and made recordings and that nothing ever attacked me before.'

'Recordings?'

'Yes, I told you I'd show you the ghost recordings I made.'

'And did you show me?'

'What? Don't be so silly, my love,' Sihtric said, 'you know we never got to it because of everything else that happened. But I have them… I… I have them in my library. But after that attack we went to your home,' he took your hands and sniffled, 'and… and we kissed and we made love.'

'Made love?'

'Yes,' he whispered and cupped your cheeks, then leaned his forehead against yours, 'we made so much love, my angel. Whenever we could, because we were so in love. And aren't we still?' he murmured against your lips, 'aren't we?'

You opened your mouth to speak but Sihtric kissed you again while tears prickled in your eyes, and it took all your strength to push him away once again.

'Stop this. You have to stop this. You know we can't… you can't kiss me like that,' you whispered, 'you'll end up restrained again.'

'But I like it when you restrain me, sweet thing,' he smiled slyly, 'you know I like it.'

He leaned in to kiss you again, but you stopped him.

'Don't,' you said, 'why do you always get like this when the Moon is full.'

'Like what?' he wondered.

'Sihtric…'

'What, my love? Like what?'

'So caught up in your head.'

'What?' Sihtric looked at you, his eyes desperate for an answer that would make him understand why you were being so cold and distant.

'Sweetheart,' you whispered, 'tell me again, where do you think you are?'

'Home,' he said, clearly becoming agitated with your endless confusing questions.

'Sihtric, look around,' you said calmly, 'is this your home?'

You watched him look away from you and around the room you were in. His eyes grew bigger with each passing second and you heard his breathing become unsteady. Sihtric took in the bright white walls he was in between, which were so bright in the hard led lights that it hurt his mismatched eyes. He noticed how the white walls were completely empty, apart from one mirror which was completely painted black, and the room was just as empty as the walls. He only had a single person bed, one cabinet and a table with two chairs. The windows were closed and barred with iron on the outside, and his bed had wrist and ankle restraints attached to them, but those clearly weren't for pleasure. And he began to panic.

'W-where are we?'

'I'm sorry,' you said, 'but this is not your home, Sihtric. Not your real home at least.'

Sihtric stared at you in silence, then at his clothes, white jeans and a white shirt, and then he finally snapped as he suddenly recognised his attire.

'What do you mean!?' he shouted.

'Don't raise your voice!' you hissed and stepped towards him, 'don't shout, please, they will hear you.'

'Who!?' he shouted, 'who will hear me?!'

'The other patients,' you said as quietly as possible, 'and when the patients can hear you, the guards can hear you too-'

'Guards? What g-'

'Shh!' you took his wrists carefully, 'be quiet, or they will restrain you again.'

'What? No! No, you restrained me last night. You did!'

'Be quiet!' you urged him, 'I did not restrain you, the guards did after you freaked out in the shared living room. You were shouting in Latin towards the old fire place, at nothing. Sihtric,' you shook him, 'you are not home. Don't you get it?'

'Get what?'

'You're at the Willow house.'

'What? No, no that's impossible,' Sihtric scoffed, 'that place is haunted. We've… we've been there, we walked the hallways together, don't you remember?' he broke and began to cry, 'why don't you remember us?'

'Listen to me,' you said and took his face, 'you are at the Willow house. Yes, we walked through these hallways together. We really did. But, Sihtric,' you held back a sob, 'we never went ghost hunting. The Willow house is a psychiatric hospital, and you are a patient. You've been committed here years ago by your ex-wife. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,' you said as you could tell he was falling apart on the inside now that it began to dawn on him, 'I've been your doctor since October.'

'No… no,' Sihtric cried, 'but we… we kissed… we...'

'We did. You kissed me when we met and claimed you've been looking for me everywhere your whole life. You're not supposed to touch me, and that first kiss led you to be locked in the basement, chained to the wall. That is not allowed, and I'm sorry it happened but I can't stop the shady shit that goes on in this place.'

'Stop it,' he said and raked his hand through his hair, pulling his curls as he felt his sanity leave his body, 'stop it, stop it! You lie! This isn't funny-'

'I'm not lying.'

'I'm not crazy,' Sihtric hissed through his teeth.

'I never said you were,' you said calmly.

'I'm not fucking crazy! Don't lie to me!' he shouted.

'Please, please stay calm,' you urged him again, 'I don't want them to drag you down to the basement again, please, you already have been bruised there last night.'

'We're supposed to be together!' his voice started to sound hoarse while you desperately tried to keep him quiet.

'Don't do this to yourself, please,' you looked back over your shoulder, hearing the heavy boots of the guards stomping down the hall, 'Sihtric,' you said and took his face, then planted your lips on his as you had no idea when you would see him again. 'I always believed you,' you whispered, lips still touching as you both cried, 'you are not crazy. I know you're not, but the medication you've been forced to take is messing you up. I am trying everything I can to get you off them, I know you don't belong here. And yes, I do love you and I am in love with you. I fell in love with you from the second I saw you. But you're scaring me, because I never know when you are really here or when you're living in your fantasy life. I love you, Sihtric, I love you and you are not crazy, I promise.'

He kissed you again, hard, and then stared at you with piercing eyes.

'Then get me the fuck out of here!' Sihtric snarled, and then pretended to trip backwards over his own feet, falling on the floor while you stepped back as the guards stormed in the room.

You cried as you watched the guards punch Sihtric in the face, assuming he had attacked you and scared you. They pinned him harshly down onto the white floor, only to pick him up and drag him out of the room, down to the basement where they'd use medieval restraining tactics that were not allowed anymore.

But who was going to believe a guy who claimed he was the descendant of a vampire over a bunch of guards in a mental hospital?

taglist: @foxyanon @alexagirlie @sihtricsafin @neonhairspray @gemini-mama @lexwolfhale @sigtryggrswifey @skyofficialxx @djarinsgirl27 @m-a-s-h-k-a @verenahx @mrsarnasdelicious @diiickbrainn @little-diable @maii777 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @dixie-elocin @elle4404 @bubblyabs @ylvie50 @succnfuccubus @hb8301 @willowbrookesblog @apolloanddaphnis @jennifer0305 @carnationworld

If you want to be added/removed from the taglist, message me 🖤

#i'm so sorry about this #sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom #sihtric #tlk #the last kingdom fic #sihtric fic #sihtric au #modern!sihtric

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b1ackoutartist · 11 months

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Fast Heartbeats, and Love in Slow Motion

Natasha Romanoff x reader

High school AU

High school. That blend of mundane and magic that only the youthful could truly experience. Such was the existence of Natasha, a senior of elite status, known for her intimidating yet intriguing personality. Her fiery red hair and alluring green eyes captivated many, but there was only one who could really get under her skin: Y/N, her younger sister Yelena's best friend.

Y/N was a mystery to her, an introvert with a subtle charm, always in the company of Yelena and their energetic friend Kate. Unlike the rest of the school, Y/N seemed immune to Natasha's magnetic pull, and it was this indifference that caused a slow burn in Natasha's heart.

Natasha sat with her own friends at lunch, her gaze was drawn to Y/N’s table. Seeing her smile and laugh with Yelena and Kate sparked an unfamiliar warmth inside her, a longing that she was too scared to admit.

"Hey, have you heard about Peter asking Y/N out?" one of Natasha's friends, Wanda, casually mentioned.

Natasha's heart pounded in her chest at the news. She tried to dismiss the feeling, but the seed of jealousy had already been planted.

"I'm sure Y/N is too smart to fall for someone like Peter," Natasha retorted, doing her best to sound nonchalant.

Later, as she walked down the hallway, she saw Y/N, Peter by her side. He was leaning in, his words causing a shy smile to bloom on Y/N's face. Natasha's heart clenched. The jealousy was unbearable.

“Natasha, please, don’t do anything rash.” Yelena had seen the look in her sister’s eyes and understood what it meant.

Ignoring her sister's plea, Natasha sauntered over to Y/N and Peter, her every move exuding a confidence she didn't feel.

"Hey, Peter. Don't you have a Chem test to study for?" Natasha asked, her voice silky yet threatening.

Peter stammered a response and scurried off. Natasha then turned to Y/N, her jealousy masked by a cool facade. "Y/N, you're too good for him."

Y/N looked taken aback, but before she could respond, Natasha walked away.

At their next lunch, Yelena looked at Natasha, her disapproval evident. “Natasha, she’s my best friend. You can’t just play around with her feelings.”

Natasha wanted to argue, to tell Yelena that her feelings for Y/N were anything but playful, but she kept silent.

Kate, on the other hand, wore an amused grin. "Oh, come on Yelena, I think it's cute. There's clearly some chemistry there."

Yelena grumbled something about 'not having a good feeling about this', but Kate just laughed. Natasha, lost in her thoughts of Y/N, merely smiled. She had fallen, and there was no turning back.

