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outerbankies · 3 years

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new light part 6: far from here — rafe cameron

new light series masterlist

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

summary: rafe confronts you and ward about midsummers; one week before you both leave for college isn’t the best time for a major reckoning in your relationship.

warnings: drinking, swearing, lil bit of suggestive content if u squint (still 18+ pls)

a/n: hi there new light besties! thanks for reading. do you like my fancy new masterlist? this is up later than i thought, because i wanted to spend the weekend celebrating my bday (which is today, actually! so here’s my gift to you all!), but that was a complete failure, because i kept getting ideas for future parts and writing them down in my notes app all weekend—anyway… i hope you stuck around :) there’s some rafe pov in this (and there will be more in future parts) so i hope that isn’t cheating! because i think it’s pretty important. lmk what you think! 😌

oh, we can go far from here

You’d sworn Topper and Kelce to secrecy the night of Midsummers, cornering the two drunken idiots in the bathroom at Griffin’s party after your heart-to-heart with Rafe. They’d both given you easy nods, mostly concerned with wanting to get out of there and take more shots as soon as they could. You considered the matter done and dusted—you weren’t going to tell Rafe, you trusted your friends, and you highly doubted Ward would say anything.

But how could you forget that the only other person who knew about your talk with Ward was downstairs, right now? And you had left him with your boyfriend, unsupervised.

Thinking back to John B giving you encouragement from across the Island Club lawn, no idea his girlfriend’s father had no plans of letting her keep him around—the memory makes you sick to your stomach. But that didn’t mean you weren’t going to come down on him later for running his mouth.

You decide not to look at Rafe, hoping the way your movements faltered as you traced a finger over the spine of all of his records didn’t show. You clear your throat. “What about Midsummers?” Maybe if you play it cool, you can make it through this unscathed. Maybe John B didn’t talk about your talk with Ward at all.

Rafe clears his throat. “He asked me if you ‘passed the Ward test.’ Any idea what that’s about?”

Fuck.

“Yeah, we talked a little during pictures after I met Rose and your dad,” you say, sliding one of the records off of the shelf, pretending to look at the tracklist, scanning the song titles over and over again without comprehending a single one of them.

“No,” Rafe says, and you hear him set his beer can onto his nightstand. “John B said he saw you at the bar. After pictures, during the dance. And you were with my father.”

He sounds steady and sure, giving a time and location so precise that you can’t play dumb anymore. But when you turn to look at him, Rafe looks anxious. His eyes are narrowed, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. You take pity on him, turning to slide the record back into its spot and finally face him head on.

“Rafe…”

He puts his hands up, effectively cutting you off. Not like you knew what you were going to say anyways. “I’m going to ask you this one time. Is that why you were so upset when I let you leave that night?”

“Stop,” you say, crossing the room to him. Your hands reach out and grab him at the waist instinctively. “You didn’t let me do anything, okay? I told you to stay.”

His face drops—that’s all the confirmation he needs, and he’s backing out of your hold immediately.

“God dammit, Y/n/n. I fucking knew you weren’t okay.”

“It really wasn’t—I was fine.”

“No, you weren’t,” he says firmly. “Why couldn’t you tell me that in the pool at Griffin’s? I asked you.”

Rafe’s only one step out of your reach, but you feel like he’s miles away. Your hands itch at your sides, the rejection of your touch a few seconds ago only adding to the growing pit in your stomach. “We already got into it earlier and I just… didn’t wanna completely ruin your night.”

“No, stop that,” he pleads—demands, hands settling on his hips. “If your night was ruined, so was mine.”

You just shrug lamely, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“That’s not even the point right now. What did he say to you?” He assesses your body language, takes a deep breath, and his next words are coming out softer. “I’ve been in the dark for a month now, sweetheart. You have to let me in.”

You nod reluctantly, taking a moment to walk across the room to take a seat on the bench under his window that faces the backyard.

“Remember at Griffin’s, when I told you your dad didn’t want us to be together?”

Rafe nods, jaw clenched tightly from where you can make him out in your peripheral vision.

“Well, I told you that because your dad told me that he thinks I’m just going to distract you from your future,” you say, voice quiet. Before continuing, you look over at your boyfriend, who’s looking down at his shoes. You can read his posture as always, and his rigid stance is not looking promising. But you’re already found out, so you might as well keep going. “He just said that you need to focus, so it’s not the right time for us. And that I shouldn’t be tying myself down to a commitment like this right now. Or… even a year from now.”

Rafe slowly settles down on the edge of his bed, hand coming to stroke his chin while he thinks. The silence is a bit unsettling, the only sound in the room the mixture of laughter and music coming from downstairs. You wish you had never came up here.

When Rafe finally speaks, he doesn’t sound like he was able to work anything out.

“Why would he—no, that’s bullshit,” he scoffs. “What does he know?”

That you are totally invested in me, only know how to think with your heart, and you’re determined to make this work no matter what it takes. All things that, before your talk with Ward, made your heart flutter—because cruel as he was, his father was right. He did know his son. Everything was true, you had never doubted Rafe’s commitment to you. But now it meant something completely different. You still didn’t doubt Rafe’s commitment, but you wondered if it wasn’t that simple anymore—as simple as the two of you falling for each other and then figuring out the rest.

“You’re not saying anything,” Rafe says in a hushed tone from his spot on the bed.

“Rafe, that’s your father. Not to mention your boss.”

“No,” he shuts you down. “Don’t do that. You can’t listen to him.”

“Don’t you think we have to?”

“No, I don’t,” he practically spits. “I never fucking do.”

You can’t help yourself. The doubt you’d been trying to push down all month, ever since Ward approached you and then Rafe let you leave, it was back with a vengeance, clawing its way back from the deep recesses of your mind. “But what if—”

His head shoots up from where it’d been hanging between his shoulders. “What if what?”

“I’m just—I’m scared, Rafe.”

“Of what? Of him?”

“Of him being right.”

“What? Sweetheart—“

But now you can’t stop, all of your worst fears spilling from your lips before you can even decide if you want them to. “Have you thought this through? Like how long we’re going to have to spend apart?”

“Of course I have, Y/n/n,” he says, finally standing again, his steps across the room to you hasty and rushed. “I knew exactly where you went to college when I asked you out.”

“Yeah, but that’s—it’s not like you knew we’d make it this far?” you ask, looking up at him as he approaches you. He sits down gingerly, leaving what he must imagine to be a comfortable distance between the two of you, when all you want to do is let him hold you. Or let you hold him, fuck. You’d never seen him like this. You guys hadn’t been this timid around each other in a while.

“No,” Rafe agrees. “But I didn’t rule anything out.”

“Things are different now, babes,” you say, surprised when it comes out sounding choked up.

“Different how? We were talking about visiting each other like, ten minutes ago.”

“You—how can you just be so sure, Rafe? About everything?” Your voice cracks.

He moves closer to you then, placing a tentative hand on your knee. His touch causes the first tear to fall, all of the anxiety you’d been bottling up in the last month finally coming to the surface as he gathers you in his arms.

“Because it’s you, Y/l/n. The girl I’ve been in—the girl I’ve been chasing for years. I’m not giving that up because my dad doesn’t think I can handle it,” he says. His thumb wipes under one of your eyes. “Please don’t cry. Not because of him. I can’t believe he cornered you like that. Is that all he said?”

You nod.

“For real this time?” he asks pointedly, hand on your jaw so you have to look at him.

“Yes, Rafe.” You hadn’t told anyone about how much Ward really dug into his son, and you didn’t see the need to pass on that information to him right now. You hate lying to him, but you’re not sure how divulging that would help either of you right now.

He was so mean to me, you want to say. And to you. How do you survive that? How are you raised by someone like that and still end up being able to love like you do?

You want to bang your fists against his chest like a child as he comforts you, because it isn’t fair.

“You have to tell me shit like this though, baby. I don’t want you trying to handle that on your own. You never come by the house anymore, you wanted to visit me at the office so bad and now you avoid it like the plague. You didn’t…” he trails off, pushing you back out of his hold so he can search your eyes. “That’s why you didn’t come to dinner with us on the mainland last week, isn’t it? And why you won’t talk about post grad, or even—”

He’s completely dropped his touch from you now, standing up to pace his room. “Rafe, you need to—”

“You hid this from me for a month, Y/n/n. You don’t get to tell me what I need to do anymore.”

Your mouth snaps shut, getting whiplash from how quickly the conversation had turned. Rafe hardly talked about his father around you if he could help it, and you were beginning to see why.

“You know he kept asking me, too,” he rambles. “If you were coming to dinner with us. Acted so bummed when you said no. When the whole time he must’ve been so smug he scared you off—I swear to god—”

You stand, placing yourself in his immediate path and pressing your hands into his chest, your right palm covering his heart that’s hammering in his chest.

When Rafe doesn’t move away from your touch you wrap your arms back around his waist, squeezing him as tight as you can. It takes him a second to reciprocate, but he’s heaving a sigh and resting a hand on the back of your head soon enough. He practically sags in your hold, his other arm coming to wrap around your shoulders.

“He didn’t scare me off, Rafe. I’m right here.”

“But you didn’t tell me, Y/n/n,” he whispers, sounding hurt. “Fucking John B knew and I didn’t. Sarah probably knew, too. Anyone else?”

“No.”

“Y/n.”

“Fuck,” you say, head buried in his chest. “Fine, I told Topper and Kelce after, but that’s it.”

Rafe just drops his arms from around you and nods, and you can see the muscles in his jaw twitching when you look up at him. “So everyone knew but me.”

“Rafe—”

Your phone vibrates then, a text from Dylan coming through as you swipe through your phone.

Can we leave

Rafe took the opportunity to extract himself from your hold, settling back down onto the window seat.

“Um, Dylan’s asking to go.”

“Okay.”

“I’m gonna…” you start. “I should probably head down there.”

“Yeah, probably a good idea,” Rafe says, not looking up from where he’s hunched over, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together.

“I’m sorry, Rafe. I didn’t—” you start, choking up again. “I didn’t want this to happen. I should’ve told you.”

“Stop, hey,” he says, tugging you to stand in between his legs. “C’mere.”

You lean back into him immediately, arms around his shoulders and face tucked into his neck.

“I’m not mad at you,” he says. “I just need—I have to figure this out. Alright? Text me when you get home safe, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“We’re moving Dylan into his dorm tomorrow, so maybe the next day?”

Rafe nods, looking like his thoughts are miles away from this room, and from you. “The next day.”

“Okay. I—okay.” You kiss him on the forehead, heart sinking when his lips don’t quirk up the way they usually do.

—

Rafe thought he could wait to confront his dad, give him a minute to settle after getting back from his trip. But he’d spent the last 24 hours stewing in his anger, tossing and turning all night thinking about what he was going to say, how he’d say it—if he should say anything at all. He couldn’t work out in his head why Ward would say that to you, but he knew he couldn’t let it go. He didn’t fear his dad when it came to you. So Rafe thought he’d approach it rationally and try to have an honest conversation.

But as soon as he hears Wheezie and Rose head upstairs, he’s practically flying down the stairs.

“What the hell did you say to my girlfriend?”

“Start over. And watch your tone,” Ward warns, not looking up from his computer screen as Rafe storms into his office.

Rafe can’t help it, he straightens up instinctively.

“Y/n told me dad. She told me everything you said to her at Midsummers.”

“Took her long enough,” Ward sighs, settling back into his chair and crossing his legs. “Was wondering when we’d have this talk. Not surprised she kept it from you for so long, however.”

“Don’t—you don’t even know her.”

“I know plenty.” Ward smirks, standing up and strolling over to his bar cart. “Have a drink with your dad?”

“I’m fine.”

The amused glint in Ward’s eye bothers Rafe to no end. “Suit yourself.”

Silence befalls the two of them as Ward prepares a drink, Rafe having to actively remind himself to not explode every five seconds.

“Let me ask you something, Rafe. Are you serious about this girl?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not a summer fling?”

“Absolutely not,” Rafe replies.

“Thought so,” Ward nods in recognition, coming around his desk to stand closer to his son, leaning up against the study oak furniture. “Okay. Next question.”

Rafe just gives him a blank stare.

“Do you… honestly believe that you can keep up with a girl like that?”

That throws him off a little. “What?”

“Rafe, I worked hard to give you a great life and I’m proud of how I’ve been able to do that,” Ward says, gesturing around his office. Rafe has to resist rolling his eyes. “But what I’ve been able to provide for you doesn’t even scratch the surface of the kind of family your girlfriend comes from. That kind of money and power—”

“Jesus, Dad, did you run a fucking profile on her?”

“I did what I had to do to for you Rafe. Everything I’ve ever done in life was for you and your sisters. And I didn’t work this hard for you to run off with the Y/l/n girl—”

“Wait, wait,” Rafe interrupts, realization setting in. “What is this even about?”

“Rafe—”

“You... don’t think we’re good enough? I thought… I thought you and Rose liked the Y/l/ns.”

Ward laughs bitterly, waving a hand in dismissal. “Please, I’m very comfortable in our position, Rafe. And I’m definitely not above pretending to play nice when it’s advantageous for island politics. But Rafe, a girl like Y/n is above even your caliber. And I guarantee she knows it.”

Rafe takes pause for a second, because he’d truly never thought of it this way. In all the ways that Rafe thought you were high above him, money was never a place he considered himself inferior. Sure, your parents were loaded. But all of his friends’ were. The Camerons had made their way up to the top before Rafe could really gain a sense of consciousness for that kind of thing, so it was never a sore point for him. He knew the difference between old money and new money, could see the difference in how he was raised versus his friends. Established as they were, your family wasn’t nearly as intense as his; confident in their status in a way that didn’t require the constant flaunting. Rafe could never relate, and he thinks back to Midsummers when you were all about to enter together. He thought you were just nervous to debut as a couple, but what if you were judging him?

“We don’t care about that stuff, Dad. Her family isn’t like that.”

“You’re not that naive, Rafe. Every family in Figure 8 is like that.”

“Not her’s.”

“No?” Ward challenges, a glint in his eye. “Why do you think it took her this long to notice you? You guys have known each other since you were kids, haven’t you? Since you were on a scholarship at the elementary school her grandparents’ donated an entire wing to. But she didn’t even notice you until I earned our seat at the table.”

“You—you have it so wrong, Dad, she was intimidated to meet you—”

“Because I worked my ass off to make our name garner respect from everyone on this island. Including the fucking Y/l/ns, Rafe,” Ward says. Rafe falls silent at his interruption, Ward taking a small step closer to him. “And tell me, son. What do her parents think of you?”

His mind briefly flashes back to your little tiff at Griffin’s, how you’d been a little shocked and definitely frustrated that Ward hadn’t seemed to like you, but your parents loved Rafe despite his reputation.

“They—”

He can’t even work through that, because his dad is talking over him, moving onto his next point. “She doesn’t have to work hard like you do, Rafe. Not like I’ve had to my entire life.”

“Dad, don’t—she works hard, a-and she’s earning a degree just like me.”

“What does she do for work, Rafe?”

Rafe sighs, hand coming to tug at the hem of his shirt nervously. “She’s a nanny.”

Ward laughs. “Okay, so she’s masquerading as the help until graduation. Let me guess, she’s studying something like fashion? Art?”

“Creative writing.”

“Equally as useless. Because she doesn’t need it to be, Rafe,” Ward says. “She’s going to have you following her around in California like a little lap dog in a fucking purse. She’ll beg you to quit development so you can take a board seat at her grandfather’s foundation instead. And then what, you’re going to leave us? Leave your family that made you?”

“Dad, what? I’m not going anywhere—you’re crazy. You’re literally crazy.”

“You watch how you fucking talk to me,” Ward says, backing his son up a few steps with a finger pointed in his face. “I am your father.”

“And she’s my girlfriend. I love her.”

Ward’s smugness is back. “Does she love you, Rafe?”

Rafe inhales a shaky breathe. He knew he loved you, had known it for a little while at this point. But he’d never said it to you, nor you to him. At least not yet.

“I love you. Rose and your sisters, we all love you.”