Just as lunch ended, Natasha lifted her gaze to see Y/N walking away with Peter. The sight tugged at her heartstrings. She hadn't noticed that Y/N wasn't at their table - she had been too engrossed in her thoughts.

"Dammit," Natasha muttered under her breath, her jealousy flaring again at the sight of Y/N with Peter.

The following day, Natasha saw an opportunity to interact with Y/N alone when they coincidentally ended up at their lockers at the same time. A sense of courage overwhelmed her, and she decided to take a step forward.

"Hey Y/N," she said casually, leaning against the lockers. "I didn't see you at lunch yesterday."

"Oh... I... uh... was with Peter," Y/N stammered, her cheeks blushing.

Natasha’s heart sank at Y/N's response, but she forced a smile, "Oh, how was your date?"

Y/N looked flustered, "It... it wasn’t a date… We were just…”

But before Y/N could explain, the bell rang, cutting her off. Natasha, misunderstanding Y/N's words, felt the sting of jealousy once again. She plastered on a smile, "Well, see you later Y/N."

After that encounter, Natasha couldn’t help but give Peter a hard time. Each glance, each word exchanged between Peter and Y/N, ignited a fire in Natasha that she couldn’t control.

In the midst of all this, Yelena still couldn't shake her unease. "Kate, I just... I don't want anyone getting hurt, you know?" Yelena admitted.

Kate rolled her eyes, "Yelena, it's high school. People get their hearts broken and mended all the time. Besides, I think Natasha genuinely likes Y/N."

Yelena sighed, "I know she does, and that's what scares me."

Despite Yelena's worries, Kate couldn't help but be excited at the prospect of romance brewing in their circle. And Y/N? She was caught in the middle, blushing at Natasha's relentless flirting, yet unable to voice the truth about Peter.

The more Natasha fell, the more she misunderstood, and the further Y/N seemed to drift. Love had never been so beautifully complicated.

A few weeks later, frustration had built up in Yelena to the point of eruption. Enough was enough, and it was time for her to interfere. Storming into Natasha's room without knocking, she found her sister sitting on her bed, staring blankly at the wall.

"Natasha, you need to get it together," Yelena blurted out, her tone seething with exasperation. "Stop being so stupid."

Natasha looked up, her green eyes surprised at the sudden intrusion. "Yelena? What-"

"You know very well what I'm talking about," Yelena interrupted, crossing her arms over her chest. "Y/N. She never went out with Peter, Natasha. That was all in your head."

Natasha froze, a flicker of hope crossing her face, quickly replaced by a hard resolve. "And what if she did? It's none of my business."

Yelena sighed, frustration evident in her features. "You've had your fair share of chances with Y/N, Natasha. If you don't take them now, I swear, I'll make sure you never get another one."

The room fell into silence. Natasha just looked at her sister, a hint of tears shimmering in her eyes. She blinked them away, trying to hide the hurt.

"I... I did take my chance, Yelena," Natasha confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "A few days ago. But she... she rejected me. She didn't even give me a reason."

The news hit Yelena like a punch. She hadn't expected this. Later that day, she met Kate, hoping to make sense of the mess.

"Kate," Yelena began, looking serious, "did Y/N tell you why she rejected Natasha?"

Kate looked uncomfortable but answered, "Yes, she did. Y/N doesn't want to ruin her friendship with you. And she's... she's not sure if she and Natasha would work out in the long run."

Suddenly, everything fell into place for Yelena. She understood the complexity of their situation, the fear of destroying friendships and relationships that meant so much to them all.

Back home, Yelena found Natasha staring out her window, lost in her thoughts. She wanted to tell Natasha about her conversation with Kate, but the words got stuck in her throat. It wasn't her place to share Y/N's feelings, but she also didn't want to see Natasha in pain.

In the end, she chose silence, hoping that somehow, everything would fall into place. In the chaotic world of high school, where emotions ran high and friendships were tested, all they could do was hold on and hope for the best.

#black widow #black widow x reader #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #marvel

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hauntedwitch04 · 7 months

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Fools in love

Remus Lupin x reader

Words: 1,8k words

Warnings: none, just fluff and idiots totally in love with each other

Author’s note: Hi everybody! It fells so good being back, I missed writing and this is the first one-shot I write in a lot of time, so I'm really grateful for every tiny bit of love you gave me. Hope you enjoy the first day of my Halloween Party

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🎃Halloween party 🎃

DAY 1: “Take my sweater, I love you and i don’t want you to transform into a popsicle”

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Rain beats hard against the windows of the Gryffindor common room. The fire near me crackles, and the pieces of wood seem to break like bone after a very hard punch, as my heart probably had a few hours ago.

I've spent a lot of time by the fire, but even so, I can't shake the cold that got into my bones, in the rush in the rain I made to get back to the castle, after waiting for more than two hours for a Ravenclaw boy who asked me out, outside the Mielandia.

I still remember the feeling of the cold wind against my cheeks wet with hot tears. My sweater was now dumped on the sofa, soaked with rain, and dripping rhythmically on the floor, mesmerizing me.

The fire dances before my eyes, and I can't help but feel like two people hugged tightly, dancing to music of their own created by their love.

A little bit I feel stupid in feeling so bad, for a guy who basically I don't even like since I've actually been in love with one of my best friends for what seems like ages now, but I think the thing that has hurt me most of all is not being able to be loved even by this mysterious guy whose name I honestly can't even remember.

For hours now I've been asking myself if I'm really worth loving? Why should people fall in love with me? Am I worthy of someone's love? If I can't even date a guy I don't like, how could I ever date the one I consider the love of my life? And why the hell does Remus John Lupin have to be so perfect?

I spend what seems like days sitting there staring into the fire. I hear people passing by, coming in and out of the dorms, some stop and look at me with compassion, trying to somehow share my pain, while others whisper hypotheses and theories about why I am in that situation. I, however, remain impassive, like a marble statue, the only emotion I allow to shine through are the tears I cannot stop.

It is still a long time before I can glance at the clock without seeing it fogged up by my crying.

Midnight.

I close my eyes and pray for any otherworldly entity to erase my memory of this rainy early October day, when my thoughts are interrupted by a warm hand resting on my shoulder. I turn slightly and my breath catches in my throat for a moment, for fear that the object of my thoughts will see itself reflected in my eyes and be able to read into me, into my soul.

"Lily told me you've been stationary here for more than four hours. I had to practically make a deal with the devil to get Poppy to let me leave early to come to you, luckily yesterday wasn't too bad." He says quietly as he sits down next to me, the famous Remus Lupin, every Hogwarts girl's dream, looking at me softly. Shit, I think to myself, there was a full moon yesterday that's why I didn't see him all day. I hadn't worried about it too much actually before I went to the appointment, too caught up in the anxiety of this meeting, but now I realize what a shitty friend I've been to him. I look at him and see his face battered by sleep and exhaustion, while only a few new scratches or scars adorn his face. My eyes land on his, and selling his worried look I can't help but feel guilty and go back to crying. After a few seconds, I realize that I am not only crying out of guilt, but also out of the realization that he, the boy I love more than my own life, will never see me in the same way that I see him but only as a friend to be taken care of.

His warm hands brush my shoulders and I immediately shiver at that contact. His gaze grows even more concerned and he immediately decides to take off his heavy sweater, one of his favorites that his mother made him last year after his had all grown small when he grew up all of a sudden during the summer. As he takes off the sweater, with his arms still above his head and this one still covered by the garment, his T-shirt, which he wore underneath, rises slightly so that his athletic body covered in scratches can be seen. I feel my cheeks turn red as I look at him, but I am quickly distracted by my friend handing me his sweater.

"Take my sweater, I love you and I don't want you to turn into a popsicle," he says, fixing his hair. His words strike me more pain than a bullet, but I hide my distress behind a bitter smile, and put on his sweater. Immediately I am hit by his scent: chocolate, cinnamon, ink mixed with book pages and cigarettes. I thank him in a thin voice, before returning to silence.

"I guess I understand that the date didn't go very well." He says after a few minutes, trying to figure out if I felt like talking about it, watching me carefully as I played with my sleeves.

"Actually, there wasn't even a date." I reply, chuckling bitterly.

"What do you mean?" He retorts confused, as he moves closer to me, to study me better.

"Well he never showed up. I stood like a moron in front of the place where he told me to meet for a couple of hours, even caught some rain, then when I realized that I was merely making a fool of myself I came running back here, and I haven't moved from here since." I explain quickly, not wanting to cry again.

I see the anger mounting in his eyes as he takes one of my hands between his and brings it to his mouth.

"If anyone has made a fool of himself it's him, honey. He's a fool if he missed an opportunity like this. You deserve so much better, the best person the world has to offer." He says in a whisper as he holds me in his arms, doing nothing but twisting the knife in the wound making me bleed more and more.

After a while he breaks away from that grip and takes something out of his pants pocket, which I discover is a piece of chocolate, and hands it to me.

"Eat, you'll feel better." He tells me, but I shake my head.

"I don't feel like eating, Remmy." I try calling him by his nickname, hoping to soften him, knowing that when he puts his mind to something, it's hard to change his mind.

"Honey, I won't take no for an answer. I care about you, like a sister, and I don't want to not only see you suffer for that moron but also starve to death." He continues, pulling my face up, resting one of his fingers under my face.

I don't know why I feel something breaking inside, as if a pitcher full of water has decided to pour in, and I no longer have control over my words.

"That's exactly my problem Remmy. I'm not crying, sitting here for over four hours for a guy whose name I can't even remember, I'm feeling like I'm dying inside because what happened made me realize that the only guy I've ever really loved in my life will never look at me, if he's not even interested in me even a person who's not even worth a hole in his sock. I've been sitting here for hours crying because I'm afraid that I'm not worthy of being loved, because I'm afraid that I'll have to live with these damn feelings, because I'm afraid that I'll see this boy grow up and fall in love with someone else while I'll still be here, and he'll continue to see me as just a sister, and he just happens to have reminded me of that fact himself just a little while ago." At my last words I see his eyes light up, having realized who I was talking about, after being dark and dull throughout my entire speech. "And now if you don't mind, after screwing up our friendship, I'm going to bed." And I try to get up, but I don't make it in time because a hand encircles my wrist and Remus draws me toward him forcefully, in contrast to his delicate lips brushing against mine. It takes me a few seconds to return the kiss, unsure of what this moment might change between us, before I let myself go completely to him. I bring my hands behind his head, and run my fingers through his hair, while his hands go around my hips to take me on his lap, as we continue to kiss, as if we were suffocating and that was our oxygen.

"I love you, I love you, I've loved you for what seems like forever, and I'm just a coward for not telling you sooner." He says pulling away slightly, so he can breathe before giving me another full kiss. Then he starts giggling, and I look at him shocked, before I start laughing too. We laugh until our stomachs hurt and tears furrow our faces. Remus stands up, picks me up and lays me down on the couch in front of the fire, then lies down next to me.

"We are two idiots." I say, chuckling some more. "We are so stupidly in love that we didn't realize each other's feelings."

"We're all idiots in love, honey." Remus replies, kissing my forehead. "Sirius will never get tired of holding it against me that he was right." He says giggling and hiding his face in the crook of my neck.

"Not even Lily." I chuckle in response as well, before I feel that being held tightly in her arms, sleep is slowly taking over my senses.

"By the way, you look very good in my sweater, honey." Those are the last words I hear before I fall completely asleep.

At that moment, however, neither of us knows yet that our friends will never let us forget the fact that they found us the next morning cuddled on the couch in the Common Room, in front of the fire, and I was wearing the sweater of what would become my husband and the father of my children, to whom Sirius would tell this story and how their parents fell in love and how he and Aunt Lily were right.

#hauntedwitch04's writing #becky's halloween party #halloween party #marauders x reader #marauders fluff #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus x reader

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pineapplefulfillseveryneed · 6 days

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The Revenge Of Two Hands One Mouth - O2 Academy Bristol (November 27, 2013) by Adam Gasson

After 11 years of not finding a single photo from this show, I found these yesterday! I can not begin to express what this means to me, I nearly cried and I couldn't sleep last night. I was still a rather new fan and this was my first time going to a show in the UK, the first show I went to see with a friend, and my first time meeting that friend, too. And these above photos are SO GOOD! Not much was preserved from this show at all, there was no recording allowed (no charcoal drawings either), and to my knowledge not even the full setlist for this specific show was preserved anywhere. So better late than never, but here's what I remember (with some help from these photos!) and the things I've puzzled back together:

If there was opening music or an opening act, i don't recall, but Russell entered the stage alone. It was dramatic and impactful, and it went quiet as he gave an intense stare into the audience and did a drawn out "ahhh" into the microphone. After a little moment of quiet, it turned out the microphone had been connected to a sequencer which now started repeating "ah ah ah ah ah ah". Suspense, excitement. Russell added: "Hold, hold, hold, hold". (...I was definitely freaking out.) While that started looping on top of the ah ah ah sequence, he made stop signs with his hand as we all listened. A few repeats passed. "I'm getting mixed signals, mixed signals - mixed, mixed, mixed signals".

^ the only seconds of this show I recorded as I didn't yet know it wasn't allowed - security signed at me and I put the camera away. It was fine. (Here's a recording of it made during the US tour later that year - recording seemed to be less frowned upon at that point.)

I don't recall when Ron entered the stage at this show, whether it was during the song or after, but what a way to open! And what an amazing song choice!

The performance that left the biggest impression on me at this show though was Nicotina. It was a choice I didn't see coming, but also the way Russell sang it! Falsetto heaven. (Sadly not a single video is to be found of Nicotina from this tour. But for your falsetto heaven needs, I hope you can find a video of Here In Heaven that they also performed on this tour, because that will also kill you.)

As everyone here probably knows I am quite big on Bergman, which at the time was heavily promoted during the tours, and, the excerpts they played on this tour were different from what they played during Two Hands One Mouth! They played "I Am Ingmar Bergman", The Studio Commissary (my favourite song on Bergman), Limo Driver (but sang by Russell, and HOW!) and "Oh My God". (Here's a video of it from one of the American shows. It's extremely good. People who've been around for a while have seen me lose it over this video many times.)

The most unexpected song choice was probably Katherine Hepburn. Me and my friend had been joking for absolute months that we were going to see Sparks and they'd play Katherine Hepburn (as if that would ever happen, we were obsessed with that song though!). And here we were, and they were playing Katherine Hepburn right in front of our eyes. (What is reality.)

Falling In Love With Myself Again had me losing it over the organ sounds, always a fan of Ron on organ, and I LOVE that song. Russell sang a line in my direction (I died), and he managed to throw another line at me during Those Mysteries ...I died a few times that night. As you might expect. That was kind of the whole THOM/TROTHOM experience anyway. Lots of dying. But the variety of dying where you end up in heaven. (You're at a Sparks show after all.)

They wrote a song especially for this tour, which was not released but only ever played live: Revenge Of Two Hands One Mouth. What a thing to experience! A very dark song, but wonderful. (REVENGE! REVENGE REVENGE!)

At the end of the show Ron took a photo of Russell with the audience. I don't really remember that happening, but the photo exists and it really was not a thing they did often back then. We had been a good audience :)

Here's all the songs that were probably played that night in random order:

Your Call's Very Important To Us. Please Hold., B.C., Good Morning, Here In Heaven, Academy Award Performance, Those Mysteries, Falling In Love With Myself Again, Big Boy, Nicotina, Popularity, This Town Ain't Big Enough For Both Of Us, excerpts from The Seduction Of Ingmar Bergman, Tryouts For The Human Race, Katherine Hepburn, Revenge Of Two Hands One Mouth. They likely also played The Number One Song in Heaven, When Do I Get To Sing 'My Way' and Suburban Homeboy. (I see mentions of How Are You Getting Home? and How Do I Get To Carnegie Hall? in setlists for this tour as well, which they very well might have played but I very sadly have zero memory of ever hearing those songs live.)

This tour had a real air of mystery, possibly even more so than Two Hands One Mouth, as the lack of existing footage definitely adds to it. But luckily some of it *is* out there, and I am so grateful for these photos :) On top of the songs I especially mentioned above, I would also advise people to look for recordings of Tryouts For The Human Race and Popularity from this tour, because the arrangements are probably not going to be the way you expect them to be. And as you might expect: B.C. is stunning live. (I could start a whole rant about Good Morning and Suburban Homeboy live but I think I sufficiently screamed about both in my personal notes on THOM the year prior.) Final note: I know Russell had some sort of dance move for Big Boy because me and another friend couldn't stop talking about it for months. I don't remember what he did, but both THOM and TROTHOM were wonderful for Russell dances <3

#I really needed to get that out of my system and onto the blog :)#I may do one of these posts for all shows I've seen at some point.#(I know I've yet to put my notes from 2023 on here and I've been working on them!)#sparks #sparks (band)#russell mael #ron mael #the revenge of two hands one mouth #trothom #bristol #november 27 2013 #2013 #10's #i was there #I put the whole story under a read more so that you don't have to deal with that if you just want to look at photos :)#tour notes

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stxrvel · 10 months

Text

two strangers (1)

summary: when bucky rescues you, you didn't think there could be a more indecent person. but as the days go by, you realize he may have a chicken heart.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: +6k

warnings: a lot of bad words and mentions of wounds and blood.

read this for some context! so fyi this is set in an alternate universe where mercenaries exist, but like a society, like john wick, and the avengers rescued bucky from hydra's control and all that, but he decided to keep his life in the mercenary side, taking missions to get rid of really bad people, and even though he isn't part of the society per se, he's very known by it but he doesn't care to join them.

note: hi guys! i decided to publish this in different parts, seeing that my inspiration had a big strike and yesterday i just couldn't stop writing. i think the updates will be weekly, but you'll know the exact date in the masterlist page. so i hope you like it! and know feedback is always appreciated! love you all 💜

Bucky never thought the rescue would be difficult. It was a huge house, three floors, a hundred windows and doors, with a garden that directly overlooked a wooded area. The walk to the entrance was not at all dissimilar to the ambiance of the whole area, as it was at least a forty minute walk through trees and bushes. There were about fifty people guarding each entrance and access, but Bucky knew that there would be a shift change at ten o'clock at night, at which time there would be about 25 people that he would have to face in less than 10 minutes to reach the target, and after that he would have just under two minutes to get at least ten kilometers away from the house and avoid being followed.