He takes a seat in one of the chairs facing this father’s desk, resting his head in his hands. “I thought… I always thought you’d want me to be with someone like her. Sarah’s still dating Routledge, for Christ’s sake, Dad. I thought you’d be proud I was punching above my weight—”

“Is that why you went out with her?”

“Of course not, dad. What the fuck?” Rafe says, looking back up at him. Ward just shrugs. “She said you told her she was a great girl, just not the right time, and you didn’t want me distracted—”

“Obviously I lied to her, Rafe. I’m not a monster, trying to make some girl cry at Midsummers. Not Y/n Y/l/n, nonetheless. How would that look for me? For you? I was protecting you.”

Rafe scoffs. “Thanks for that, Dad.”

“Don’t you find it odd she didn’t tell you until now? That she hid it from you for this long?”

“Stop.”

“Why would she do that, Rafe?”

“Because you scared the shit out of her for no good reason other than the fact that you think I’m not good enough for her. Which I know I am.”

“Or maybe it’s because I was right. And she knew it,” Ward finishes, slamming his glass down on the desk, effectively silencing his son. When Rafe doesn’t speak, he continues. “I’m going to tell you the same thing I told her. You’re both adults, so I’m not telling you to stay away from each other. But you need to use your fucking head, Rafe. You work so hard, don’t throw it away on that snooty little—”

Rafe hears the glass shatter before he even feels himself pick it up, before he even makes the choice to stand up and grab it, then throw it at the wall behind his father’s head. A million pieces scatter across the floor, some falling onto the neighboring shelves. He narrowly misses a framed local business award. Ward just smirks, taking a step back from his oldest child.

“Did I strike a nerve, son?”

Rafe is practically shaking in anger at his dad’s words about you, nudging past him roughly to leave the office—the house—before he does something he really regrets. But Ward stops him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Clean this up. Right now.”

—

Wilbur’s bark startles the life out of you at 2 a.m. You’re still awake, trying in vain to distract yourself from the fact that it’d been over a day and you still hadn’t really talked to Rafe. You’d let your phone die and signed out of iMessage and Facetime on your laptop, because not getting any notifications from him was driving you absolutely crazy, even though you both agreed to talk to the day after you got back.

You’d spent the entire day an emotional wreck, between Dylan moving out and your first fight (was it a fight?) with Rafe. He hadn’t seemed okay at all when you left, and even though he said he wasn’t mad at you, the waiting was driving you crazy. You had half a mind to just go see him, or even pick up the phone and call him, see if he’d been posting on social media—anything.

You pause the show you’ve been half-watching, sitting up straight in your bed when Wilbur runs to your window. You hear rapid knocking, and you know who it is before you really even know.

You rush to flick on the light that illuminates the roof outside your window, sighing in relief as you unlock it. Your boyfriend is tumbling in shortly after you push it open, cramming his tall body through the gap.

“What the fuck?” Rafe rushes, wrapping you up in his arms instantly, the force of him combined with Wilbur jumping on you both enough to knock you back a few steps. “Are you okay? I was worried sick.”

Your hands fly to his back, gripping his shirt in your hands at his frantic tone. “Rafe, m’fine, I—”

“I texted you. Called you ten times, fuck, Y/n/n,” he says.

“What? Um, my phone died and I… I didn’t think you’d wanna talk to me today. M’sorry.” You fight back your tears, just enjoying letting him hold you. It’d never felt like this before. “Thought you were mad.”

“No, I’m not. Not at you. I thought you were upset but—I just got worried,” he says, pulling back to look over your face. “I‘ve been trying you for hours, Y/l/n.”

You flush down to your neck, no idea you’d make him so worried. You turned off your devices for your own sanity, looking at your text thread was honestly starting to wear on you as the day dragged on. After you said bye to your little brother and the excitement of the day was over, nothing could distract you from your texts with Rafe that hadn’t updated since that morning. He’d still told you to have a safe trip, leaving it at that. “It was driving me crazy—the waiting—so I just, like, unplugged.”

“Warn a guy next time, okay?” he asks, kissing your forehead.

“Okay,” you promise.

“Good,” he nods, stepping back from you a bit awkwardly then. All of the rush of seeing him again and Rafe making sure you were okay had settled, leaving the two of you to stand there silently, not sure where to go next and who was gonna go there first. Rafe deflects. “Um, so how was the mainland? You guys got Dylan all squared away?”

You blink, not expecting that. Rafe busies himself with plugging your phone in for you, glancing at the opened laptop on your bed significantly. “I signed out of everything, swear to god,” you admit sheepishly. “But um, yeah? He seems fine, my mom—I’m sorry. Can we talk about that later?”

He sighs, dropping down to sit on your bed.

“Yeah, we can.”

“You came all the way to my house at 2 a.m. and scaled the wall because I wasn’t answering my phone?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Realistically, I assumed you were okay but,” he sighs, running his hands over his face. “I talked to my dad about Midsummers.”

“Fuck, Rafe.”

“I know. And I just really wanted to hear your voice after? Needed to,” he continues, words overflowing. “But you weren’t answering. And I don’t wanna spend the last week of summer not being with you when you’re right around the block, so I just. I parked on the street right outside, instead of a few houses down like normal. I hope that was okay?”

You nod absentmindedly to the details about his truck, mind stuck on what he said before that. “Back up, you talked to him? You didn’t tell me you were going to do that.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs.

“How did it go?”

“Not well? Um, actually pretty fucking horrible,” he says, laughing bitterly. “I just really needed to come see you, and when you weren’t answering, I just started thinking—” he cuts himself off, standing suddenly. “Y’know what, this was weird, right? I crossed a line. I can leave.”

You stand immediately, hands reaching out to stop him. “No, please stay. Stay here, Rafe.”

“Aren’t your parents home?”

“If the backyard cameras haven’t already picked up the motion of you scaling the literal wall, then one of them probably heard Wilbur. I don’t care either way,” you shrug. Rafe nods, standing up to empty his pockets onto your night stand, scratching Wilbur on the head like he’d just noticed him for the first time. “I need to… I’m gonna get ready for bed. Do you want pajamas?”

“Don’t think I’ll fit into any of your skimpy little sets, sweet girl.”

You roll your eyes, pushing him in the direction of your closet, but you’re thankful for the shift in tone, no matter how forced he’s making it seem. “There should be some big t-shirts in the bottom drawer, right under my socks.”

You leave him alone to wash your face and brush your teeth, wracking your brain over how to approach this situation as Rafe sits on the other side of the door. Something’s wrong with him. His eyes are wild for the late hour, and you know it’s not just because he was worried about you. You open the door when you’re done, finding him shirtless with his jeans still on, sitting at the edge of your bed. He’s holding a shirt in his hands.

“I cannot believe you still have this.”

You squint at the logo as he holds it up for you, faded white lettering on a navy long sleeve: Kildare Academy Water Polo.

Of all the reminiscing, reflecting, pride-swallowing and owning up you and Rafe had done since discovering your mutual crushes, that shirt was still your best kept secret.

Your eyes widen and your cheeks get warm, having completely forgotten where you kept that shirt. You would’ve never let Rafe rifle through your drawers had you remembered.

Senior year of high school, you’d gone with Rafe, Topper and Kelce to a boneyard party after sitting through some stupid Island Club banquet with all of your parents. Coming straight from dinner, the spaghetti strap mini dress you adorned wasn’t enough to keep you warm once the sun went down and the temperature dropped. You had drunkenly patted on Rafe’s arm, holding your hand out for his truck keys so you could go grab a shirt out of Kelce’s gym bag.

“You okay?” Rafe had asked, interrupting his conversation with some touron. “I can take you home.”

“No, we can stay,” you shiver. “Just cold. Kelce said I could grab his shirt.”

Rafe had given you his keys no questions asked, and you’d sorted through the bags in the backseat for the blue long sleeve Kelce had told you he left in there. You couldn’t find his, but Rafe’s swim bag was open, the shirt sitting right on top. Your drunken mind had allowed you to contemplate it for exactly five seconds before you snatched it, throwing it on and walking back to the party. You’d sauntered up to Rafe, sleeves tucked over your hands and the smell of chlorine mixed with his cologne making you giddy, placing his keys back in his hands and making for a quick exit.

“Hey, wait,” he’d said, hand tugging on your elbow to pull you back. His eyes had flicked over your figure, and you felt self conscious about how the shirt almost made it look like you’re not wearing any bottoms. “That’s… mine.”

You’d pretended to be shocked, eyes widening and gasp leaving your mouth. “Oh shit, Rafe. M’sorry, let me—”

“No, no,” he’d said, smile tugging on his lips. “You’re fine. Uh, looks good on you.”

“I’ll wash it and give it back to you at school next week.”

“Don’t worry about it. Stay warm.”

“Yeah, um,” you say, back in the present day, tentatively crossing the room to him to look at the shirt in his hands. “You never asked for it back.”

“Oh, I didn’t want it back,” he says, shaking his head. “I just didn’t think you’d still have it.”

You nod and sit down next to him. “I have a confession.”

“What’s that?” Rafe says, eyes still trained on the shirt in his hands.

“I knew. When I put that shirt on I knew it was yours,” you admit. You expect him to blush, at least drop his chin in indignation. But he just nods.

“Of course you did,” he says.

“What—you knew?”

“Y/n/n, it’s literally a water polo shirt,” Rafe deadpans. “Kelce was a runner.”

“But… no, Kelce told me he had the same one. He bought it to support you at the games. That’s why I told you I thought it was his when I got it out of your truck at that Boneyard party.”

Rafe’s nodding, slipping the shirt over his head. It’s a bit tight on the shoulders these days. “Did you ever see him wear it at one game? Y/n, he never had one. He was probably fucking with us because he knew I’d flip over seeing you in my shirt.”

Your eyes widen, and you hide your face in your hands. “Oh my god, this is so embarrassing.”

Rafe stands to undo his belt. The sight would normally send a thrill down your spine, but not knowing where you stand, you hardly react. He puts his jeans on the chair by your vanity and heads into the bathroom to brush his teeth, picking up the toothbrush he’d been using all summer. You busy yourself with locking your window and shutting down your room, making sure Wilbur’s water bowl is full and shutting off the lights, except for the ones that twinkle above your bed.

“Not to mention it literally has my name and number on the neckline,” Rafe says, coming out of the bathroom again. You can’t help yourself but to smile at that.

“I didn’t actually notice that until I got home,” you reply truthfully. You knew it was his, but you kicked yourself for being that oblivious. Of course he knew you knew.

“Swore you were into me after that,” he says quietly, sitting down on your bed and leaning up against the headboard. “And then when you showed up at the State game in Chapel Hill wearing it, I thought… I don’t know. Clearly, I was wrong.”

“Rafe,” you say, sitting in between the V of his legs. “You’re literally in my bed right now. You were right.”

“I just—can I ask you something?”

“Anything, Rafe,” you plead, playing with his fingers.

“Why now?” His voice is quiet, and he’s staring at where your hands are intertwined in his. “We’ve known each other since we were kids, Y/n/n. And we had barely talked since you left for school. So why now?”

You swallow, stopping your motions.

“Wow, um,” you say, caught off guard. “Give me a second? I want this to come out right.”

He nods silently, not looking any more reassured.

“You scared me,” you admit after a while. “You were like, that guy, Rafe. And you were my friend. I’d never felt anything like that before, and we were about to move away.”

“So you thought you’d just, what? Move away and forgot about me?”

“Tried,” you shrug. “Worked for a while, and then...”

“Then why now?” he persists.

“Rafe, I’m trying to tell you that.”

“Just need to hear it, Y/n/n,” he says, hand grabbing your chin. “Whatever it is.”

“Okay,” you nod, despite your nerves. “Honestly? When you hit me up, I still said no, right?”

“Remember it well.”

“But when I saw you at the store… and there was just nothing I could do. Not that I wanted to. I knew it was still there. We went out, and everything just came flooding back immediately. You were different—are different, but the same in all of my favorite ways. And I told myself I was gonna ride it out this time, I was gonna see where it went and just finally let myself have you—whatever that meant. I never thought we’d be here, but it’s been the easiest thing in the world.”

“Having me?”

“Yeah, Rafe, I mean. Shit,” you curse, hiding your face in your hands. “I don’t know how you pour your heart out all the time. I feel light-headed.”

“You get used to it,” he says, lips finally quirking up. It gives you the last boost of confidence you need.

“Being with you is easy, Rafe. It took me a while to realize the rest—the gossip, the family, the distance—it’s all just noise. I can’t even hear it when I look at you sometimes.”

“Okay,” he says, pulling you into him. You rub a hand across his chest, pressing a kiss there.

“Okay,” you agree, letting the silence drag for a while. “Can I ask where that came from? Was it your dad?”

Rafe doesn’t speak for a while, fiddling with the hemline of your shorts.

“He… they got back from the mainland tonight. When they got in, I kinda flew off the handle. He doesn’t seem to think I’m good enough for you,” he admits. Your eyes widen and you sit back up again.

“What? He told me—”

“Yeah, I told him what you told me. You’ll get used to that eventually, the lying,” he scoffs lightly.

“I’m sorry he said that. It’s not true,” you say, hand coming to his face.

“I know it’s not, Y/n/n. Just like how what he said to you wasn’t. But this is the thing with him, alright?” he says, hand grasping onto the one resting on his face. “You can’t let him get inside your head. Which means you have to tell me this shit, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t—”

“I know,” he says. You move further into him, letting him pull you back down onto his chest. “But promise me, alright? No more secrets. Not when it comes to my dad. I can’t have you walking around dealing with that on your own.”

Your phone starts buzzing incessantly then, vibrating rapidly on your bedside table.

“I’m also never letting you out of my line of vision around him ever again.”

“Rafe, that’s not helping anyone,” you say. Your phone keeps buzzing and you shift onto your knees to reach for it, Rafe holding you by your hips as you lean over him. Your phone is teeming with all of your missed notifications, a few texts from Dylan and Kelce coming through. But then… “You really called me ten times?”

He groans. “Please let me delete those texts before you read them. I was freaking out.”

You just smile, silencing your phone and setting it back down on the table. “Let’s go to sleep?”

Rafe nods, lips quirking up the tiniest bit. “Hey, sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks, for telling me that. I…” He shakes his head, cutting himself off, busying himself with turning off your lights. “Thank you.”

Rafe Cameron

10:34 Can I see you

11:22 If you want to wait til tomorrow, that’s cool. Call me? Just want to hear your voice

12:12 Could you just let me know you’re getting these

12:34 Kinda getting worried here, sweetheart. We don’t have to talk just let me know you’re okay

1:03 Y/n/n please. My texts aren’t sending and your location is off

1:05 I’ve called you ten times and Kelce hasn’t heard from you either just let me know you’re okay and we can talk tomorrow

1:30 I’m coming by. Don’t worry not through the front door

—

It’s a classic, balmy Outer Banks summer night when you see your boyfriend for the last time before you go back to school. It was your idea to have Rafe come say bye to you the night before you left, too embarrassed to cry in front of your parents at the air strip if he took you all the way up to your father’s plane. Your parents insisted on flying you to the mainland for your last year of college, putting you on a connecting flight to California before turning back home. Of course Rafe understood, but you were still a little upset at the prospect of not being able to be with him until the very last second, even if it was your own decision.

“So, Y/l/n. This is the part where you dump me, right?” he says, smiling as he steps onto your front porch.

“Yeah,” you nod, trying to play along, but the tears are already falling. “Just a summer love, RC.”

“Aw, come here, sweetheart,” he coos, pulling you into his arms. “That didn’t take long at all.”

“You’re wearing the fucking shirt you wore on our first date,” you whine, words muffled in the blue linen. You’d never have guessed you’d be here nearly three months later when you first saw him standing at the bar. “You set me up.”

“Not on purpose, I swear,” he promises, a strong hand rubbing up and down your back. “I just know you like this shirt.”

“That’s why I like it.”

He holds you for a minute after that, hoping your tears will subside.

“Fuck, Y/n/n. I’m scared,” he admits. “I’m gonna miss you so much. And not like before where we went off to college and I missed Kelce bringing you around or seeing you at parties—like, you’re mine now. I have you. I’ve never—”

“Rafe,” you say, voice cracking.

“I love you.”

You completely break at his words and Rafe’s cursing at your reaction, wrapping you up in his arms impossibly tighter.

“Shit, Y/n/n,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m not gonna be able to let you go if you don’t stop crying.”

“I love you, too.”

He exhales, kissing your forehead before pulling back to look at you. You’re sure you’re a mess, tear stained cheeks and puffy under-eyes. But he just brushes them off, smiling at you.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“I l—”

“Rafe,” you whine, about to start crying harder.

“Cheer up, sweet girl,” he says. “Aren’t you excited to see Bip and Bop?”

“Barron and Beckham,” you correct him. You knew Rafe knew their names, but was just fucking with you to get you to smile. It doesn’t work, especially when you look up and see his eyes are misty as well. The moment’s lightened when Wilbur comes outside, nudging his way in between the both of your legs.

“You’ll probably miss him more than you’ll miss me,” you joke, wiping under your eyes with the back of your hands.

“Impossible, I thought I told you? Wilbur’s coming to Georgia with me. He’s the new house dog.”

Your lips quirk up a little at that, and Rafe’s just happy he’s finally gotten a smile out of you.

—

Watching Rafe drive off in his truck for the last time—after you ran after him, stepping up onto the side of his lifted truck to plant one last kiss on him through the window—felt like watching a piece of your heart walk away from you. One you wouldn’t see until October.

“Why don’t we pick him up in the jet when we come see you before the holidays?” your mom suggests, as you ride in the back of your dad’s escalade to the island’s private airstrip. “Where does he live again, Alabama?”

“Georgia, mom. I’ve told you that,” you remind gently.

“Georgia, right,” your dad says. “We’d love to take him.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Oh cheer up, honey,” your mom says. “Don’t let the Cameron boy put a damper on your senior year.”

“Mom.”

“I’m just saying—”

“He’s not the Cameron boy. He’s my boyfriend, and his name is Rafe.”

“Speak of the devil,” your dad says, pulling into the parking lot. You look at the back of his head in confusion, and he just turns back to you and smiles. “I’ll give you ten minutes to wheel’s up, honey. Take your time.”

Then he’s gesturing through the windshield to the far end of the parking lot.

Leant up against his grey truck stands your boyfriend. You scramble out of the car, running up to him immediately.

“What are you doing here?”

“Just had to hear it one more time, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, giving him what he wants before you jump into his arms. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

tags: @moniamaybank @downbytheouterbanks @littlementalpolaroids @fangirlvoice @chicagoblackhawkslover96 @amourtentiaa @oopsiedoopsie23 @sodasback @arvinrussellseggplant @cooper8224 @ddrawers96 @loveylangdon

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gingersnaaps · 3 years

Text

untouchable

keishin just can't stand the thought of anyone else being your first.

wc: ~2.5k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): noncon, explicit n*fw, alcohol, corruption of innocence, virgin!reader, mild misogyny, possessive ukai, masturbation, fingering, teasing, friends to lovers but fucked up, fem!reader with inner genitals

a/n: written for @seita and their collab! also i probably fucked up the characterization but oh well

i don't want minors interacting with my content

To Keishin, you’ve always been untouchable.

He’d grown up alongside you - seen you go from your pretty pigtails to your grown-up bob, watched you turn from a schoolgirl into a woman. And through all those years, he’d always thought you were beautiful in the way that spring flowers are, all soft and sweet and dewy, your expression dripping innocence.

You’re pure. Unblemished. Perfect.

But that doesn’t mean he’s never admired from afar.

He almost hates it, these urges he gets. Keishin sees your stupid Instagram posts, your Facebook updates - in fact, he’s practically inundated with photos of you. He can’t escape the pictures of you in your summer skirts, grinning cheekily and holding up a peace sign, or the ones of you in your sundresses, the fabric lightweight and loose, cascading over your body in ripples.

And sometimes, after spending a few hours with you in person - maybe at a concert, maybe just catching up with you as friends - these urges he gets are too much for him to control, too much for just a cold shower to tamp down. He’ll lay his head back against his pillow, groaning in relief as he palms him cock, guilt gnawing him raw as he strokes himself to thoughts of the soft swell of your breasts, the barest brush of your hand - every exposed bit of your skin that he can conjure from his memory.

He always gets this empty feeling in the pit of his stomach after.

Keishin will reprimand himself, muttering about how creepy it is, how wrong it feels, how he’ll never do it again, but soon enough, he’s seeing your pictures all over his feed again, and you’re inviting him to some new outing.

He knows it’s not right, but he can’t really stop himself, either.

So when you call him up just days later, giggling and chatting his ear off about some new amazing discount at this local bar - look, Keishin, I promise it’s not far - going on and on about how he should join you in celebrating your latest raise at work, a wave of nausea sweeps over him. He should say no. He should make up some vague excuse, awkwardly laughing, brushing off your invitation while promising to make it up to you.

But it’s just been so long since he’s seen you.

He clears his throat, and his voice comes out dry and a little unsure on the other end. “Yeah. Yeah - I can go. See you there, [y/n], okay? Take care.”

Keishin hangs up the phone with a click before you even get a chance to respond, his hand unsteady and trembling.

He gets there before you do.

His fingers drum nervously against the tabletops, eyes scanning above the sea of overdressed, garish bargoers, looking around for any sign of you. It’s hard to make out faces among the crowd, all finer features clouded by the smoke and mirrors that dim lighting creates, but he’s looked at you enough times to be able to tell you apart with his eyes closed.

“Hey,” your voice greets, pressed close to his left side. “Never been to a bar before or what? Just relax, Keishin. We’re here to have a good time, right?”

He startles at your sudden appearance, flinching slightly. “Right,” he responds, a smile tugging at his lips.

He beckons the bartender over, ordering a few drinks, and you get settled into a routine of easy conversation. It doesn’t take long for you to get woozy, alcohol flooding your system as your cheeks flush and vision blurs. It loosens your tongue, loosens your wallet, and before long, you start losing track of the time of the drinks you order. All you know is that it feels good to let go, to lose yourself in the light-headed headspace you’ve found yourself in, the kaleidoscope of people around you dissolving until indistinguishable, walling off the rest of the world from just the two of you.

If Keishin’s going to be completely honest, though, he’s not really paying attention to what you're saying.

He’s paying attention to the men around you.

Maybe he’s just being paranoid, but he could swear that half the bar is leering at you, eyes following every movement of your body in ways that are absolutely unacceptable. He’s not an idiot. He knows what those other guys are thinking about; he knows how their dicks are straining in their fucking pants, how their thoughts must be wandering, he knows because he’s been there before.

Because even in the middle of a bar, surrounded by debauchery and alcohol and sluts, you look absolutely angelic. The halo of hair around your head looks so, so soft - he wants to stroke it, kiss it, use it as a handle to maneuver you around for him - and suddenly he’s consumed by thoughts of how much he wants to be the one to force you down around his cock, choking and sobbing, how much he wants to smear his cum on your gorgeous face and ruin you before anyone else can get to it. He can’t tear his gaze away from you as you shift closer, wobbling on your stool, completely oblivious to the way everyone else’s eyes are undressing you.

He knows you’re not doing this on purpose. You can’t be, no matter how many times you wiggle your ass on the bar stool, no matter how far up your thigh the hem of your skirt rides up. You wouldn’t tempt others like that. You’re just not that type of girl - you’re innocent, so open and guileless - you would never.

Keishin isn’t going to let anyone else fuck that up for him.

He knows it’s only a matter of time before some sleazy man comes along, his hands groping at your body, mouth whispering sinful words into your ear, and the mere thought makes him shudder with revulsion.

No, if anyone is going to wreck you, it’s going to be him.

When you eventually get too drunk, words slurring and half delirious, he catches you in his arms and leads you stumbling back to his own car. He revels in how peaceful you look with your eyes lidded with fatigue, clinging onto his arm as he drives back to his apartment.

He takes you inside with him.

“K-Keishin..” you mutter. “Where are we?”

He shushes you softly, carrying you to his off-white bedroom of popcorn ceilings and peeling wallpaper, of warm lights dimmed low and an eerie silence that suspends your surroundings in stillness. Laying you down on his half-made bed, he tenderly brushes aside the hair that frames your face as he crawls on top of you.

“I’m taking care of you, baby.”

Your eyebrows knit in confusion at his pet name, but your mind is still too woozy to fully comprehend the meaning behind his words.

But even a drunk girl like you knows that something’s not right when warm, calloused fingertips reach beneath your skirt and slip under the hem of your panties. You instinctively flinch away from his touch, trying to close your legs back up, but he brings a knee up between your thighs to rest at your cunt.

“Please,” you whisper, sobered from the rush of dread that runs tingling down your spine. “Please, Keishin. We’re friends.”

He ignores you, pressing down on your cunt until you’re squirming beneath him, his gaze softening as your breath hitches with desperation. “You don’t have to worry. I’m gonna make this virgin cunt feel so good,” he breathes. “Gonna show you just what real sex is supposed to feel like.”

He presses his lips to yours, his kiss gentle yet insistent, lips and wet tongue probing your mouth as if he’s trying to pry you apart and open you up. You can taste the alcohol on his hot breath, puffing lightly along your jaw as he trails his mouth further down, dragging his kisses sloppily down the crook of neck to where it meets your collarbone.

You tell yourself that it’s gross, that it’s overwhelming, but it’s impossible to hide the way your clit throbs against him as he flicks his tongue out to tease at your sensitive nipples, a moan almost involuntarily slipping from your lips. His mouth curls into a playful grin, teeth scraping roughly against your tits, and brings up the palm of his hand to cup your pussy.

“See?” he says. “This feels good.”

You cringe at his words, desperately bucking away from his touch, but there’s nowhere left for you to go - one arm cages in your small, frail body, the other strokes at your clit through the fabric of your panties, his mouth is sucking and nipping at the soft flesh of your tits - he’s everywhere, drawing patterns across your skin with lips and tongue, tracing feather-light circles on your pussy until you feel that desire in your cunt pulsing with need. “No,” you whimper quietly, almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself. “No, it doesn’t.”

Keishin ignores your weak protests, because he’s much too fixated on the way you look spread out beneath him. He didn’t think he’d ever get to see you this debauched, a flush riding high on your cheeks as you turn your head away in embarrassment, your hips bucking needily into his waiting hand, hair mussed and pupils blown out with lust.

You’re not the same girl he used to idolize, now that he’s seen you like this.

“I wonder how tight your pussy is,” he muses. “It hasn’t been tainted, right? Except for when you’ve touched yourself.”

Now there’s a sight he wants to see.

He withdraws from between your legs, but he moves his large hands to pry at your thighs and hold you in place. “I want you to do it for me,” he orders. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

You feel so fucking vulnerable in this position, legs forced apart and your glistening cunt bared to his hungry gaze, completely at the mercy of his whims and fancies, your body gone almost limp with fear at the thought of what he could do.

So you follow his directions like a good little girl.

You reach a finger to the entrance of your cunt, but the angle is awkward, and when you shove it inside, you’re barely able to feel even an inch of stretch. It’s frustrating, embarrassing, humiliating to be so helpless in front of Keishin, but you swallow the shame and begin to roughly thrust a finger in and out of your dry hole, even when the ache in your cunt is screaming for something much bigger - much more satisfying - to fill you up and satiate the need throbbing in your pussy.

He clicks his tongue mockingly. “Not good enough?” he asks. Keishin can tell from the pained expression on your face, from the slight twitching of your hips every time your stubby fingers brush against your g-spot, even though your face is turned away from him, and he knows what you’re really asking for with your panting and whining.

You’re asking for him.

Sweetheart, he’s more than okay with teaching you how to do it properly.

He moves your cramped hand away from its pathetic attempt at satisfying you, bringing a thumb up to rest at your clit, relishing at the way it pulses with need after just a few light circles. “More?” he asks.

Guilt is written all over your features, your eyes darting away, fingertips curling to grip at his sheets as he presses down more firmly. The twinge of stimulation sends white-hot arousal rushing to your cunt, your brain becoming hazy and unfocused, and the only thing you can think about is wanting more, more stimulation, more of his soothing words whispered in your ear, more of his deft touches and long, thick fingers.

“Mhm,” you whimper quietly. “Yes.”

Keishin stops the movement of his thumb, the warm palm of his hand resting against your throbbing clit. “More of what?”

You shake your head, embarrassment seeping into your veins. You don’t want to say it. You can’t say it.

He dips a finger into your cunt, teasing at the entrance before trailing light, soft touches up and down your folds. “Use your words, baby. I wanna hear you say it.”

“Please,” you beg, desperation written across your face. “Touch me.”

“Where do you want me to touch you?” he asks, malice glinting in his eyes. He wants to hear you say those filthy words, wants his precious, innocent best friend to beg him to do the things he’d only ever dreamed of.

“My…” you trail off, eyes now hazy and unfocused as you blink back tears. “My pussy. Want your fingers inside my pussy.”

What a good girl.

“Knew you could do it for me,” he growls, slipping his finger deeper into your twitching hole. “When you want something, you have to learn to ask for it.”

He doesn’t hold back now, adding another thick finger inside to stroke and pet at your sensitive walls, pressing up against your g-spot firmly as his thumb rubs steady, even circles on your clit. The stimulation comes crashing down like a wave of relief for your sore, aching hole, his fingers playing with your cunt better than you ever could, reaching deeper inside you, stretching you out further, making you cream around his skilled digits until your hole is left fluttering and fucked out.

You barely have the energy to resist when he pulls out his cock, painfully hard and leaking, and fits it to the entrance of your pussy. He pushes in slowly, gently, his deliberate movement a facade of tenderness, stretching you out until the pleasure pulsing in your core becomes almost unbearable from how unhurried he’s fucking you.

“Holy shit,” he says, swearing under his breath. Keishin wishes all the other undeserving men at the bar could see you now, sprawled out on his bed like his own personal fuckdoll, your eyes rolled back into your head, gasping and moaning as he breaks in your virgin cunt. He knows he’s fucking you better than any other man ever could, wrecking you in ways you’ll think about years in future when you close the blinds and dim the lights and slip a hand between your legs.

And as he finishes, groaning in pleasure as the waves of an orgasm wash over him, he pulls out of your slippery cunt and watches as his thick spurts of cum land all over the soft, smooth skin of your chest and stomach, marking you as his.

You look so beautiful painted white.

No, maybe beautiful is the wrong word. You’d always been so pure in his eyes, so clean and untouchable, but looking down at your quivering form, he begins to finally see what he’d been to blind to all along. For the first time, he sees how slutty your tits are covered in his cum, how they’re almost pushed up to your chin when you’re lying on your back. When he squeezes at your thighs, your ass, your waist, the excess flesh spills over in all the places that make you perfect for fucking.

You’re not innocent anymore, he realizes with a sense of twisted satisfaction. Not after this.

You’ve been ruined, haven’t you?

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chiwhorei · 4 years

Text

green scrunchies

pairing: dom!k. ukai x sub!fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: 4.1k

warnings: swearing, spanking, smoking, daddy kink, dom/ sub dynamics, brat taming, subspace, dirty talk, degradation, age gap(reader is 22ish and ukai is 26ish) spitting, fingering, oral (fem receiving), edging, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, a little dumification, public nudity (kinda), unprotected sex, tattoos (there’s a tattoo in a really unholy place), this is just filth okay

a/n: i have been sitting on the bulk of this piece for a fucking month and am honestly so surprised i finished it. this was inspired by a picture i saw of a really naughty tattoo and my mind want crazy and vomited on to a google doc.

hymn: nothing’s gonna hurt you baby by cigarettes after sex

“but today isn’t a day of honey-sweet ministrations.”

Ukai Keishin is a gentle man. The team of highschoolers he coaches, his friends, hell, even his mother would beg to differ. But they were not privy to the Keishin you know. The man that serenades you with Elvis Presley while cleaning up after closing the store, grabbing your waist and pulling you into a clumsy slow dance as his gravelly voice croons into your ear.