Except that Bucky wasn't riding the bike back to town and had a piece of a shirt pressed against the side of his abdomen from which blood was pouring out, while a couple of other bikes were following behind them and they could barely dodge the bullets.

Bucky knew he couldn't play with words again.

“Drive faster,” Bucky mumbled over the sound of the wind and bullets, barely able to hold onto the abdomen of the woman behind the wheel, whose name he couldn't remember.

“Fucking hell, I'm doing everything I can!”

Bucky peered over the woman's shoulder watching as the needle pointed to one hundred and ten kilometers per hour and raised his eyebrows. How that tiny woman was able to keep her balance and zigzag through the trees at that speed was a complete mystery.

While it was true that the bike had more speed, it was quite dangerous to increase it seeing the wooded road full of natural obstacles in front of them. So Bucky just pulled out of his right side the gun he always carried with him and started shooting at whatever he could aim at. Maybe that way he could get some leverage.

After a few minutes, Bucky began to make out the lighted streets of the city and was minimally glad that the rescue had not been a failure.

“When you take the road, turn right and then left, there you go straight ahead and increase your speed as much as you can.”

The woman barely nodded toward Bucky's words as she maneuvered through the branches and downhill slopes until she made it to the asphalt, and it was like falling off the end of a roller coaster. Bucky thought he had flown off the bike.

When the woman made the turn Bucky indicated and found a track that stretched along without a possible end, she accelerated so much that she was sure that, had she not had a helmet, she would have been out of eyelashes in seconds.

It didn't take them too long to lose the criminals following them and find the safe house where they would spend the night. Bucky felt his body still vibrating with the bike as the woman parked it in the subway parking lot. The walk to the stairs and what he rode inside the house was one big blurry moment inside his head as the adrenaline began to wear off and the pain throughout his body became more and more noticeable.

He barely remembered lying on the white couch, staining it entirely with blood and mud, and the woman in front of him trying to stop his bleeding.

You did everything in your power to stop the bleeding in the man's side. It was difficult, but you managed to get a halfway decent stitch and tried to disinfect it with what you found in the first aid kit in the house. You wrapped his abdomen with gauze and bandages as best you could and finally left him alone. He had fainted the moment you put alcohol on the wound with gauze, and you didn't know if it was because of the pain or the lack of blood. It was probably the latter, he looked like a strong guy.

A strong guy who had definitely underestimated his mission. Strong but his arrogance was a major flaw.

You had tried to arrange the whole room as you had found it, because you'd made a big mess carrying that man who weighed twice as much as he looked to the couch. In the end, cleaning up the blood was the most complicated thing.

You went to bed at dawn, after an exhaustive session in the shower. You washed your clothes by hand three times and then soaked them for at least an hour until you washed them again. You got clean clothes and changed when the first traces of azure blue began to adorn the sky.

But you stared at the ceiling for a while. Memories of what had happened in the last few days and years flooded your head and kept you moving your hands under the sheet. Restlessness, new friend. Reminiscing about it, the sound of bullets, the adrenaline rush and the blood of the man in the room almost kept you awake. But, at some point, out of exhaustion or pity, your eyes finally closed.

Bucky cursed, moving around the room. Trying to walk to the bathroom, he had dropped everything his hands had touched. And the pain in his side didn't make things any easier. He didn't know what the woman sleeping peacefully on the second floor had done, but it seemed the pain was sharper than yesterday.

As his body moved closer to the bathroom, he heard footsteps coming from the stairs. The silhouette of the woman materialized in front of him, who was trying to climb the five steps that separated him from the bathroom.

“What are you doing? You opened your wound,” Bucky observed the woman's scowl with hair standing on end like a cat in the face of an imminent threat.

He watched her in slow motion and infrared as she tried to move closer to him, decreasing the distance between them and making it difficult for him to walk to the bathroom.

The woman raised her arms to touch him, but before she could do anything, Bucky threw a swipe. She staggered, and without a second's hesitation stepped away from him.

Bucky thought he saw a hint of fear in her eyes, but it had to have been a figment of his imagination, because the next moment she was only looking at him with annoyance.

“How surly.”

“Don't get in my way.”

“I was trying to help you.”

“Standing in my way doesn't help me at all.”

“"You're bleeding again…”

“Fuck, I need to use the bathroom.”

The woman silently moved to the side. And Bucky barely glanced at her as he passed her and finally climbed the fifth step that separated him from his destination.

That was why he had stopped accepting missions like that. It was so much easier to just show up at a place to shoot someone in the forehead and then run away, he didn't have to spend days and days waiting to finish the mission. He could even do more than three in a single day, when the targets knew each other or were in the same place.

But, yes, even if it didn't seem like it, so much death at his heels was also a bit overwhelming if he was honest. He'd heard from other mercenaries, the ones who weren't so sadistic, that rescue missions were sometimes a respite to get back into the action again. Bucky had done it before, but there was always something that went wrong. And this time was no exception. Maybe he wasn't cut out to rescue people, to save them…

When he came out of the bathroom and made his way with great effort into the living room, the smell of bacon and eggs filled the room. Scattered on the dining room table were all the items he could find inside a first aid kit and there was also a bag with what appeared to be bloody gauze.

“I thought the bath swallowed you up.”

Bucky noticed when the woman came out of the kitchen wiping her hands with a white cloth. She was wearing different clothes than yesterday, white and neat, totally in contrast to the stained and dirty clothes he was wearing.

“Sit down. I need to check you over.”

“I'm fine.”

“Don't be foolish.”

Bucky shifted, willing himself to lie back down on the couch he'd woken up in. He vaguely noticed that on one side of the furniture was a bucket of water and bubbles and some sponges, one submerged and one over an edge of the couch that was bathed in blood.

“You do know there are people who clean these places?” Bucky spoke as he tried to find a way to sit down without having to bend over or exert too much force by bending his legs.

“No.”

“Well, now you know. Don't spend time cleaning these things.”

“It looks bad.”

“It's just blood… argh.”

Bucky arched as he made a very bad move and rested one of his hands on the back of the couch. He barely heard the woman sigh and then her footsteps approaching.

“No, no… I can.”

“God, what a stupid man.”

“What the fuck did you just-? Ah, ah, ahhhhh.”

The man hadn't even noticed when you came up behind him and pushed him to move before his head could process it. He fell noisily onto the couch and bit his lips to keep from moaning in pain.

“I like you better when you're quiet.”

Giving up the fight, Bucky let his body fall against the backrest and dropped his limp hands on either side of his legs. With his eyes closed, he heard a flutter of things on one side of him and guessed that the woman was digging through the things she had placed on the table. He barely had any memories of the night before when they arrived and most of them included a terrible pain that drove him into unconsciousness.

"Well, let's see…" the woman mumbled to herself and Bucky soon felt her hands moving over his bandaged abdomen.

It was instinct and he couldn't stop his left hand, metallic and dulled by the bloodstains that spread over his body, from clinging with superhuman strength to the wrists of the woman who had only intended to tend to him.

Even with his eyes closed, he heard her gasp in surprise and felt her tense in front of him. Her small hands, which had not the slightest chance before his exorbitant strength, stirred under his grip in slight movements. Without seeing her, he could tell she was so frightened she didn't know if she should keep shaking or stay still.

Bucky opened his eyes to realize that his instinct was right. The woman was pale with fright.

Sighing, the man loosened his grip until finally releasing her.

The woman fell backwards on the floor trying to get away from him.

That was the look he was used to seeing on all his victims.

Turning his head away, Bucky cleared his throat.

“Ask first next time.”

It was several seconds before the woman moved again. She had stood there, still and tense, watching him, waiting for any sudden movement to bolt. She moved closer to him on her knees, but not as close as she had been a few minutes ago. Her breathing was just beginning to become more leisurely until she finally seemed to have calmed down.

Bucky kept his gaze anywhere but on the small woman in front of him, who seemed to fear she would be swallowed alive.

“I'm going to-”

“Yes.”

That time, when the woman moved her hands back to the bandage around his abdomen, Bucky tensed, but kept his instincts to himself. He knew the woman had sensed that moment of hesitation, because she almost moved her hands away, but came closer again when nothing happened.