He’s entrancing. Hypnotizing you, almost two years ago now, in the most tender pursuit possible, so softly you were unaware of falling deeply in love with him until you had already tipped completely over. Turning to an ink pen and scraps of receipt paper to flesh out the feelings he worried would not sound perfect when they hit your ears. To this day, you’re not entirely sure if he meant to leave the pages to his extemporaneous romance novel for you to find on purpose, but you have your suspicions.

You were in your second year of college when you met Keishin, only 20 years old at the time and clueless to any world outside of studying frantically from one exam to the next. Chasing after a degree you could pursue your dreams with and getting tattoos that would piss your parents off, you crashed into him, literally.

While walking to class with practiced steps and flipping through a small stack of notecards, you frantically try to accomplish last minute cramming and making it to class promptly at the same time. With one final attempt to understand the scribbles in front of you, you take a sharp turn into a brick wall. A flurry of white papers thrown into the air and falling back down like snow.

It happened in a minute, a minute that held sixty of the longest seconds to ever pass; from the moment you smack your nose into his cemented chest to the moment he saves your head from kissing the ground below. “You need to watch where you’re going, kid.” He says with a cigarette pressed between his teeth. It all happened in that single minute, your soul escaping and crawling into his jacket pocket without even realizing. It’s been there ever since, for safekeeping, of course.

He’s perfect in every way. But just as he is soft and loving, Ukai is not one to take shit. Especially when his sweet, shy baby girl is being a raging brat. It’s like any normal fall afternoon, slightly chilly and crisp on your walk from class. The air is biting at your skin, but the temperature is not what sends a piercing shiver down your spine. You know that as soon as you get home, Ukai Keishin is going to ruin you.

“What are you doing here, princess?” Your presence is made known with a soft ding from the bell above the door, but Ukai doesn't look up from his magazine when acknowledging you.

“I live upstairs?” Your tone is light and playful. You decide to test the waters, wondering how much Keishin will let slide today.

“Don’t be dense, little one.” He graces you with his eye contact for the first time, “I know you have a Biology lecture on Friday afternoons. So, why is that cute little ass here instead of on campus?” His lips are pulled tightly in a thin line and he rakes his eyes down your body. You’re wearing a short pleated skirt and a baggie pull-over. Exactly what he picked out for you this morning. Well, almost exactly. He was already opening up the store by the time you woke up, so the clothes were placed neatly on his side of the bed. What he didn’t pick out though, were the stockings currently brandishing your mid thigh, cutting off the supple skin with the soft, black cotton.

“Oh! My professor cancelled lecture today so I came home early to have lunch with my loving boyfriend.” You smile sweetly, dropping your backpack and rounding the corner of the counter he is sat at. Ukai hums softly- dismissively- and lights a cigarette, his eyes don’t give away any emotion, so you are left hanging off the end of the burning cherry. Has he caught on yet? Maybe the thigh-highs would be enough to distract from your real surprise.

Before you can ruminate on the thought, a wide, kind smile spreads across his face. If you didn’t know any better, this smile would be comforting. Your boyfriend pats his lap, motioning for you to take a seat. You adjust yourself to fit snugly and lean into Keishin’s chest. He presses a chaste kiss to your temple and takes a drag from his cigarette. Customers trickle in slowly, and you stand a few times to ring up their purchases, always the dutiful girlfriend. Keishin watches you with adoration in between paging through a magazine, everything you did was so perfect, even if it’s just scanning a few groceries. Such a good girl you are.

It’s not until you sit back down, and he adjusts your hips to settle back into him that he is made aware of the game you’re trying to play. And he is pissed.

“Princess, did you not like the clothes I picked out for you this morning?” He has fully caught on to you at this point, and you both know it, but he isn’t going to show you his hand quite yet.

“Of course I did, Daddy.” You bury your burning cheek into his neck, letting the familiar smell of cologne and campfires calm your clambering heartbeat.

“I see, then why are you wearing these…” Keishin’s voice trails off and pulls at the material of the thigh-highs, snapping it against your skin.

“Actually,” he interrupts, “I have a more important question. But I need you to be a good girl and answer honestly.” Keishin whispers into the shell of your ear and nods a goodbye to the elderly man leaving the store. You two were alone now, the promise of other customers wandering in diminishing quickly with the time of day.

“I’ll be a good girl Daddy.” You try to coat your words in velvet as best as you can, but Keishin scoffs, clearly unamused.

“That’s rich, princess. Now tell me, did you go to campus this morning without panties on?” You knew the question he was going to pose, you could have even saved him the breath. You knew you were going to get caught, I mean, that is why you did it. But now, faced with having to atone for your sins, the confidence in your original actions was melting away.

“I forgot to put panties on this morning, Daddy. I’m sorry.” You try to pout in the sweetest way possible, but Keishin knows. You’re lying through your teeth.

“Tsk, you forgot. How could you forget if I laid them right on top of your skirt this morning?” He fishes in his pocket and pulls out a damning article. As he moves the exhibit into evidence, light pink thong hanging off of fingers, you resolve that your little game was over long before you even tried to start. All you can do now is wait with baited breath and flushed cheeks for his next move.

“Stand up princess.” Ukai grabs onto your hip bones and lifts you upward. He spins you around to face him and perches his elbows on his knees. “Show me what’s mine baby girl.” His request, his demand, rolls off the tongue like icicles. You know what he means, but still stare back dumbly, mouth wide at what he was insinuating.

“You know I don’t like repeating myself, little girl.” His words stir inside you. If he sees how wet you’re getting, you’re done for. There’s no escaping this moment though. You take a deep breath in a feeble fight against the suffocating feeling in your chest, and lift up the end of your short, black skirt so he can see you. All of you.

Your precious, sumptuous thighs now in his view. He studies the lines of the tattoos not covered with your stockings. Beautiful floral designs in delicate black ink. Keishin thinks the work you get done is always so beautiful. Every addition befitting you perfectly. He loves tracing the pads of his fingers over the art in softer moments. This moment though, was not soft, and the tattoos on your thighs were not the subject of Ukai’s attention.

He flicks his eyes up to meet yours briefly, and trails down from your quivering bottom lip, to your delicate, freckled collarbones peering sweetly from your large sweater. He drags his darkening gaze down further, cherishing every inch until he reaches your hips. Nestled in between the apex of your thighs, in small, dainty writing lays his prize.

“My Daddy Will Kill You.”

No matter what you did, he would always be there, snugly under the second layer of skin. When his fingers weren’t intertwined in yours, when he couldn’t have a protective hand in your back pocket. Whenever he was away with his team for tournaments or just when you were in class. He was always on you.

“Such a gorgeous little cunt you have.” He leans back in his seat, watching you fidget under his stare, “Whose cunt is this, baby? Is it your classmates? Is it your professors?” You bow your head in shame at Ukai’s insinuation, you know that going to class with a bare ass and a short skirt was going to get you in trouble. How could you resist though, when the punishment always feels so good.

“You’ve been acting like a petulant brat recently. I’ve been letting things slide because I know how stressful your senior year of college has been.” His tone is exasperated, but his eyes are calm, level, dark, “I can’t ignore this, you know that right?”

“I know, Daddy.”

“Your class was cancelled. So that means we get to start the weekend early.” He pulls your hands from your skirt, letting it fall back into place and holds both of your hands in one of his much larger ones. “Go upstairs and sit on the bed. I want you in just your skirt and those cute little tights you were so keen on wearing. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

“But Daddy…” you really did like to test your luck sometimes, but the look he gives you, slightly shocked and more than lightly infuriated, was enough to make you hurry to the back and up the stairs to your shared apartment. You kick your sneakers off at the door and head straight to the bedroom. You pull the sweater over your head and unclasp your bra. Usually Keishin likes to do that step for you, savoring the way you shiver as he brushes the straps off of your shoulders, but today isn’t a day of honey-sweet ministrations.

You tremble like a puppy as you wait for Ukai and almost jump out of your own skin when you hear the front door creek open. Usually you are met with a bellowing voice upon his entry, walking through the door with a hearty, “Honey, I’m home!” even if you had only walked in a few steps ahead. Now, all you can do is wait as he mulls about the apartment with lackadaisical intent and a deafening silence. After a few agonizing minutes and feeling like he made his point, Ukai finally appears in the doorway, arms folded and pressed tightly to his hard chest with a categorically sadistic smile on his face.

“So, you do know how to follow directions?” You gulp loudly and nod your head, but quickly correct yourself. If you don’t use your words you’ll make things worse for yourself. “Yes, Daddy. I know how to follow directions.” It’s not a lie, obviously you are aware of his rules, you just prefer breaking them. Your response is small compared to the loud, sarcastic laugh falling from his throat. Ukai steps towards you slowly.

“You are such a little tease, I came up to kiss you goodbye this morning and found these still sitting on the bed.” He pulls the thong out of his pocket again and drops the lace into your lap. “You left them there because you wanted me to find them. You wanted me to know you were sitting in class with a bare cunt.” There’s no use trying to find an excuse to push past your locked jaw, because he’s not really asking a question.

“I left them on purpose, Daddy. I’m sorry.” Your mea culpa is underwhelming to say the least, and you both know it. You may be pleading guilty to all charges, but you don’t seem eager for absolution.

“You are such a little attention whore. My timid, darling girl has been acting like an insolent slut recently. What am I going to do with you?” His voice sounds questioning, but unmistakingly rhetorical. He’s known what he was going to do to you from the moment he spotted your panties weighing the bed down this morning.

“Turn around baby.” Ukai unbuckles his belt, and you turn away from him, tucking your legs to sit upright. He gathers your long h/c hair from where it was settled around your face and meticulously braids it to lay flat on your back, attaching the green scrunchy from his wrist to the bottom.

Just like a calling card, Keishin always had a scrunchy of yours around his wrist. Whenever you are hunched over the kitchen table in the middle of writing a paper, he pulls your hair behind you and fastens it into a bun, careful to keep it loose so as to not invite a headache, and kisses the crown of your head. Regardless of where you are: shopping, date night, visiting him at practice, if he notices your hair becoming annoying he will slip it from your neck and twist it into the green scrunchy.

And when you are about to be punished, Ukai pulls your hair into a neat, low braid.

You feel him run his hands from your shoulders to your wrists, pulling them gently behind your back. He presses your palms together and gives them a squeeze so you know to keep them together. Ukai pulls off his shirt, and frees his undone belt from his jeans, folding it in half and running the cool leather up your thigh. He swats softly at your skin, just enough to make you flinch.

Ukai tosses the belt to the ground, deciding he would rather you feel the sting of his palm, and sits down next to you on the bed. You face him with your hands still laced together behind you and let him position you to lay across his lap. The side of your face and your shoulders lay flush against the bed and your ass is raised up above his jean-clad thighs.

“You know the rules, right my love?”

“Yes, Daddy. If I lose count you have to start over.”

“There’s my smart girl. You look so beautiful like this.” He lands a smack on your right cheek, actions greatly contrasting his soft, almost taunting tone. “It’s such a shame you’ve been acting like such a whore.”

He delivers slap after slap on your bruising ass and you count every one out to him, briefly considering what would happen if you stopped counting, but you know that your punishment is already going to be harsh enough. You’re a masochist, yes, but not an idiot.

“Why do you always seem to be on your best behavior when I have you over my knee, darling?” Ukai connects his palm with your tender flesh again. “How many was that baby?”

“Fifteen, Daddy.” You speak in an even tone, if your boyfriend catches on to how much more you like this than he already knows, you’re, quite literally, fucked.

“You really know how to play me, baby. I’m always wrapped around your little finger.” He starts to knead your ass cheek with his large hand, skimming the tips of his digits against your wanton cunt. He’s testing you, wanting to see if you’ll start squirming or unclasp your hands from their position behind your back, but you hold steady.

“You leave me naughty little surprises. I had you on my mind all day, thinking about this naked little pussy walking around campus. One tiny slip and you would have shown everyone what’s mine.” Another sharp swat to your butt reverberates through the room and you can barely mumble out your counted response.

“But that’s what you wanted isn’t it? You wanted everyone to see this slutty pussy of yours didn’t you?” Whether that was the truth or not doesn't actually matter, you know not to make an excuse. You are just meant to count and thank.

“You need to stop squirming, princess, or you’re going to royally piss me off.” Ukai continues his relentless pace, two thick fingers pistoning deep in your dripping pussy. This was one of Ukai’s favorite games, finger-fucking you to the point of the bed under you slamming into the wall. Your job was to keep completely still. One arch of your back or escaped moan and he would land a sharp slap to your puffy, untended clit.

He’s actually being quite generous despite the circumstances. Usually, you would be propped on your hands and knees, but Ukai has laid you flat on your back with one leg tossed over his broad shoulder. The position, while easier to keep your body still, does mean that Ukai’s piercing, hungry gaze has you pinned like prey under him. The completely pornografic sounds of his fingers are making your head spin. The fact that he’s been hammering his fingers relentlessly into your g-spot for an hour, is starting to make your mind foggy, all thoughts are starting to slip from your brain and your boyfriend can tell.

“God, baby, I love making you absolutely stupid for me. I bet all you can think about is my cock filling this little cunt up, huh?” His words are sneering, taunting. Your response is a babbled agreement and plea for his cock, and the sight of you so completely fucked out makes the bulge in his jeans strain even further. The feeling of his fingers in your squelching pussy is dulling all other senses, so when he pulls the digits away, you can’t help the cry that rips from the back of your throat.

“Don’t worry, precious girl, I’m going to give you what you want. What you’re fucking desperate for.” Ukai pushes himself from the bed and removes his jeans and boxers, and you watch as his thick cock springs free to slap against his abdomen. The sound makes you mewl, your cunt clenching in anticipation.

As Ukai crawls back onto your shared bed, his head dips down in between your legs. He licks, flat and languid across your slit, collecting your arousal on his tongue with a feral groan.

“Please, Daddy. Please fuck me. I- I need you. Wa- want to be your good girl.” You find your words as best as you can to beg for him, the sweet cadence of your voice and the way your weak arms reach out for his messy bleached hair signals to him that you’ve fallen completely into a foggy, submissive haze. You tug lightly at the tresses and the impressive self-control he has kept up thus far snaps like plywood under a heavy boot.

Ukai takes one more deep, hungry lick at your soaking pussy and sits up, pushing your legs further apart, digging his nails into the soft skin under your knees.

“Open your mouth, Princess.” You are quick to comply with his request, sticking your tongue out and looking up at him through your lashes. You hear the sound of him spitting, his saliva and your arousal coats the thickest plane of your tongue, but connecting one thought to the next becomes impossible as Ukai pushes his thick cock into you at the same time.

“Jesus Christ, no matter how much time I take to get you ready you’re still so tight. God, you make it really hard to stay mad at you.” His hands keep your legs pressed up to your chest, pushing his thick cock into you at an agonizingly lazy pace. Ukai was right, it didn’t matter that he had finger-fucked you into the mattress for an hour, taking him was a tight fit every time. As he buries himself in you, the intoxicating burn of being so full takes all of the air out of your chest. His thick cock stretches you so far, you swear he can feel your own heartbeat within the walls of your tiny cunt. He’s barely halfway into you and you can’t help but constrict, the tinny flavor of your orgasm crawling up from your spine to your mouth.

“There’s no way I’m letting you cum already.” Ukai snickered sadistically, thumb brushing across your tattoo, the dirty secret you shared, right over where you need his fingers most. He wasn’t going to touch your deprived clit yet, and hoping for him to do so was a waste of energy.

“I’m sorry Daddy. I promise, I’ll be good.” Your tears are rolling down the side of your face, wetting the sheet next to you.

“You’re a pathetic mess and I’m not even all the way in you yet. I would save the tears if I were you, babydoll.” You try to compose yourself, but Ukai’s words of dismissive degradation give your whimpers more body, sobbing and babbling as his cock bottoms out.

You can feel every inch of him, hard and thick and so so full inside of you. Ukai pulls out of you completely, his soaking tip rubbing on your labia before slamming back in to the hilt. His pace becomes brutal with every thrust, original slow pace completely unknown to you now. There’s no way you're going to be able to stand properly after this.

“Daddy, please. Please let me cum. Need to cum, Daddy. Need to be your good girl.” A series of calls for your daddy and prayerful begs are the only things you know at this point, drool and tears covering your face.