Thus Bucky allowed himself to be attended to, until he fell back asleep on the couch.

When the man woke up again, you had already eaten breakfast and finished washing the couch, except for the place where he was lying. You had also cleaned up the trail of blood he had left on the floor from the bathroom all the way back to the living room. You had tried to make everything in your reach neat, free of any mud or blood stains. And when you were done in the living room, you went to fix what was needed in the kitchen.

You were halfway through going to get your clothes when you heard him.

“Fuck, how the hell did you make it hurt more than it did before?”

You turned on your feet at the top of the stairs to see him as he leaned forward with a grimace.

“Maybe I wouldn't have had to double stitch you if you weren't such a moron.”

“Double stitch? Does that exist?”

“I don't know!”

“You double stitched me?”

You shrugged. “Just in case!”

“Argh… No fucking way.”

Dropping his head on the back of the couch, the man brought his right hand over his forehead in a weary gesture.

“Whatever. I left you some hot water in the shower and a rag. Try not to get your wound wet.”

He lowered his head to look at you, but you hurried on walking to the cleaning room.

That man was scary. And it was much scarier that you were in an almost-abandoned house in a ghost neighborhood alone with him. The chances were that if you shouted, no one would hear you; or if you did and someone did hear you, they would prefer to keep on walking. That's how troubled the place you were in looked.

You were surprised that your brother had sent someone like that to look for you. At least he would have made a little more effort to find someone more decent. You had to crawl to get you both out of that wrecked house, when it should've been the other way around. As you folded your clothes, you wondered where your brother had gotten that man from.

You were heading back to the room when you heard a snort down the hall. Against the alarms in your head, you approached the hallway to see towards the back, into the living room, as the man had gotten up from the couch and had walked that way about seven steps with the goal of reaching the stairs. At the pace he was going, you wondered how long it had taken him to get there. And with the winces of pain he was making, you knew it was taking all his strength not to make sudden movements.

You sighed as you dropped your clothes on the basket next to the door. That man was going to give you green gray hair.

“Let me help you,” you spoke once you were near him, at the top of the stairs.

It really wasn't that many stairs, only ten steps were separating the man from that bathroom. You didn't know why that kind of platform was there, instead of just making a flat floor for the whole house being so big, but you couldn't judge an architect's decisions.

And yet, even though it was only a few stairs, it seemed like a hundred when you had a bullet wound in your abdomen.

When you started to descend, the man said nothing, just watched you intently as your feet went one in front of the other holding onto the handrail. His deadly gaze caused you to shiver slightly because he looked like a lion about to eat a gazelle.

Still, you stopped at a safe distance.

“May I?”

The man kept his gaze on yours for a while longer, as if he had to weigh every possibility in a short time. You wonder what he saw in you that he had to be so alert. You barely reached his chin, what could you do without him stopping you two seconds before? You didn't even have the option to think of anything.

So when he sighed, you realized he had given in.

Bucky took a pleasant nap on the bed in the master bedroom when he finished showering, if anyone could call what he had done a shower. He ran a washcloth with warm water all over his body, with the tiniest amount of soap and unable to wash his hair. The woman downstairs had offered to do it for him, but Bucky didn't even consider that possibility.

Still, he felt fresh enough to really rest for a while.

And by the time he awoke, moonlight was filtering through the curtains.

It was daring to get out of bed. But it was worth it when he reached the kitchen and the smell of meat made his stomach growl loudly. He hadn't eaten anything for over twenty-four hours. He hadn't even accepted the breakfast the woman made because he still felt as if at any moment he was going to vomit up to the air.

But at that moment… at that moment….

“Ah, you finally woke up.”

“How long did I sleep?”

“About twelve hours.”

Bucky moved his head to look at the clock above the entrance to the kitchen, and yes, it was already eight o'clock at night.

“How are you feeling? How's the wound?”

The man stirred when he heard the woman's voice nearby. She had moved until she reached the kitchen entrance, not a step more, not a step less.

“It doesn't hurt as much as it did before.”

“That's good,” the woman shook her head in a nod and walked back into the kitchen. “Sit down. You need to eat.”

Bucky obeyed silently, because dealing with food he didn't want to grumble. He heard the sound of dishes and silverware before the woman came out with two large plates in her hands. When Bucky saw what she had cooked, his mouth dropped open in surprise.

“I hope you like meat,” the woman commented in a light voice, but at Bucky's silence she began to perspire. “I also cooked a vegan option if you-”

“No,” Bucky cut her off, moving his hands to grab the silverware. “I definitely like meat.”

Bucky didn't notice how the woman's shoulders relaxed as she watched him savor each thing on his plate nor how she kept her gaze fixed on him to make sure he didn't choke on how quickly the food was being stuffed.

And when they were both finished eating, the woman pulled out a bag that had been sitting on a chair and set it on the table, bringing it closer to Bucky, but not too close.

At the man's arched eyebrow, she said, “Medication.”

Bucky's eyes lit up, but he shook his head quickly.

“Why the hell didn't you give this to me before?”

“Because there was none before.”

Bucky frowned. “And where did you get this?”

As she answered, the woman got up to pick up the dishes and carry them to the scrubber. “There's a store about five blocks from here. I had some money so I bought it. It seemed necessary.”

The woman went to grab the silverware Bucky had used, not noticing the man's steady gaze on her, when his metal hand stopped her from taking the silverware away.

She unconsciously cringed at the sudden movement, and sought the man's gaze in alarm. Bucky felt such overwhelming anger make its way inside his chest that he didn't even think twice before letting his body act first.

“You did what?”

The woman sputtered a couple of times, like a fish out of water, before replying, “I just went for meds. So you won't get the wound infected.”

“You left this house alone? Are you out of your mind?”

Bucky raised his voice as he rose suddenly from his chair. His metal hand pulled the woman's wrist and slammed it against her chest in one violent motion. She barely managed to take a deep breath before tears welled up in her eyes.

“Do you even have any idea what I had to go through to get you here? And you're telling me you walked out of this house like it was nothing? Alone?!”

Still cringing at the tone of voice Bucky was using, the woman replied shakily, “But nothing happened. I'm fine…”

“Ah! Right! And how can you be sure that no one followed you here? How can you be sure that you didn't compromise our location?”

“I swear I took a good look when I left and arrived. There was no one… There wasn't… Please just... let me go.”

Bucky pursed his lips and took one more detailed look at the woman's contracted face. He angrily let go of her.

She didn't hesitate for a second to start up the stairs.

“Just take the fucking meds,” she spat from afar, and the next thing Bucky heard was the slamming of a room door.

Staring at the empty space through which the woman had disappeared, Bucky took a few seconds to calm his breathing and emotions. Now he had to make sure they weren't going to be ambushed by surprise while he slept and the two were distracted. He could go stay all the rest of the night in the camera room after placing a motion bomb over every entrance to the house… but he was too tired to do that, and he most likely wouldn't be able to find the necessary items in that house to make those traps as invisible as possible. The only thing he could do was to sit in that armchair with a shotgun in his hands and wait. Hope that it was true that no one had followed her.

Bucky sighed. Fuck, he had to learn to manage his attitude.

His eyes fell on the bag on the table and he felt the tiniest whip of guilt inside his chest. It disappeared as quick as lightning. He picked up the bag to rummage inside to find four boxes and a piece of paper.

He shook the bag on the table and the medications fell free. He grabbed the paper with a frown and the whip of guilt returned as he read what had been written in black ink:

“Stranger,

I'm writing this note to tell you how you should take these medications.

The blue one is to prevent infection, so you should take it every 12 hours.

The red one is for pain. If it hurts too much, take it every 6 hours, and if it doesn't hurt too much, take it every 12 hours.

Yellow is an analgesic, it will most likely put you to sleep. Take it when the pain is unbearable.

And the green box is vitamins. Take one after each meal.

These boxes will last for at least a week. Hopefully by that time the wound will have healed much more.

Take them judiciously.”

Bucky stared at that piece of paper as if it were to blame for all his misfortunes. In spite of everything, the woman did try to care for his wound, even if he did nothing but reject the support she gave him.

The sound of something similar to a bell brought Bucky out of the depths of his head.

It was the satellite phone.

Bucky moved to the kitchen, where the sound was coming from. There, beside the blender, was the phone. He wondered if the woman had used it before.

He picked up the device and held it up to his ear in silence.

“Barnes?”

“Jacob.”

“Fucking shit. Why are you answering until now? I've been calling for a while now.”

So she hadn't used the phone.

“I was asleep.”

“What?”

“Long story.”

The man on the other end of the line barely took a deep breath.

“Are you with her?”

“Yes.”

“And she's okay?“”

“Yes.”

“Ah,” the man exclaimed in relief. “When are you going to bring her in?”

“You know I have to wait at least five days before I leave the house.”

“Argh, yes, yeah, right. And have you two got enough? Food? Clothes? Has she eaten well? Have you seen her take care of herself?”