“You know what, Princess? I bet I could make you cum with just one touch to that little clit.” Ukai takes one hand off of your thigh and hovers over where you have needed him since you woke up this morning. “If I’m right, I’ll make you cum again. If I’m wrong, you’re not gonna cum at all.”

You can feel the warmth of his finger looming over the neglected bud, the anticipation is overwhelming and cruel, but all worth it as soon as he pushes the rough pad of his thumb down. Ukai presses a single, taught circle into your clit and the coil wound tightly in your stomach snaps with incredible force. You know there is a scream that rips from your dry mouth, but you can’t hear it with the blood rushing through your ears. Ukai works you through your first orgasm, stilling his thrusts as until you come floating back down.

“I know this slutty little cunt better than the back of my hand. Now, my precious little thing,” You watch as Ukai hooks your limp legs over his shoulders, lining his throbbing cock back to your slopping entrance. “Let’s do that a couple more times.”

“Wise men say, only fools rush in. But I can’t help, falling in love with you.”

You feel your senses coming back to you slowly, with every delicate touch Keishin glides over your skin. He pulls you back to reality with sweet touches and the deep, gravely sound of his voice. After several meticulous moments and even more words of praise, Kei delivers a delicate kiss to your forehead and carries you to the shower. You take a deep, relaxed sigh as he massages your aching muscles under the hot water. After drying your exhausted body with a fluffy towel, Keishin helps you into a comfy pair of leggings and one of his sweatshirts.

“Take my hand. Take my whole heart too.” Your boyfriend’s broad arms wrap around your waist, hands finding purchase under the orange sweatshirt currently drowning your form, and you melt into his chest. “Because I can’t help, falling in love with you.” You turn around in his arms to steal a kiss, but as your lips attach to his a small laugh bubbles up from your stomach.

“What are you giggling at?” Keishin eyes you curiously, and you start laughing even harder.

“Oh nothing, I was just thinking about the bloody nose you gave me when we first met.” You cackle at the memory and feel Keishin take an exasperated but amused sigh, joining your laughter with his own.

“First of all, Princess, you ran into me.”

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

#ukai smut #ukai x reader #ukai keishin x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #ukai keishin #coach ukai x reader #coach ukai #haikyuu keishin

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wkemeup · 3 years

Text

Vengeful Spirits┊By Any Other Name

summary: A year after the fire and the end of Hydra, Brock Rumlow's ghost is still haunting you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 10.7k warnings: PTSD symptoms, nightmares, canon level violence, angst angst angst!!, it's a revenge story babyyyy a/n: This is an alternative future that you can chose to include in your own version of BAON canon or consider as a 'what if' timeline. It was really fun to explore this side of the story and jump back into this world again so I hope you enjoy! ❤️

🌹 series masterlist <- catch up here first! 🌹

You couldn’t breathe beyond the stench of gasoline and cigar smoke. With wrists bound and tied to an old, wooden chair through frayed electrical wires, the exposed copper dug into your skin, leaving behind thin lines of ruined flesh in their wake. Blood dripped down your fingertips and onto the carpet at your feet. Tiny red dots marked into the pattern.

Along the walls, you could hardly make out the distorted image of near empty shelves, broken pots, and your books discarded amongst the soil and ruin. Pools of gasoline leaked into the hardwood floors, soaked into the pages of century old novels; ink bleeding through the paper.

“You are Hydra, baby!” Brock’s disembodied voice echoed throughout the room. You flinched at the sound as if it could cut through as sharp as the wires on your wrists. Your eyes scanned the room to find it empty, and still, his voice lingered down the aisles of your library, his presence haunting you.

“No,” you choked out, throat closing under the weight of the lump building there. Tears pressed against your cheeks. Gasoline burned in your nose.

A figure emerged from the shadows – a faint outline of the man you married, the man you despised, his face hidden by the darkness clouding around him. Still, you could smell the liquor on his breath – always on his breath.

“You are not worthy of redemption.”

You tugged at the bindings on your wrists, adrenaline thunderous in your heart. You wondered if it might push past your chest and spill out onto your lap. If your blood would meet the gasoline at your feet and blend into one.

“Stop it,” you warned, though the fear was evident in your voice.

Brock did not relent as he stepped forward, the shadows clinging so tight to his body you could not make out his face. “You are and always will be Hydra to those feds...”

A sob broke through you as he approached. You had no will to fight, no source of strength to draw upon. All you could feel was the blinding terror coursing deep into your veins with his every step; with each squeak of the floor boards, with every footprint coated in potted soil and gasoline. The cigar hung loosely at his fingertips, ready to set fire to the room around you.

Brock parted his lips, his voice slippery as a viper, “...and they will leave you to BURN!”

His hands slammed down on your wrists, his face only inches away. Your heart stopped beating; eyes blown wide. A single touch of moonlight broke through the shadows on Brock’s face and what remained was a glimpse of horror. Charred skin, ruined flesh. Raw and red and bubbling at the surface. Blistered and oozing.

The mutilated scars around his lips slithered into a sickening grin, his breath hot as flame against your skin. He dropped the cigar. The room went up in smoke. In flame and fire and fury.

A world away, you jolted forward, throat raw and aching, surrounded by the cold embrace of a dark room. It took a moment before you realized that terrible, agonizing sound was your own voice – screaming. You could only vaguely hear your name called, the gentle touch of a hand running lines over your spine. The same hands that guided yours to feel for the silky sheets covering you, to the cotton of your t-shirt, to the steady thump of a heartbeat over an exposed chest beside you.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” the voice eased again. The contrast of it – the kindness and the patience laced in the words – tugged you away from the nightmare you’d escaped from. You followed his request and slowly forced air into your lungs. “Good, honey. One more, okay?”

You nodded, doing as he asked.

Pushing past the haze over your vision, you looked around the room to find the familiar ripple of curtains over the window, the pile of laundry in the corner, your Columbia badge hanging over the doorknob, Bucky’s FBI jacket slung over the armchair.

You gasped. Bucky.

Sure enough, propped up on his elbow beside you, was Bucky Barnes. He wore that same glimpse of a smile you fell in love with but it held a heaviness in it, a sadness. The sheet sat bunched at his waist, exposing his bare chest and the scars littering his skin. Your eyes drew to the mark on his shoulder, the one you were responsible for. It raised pink against his tanned skin, healed over in the last year but still visible. Still a reminder.

“You alright?” Bucky asked slowly. His hand was cautious as he reached out for you. Slow in his movements under your gaze, so that you might have the chance to pull away if you wanted to. You held steady, relief washing through your body as his hand circled around yours.

You nodded, though you weren’t sure whether it was entirely true. Bucky didn’t press you on it as he gathered you in his arms and slowly pulled you down into his embrace. He tugged the covers back up around you, holding you as you stole a glance at the clock beyond his shoulder. You only had a few hours left before the alarm would wake you for work. You didn’t expect to get anymore sleep tonight, but it was a comfort at least to know you had time to lay soundly in Bucky’s arms before morning and responsibility took him away.

“It was Brock again,” you mumbled against his chest. “The library.”

Bucky tensed. This particular brand of nightmare had been plaguing you for weeks now. It had been almost a year now since the fire but the horrors of what you endured that night had yet to leave you. They started with vivid images of Bucky’s body bleeding out in the warehouse, the bullet you shot into his shoulder finding a new home between his eyes or buried into his chest. They centered around Brock hulling Peter into his warpath and leaving him tied and bound to the flames alongside you. But lately, your mind was particularly cruel.

Brock haunted you – taunted you. His ghost made you doubt whether you were ever really safe from him at all, if he was still lurking in the shadows, if his hand could slither out from the darkness and grip tight to your neck and drag you back to his hell. They never found a body within the flames and despite Bucky’s reassurances that he put enough bullets in the man to make sure he never took another breath, it didn’t sway your fears.

“I hate that I wasn’t there for you when you needed me,” Bucky sighed through his teeth, his grip on you holding a little tighter.

“You did everything you could. You still saved me,” you told him. Still, he carried his guilt. You could feel his fingertips run over the faded burn marks on your skin. Bumps and edges over what used to be smooth and soft. He saw them as reminders of his failings despite your pleas against it.

“I should have killed him long before then.” There was no waver in his voice. He shifted under the covers, his lips pressing sweetly to your forehead in contrast to the malice in his voice for the monster who used to share your bed.

“You were trying to do the right thing by bringing him in. Doing what you do, you don’t have a choice but to believe in the system. With all the monsters you’ve put away over the years, you should believe in it but... we both know Brock was never going to tolerate a cage.” You clung a little tighter to Bucky’s chest, settling against the steady beat of his heart.

Bucky’s response was only to curl his arm around you, holding you as close as he could manage. His lips did not leave the crown of your head. You stayed there with him, curled in his embrace, listening to his heartbeat, until the sun rose beyond the mood and light beckoned you to a new day.

***

You were standing in the kitchen washing the dishes when you saw him.

You were walking through the practice your therapist explained for dealing with your nightmares. You closed your eyes and pictured the library, the wires on your wrists, the very beginning and the start of it all. But instead of Brock emerging from the shadows, you conjured Bucky. You imagined Bucky rushing through the doors, freeing you from your chains, hulling you up into his arms and whisking you away from harm. You concentrated on every detail in his face, on the dried blood you remembered he wore along his cheek, on the open scars from Brock’s rings, on the look of relief upon his face because he found you. He found you and he saved you before the flames could take hold. He carried you away from the room that had once been your sanctuary, now only reserved for your nightmares. You held onto that version of the story with all you had.

Sometimes, it helped. Other nights, you still woke up screaming and drenched in sweat. But Bucky was there and he never showed an ounce of anything but the love and patience he swore to you. He’d hold you until your heart settled and you stopped fearing the image of Brock’s burned face when you closed your eyes. Encompassed with Bucky, it was hard to think of anyone else.

Peter was sweeping up the stray shredded cheese that had found its way to the floor in the midst of another taco night. Cheddar, your sweet orange tabby, had little interest in his namesake and was purring soundingly on the armrest of the couch. Bucky had slipped out to the corner store to pick up a few tubs of ice cream in preparation for the movie Peter had been dying to see for weeks now.

All it took was a single glance to the window for the ground to vanish under your feet.

You could only vaguely catch the sound of broken glass as it shattered, the dinner plate in shards near your bare feet. Peter rushed towards you but you couldn’t make out what he was saying. No – your focus was stolen by the figure standing beyond the darkness, hanging within the shadows.

You knew that outline. You knew that face. You’d seen it in your dreams – your nightmares – for almost a year. Disfigured and burned. But still, covered in shadows like a monster within a child’s closet. Not close enough to see details of his vicious smirk but real enough to set terror into your veins.

Peter was yanking on your arm, his voice louder now. You couldn’t move. You were stone.

“Y/n?” Bucky called the second the door swung open, the paper bag quickly discarded on the floor. The panic was etched into his voice, the same way it had been in the months after the fire when you lost yourself to brief moments of fear, when the memory of his cover you’d known as James was all that could bring you back.

He rushed in front of you, obstructing your view of the window and snapping you from your trance. His hands were on your cheeks, his eyes quickly glancing down at the shards of glass by your feet. You could feel him trying to delicately usher you away before you cut yourself, but you couldn’t let the monster escape a second time.

“It’s Brock,” you exhaled, trying to peer around Bucky’s shoulder for another look. “He’s here. I—I saw him! Outside!”

Bucky swung his attention to the window, still holding on tight to you. But when you looked again, the darkness was all that remained. No figures hidden in the shadows. No one lying in wait, taunting you. The monster had vanished in thin air.

“Sweetheart... he’s dead,” Bucky eased. “He can’t hurt you.”

You shook your head, tears brimming in your eyes. You tried to ignore the concerned look that flashed between Bucky and Peter, how their expressions of panic quickly turned to ones of pain, of aching sadness, of pity.

“N-No, I saw him! I swear I did, James,” you argued, pushing past him and rushing out towards the window in search of what you saw. Bucky hissed as you barely cleared the broken glass in your path, though he followed you without question. “I saw him. He was looking right at me!”

Bucky indulged you by taking another look out to the empty sidewalk behind the brownstone you shared together. It was quiet where you lived, away from the rush of the city and the tourists and late-night drinkers. All that remained was the faint buzz of the streetlamp at the end of the block and an elderly couple taking their usual evening stroll. They raised a hand in greeting as they spotted the two of you looking out the window. Bucky forced a smile and returned the gesture.

“There’s no one there, honey,” Bucky tried again, urging you to look for yourself. “Maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you. You know how hard nights have been lately...”

You shook your head. “I-- I know what I saw, James. I’m not—I'm not crazy.”

His face softened. Slowly his hand moved to cup at your cheek, brushing away the tears that had started to form. “I know. I know that, love.”

It hadn’t slipped your notice that it was the second time you called him James. A name that held enormous meaning to you, a name you had promised to leave in the past in favor of the man standing in front of you. Bucky – the undercover FBI agent who saved you from the prison you’d been living in. James – the enforcer to an evil organization who taught you how to love again. One in the same. And still, sometimes calling upon the version of the man who had provided the first sense of safety you’d felt in years, was all that kept you from falling apart.

You stole a glance back to the window as Bucky wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you tight to his chest. It was the same sidewalk you were familiar with, no sinister creatures lingering in the shadows. It's possible you had imagined it. You were focused on rewriting your nightmares...

“Should I head home? Let you rest?” Peter’s voice nervously called from the kitchen. He set the broom back in the closet, already having cleaned up the glass from the broken plate.

You shook your head, wiping tears against Bucky’s shirt. “No, please stay. Let’s watch that movie, okay? I’m alright.”

You forced a smile though the redness in your eyes. You felt Bucky’s hand settle against your back, his fingertips soothing small circles into your spine. His scent calming you as you listened for the steady thump of his heartbeat.

“You sure?” Peter stepped forward, that sweet hopeful look on his face though a hesitancy remained in his eyes. He wasn’t convinced of your word.

“Yes.” You hugged Bucky’s waist, tugging him to the couch. “I think I must have... I don’t know... I was seeing things, I guess.”

Nightmares bleeding into the daytime. Natasha had warned you about that early on. Enduring the type of trauma you did, surviving a home with invisible bars and nearly losing your life to it... it was bound to follow you. Bucky understood how you carried it still and he didn’t shy away in fear of it. You tried to find strength in that, in his unending loyalty and patience. You trusted his word above everything else.

Brock was dead. Four shots to the chest. The fire took his body.

It had to be true.

No—It was true.

And yet, the doubt scratched its nails along the windowpane, begging to be let in.

***

“Hey, I’m not saying that I’m a better actor than Barnes, but I’m not not saying that.” Sam Wilson picked up an apple from the pile and tossed it into the air before take a huge bite out of the center. The juice of it dripped down the edges of grin.

Bucky rolled his eyes as he handed the vendor a dollar for Sam’s snack. You giggled against Bucky’s side as he slid his hand back into his pocket. He was trying to hide his laugh through a bite in his lip, but you could see past it enough to catch the slight lift in his cheeks.

“I’d say he was a pretty good actor,” you smirked. “Fooled me, didn’t he?”

Your arms were snaked around Bucky’s, holding him against your chest as you weaved in and around the busy famers’ market, so you felt it when his body tensed. That guilt complex of his couldn’t take a little teasing, though you tried.

“If he could make me fall in love with a,” you paused, lowering your voice, “Hydra hitman,” you grinned, swatting Bucky in the arm, “then I think he’s a damn good actor.”

“Alright, damn, I concede!” Sam threw his arms in the air, smiling so wide you wondered if it might touch his ears.

“You’re terrible, you know that?” Bucky snickered, leaning into your ear. His breath was warm against your skin, his lips grazing over your hair as you felt the soft brush of his laugh.

“Hush.” You snuck up and stole a kiss from his lips. It was a wonder to be able to kiss him in the open like this, surrounded by people who had little time or patience to care for the strangers standing in love at the center of a busy famers’ market. It was surreal at times, feeling like you were lost in a dream you never wanted to wake up from. But he was real and perfect and wonderful and so incredibly yours.