“She's fine. She's more than capable of fending for herself. Stop worrying.”

“It's easy for you to ask me that when it's not your family member who was kidnapped.”

Bucky twisted his lips. “Why are you calling me and not Alejandro?”

“He left early. Seems there was a problem with the New York headquarters.”

“Ah, the troubled mercenary society.”

“Yeah, you should have seen the look on his face from these brats again,” Jacob let out a short laugh that was not reciprocated by Bucky. “Well,” he throat cleared, “let me know if there's any news.”

“Okay.”

And Bucky hung up.

His gaze lingered on the white kitchen wall before returning his attention to the colorful boxes on the dining room counter.

Fuck he was going to apologize to the woman.

You were stunned when you woke up the next morning and breakfast was ready and there was no sign of the man anywhere near the kitchen. The same thing happened at noon and at night.

You wanted to meet him somewhere to thank him, but at the same time you wanted to never see him again. However, what you thought about most was his wound and that you should've changed his bandage more than six hours ago. But the man was nowhere to be found. He would only show up to cook something and then vanish.

Still, you tried to comfort yourself with the thought that he had taken the gauze and bandages, because you couldn't find the first aid kit anywhere either.

At some point you thought that would be a good thing, not to find him even by accident for the rest of the days you had to spend in that house. You didn't think you would be able to keep up with his temper, clearly driven by emotions he couldn't control. You'd better take that time to take care of yourself and try to process everything that had happened instead of continuing to repress it, as always.

But… every time you tried to think about what had happened, what it had been like to be in that mansion in the middle of the trees, in the middle of nowhere, a suffocating sensation would make its way from your stomach to your chest and throat, and suddenly you felt short of breath. You couldn't spend more than a minute trying to cope with those emotions and memories you kept locked up in your memory because bringing them up made you feel like you were choking on air.

Maybe it was still too soon.

Yes, maybe it was.

It was already close to midnight when you finished organizing the kitchen. It seemed like the meds were kicking in if the man could spend so much time on his feet cooking and then washing dishes.

Remembering the anger that had sailed across his face the night before still gave you chills. You were trying to get that image out of your head.

You were on your way to the yard when you heard a sound down the hall. There were a couple of doors in that house that you had seen around but had no idea what was behind them, and now you were hearing a sound behind one of them.

Thinking of the man, you moved and walked to open the door, encountering stairs descending to the left and a light at the bottom of the stairs. The sound repeated, and with the door open you could also identify music.

You carefully descended and followed the hallway to the left after descending. Whatever it was you were expecting to see, a gymnasium opened up in front of your eyes. And in the middle of it all, the man, punching a large sandbag as if he didn't have a bullet wound in his abdomen.

You didn't know if you had made a noise or he had a sixth sense, but suddenly he moved his head and his eyes met yours. His expression denoted nothing but indifference and he promptly hit the bag again.

“You do know you have a large wound in your abdomen?” was the first thing you said as you stepped through the glass door.

The man didn't even turn around.

“You could open up the wound.”

“I've been here all day and nothing's happened to me.”

“Yeah, lucky you. Watch how you stretch to hit that.”

The man stopped to look at you when you got too close trying to see his injured side. Feeling prey to his intimidating stare, you backed up a few steps.

“Check it out if you want to so badly,” he turned around to face you and raised his arms waiting for you to come closer. You had barely noticed that he wasn't wearing a shirt.

“No. Did you change your bandages?”

“Yes. The wound is fine. I haven't even had to take the pills.”

You frowned at him as he went back to focusing on his sandbag. “Not even the vitamins?”

The man gave you a sidelong glance before striking again.

“Oh, c'mon,” you exclaimed in annoyance. “At least make my act of recklessness worthwhile.”

His gaze traveled to your face again, his expression incredulous and somewhat angry. He shook his head as if he didn't credit your words and went back to focusing on his blows. One after another. One, two, three, four.

“It really doesn't hurt?”

This time he hit the sack so hard with his metal arm that it flew off and crashed against the wall in a thud.

You barely cowered in place.

“Take off the bandages so you're sure.”

Again he turned his body toward you, his posture nonchalant even though his features were hard, like polished marble.

“Stop,” you raised your hands, “I'm sorry.”

The man sighed, lowering his shoulders for the first time at will. The only times you had ever seen him relaxed had been when he slept.

He began to untangle the bandages around the knuckles of his right hand as he approached the sack he had pushed out of its holder.

“What's your name?”

“Huh?”

“Are you deaf?” the man turned with a frown, but quickly turned away taking a deep breath. “What's your name?”

“Uhm… Y/N. Didn't you already know that?”

“Yes. But I'd forgotten.”

“Ah.”

“I'm sorry, Y/N.”

“Why?”

“I'm not used to… whatever it is you do,” he waved his hand vaguely as if trying to clarify a point.

“You mean help you?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Don't you get help very often?”

“I work alone. That's what I mean.”

“Ah, that makes sense.”

“Well, anyway. I'm sorry I yelled at you last night. I shouldn't have lost control.”

“Yeah…”

“And you shouldn't have gone out on your own like that. Don't ever do that again,” his accusing index finger pointed at you.

“Okay. I'm sorry.”

He sighed and turned around again to look at the sandbag on the floor. He had already removed his bandages and his knuckles looked somewhat swollen, the red color standing out against the olive of his skin. If he'd been like that all day, he must have at least some pain in that hand. You frowned watching him there, not moving.

He couldn't bend over.

Maybe he wasn't so sincere in saying it didn't hurt.

“I can lift it,” you spoke before you even thought it through.

The man, whose name you hadn't asked yet, turned to look at you with an ingrown eyebrow. You tried not to think too hard as he swept his eyes over your figure and then looked back down at the sandbag on the floor, probably taller than you and certainly heavier. But you could do it. Besides, you couldn't allow him to make that effort if there was a chance of once again opening up the wound.

When he took a step back and turned to look at you, your palms sweated. Maybe you really couldn't…

No, you could. You definitely could. It was a piece of cake.

Under his watchful eye you approached the sandbag. You looked at it with narrowed eyes, like your nemesis. You moved your arms, wanting to loosen your shoulders a bit before overexerting yourself lifting the thing, and at that moment you heard a short, thinly disguised laugh through a cough.

When you turned to see him, he kept coughing like it was nothing and turned to walk to another side of the gym.

Ha, how funny.

You turned around to focus on your task and, well, it was crunch time. You felt so determined to shut him up that you didn't even think it was the first time you'd seen an emotion other than indifference and anger in him.

You hugged the sack and gathering all your strength you moved back.

Nothing moved.

You tried again.

Nothing.

You snorted as you stood up for the fifth time and saw that the bag had barely moved less than a foot from its initial state. You rounded the object and sat down in front of it. You swung your legs over and planted your feet on the side of the bag and began to push hard.

You could move it. Not much, but you could move it.

You kept doing it until it was under the support where it had been hanging before the man's anger sent it flying. You put your head up and realized that the support was too high for you to push the bag up. It was impossible.

“Leave it,” you heard the man say.

You found him across the gym in front of you with a bottle in his hands. He took a big sip as he watched you in amusement.

Then, without a word, he moved a little to his left and pressed a button on what appeared to be a joystick. There were many other small buttons and levers that you had absolutely no idea what they could be for in a gym.

Then, you heard something over your head. You watched in amazement at what the man's button was doing.

The bastard had let you try to do something he knew was impossible for you to do, knowing that there was a stupid button that could do it for you. From the back of the gym, a sandbag was moving from the ceiling to where you were, guided by the mechanical system above your head. You barely noticed then that, in the shape of a circle, there was a kind of rail along which the brackets hanging from the ceiling moved.

You wanted to choke someone.

When you looked back at the man, he had his lips cocked in a smug smile. Damn him.

“I'm not going to offer to do anything for you again,” you exclaimed as you stood up and proudly decided to walk out of there with what little dignity you had left.

“Oh no, you should keep doing it. It's very entertaining.”

You stuck out your middle finger at him as you walked in the direction of the exit without turning to look at him. You heard more real laughter when you were far enough away.

It was quite late at night when Bucky came out of the gym. It had only been a few hours since you had left and he thought maybe he should follow in your footsteps and go rest, but for some reason he decided to stay a while longer.

On his way out, he saw the sandbag on the floor again and was too surprised by the urge he had to crack a smile. But he restrained himself.

In the house the lights were still on. It was almost midnight. Bucky had prepared dinner with the goal of getting you to eat and go to bed, because it seemed that every time you ate you had to go to sleep afterwards, even if it was just a short nap. But it looked like that wasn't going to be the case this time.

When he came into the living room he found you lying on the big couch in front of the TV on. Some news channel was playing in the background and it looked like you were deep in concentration listening because you didn't move when he approached.

“What are you doing awake still?” Bucky spoke with a frown before he could repent. “It's almost-”

You were asleep.

Bucky stopped at the side of the large piece of furniture when he saw you with your eyes closed and hugging one of the cushions, with half a sheet over your legs. Of course, it was going to be weird that you were still awake.

Bucky had always seen you walking, alert, moving around, always looking for something to occupy you. Your moments of rest were always away from him. However, looking to the front where the glass table was, Bucky quickly noticed the rag on the table and a small bucket on the floor.

So even all tired out you had been looking for something to do.

Bucky sighed shaking his head.

He took the rag resting on the neatest glass he had ever seen, along with the bucket filled with soapy water, and carried them to the laundry room where he put everything back in its place.

When you returned, you had shifted on the couch and looked like you wanted to find a position to stretch out because your body was more tilted than before.

Bucky turned off the TV which had low sound and stood in front of you on the couch.

He couldn't carry you to the bed without risking too much force that would compromise his injury and seeing how worried you had been about that earlier, he preferred to avoid straining too much. For some reason, he had the feeling that you would prefer to sleep on the couch if it would keep the wound in his abdomen from opening up.

So, he opted for the safest option. He brought down some pillows from the master bedroom along with another larger, thicker sheet. He planted himself in front of you thinking about the best way to accommodate you so you wouldn't wake up sore, although the cushions on that piece of furniture weren't as hard as the ones in the dining room.

Finally he opted to follow the direction your own body was taking. He nestled a pillow over the armrest of the couch, punching it and molding it until it looked comfortable enough. Then he ran his left hand carefully down your neck and his right hand circled your shoulders until it reached your back. He moved you slightly forward keeping you stable and then began to let your body slowly fall onto the couch.

When you were lying flat, he gently pulled his left hand out and stood up. Quietly and very carefully, he removed the small cushion you were hugging, and before you could make any grimace, he rolled a larger pillow between your arms. Bucky watched you sigh in contentment.

Finally, he pulled back the small, thin blanket between your legs and arranged the large sheet he had brought that almost doubled as a bedspread. It would probably get you warm in a few seconds, but that was good, because the nights were cold in that house.

Finished with his task, Bucky nodded to himself.

It was only after he finished that he really realized what he had done. He frowned, watching your placid face as you rested comfortably.

Why had he done that, without even a second thought?

Bucky suddenly felt the need to run away. Now he wanted to undo all that because tomorrow you would wake up and surely ask questions he wouldn't know how to answer. That he wouldn't want to answer. Maybe he could play dumb and say that's how he'd found you when he'd left the gym. Surely you'd been so drunk on sleep that you hadn't even realized what you'd done.

Maybe that had happened to Bucky. Maybe he'd been so drunk on exhaustion that he hadn't realized what he was doing until he'd done it. Yes, surely.

Inside his chest he again recognized the feeling of guilt he'd had when he saw the paper you'd given him with the pills, and that only increased as he remembered he hadn't taken a single one.

It was guilt that made him move like that.

Yes, that was probably it.

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sebstan2020 · 5 days

Text

The King

Chapter 6

Violet is a bad girl at school, not giving a care about her grades that are falling and getting in trouble every week. She smokes, drinks and she's only sixteen. Her mother has had enough of her and doesn't know what to do with her. But when she's forced to go to her mother's employee dinner for the United States Army, she meets the mysterious and handsome General James Barnes.

She is infatuated with him and can't seem to stay away. The closer she gets to him, the more she craves him and soon she finds herself entering a world of darkness, pain and pleasure.

“So what exactly did he say?” Violet demanded of her mother as they drove back home that evening. She was buzzing, erratic, and excited, like a new golden Labrador puppy being taken to its first home. She couldn’t sit still in her seat, and the questions started immediately as they got in the car. Her mother laughed softly to herself, a broad smile on her face. She, too, was in complete shock. She hadn’t expected the general of the US Army to be waiting outside her office for her, and she admitted she was a little flustered to be talking to him.

But he was ever so kind and assured her she wasn’t in any trouble for anything. It was the first thing many people thought of when the general stood directly in front of them—that they had done something to warrant his attention and punishment. It was quite far from the reason he was wanting to speak to her. He pulled her aside and quietly discussed his concern for her daughter. Her mother had sighed heavily and admitted she was exhausted from having to discipline a girl who had no respect for her own mother. Everything had come out in a rant. The skipping lessons, the smoking, drinking, and disrespect. The failing of her grades had been the topic of discussion, and James has simply offered to help tutor Violet until she is at a good enough level to study and take her exams.

Her mother was in shock, stammering over her words as she didn’t want to make a fuss of them. He was the general of the US Army; he had more important things to be doing than tutoring her reckless daughter. He laughed at that, assuring her that he had plenty of time to fit it in and admitting he could do with a break from army discussions. Besides, because he was the highest-ranking member, he could do whatever he wanted.

And when her mother had faced Violet and told her point blank what was going to happen, Violet exploded inside, jumping and screaming at the top of her lungs while she stood, held a straight face, and nodded silently. James had given her a side-eye look, a smirk on his lips, and a wink to his eye, and Violet felt that tingle. That addicting tingle she craved now was more than a smoke.

Which is why she was currently interrogating her mother, wanting to know every detail about her tutor sessions with the man she had been pursing over the last couple of days. How long was she going to be with him? What would he tutor her on? Where would he tutor her? She needed to know everything.

“He said he was happy to help out with some tutoring to help your grades. He said you mentioned it to him, which, by the way, you didn't tell me you had already met,” she questioned Violet.

“Oh well, I met him yesterday; I just forgot to mention it. Now back to the tutoring. Where is he going to tutor me, and for how long and how many nights?“ her mother asked her before any more questions could flood out.

“He didn’t say much, but he’s going to call me and let me know. I think this will be really good for you, Violet. It’s so nice of the general to spend his time with you. We should get him something to say thank you,” her mother said, but Violet wasn’t listening. All she could think about was her and James and that smile of his and his cockiness and authority. Her body was tingling all over, and she felt like she was about to explode. Her mother's voice was just a buzz in the background as they drove back home, and just as her mother parked up, Violet stormed out and legged it to her room, ignoring her mother's call to her. She slammed her bedroom door and threw herself on her bed, squealing with delight and kicking her legs at the excitement brewing inside her.

Her dreams and fantasies were coming true. What had she done to deserve this goodness? Perhaps it was because she ignored the craving for a cigerette the other night that had earned her this reward. And if that was what earned her the pleasure of being with James, she’d very much quit right now.

That night, Violet climbed into bed much earlier than normal. She wanted a quiet bedroom and a clear mind so she could focus on her thoughts about James. Anyone watching or knowing this would assume she was some sort of pyscho, an obsessor who was stalking the general of the United States Army. However, she was just a girl, a girl finding and discovering what it’s like to like someone, to want someone as much as she wanted James, to feel that spark and tingle everywhere she was near him. Was it his authority that she craved or his tender nature? Perhaps it was both, and it most likely was both, but now she was desperate for him, like an addict to their drug.

Violet closed her eyes and slowly drifted off into a deep fantasy. James was standing there, tall, handsome, and well presented, with his medals hanging off his uniform, perfect polished shoes, and that rich cologne that was like an intoxicating sedative drug that could make her obey and comply with any wish of his. His long, slender fingers reached up to cup her face and stroke her cheek, beautiful, soft, and tender. She was under his spell, and there was nothing she could do but obey.

As he moved closer, she took a quick breath in and gasped, staring up at him as he towered over her, his dark eyes looming with a slight softness to them, and he began to lean down, his hand creeping under her chin to tilt her head up at his silent command. He was leaning closer, and this was it. She was finally going to be able to taste him. His lips puckered, and he was inches away.

But the blaring sound of her alarm woke her out of her fantasy, out of her heaven, and she woke to bright sunlight beaming on her face. She groaned, slamming her hand on her phone before hiding under the covers. That was her only chance; she never gets to sleep now with the bright sunlight shining in her room. Oh, how she wished she hadn’t put her alarm on last night. She was devastated. She wanted to feel those soft lips on hers. Why is it that when you get to the good part, it falls away, slips out of your hand, and never comes back? But then a thought crossed her mind, and she grinned.

Violet stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair one last time before chucking the hairbrush to the side and checking herself over. She wanted to look amazing for James. Which is why she spent the last two hours getting ready, curling her hair into soft waves, and washing the grease and grime out of her roots. She had sat and done her makeup for at least an hour, perfecting every little part of it, and lastly, applying some kissable lips that she hoped would tempt him slightly.

But she was sixteen—nearly seventeen—and he was probably in his thirties. She hadn’t asked yet, but she could tell he was much older, which only added to the excitement of everything. With her hair and makeup done, she spritzed herself with perfume and ran down the stairs in no time, too excited to contain it. As she bounced into the living room, her mother looked at her with confusion. She hadn’t seen her daughter this happy since... well, she couldn’t remember. For the past three years, there have been mood swings, constant battles, arguments, and everything else that comes with raising a teenager.