“Oh! Wait, I forgot the desserts for Peter!” you pulled back quickly, glancing into the busy crowd in search of the vendor with the fresh displays of apple tarts. You’d been meaning to pick one up for Peter after he got his first acceptance letter to college. They’ve been rolling in lately and piling high enough to cover Aunt May’s kitchen table, but you did promise him a new tart for every acceptance and you were about three behind.

“Go,” Bucky laughed, shaking you from his arm playfully. “I’ll babysit Sam until you get back.”

You grinned, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek you knew Sam would mock him for the second you disappeared into the crowd. The glossy imprint of your lips against his stubble was your favorite look on him, and he didn’t much mind it himself.

Shoulders bumped into yours as you squeezed through the rush of tourists and locals browsing the fresh fruits and vegetables displays along the tents. You turned the corner at the smell of cooked apples, cinnamon, and butter. Your stomach started to growl as you approached the vendor: a charming, older man with a twisted grey mustache and a flat cap.

“What can I get for you, hun?” he grinned, hands setting on his round stomach. Flour was still dusted along his apron, little bits of crumbs on his cheeks.

“Oh, I think I’d like—” You paused, catching a glimpse of something unsettling over the man's shoulder. Just a shadow, at first, blocked by the busy hustle of people walking by. You shook your head, tearing your eyes away and forcing your attention back to the vender. He offered you an uneasy smile. “The, um, the apple tart, please. And two of the—of the—”

You lost your trail of thought as the figure appeared again. Covered in darkness amongst a busy, sunny coated street. But he stood completely still, a baseball cap obstructing most of his face, though you could feel his eyes on you. You froze as he slowly lifted a hand, the flesh of it marred and blistered, and he tilted the lid of his cap.

“No. No, that’s not—He's not—” Your breathing was coming in too fast. The distorted image from your nightmares was standing mere feet away; a monster wearing a man’s skin and even that was ruined and burned.

Your dead husband stared back at you, that sickening grin curling up on his face. Your hands were shaking so violently you could hardly grasp the dollar bills as you fumbled with your wallet.

“Miss? Are you alright, deary?” the vendor called, extending a hand towards you but you had already backed out of his reach. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Brock, from the burns on his skin or the murderous look in his stare; the gleeful expression of anticipated revenge. You were stone and marble and ice until—he stepped forward.

“James!” you screamed, leaving behind the money and the pastries as you sprinted in the opposite direction; shoving your way through the crowd, but it felt like you were swimming against the full force of a current. Your legs were shaking, your heart threatening to burst from your chest. You didn’t dare a glimpse over your shoulder to see how close Brock was behind you. “JAMES!”

You barely registered as you slammed into Bucky’s chest. Tears soaked quickly into his shirt, your sobs loud and breaking as he desperately tried to settle you. There was no space to pull you off to the side, no comfort from the busy crowd around you. You clawed at him, terrified you couldn’t get close enough, desperate to hide from your husband, from his vendetta, to protect Bucky from his wrath and—

“Y/n! Y/n, look at me!” Bucky begged, taking a tenser hold of you than he ever intended to use and forced you to meet his eye. The sting of his grip was all that punctured through the terror. You met the sharp blue of Bucky’s eyes, his brows furrowed in concern, worry lines along his forehead. “What happened?”

“It’s Brock! He’s here!” you sobbed, desperately clinging to Bucky as you gestured behind you, certain your ex-husband would emerge from the crowd at any second. “He found us. He found us! Oh God, James— he’s going to—”

“Stay with her,” Bucky ordered to Sam and he began prying your grip from around his waist.

“No! Don’t go!” You felt like a child; small and fearful and terrified beyond belief. But Bucky had that look in his eye, one that warned of danger in his path should anyone dare to cross him. You'd only seen it once – when he was on his knees in the warehouse, at the mercy of your ex-husband.

“Sam!” Bucky warned.

“I’ve got you, kid,” Sam eased the best he could. Bucky kissed your hairline before he rushed back into the crowd in search of Brock. You didn’t dare watch until he disappeared amongst the sea of people. Instead, you clung onto Sam as if he might be the only thing keeping you afloat. Maybe he was.

It was only when your breathing began to slow again with every count of Sam’s deep inhales that you started to notice the whispers around you, how the strangers eyed you and walked a little quicker as they passed by. You couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they were bold enough to hold your gaze as they whispered into the ears of their friends. Pity laced smiles at the crazy women sobbing at the center of the market.

Then, you heard footsteps come to a steady halt behind you. Sam released you from his hold and you turned to find Bucky waiting for you. He opened his arms and you rushed in.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair, apologies for tearing himself from you. It was not one he needed to make, but you nodded anyway.

“Did you find him?” you dared to ask.

When you were met with silence, your heart sank. As you glanced up you caught that same look of concern Bucky had given Peter the first time you saw Brock through the window of your apartment days earlier. Now, he shared it with Sam.

Bucky clenched his jaw, his blue eyes swimming in remorse. “Sweetheart, I—”

“Oh God... I’m going crazy. Aren’t I?” you gasped, tears filling your eyes to the point where you could no longer see the look of agony on Bucky’s face and, maybe, that was for the best. You could only vaguely hear Sam as he ushered the onlookers away, flashing his badge and grumbling angrily under his breath at the tourists who dared to sit in observation of your worst fears.

“It’s okay, honey,” Bucky eased with loving, tender kisses to your shoulder. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

He repeated it on an endless loop. Constant reassurances. Gentle reminders. You could hear the concern etched into his voice, the fear he shared with Sam, the doubt of whether his love was enough to save you from the horrors Rumlow left behind.

***

“You don’t have to stay the night, Sam,” you tried again for the third time that evening. “Please, I don’t want to inconvenience you just because I’m apparently losing my mind.”

“Are you kidding?” Sam smirked, shaking out the long, teal sheet before he laid it onto the couch. “I insist. Plus, it gives me an excuse to guilt Barnes into going easy on me at the annual field test.”

“You’re a good man, Sam,” you exhaled, arms folded tight over your chest. Your gaze drifted to the windows and the dark overcast hanging along the sidewalk. There was only a moment of relief in the emptiness you found in wait.

“Careful, sweetheart, you’ll inflate his ego.”

You turned to find Bucky leaning against the wall behind you, watching your interaction with Sam. He shook his head, a smiling brimming on his face as he approached. His arm swung casually around your shoulders, tugging you to his side before he pressed a short kiss to your hairline.

“Listen,” Bucky started, a more serious tone in his voice, “I appreciate you coming out here last minute. I didn’t feel right leaving her on her own after what happened at the market this morning.”

Sam softened, his teasing grin turning gentle into a thin line. “She’s family, right?” He winked at you, tugging a smile back to your face. “Go find out what Fury wants. I’ll hold down the fort until you get back.”

“And I’ll just be asleep anyway,” you added, though you wondered if Bucky could hear the uncertainty in your voice. You weren’t sure you’d be able to get much of any sleep at all while he was gone, but it helped to ease your mind knowing Sam wasn’t too far away. Even if your mind was playing games with you, the safety of having at least one federal agent in the apartment was a relief.

Still – Bucky’s jaw clenched as he nodded. He was better at reading you than you gave him credit for. He turned you gently in his arms to face him, a finger tilting at the bottom of your chin to hold your gaze.

“I promise I won’t be long. I’m sure Fury just has a new vision for recruit training he wants to run by me and that man’s schedule waits for no one,” Bucky chuckled, trying to sway your tension. It didn’t do much to etch the stone from your muscle, but you gave him a smile. It was enough. He sighed, pressing out one in return though it held a heaviness in it. “We’ll deal with everything else tomorrow, alright? Bruce is a good man, Y/n. He’ll know how to help you.”

You nodded, holding your breath at the mention of the doctor. He was a trained psychiatrist who specialized in PTSD and had worked with the Bureau for years. You figured most of his work was done with the men and women who worked alongside Bucky and Sam, but he knew his way around trauma and the dangerous monsters it carried. He could help, you told yourself. You weren’t crazy. You weren’t going to lose Bucky to this.

“I love you,” Bucky said quietly, though it held a certainty to it that pieced together the frayed edges in your stomach, the doubt and fears that lingered there. It was as if he could read the fears on your face and put them at ease before they could take root as he said, “we’ll get through this together, okay?”

“Okay,” you murmured, pressing your face to his chest. You took a final inhale of his scent, holding it as close as you could manage, before you let go. “I love you, too.”

You tried not to linger in the hallway after that. The apartment felt too big without Bucky around and though Sam did his best to draw out your smile, the exhaustion from the market had drained you. Your head was buzzing, your mind unfocused. Sam had noticed pretty quickly when you started to zone out, eyes fixated on the wall behind his shoulder, and he gently eased you to your room.

“I’ll be right out here you need anything, okay?” Sam reminded you with a soft tap on the edge of your door.

“Thank you, Sam.” You weren’t sure how to apologize for the events at the market, how you’d clung to him and sobbed, terrified that your dead husband was following you. You didn’t dare allow yourself to imagine what he must have thought of you in that moment. Still, the warm color of Sam’s eyes and the sincerity of his smile were enough to sway those thoughts a little while longer.

Then, you were alone.

You pulled the blankets up to your chin, curling against the side of the bed Bucky slept on. You could still smell the faint scent of his shampoo on the pillow. You tugged it against your chest, holding it as if it were an extension of him.

This helpless feeling was not one you were used to. Not anymore.

You couldn’t remember feeling this afraid even when you were living under Brock’s roof. Part of you wondered whether the risk of losing the security and safety and comfort you’d gained in his death was what fed into your fears and accelerated their momentum. When you were married to Brock and complicit to Hydra, you had little to lose, little to gain. You were able to go through the motions and survive.

But now?

Now you had something worth living for. Now, you had Bucky. You had your job back, your friends. You had Sam and Natasha and Steve. You had Peter and May. You had the light of day and freedom and love.

The very thought of it being stolen from you scared you far more than Brock ever could. And still, it was his face that haunted you. It was his face in your nightmares and following your shadows.

You kept your focus on the closed door to your bedroom, watching the flickering of the television light between the cracks and listening for Sam’s muffled laugh through the walls. You waited and waited and hoped that Bucky would return before the demons came for you, but sleep swept you away in luring embrace.

***

You woke suddenly to the sound of muffled gunfire. Jolting up in your bed, you clutched at the sheets, at your pajamas, at your hair, wiping the sweat from your skin. Your hand settled against your heart, trying to focus on the rhythm, but it was too fast. It wasn’t the steady, reassuring pace that Bucky carried. You groaned, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes.

Just a dream, you told yourself. It was just a dream. It can't hurt you.

You turned to the door to find the light from the television still sliding through the edges. Sam must have forgotten to turn it off before he fell asleep. He was known for his love of old detective dramas. The gunshot from the show must have lingered into your dreams.

You slumped back into the bed, heart still pounding. Beyond the door, you could hear the creek of the floorboards under heavy steps. Maybe Sam was still awake. There were plenty of snacks in your pantry and he had teased Bucky mercilessly about eating all of his cheese puffs. The thought helped to ease the panic from your veins as you forced yourself to close your eyes.

Bucky will be home soon. Go to sleep. You’re fine.

But then the footsteps inched closer. They paused right outside the door, their silhouette blocking the stream of light from the television. You rubbed at your eyes.

“Sam?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, the knob began to turn. Slow. The hinges of the door crying as it crept open. The sudden influx of light was harsh against your eyes, forcing you to squeeze them shut. His face was shielded by the backdrop of light and the blur in your eyes. Whether it was from exhaustion or leftover tears from your dreams, you weren’t sure.

“Sam? What’s wrong?”

Again, nothing.

There was something wrong in his movements. He was too stiff, too quiet. He looked like something out of your nightmares – cold, sinister, calculating. The room shifted around you; the safety you’d known in its walls peeled back by the edges of sharp, unyielding claws. Whatever crept towards you in the shadows was not Sam Wilson.

You stared at the figure as it approached, suddenly terrified to take your eyes off of it. Your vision began to burn, unable to so much as blink in fear of what the creature would do. Beyond the door, you heard a faint groaning, nails scraping along the floorboards. Your name was called in a familiar voice, panicked but faded, weak.

The figure lowered his hood.

“It’s good to see you again, baby.”

“No.” You scrambled backwards on the bed, shifting as far away from the distorted figure as you could manage. Your hands were shaking as you brought them to your lips. “No-- This isn’t-- This isn’t real.”

But Brock Rumlow stepped forward into the light and began to laugh. When his hand gripped at your wrist, you felt the nails dig into your skin. You gagged against the harsh burn of liquor and raw flesh. The adrenaline that rushed into your veins was visceral and agonizing – it burned as deep as the flames in your dreams.

Something pinched at your neck as your movements began to slow, your vision doubling. A syringe was in Brock’s hand as he stepped back, watching as you struggled to maintain consciousness.

“It’s... it’s not real,” you murmured again, trying to convince yourself beyond what your mind already knew to be true as you stared down the figure of your ex-husband.

And still, he laughed. It was the last thing you heard before the darkness caved in.

***

Bucky paced along the hallway outside of Director Fury’s office. It had been over an hour since he arrived and Fury had yet to see him. His message had indicated that it was a time sensitive issue. It was the only reason he begrudgingly agreed to leave you alone for the night after what happened in the market. Sam was with you, Bucky reminded himself as he ran a hair through the roots of his hair. You weren’t alone.

Then, when Bucky was about ready to barge his way into Fury’s office, the door opened. Agent Hill walked out carrying a half dozen folders in her arms, her heels clicking against the hardwood floors as she passed by. She seemed surprised to see Bucky waiting, but still, she made a short gesture to let him know the director was free.

“Sir,” Bucky started, stepping into the office. “You asked to see me?”

Fury was standing with his back to the door, facing out to the open windows and the bright lights of the city. Slowly, he turned over his shoulder, eyeing Bucky suspiciously. He took a step forward; his unnerving silence proving a bit too much for Bucky’s present impatience.

“Sir, I don’t mean to press,” Bucky exhaled, “but it’s been a rough day and I’d like to get back home as soon as I--”

“What makes you think I want to see you, Barnes?” Fury scoffed, settling into his desk. He popped the lid off the bottle of bourbon he kept hidden in the bottom drawer. Bourbon poured into the crystalline glass.

“You paged me two hours ago, sir,” Bucky said, setting the small flip phone on the desk. It was the only device Fury had agreed to use to call in his agents when needed; even if Bucky’s latest missions were held behind a desk or on the training field with the new recruits.

Fury cast his single eye at the phone, narrowing on the last message received. He read it over twice before he tossed the phone back to Bucky. He shrugged.

“I didn’t send you that message.”

Bucky froze, the phone feeling heavy within his grasp. “Sir?”

“Our message system was hacked several hours ago,” Fury said. He leaned in over the desk, studying Bucky through a less than unsettling gaze. “That’s why I called Maria in. I don’t know who sent you that message, but it wasn’t us.”

Bucky read over the message again. It was in the same cadence Fury always used in his messages, the same phrasing. HQ meeting 1hr. Short. To the point.

“Why would someone want to lure you back to base, Agent Barnes?” Fury inquired, leaning back into his chair, but Bucky could only vaguely hear what he had said. He was too busy staring at the phone, his grip clenching so tight around the edges he might snap it in half. His heart was pounding so loud, it muffled in his own ears. He could hear the rush of his blood through his veins.

Because he realized in that moment the message had little to do with luring him back to base. No – the sender had a much more terrifying purpose in mind.

To get you alone.

***

“Y/n!”

By the time Bucky made it back to the apartment, he was drenched in sweat. It soaked through his white button down, leaving the material transparent and wet, clinging against his chest. His hands were shaking as he struggled to get the key into the lock, fumbling over it several times before he shouldered his way inside.

His stomach dropped at the first sight of blood.

“Sam!” Bucky sprinted across the room, dropping down hard on his knees and into the expanding pool of crimson red soaking into the cracks of the floorboards. Sam was laid on his stomach, hands outstretched as if he had been crawling. A streak of smeared blood was in his wake. He’d been trying to reach the bedroom before his body gave out.

With shaking hands, Bucky rolled his friend onto his back, desperately searching for damage.

It was then he found the bullet wound embedded in Sam’s stomach. Bucky tore a glance back to the bedroom as he pressed his hands to the wound, stopping the bleeding the best he could.

“Y/n!” Bucky shouted again, desperate for you to appear from behind a locked door, unharmed. But there was no response in his echo. You did not call his name or any other.

“I’m s-sorry, Buck,” Sam’s weakened voice jarred Bucky from his trance. He looked down to find Sam’s eyes on him, though they were heavy, barely focused. Sam’s hand curled around Bucky's wrist. “S-She’s gone. He took her. I... I tried to—”

“I know, buddy,” Bucky eased, his voice breaking in the effort. “I know. It's okay. Save your strength, alright?”

As quickly as he could, Bucky dialed Steve’s number. He didn’t have the energy or the willpower to explain what happened, but he managed to order for an ambulance – one that would ram its way through New York traffic if it had to. Steve confirmed he was on his way and Natasha would be shortly behind. No questions asked.

“Buck,” Sam choked out, blood dripping at his lips. “Tell Y/n I’m--”

“I’m not telling her shit, okay? You tell her when—” Bucky clenched his jaw, tears slipping down past his cheeks, “You tell her when I get her back.”

***

It felt like an eternity before Steve and the ambulance arrived. Sam had faded in and out of consciousness enough times to make Bucky question if he would ever hear his friend ruthlessly tease him again. Still, in every waking moment, Sam did his best describe the intruder. There were few jokes, little smiles; he nearly drowned in his own blood before he could finish.

Sam couldn’t offer any more details beyond the hooded figure that had taken him by surprise. Bucky couldn’t tell if it was Sam’s delirium, but the description he gave sounded like something constructed of nightmares. He described a monster.

He was passed out by the time Steve arrived.

Bucky fell back onto the floor as the paramedics took over. He could only vaguely register Steve’s hands grip tight around his biceps and hulling him up to his feet long after the sirens had faded away and all that remained on the floor before him was the faint outline of Sam’s body. He tried not to pay attention to the blood coating his hands and soaking into his shirt. Sam’s blood. Blood he spilled trying to protect you. A task Bucky had requested.

“I’ve got footprints,” Natasha’s voice called from the hallway. Steve ushered Bucky to follow, though he felt like he was still stuck in a trance. None of it felt real, even as Natasha kneeled to more closely examine the imprint of the shoe outlined in blood.

“What happened here, Buck?” Steve asked, though he knew there was no good answer.

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t know. I—I can’t do this again, Steve. I can’t lose her—I can’t—”

A flash of gold caught his eye. Bucky followed the reflection into the bedroom, almost in a trance. He stilled as he approached the bed, finding a small, gold ring sitting just on the edge of the mattress. Thick. Rusting. An emblem of a skull at its center, surrounded by six long tentacles.

Slowly, he picked up the ring, holding it in the palm of his hand. The tears had faded on his cheeks, replaced only by the cold burn of vengeance growing like fire through his veins. He shoved the ring into Steve’s hands as he approached, answering the question before he had a chance to ask.

Bucky moved on a warpath to the safe. He wasted little time in loading his handgun and slipping it to his waist. A second followed and he strapped it to his thigh. When he stood again, Natasha and Steve were watching silently.

“You going to stop me?” Bucky questioned, a cold determination icing his voice.

“I didn’t last time,” Steve confirmed, stepping back.

Bucky gave him a short nod as he passed by. He didn’t bother with a coat.

“Hey Barnes,” Natasha called just as he opened the front door. He paused for only a moment, a short glance over his shoulder as she approached, her expression as cold and calculating as his own. “Make sure he’s dead this time.”

***

When you woke, you tried to feel for the cool silk of your bedroom sheets. You searched for the comfort of the warm body beside you and the gentle thumping of an easy heart. You sought out the slight dip of the mattress and the brush of air from the fan overhead. Instead, you found your hands were restrained behind you, the skin burned under thick ropes.

You sat up slowly in effort to ease through the blinding headache dizzying your vision. Dirt was caked into your nails and brushed along your skin, grass below your exposed legs. Still in your pajamas, you felt the sting of a twig as it scratched your thigh.

It took a moment before you recognized your surroundings. Away from the comfort of Brooklyn, you realized you were immersed in acres of woods. To your right, just barely through a short clearing, your heart dropped at the sight of ruined remains of a home you had lived in for years. Most of it had been bulldozed away after the fire, but pieces still remained. Enough that you still recognized the proximity to your nightmares.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, baby.”

You flinched at the sound of his voice – Brock's voice – as he stepped out from the shadows. No longer shielded by the distorted visions in your dreams or the promise of safety under the guise of a twisted imagination, there was little doubt that the man who stood in front of you was anything other than the head of Hydra itself.

“Takes a while to get used to, doesn’t it?” he scoffed, gesturing to the burns coating his skin. He was almost unrecognizable; the darkly handsome features on his face obstructed in the fire. What remained instead was a glimpse of the evil he carried in his heart, a sickening display of karma unfolding upon his body and mocking his existence.

You couldn’t help the laugh as it escaped. Perhaps it was shock or maybe you really were losing your mind, but the falter in Brock’s expression was reward enough. He was expecting you to remain in your fear of him, to be able to hold it over you. Your laughter was not what he had been anticipating and it read clear as day upon his face.

“It’s what you deserve,” you spat, tugging at the ropes around your wrists as you rose to your knees. Tiny stones dug into your skin but you urged yourself to feel power in the sting of it. To let it ground you to your strength and remind you of what was real.

“Deserve?” Brock hissed, his upper lip twitching. Anger twisted and consumed the little parts of his expression he still had control over. “You want to talk about what is deserved?!”

You tried not to react when he pulled a handgun from his waist and cocked it. The barrel of it aimed at your head, his finger on the trigger. You tried to keep the cold, uncaring expression Bucky had worn that night in the factory – unafraid in the face of evil. He’d been on his knees then, too. But still—your jaw clenched and Brock grinned.

“How is it that my cheating, whore of a wife and the traitorous son of a bitch who destroyed everything I ever built get to live happily ever after?!” Brock sneered, crouching down to your eye line. He drew the edge of the barrel along your cheekbone, sliding it down your throat, though you tried to pull away. He grinned. “You want to talk about what is deserved? Huh? How about I take back what belongs to me?”

You clenched your jaw, unwilling to meet his eye. Instead, you kept your stare on the tree beyond his left shoulder, the one you could see from the window of the spare bedroom you moved into after you gained the courage to fall in love with James— with Bucky. Its trunk was charred in the fire but it still stood. It still remained. Worn, but still strong.

“Maybe, I keep my promise to our mutual friend? Barnes, isn’t it?” Brock taunted. He used the barrel of the gun to brush your hair behind your shoulder. This close you could see the divots and raised edges of his burns. They coated every inch of his skin. “I told him he’d find you in pieces one day. That his betrayal would follow him the rest of his life and I’d rip you apart just to spite him. But hell, I didn't forget about the part you played either, baby. Maybe I’d like to ruin you a little too... just for myself.”

The barrel traveled alone your collarbone, dipping down to your chest, drawing a line between your breasts and down to your navel. Even through the scarring, you could see the look upon his face – the grin as he licked his lips.

You gritted your teeth. “Fuck you.”

Brock laughed at that, deep and low. Sinister. He wiped away the spit that had landed against his cheek. “I like it when you're feisty.”

You felt for the ground behind you; wrists bound you brushed your fingertips along the grass until you came upon a small rock. A small ounce of relief nestled into your chest; the rest filled with a steady determination. You started to saw it against the ropes.

“How the hell are you even alive? You should be dead,” you said in an effort to keep Brock talking. You could only hope Bucky was on his way to you, if he even knew where you were.

Time was a commodity you didn’t have, but you could stall as long as you could. Maybe... Maybe you’d see him again. It was what kept you going, what gave you the courage to face your demon standing before you.

“Four bullets to the chest and a burning house later, here I am... rising like a fucking phoenix from the ashes!” Brock shouted up to the skies. He stretched his arms out to the side as if he were absorbing the cheers from a stadium worth of admirers. “I’m invincible, baby! You can’t kill me!”

“You're not special, Brock. You’ll die like any other man,” you spat, reveling in the slight shift in his smile. The rock broke through a single piece of twine; a small dent, but it was something. “James will find us and when he does, he’ll kill you.”

Brock’s face dropped to a cold frown. “Not if I kill him first.”

“Would that make you feel like a man?” you jeered, like poking a snarling bear with a short, pointed stick. “To kill the man I left you for? The man I fucked in your house? The man I traded a mansion and millions for just to escape you?”

“Shut your fucking mouth before I—”

“What?” you taunted, shouting out to the trees and the birds and whatever else could hear you amongst the woods. “What the fuck are you going to do to me, Brock!? What else can you possibly take? I am so fucking tired of being afraid of you! I am done walking on eggshells and screaming in the middle of the night and looking over my shoulder!”

“Is that so?” Brock was laughing now, as if your defiance was little more than a show, as if he might peer behind the curtain and find you shaking and crying in the corner. But he’d done more than cage you all these years. He taught you what it was to live with a demon, to know a monster by name, and you were tired of letting it take root in your home. You'd sooner burn it to the ground.

“You’re nothing to me,” you said coldly. “You are nothing but a weak, pathetic little man who didn’t deserve a damn thing from me, so you resorted to taking it. Blackmail and extortion and threats. You got off by making me feel small and alone in that house and I’m done. I won’t live the rest of my life in those fears.”

Brock rolled his eyes, pacing slowly in front of you as he stepped over broken twigs in his path. Snaps like bones under his feet. He ran a hand soothingly over the barrel of the gun, admiring it. “Barnes is a bad influence on you, baby. You think you’re so brave now, don’t you?”

You tightened your jaw, wiling your breaths even. “You can’t hurt me anymore.”

Brock lunged at you, nails digging into your jawline as he forced you up to your feet in his grasp. The rock sawed through half the width of the rope as his nails drew blood on your skin. His breath was hot a flame against your cheeks.

“I’m the one holding the gun, baby,” Brock sneered. “I can still do a whole hell of hurt to you before I end your miserable life.”

You met his eye as if you stared straight into the heart of the devil. You let the fires consume you. “I’d like to see you try.”

The ropes snapped at your wrists and you threw yourself on him, sending both of you crashing to the ground.

“Fucking bitch!” Brock cursed, trying to shove you off of him, but you’d taken enough lessons with Nat to know how to immobilize an attacker.

But then you spotted the gun laying only a few feet away and you realized escape was not your intention. Brock must have followed your line of sight because he jolted enough to sporadically crawl towards the weapon.

You both lunged for it.

***

“Nat, are you sure this is where he took her?” Bucky said as he pulled up to the drive of a home that was now in ruins. He looked around the perimeter and saw nothing save for the acres of woods beyond the property.

“It’s what the profile suggests,” Natasha replied through the car speaker. Bucky could vaguely hear the clicks of her keyboard on the other end of the phone. “Rumlow thrives on drama, Buck. He’s going to bring her back to where it all began. And well, where it ended, too. He wants revenge. Bringing her back to the house puts him on an advantage.”

Bucky slid the car into park. “Keep looking anyway. I’ll call if there’s news.”

He reached for the keys, only pausing when he heard Natasha sigh. “Bring her home.”

Bucky nodded, not sure what else he could say, and turned the car off. He thought you were already freed of your past, thought that you were safe from the demons and monsters in your nightmares. He’d convinced you they were little more than your imagination playing cruel tricks on you. If he’d only listened, if he just believed you... maybe you wouldn’t be at the mercy of Brock Rumlow. Again.

He stepped out onto the driveway, staring up at what remained of the home he fell in love with you in. He shook his head, pinching at the bridge between his eyes, and jogged towards the woods. He didn’t dare call out your name in fear of what Rumlow would do under the pressure. Instead, Bucky concentrated on holding his breath and the warm touch of metal in his hands. His weapon was his grounding point. The bullets inside would not miss their target this time.

Bucky felt like he was starting to run in circles when it happened. Loud enough to jolt his heart out of pace, for the trees to shake as birds flew up into the air.

BANG!

BANG BANG!

BANG!

Four gunshots. Bucky sprinted as fast as he could, following the echo. Leaping over stray roots in the ground and swiping aside branches as they cut his arms.

He emerged into a small clearing to find you standing at the center, a gun held tight between your hands as you stared down at an unmoving body at your feet. Rumlow laid amongst the dirt, on his back, blood pooling at his chest.

“Y/n?” Bucky called gently, though you didn’t look in his direction.

Rumlow’s hand flinched and before Bucky could release his safety, you fired off another two shots. He did not move again after that. His face bore the ghost of surprise, a faded grin turned to shock in the moment you first pulled the trigger.

Bucky took a cautious step forward, your name again on his lips, but before he could get it out, he stepped on a twig, the sharp snap of it startling you as you spun in his direction, weapon now aimed at his chest. Bucky threw his arms in the air.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Bucky said as calm as he could manage, his gaze flickering to your finger still held against the trigger. It was like you were seeing straight through him. “It’s just me. It’s just me, honey.”

It took a moment before the realization flashed behind your eyes.

“James?” You lowered the gun until it hung loosely at your side, your voice nearly breaking over his name. The relief in it was enough to overwhelm him. He nodded, stepping forward and gently easing the gun out of your hands. You released it gratefully.

“It’s over,” you said simply, leaning against Bucky’s chest as you stared down at Rumlow’s body. Six total shots. Five littered over his chest. One planted between his eyes. Bucky let a hand run against your hair, his lips pressing to your crown. Small comforts he could offer.

“Are you alright?” he asked, though his stomach was aching in dread. He knew there was no comforting answer to that question, not after the hell you’d been through tonight, but he hoped nonetheless.

“I am now,” was all you replied. You couldn’t seem to take your eyes away from Rumlow. It was like you were committing it to memory – an image to draw upon when the nightmares came – to remind yourself that he was dead and it had been at your hands.

“Thank you for coming,” you murmured against his shirt and Bucky started to wonder if you were still in shock. You said it as casually as one might after a dinner party.

“Hey, I’ll always come for you,” Bucky promised, an oath he’d never once doubted. Still, he sighed. “Looks like you didn’t need me though, huh?”

“I’ll always need you.” You stepped back out of his hold and this time, you looked more like yourself. You offered him a soft, tentative smile. “But it’s nice to know I can take care of myself, too.” Your gaze flickered to Rumlow. “He underestimated me again.”

“His last time,” Bucky confirmed, pride in his chest.

“I’ll have to thank Nat for all the defense classes,” you grinned. It was a strange kind of normal to be teasing as you stood over the dead body of your ex-husband, who was definitely very much dead this time.

“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled,” Bucky chuckled.

“And Sam! Sam always volunteered to stand in as—” You froze, eyes wide as your hand clapped over your mouth. “Oh my God, Sam. What happened? Is he okay? Is he alive?”

��He’s in surgery now,” Bucky replied quickly before the panic could completely set you over the edge. “Come on, I’ll bring you to the hospital. I want to get you checked out anyway.”

You nodded, leaning into Bucky’s side as he guided you back towards his car. “What about Brock?”

Bucky shrugged. “I’d rather leave him to the animals, but I’ll talk to Steve. We’ll take care of it. You’ve done enough, sweetheart.”

“Can you call Peter?” you asked as you spotted Bucky’s car in the distance. “I know it’s not rational, but I want to make sure Brock didn’t-- that he didn’t do anything to go after Peter, too.”

“Of course. You want him to meet us at the hospital?”

You smiled, a wash of relief in your eyes. You nodded.

Bucky opened the car door for you, helping to ease you gently into the seat despite the hiss of pain you released with the movement. He tried not to pay attention to the rope burns on your wrists. He’d ask the nurses to pay careful attention there. You still had scars underneath from the last time.

Bucky took an extra moment as he closed the door behind you, standing straight and taking in a breath of fresh air. The chill of the cold, starless night around him was almost a comfort as he tried to center himself. There would be time for the guilt complex nagging at the back of his head later. But right now, you needed him. He could be strong for you.