Her mother wasn’t sure whether to believe it or not. After so many years of misery, she suddenly became ecstatic, but something just didn’t seem right. But she wasn’t complaining, and she wasn’t going to ask a question. She’d much rather have this Violet than the miserable, sassy Violet she had to deal with for the past three years.

“Come on, mom, we need to go or we will be late,” she urged, and her mother grabbed her jacket and keys, and they headed to the car. Violet was buzzing inside. Her mother had spoken to James this morning and informed her she could drop Violet off after work and he would take her home. He was taking the time out of work hours to tutor her so it wouldn't interfere with his duties, and Violet certainly wasn’t complaining about it.

When her mother told her she had to hold in the scream she wanted to answer with, When her mother had left, she threw herself into the bed and screamed in delight into the pillow, throwing her legs on her bed like an excited child. Just her and James together. He was talking, and she was listening, looking, and learning. She was going to listen to every word he had to say, every piece of advice, and every word of wisdom. He was her teacher and she was his student, and if passing her exams and getting good grades would please him, then she’d do her darnest to pass.

Violet was like an excited child on their birthday, unable to contain the grin and excitement in her as her mother drove her to the base. It seemed a little strange that the general of the US army was going to be tutoring her on their army base, but he was the general, and he could do anything he wanted. He had authority over everyone, and if he decided he wanted to blow the whole place up, he could do so. If he decided to fire the entire staff, then he could do so. As they pulled up to the base, it was becoming more real, and Violet felt her stomach tighten with nerves this time. It was dark except for the food lights lighting the entryway and path down to the secure car park where her mother dropped Violet off.

“I’ll be back to pick you up in an hour and a half, and please be good, Violet; the general is taking time out of his busy schedule for you,” her mother warned. Oh, mother, you have nothing to worry about.

"Yes, mom,” Violet replied with a sass to her tone before scurrying off to the office base. James was waiting for her at the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets as he looked out for her. Since everywhere needed clearance and an ID badge, she wouldn’t get anywhere without one, so James had to be on the lookout for her. As she saw him up ahead, she sucked in a breath and plastered on a smile as she reached him. The second she was close enough to him, she could smell the beautiful cologne he wore. He was dressed in his usual uniform of dark green with the fancy meddles, his hair all shiny and long, tucked behind his ears, and a few strands loose around his head.

"Hi!” she grinned, unable to hold back her excitement.

“Good evening, Violet,” he smiled back with his polite greeting. His formality was still so sexy, and Violet stepped up the steps to stand as close as she could to James. She had to crane her neck backwards to look up at him as he towered over her.

“I trust your mother explained everything to you,” he said as he guided her into the base. It was quiet, and Violet suspected it was just the two of them. As they walked down the hall, with Violet clutching her bag tightly, she nodded quickly, grinning up at James.

"Yes, she did. Thank you again for this. It’s very kind of you to take your time out of your busy schedule to tutor me, Mr. Barnes.” Ordinarily, Violet would have threw an insult to her teachers, even going so far as to call them by their first names in front of them whenever they pissed her off. But not James. She had specifically called him that for both respect and because it sounded so hot coming off her lips. She would never utter those words to her other teachers, and a faint smirk appeared on his lips.

“It’s my pleasure. When you said you weren't doing so well, I wanted to help in any way I could. You're a good girl, Violet, and you can get the grades you want. I think just a bit of extra help is what you need,” he said down to her, and she nodded.

"Yes, sir,” she said, not arguing with him. And the fact that he called her a good girl made that spicy tingle run all the way up her body, and she wanted to moan. She had never been called a good girl before, and she desperately wanted to be called it again.

James led her to a small conference room on one of the upper floors, flicking on the lights and pulling out a chair for her to sit in. Violet quickly set her books out on the table and sat early in one of the chairs as James sat in the chair beside her, all long legs and arms, sitting comfortably.

"So what are you struggling with most? We can tackle one subject at a time. Depending on my schedule, I said to your mother that I’m happy to spend every night tutoring you until you feel comfortable, as long as I don’t have anything important to do. Being the general means important meetings here and there, so I apologise if I have to cancel,” he explained.

"Oh, it’s no bother, sir; I’m so grateful as it is for you helping me. I’m free all the time, so whenever it's best for you,” she smiled. She’d do anything on his terms.

“Good, now why don’t we start with math?” He reached over with a long arm and pulled her math textbook to him to begin flicking through. James was the perfect teacher. Taking his time to explain things to Violet in ways that made so much more sense than any of her teachers could have explained. She listened and nodded at his every word and command, and when he ordered her to do some equations, she sat and did them, looking for his approval on her answers and grinning as she got them right. He had scooted ever so slightly closer to her, his arm brushing hers, and Violet had to physically hold back the moan inside.

This was going to be harder than she thought. With James being all sexy and dominating, how was she going to concentrate? The way his fingers flicked over pages so elegantly, the paper snapping against the other pages, and his thumb grazing the corner. She couldn’t stop staring at his hands, and she herself had scooted closer to him, just to smell him even more and to get another touch out of him.

“How is this, sir?” she asked as she showed him her work. This Sir business had been a drastic change over night, and now she felt she couldn’t go back. The word just rolled off her tongue, and James seemed to enjoy it every time, slightly smirking as she spoke it so softly.

“Good, I think you’re finally getting it. Math has always been a tricky one, but sometimes you just need a different way of figuring it out,” he smiled, and she nodded.

“Thank you; none of my teachers would have ever taught me this method, and if you weren’t tutoring me, I would never get it,” she admitted, and she wasn’t lying. It was true that if she had carried on learning from her teachers, she would never pass, although that may have something to do with skipping class.

“There was something else I wanted to talk to you about, Violet. Your mother told me you’ve been skipping class and heading home early from school. I don’t want to sound like your mother, but you shouldn’t be skipping class. If you didn't, then your grades might not be failing,” he said, raising a brow at her, and she sighed. Fuck, for some reasons, she just couldn’t lie or act defensively. If this were her mother speaking to her, she would have thrown a fit at her, screamed, and shouted. But not James; no way could she speak to him like that.

“I know you're right; it’s just that I hate school; I never have done it and probably never will. All my teachers are dicks, and I just hate being in that environment, which is why I skip,” she shrugged, throwing her pen on the table in a huff.

“Look, growing up, everyone has skipped a lesson or two, even me. But skipping every lesson only means something negative. Detention, suspension, and failing grades. If you want to pass your exams, then you need to be in every lesson,” he advised, and Violet sighed heavily.

"Well, I fucking hate school, so that probably won’t happen,” she shrugged, and James raised his head slightly, looking down on her with hooded eyes.

“Why do you hate school?” He asked, and she shrugged again.

“I don’t know, I just do,” she murmured. She hated talking about feelings, why she hated school, and why she was the way she was.

“Violet, you know we are only trying to help you. You have such a smart mind and are so talented that I would hate to see it thrown away because you got into something you shouldn’t have. It may not look like it now, but I care about you.” This caught her attention right away, and she shot her head up, staring straight at him. Those words hit her like a thousand bullets, her heart squeezing and her stomach flipping like on a roller coaster.

“You do?” She asked with surprise, and he nodded with a smile.

“Of course, if I didn't, I wouldn’t be here tutoring you... Now come on, I want you to finish this page.” He tapped her book with a single finger, and she nodded, but not before a grin appeared on her lips.

That hour and a half went by too quickly, and her mother was going to be here soon. Violet stood as she packed her bag away, and James helped tidy up. “Thank you again, sir, for today; I really appreciate it,” she smiled, and James sauntered over, standing tall above her.

“Give me your cigarettes,” he ordered with a tone that wasn’t one to question. Violet looked up at him and giggled, thinking he was joking.

“Good one,” she said, but he wasn’t playing.

“I wasn’t joking,” he said seriously, and Violet looked up with wide eyes, blinking in confusion.

"Wait, are you being serious?” She said, and he nodded, holding out his hand.

“Yes, give me your cigarettes. I’m your tutor now, which means you’re my responsibility, and it’s my responsibility to make sure you don’t get in trouble for anything. You're too young to be smoking, and it stops now.” His tone had completely changed, and Violet was taken back.

“You can’t tell me what to do just because you're my tutor. I paid for these cigarettes myself,” she argued back with Sass.

“I don’t care; hand them to me now,” he ordered one last time before Violet groaned heavily and dug deep in her bag to get them. She slapped them in his palm, to which he placed them in his back pocket.

“Good girl, I told you I wouldn’t have you smoking on this property.”.

“I wasn’t going to smoke them here, just at school or at home,” she shrugged, and he tutted her.

“Even worse”.

“You know I can just get more,” she told him, and he smirked.

“I know, but not for long. Come on, your mother will be here soon,” he said as he brushed past her, and Violet looked at him confused. Huh, what did he mean by that?

Chapter 7

Hey I hope you like this chapter, let me know what you think in the comments

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