When Bucky slid into the driver’s seat, you set your hand on his right forearm almost immediately. He drove with a single hand on the wheel, his right resting against the clutch. The contact was warm and welcomed and it helped to drive out his own monsters as your thumb brushed along his skin.

“We’re okay, aren’t we?” you asked quietly as the remains of the mansion drifted out of focus in the rearview.

“That’s a loaded question, sweetheart,” Bucky replied. He shifted his arm to let your hand slide down into his. His fingers curled around your own and he brought your hand to his lips. He kissed each knuckle one by one as he kept his eyes on the road. “If by ‘okay’, you’re asking if I’m still here with you, if I still love you as much as I did this morning, or a year ago, or the day I met you? Then yes, honey, we’re okay.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “But if... if you’re asking because I didn’t believe you when you said Rumlow was alive, because I wrote off your fears as nightmares and let this happen to you and—”

“We’re okay,” you told him sternly, tugging your intertwined hands to your own lips. You pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. “This isn’t your fault, Bucky. We had every reason to believe he was dead. This shouldn’t have happened. But it’s not because of something you did wrong. This is on Brock. Only him.”

Bucky nodded. He felt for the slight squeeze of your hand against his; that beautiful, little reminder that you were there with him no matter where his head wandered.

“He’s certainly dead now,” Bucky exhaled. He smiled, catching your eye. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

You laughed and still he was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. “I don’t know if incredible is the right word. Vengeful, maybe. Pissed off. Scorned.”

“Strong. Fearless. Determined,” Bucky countered sincerely. “I know what it took for you to do that. I’m... I’m just really proud of you. You fought with the devil and survived.”

You sat back in your seat, staring at the trees as they passed by with a content look on your face. Relaxed for the first time in months.

“I wouldn’t give Brock that kind of credit,” you shrugged. “He was just a man. He doesn’t get to be anything more. He doesn’t have that kind of power over me. Not anymore.”

Bucky clenched his jaw in an effort to hold in the light beaming from his chest. He stole a quick glance at you, watching as you sought out the stars through clouds. His brave, wonderful girl. He wasn’t sure ‘proud’ was even strong enough anymore.

“You know Sam will hold this over you for at least a decade, right?” you laughed, shooting Bucky a teasing smirk despite the dirt on your face and the leaves still caught in your hair. You’d been through hell and you were still smiling.

“Trust me, I know,” Bucky groaned with a short shake of his head. He couldn’t help but return your smile. “I’ll give him three years and then he’s capped.”

“Three? How generous of you.”

“He’ll survive with almost no serious damage and a new battle scar to show off,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Three is pushing it.”

When he caught your eye again, his cheeks were hurting from how wide he was smiling. There were near tears in your eyes from laughter. He wasn’t sure what god to thank for you, for bringing you back home to him in one piece, for letting you smile and laugh and hold joy in your heart after all that had happened to you. But he would thank them all.

***

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you

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watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

Text

Don’t Worry - Harry Styles

a/n: i’m so excited about this!!! this fic is my take on the song Don’t Worry by The 1975 for @harrystylescherry ‘s Playlist fic challenge! it took me a lot longer to finish this one, mostly because i chose to write about a topic that’s painfully close to my heart and life and i hope to help those of you who are struggling with similar problems. it’s a touchy subject and i really hope i can at least help just for a little by putting this piece out! also, huge thanks to Nat for this challenge and i can’t wait to read all the other fics!!

warning: eating disorder, lots of self-hatred but even more fluff and love!

word count: 3.8k

masterlist

youtube

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip a little harder than they should, it’s starting to feel painful but you don’t even realize. You’re way too fixated on the Instagram post in front of you, swiping through the same four pictures over and over again, crippling anxiety crawling up your spine, clouding your every thought.

Oh how you wish you could say that you’re not the jealous type. Well, in a way, you are not. You don’t think your boyfriend would ever cheat on you or leave you, that’s just not him as a person. Your jealousy roots in your insecurities about your body and it creates more of a confusion in your head about why Harry, your boyfriend of three years is really dating you when he could have anyone, any model or super gorgeous singer, actress out there, yet he settled for… you.

Your thumb swipes across the screen again as you keep staring at the bikini photos Kendall Jenner has recently posted. She is stunning, the perfect model type with her long legs, skinny torso and snatched waist. Hell, she could make you question your sexuality on other days even, but today she is feeding your burning insecurities.

The thought that at one point in life, your boyfriend was with her makes you feel sick, because you are simply nothing like her. In every sense, you are what others like to call curvy, however you often use other terms, some not too nice ones on your worse days. Your hips are wide, holding quite some meat on them, your full thighs never heard of such thing as thigh gaps, not even when you were a kid. Your tummy brings you a headache sometimes when you want to wear something tight, the urge to hide it stronger than your fashion sense. It’s been ages since you last dared to step out of the house without a bra on, your full breasts always need the support if you don’t want them to sit a little lower on your chest than what you prefer. There are rolls, extra skin, stretch marks and all that jazz on your body and has been for a long time. No model looks like this and you are more than aware of that. But if your boyfriend can get any of them, why did he settle for you?

Tears are threatening to roll down your cheeks when you finally close the app and stop staring at Kendall’s perfect body. You ball your hands to stop them from shaking as you make your way to the bathroom in need of some freshening up. The cold water in your face feels nice, but the moment your eyes fall on your reflection you almost cringe at your own sight, as if it’s a reminder of everything you thought about in the past hour.

What is Harry doing with someone like me? The question keeps playing in your head on repeat and you wish you had a relevant answer, but your tainted thoughts keep bringing you back to the same point: He surely will realize it himself and leave me.

You try your best to shake it all off your mind, but it’s not easy. Sitting at the dining table you busy yourself with some work you brought home, hoping the files will keep your wandering thoughts at bay, however the attempt is not quite successful. And then you hear the front door open and close, followed by Harry’s sweet greeting.

“I’m home, baby!” he calls out and you can tell he is in a great mood just from his voice. You force your best fake smile to your lips, not wanting to ruin his mood with your petty party. He walks in, eyes falling on your sitting figure at the table and though you don’t know it, his heart flutters, like always, even after three years together.

Harry is obsessed with you, to say the least. Every little thing about you fascinates him, he loves everything about you, inside and out, just the way you are and he vowed to never stop telling you how much he adorns you.

“Hey there, wha’cha doin’?” he asks, kissing into your hair as he scans over the papers on the table.

“Oh, just… some extra work,” you shrug, chewing on your bottom lip again, the skin is about to break soon for sure.

“Baby, you work too much. Take some time off,” he tells you, shuffling around before he disappears in the bedroom for a moment before reappearing. “Fancy taking a bath with me?” he offers with a cheeky smile.

Bath, for that you’d have to be completely naked in front of him. That cannot happen in this state of mind.

“Um, I want to finish this. Maybe next time,” you tell him with a faint smile.

“You sure? I could massage your shoulders the way you like it so much, we could try that new bath salt we bought.”

“I really want to get this done, H. You just go and enjoy your bath,” you insist, the stern voice catches him a little by surprise.

“Everything alright baby?” His eyebrows pull together as he watches you from across the room.

“Mm, everything is fine. Just… working,” you tell him, eyes on the papers in front of you, pretending like you’re reading the lines, but in reality you have absolutely no idea what the words are saying. You hear him mumble a soft alright before he disappears again, leaving you alone.

A shaky breath leaves your trembling lips once you hear the water running in the bathroom. You bury your face in your palms, feeling so defeated and lost, the only thing that would comfort you would be Harry, but he cannot know what’s been going on in your head. He would never understand the struggle.

These thoughts usually only last for a few days. You always manage to forget about them eventually and return to normality, but not this time. Days turn into weeks and you find yourself sinking deeper into the hole you created for yourself. It starts to effect more parts of your life too. You’re having a hard time sleeping, always waking up several times during the night and sometimes you don’t even fall back asleep after one point. You lose your appetite, your mind tells you that you don’t need the nutritious food, that you need to lose the fat because that’s the only way you can keep Harry. You stop wearing your favorite clothes, always opt for the looser ones that hide every inch of your body and spend way too much time zoned out. You keep catching yourself completely lost in your thoughts during the day, thinking about how Harry might be comparing you to his exes every time he sees you, especially naked.

It’s been long since the last time you were intimate with Harry and you feel so bad for it, but you haven’t been able to bring yourself to bare your body in front of him. You always blew him off with some lame excuse and though there’s a chance he didn’t catch onto whatever was going on, now you know he is suspicious.

And you’re right. Harry notices every little thing, all the changes you’ve been going through. How you leave half your plate uneaten at dinner or how he finds you lying awake next to him in the middle of the night. He also notices how your favorite dresses and shirts remain untouched through the weeks even though you always wear them whenever you have the chance. Instead, he only sees you in big hoodies and loose pants, hiding the delicious curves of your body. But what truly pains him is how you’ve been ignoring all his tries to get close to you, the way you move away from his touch.

The last straw however happens on a Friday afternoon. You are sitting on the couch, mindlessly clicking through Netflix on the TV, trying to find something to watch when Harry is roaming through the cabinets in the bathroom, looking for the lotion he only uses when his skin feels extremely dry. He is going through every drawer and shelf, not finding what he is looking for, but then something odd catches his attention. Some weird named pills are sitting at the back of one of the shelves, hidden behind your perfumes so he hasn’t noticed it, but as he takes it out to have a better look at them, he almost throws them across the room. He has heard of similar pills before, they do more harm than help in weightloss, ruining your digestive system so badly you can actually get way more serious health problems if you use them too long. He frantically tears the box open and see that one third of the pills are gone, meaning that you’ve been taking them for a little while now behind his back.

With the box in his hand, he marches out to the living room where you are still and holding the pills up, he needs everything in him not to flip immediately.

“What the fuck are these?” he grits through his teeth. Your breath gets caught in your throat, he was never supposed to find those, but the cat’s out of the bad and now you can’t think of anything to bring up to your defense, knowing well he very much does not approve these kind of stuff.

“They are… I’m doing a cleanse,” you say, but there’s no use to lie.

“Drinking juice is for cleansing, this shit ruins your body,” he spats, throwing the box to the couch and you bite into your bottom lip, feeling the tears building up already. “Why would you even think about taking these?”

“Why?” you chuckle bitterly, your vision blurry from the tears. “Oh come on, don’t be so oblivious.”

“Y/N, these stuff are dangerous!” his anger turns into despair and concern as he sits beside you on the couch. “Baby, why did you take them?”

“Because I’m desperate, Harry!” you snap at him, the hot tears running down your cheeks. “You have no idea what I go through every fucking day!”

“Then talk to me! I want to know everything, I want to help you!” he pleads, reaching for your hand but you move away from him. “Please talk to me, baby!”

“So you can feed me lies? I’m not naïve, Harry,” you shake your head vigorously.

“What are you talking about?”

“Me! I’m talking about… this,” you growl gesturing at yourself. Harry runs his gaze down your body, but he still can’t figure out what this is about. You look beautiful, you always do in his eyes, he has no idea what the matter is. “I’m not one of your exes and all those models you’ve been rumored to date, Harry.”

“Okay and why is that relevant?”

“Because how am I the right person for someone like you? I’m not skinny, I’m not pretty and I’ll probably never be anything like the girls you dated. Why are you even wasting your time on me?”

By the time you get to the end, your tears are flooding and it breaks Harry’s heart to see you like this. Feeling so unworthy when in his eyes, you deserve everything. You’re perfect.

“I’m not wasting anything on you, baby. Why do you even want to look like them? I love every inch of your beautiful body!”

You flinch at his words. Deep down you know he means them, but there’s this barricade on your mind that tells you he is not serious, that he is only saying those things because he feels like he has to say them, not because he means them. That evil little voice in your head keeps telling you not to believe anything he says.

How could he love your body? How could a man like him be okay with someone like you? He doesn’t want to be with you. He’ll realize it and leave you!

You wish you could turn it off, you wish there was a switch that would shut out all these thoughts, but they just keep coming and coming. Harry watches you break right in front of his eyes and he has no idea what to do, panic is setting in. He feels like a failure that he let you reach this point.

“Baby, I fucking love you. Everything about you. Please don’t feel like you have to change for me. I love you no matter what, I think you are the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. If you want to change, do it because you want to do it for yourself! You don’t have to change for me!”

He is practically begging, desperate to get you to understand that you’re perfect to him just the way you are, that he is in love with every inch of your beautiful body. He reaches out to your face again and though you move away again and it pains him so much, he still goes through with the action and cups your face in his hand. His clammy palm meets your wet cheek as he turns your head so he can look into your eyes, but you are relentlessly keeping your gaze focused anywhere but him.

You can’t bear looking at him or yourself, you just want to disappear, vanish into nothing, existence right now feels like just too much.

“Love, please look at me,” he quietly begs and you shake your head no. “Please, let me see those beautiful eyes I love so much.”

You wince at his words and try to turn your head away, but he cups the other side of your face with his other hand, keeping it in place. Your eyes are wired shut, you just can’t look at him, it would break you.

Harry is kneeling next to the couch now where you are curled up, your arms wrapped around your knees as you try to hide yourself. You feel so lost, so miserable and you wish he didn’t see you like this.

“I can’t, Harry. I can’t,” you tell him shaking your head vigorously. Part of you feels so stupid for acting like this, but you just can’t help it. It’s not you anymore who is in charge of your mind and actions, you feel more like just a witness who sees herself from the outside and she doesn’t like what she sees, not even a bit.

Harry pushes himself up from the ground and takes the thick blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over you as he shimmies himself next to you, arms wrapping around your frame as he pulls you to his chest, covering you with the warm blanket as if it was some kind of shield from the world and that’s exactly what you need. A hiding spot.

You let him pull you to him, face buried into his chest as you sob into his shirt, his strong arms holding you so tight, you feel like nothing can hurt you with his hold around you.

“I love you, baby. I really do. And when I tell you I find you gorgeous and that how pretty I think you are, that’s the truth. I love everything about you. Fell in love with you the first time I saw you and I’m not even joking. Please don’t ever think that you have to change for me.”

“But I can’t stop thinking about how I’m so different from the people you’ve dated,” you whimper shaking your head. His hands squeeze your upper arm as he kisses the crown of your head.

“Different is not bad, baby. I didn’t date my previous girlfriends because they looked the way they did. If I’m thinking about it, I should feel a little offended you think I’m so shallow to care about these stuff,” he jokes, earning a faint huff that’s somewhat a laugh from you.

“I just think that you’re not blind.”

“That is correct,” he chuckles. “I’m not blind, that’s why I find you so incredibly sexy.”

“I really don’t see how you can use the word sexy to describe me,” you mumble closing your eyes as a headache is starting to form from how hard you were crying just a minute ago.

“What do you think there is on you that I shouldn’t find attractive?” he prompts the question in all seriousness.

“Please don’t get me started because we’ll never get to the end of the list,” you huff bitterly. It might have come out as a joke but there’s just plenty of the truth behind your words.

“No, seriously. Tell me what you think I don’t find attractive on you,” he nags and you give up with a sigh.

“Okay, I… I have fat rolls on my stomach,” you start off with the first thing that’s on your mind.

“Everyone has them.”

“But not as big as mine. Yours aren’t as big as mine.”

“So what? I love your tummy. It’s soft, keeps your organs safe, especially the ones that will help us start a family at one point. For me, your tummy means that you are enjoying the wonderful foods of the world, that you are well and have a great appetite. I fucking hate it when girls are just poking around their salads, complaining about calories and all that stuff. Do you have any idea how much I enjoy watching you eat? I think it might be a fetish at this point,” he chuckles, making you laugh as you hide your face in his chest.

“Please don’t say that.”

“Why? I love it when you enjoy the food, I love trying new food with you, cooking with you, see you satisfied when you’re full, you have no idea how happy that makes me.”

“Really?” you ask in a whisper.

“Absolutely. I love your tummy, it’s just even more of you to love on,” he hums kissing the top of your head. “Okay, what’s next?”

“I have so many stretch marks,” you whine with a scowl. “They are everywhere, on my thighs, my ass, my stomach, fucking everywhere!”

“I literally have nothing else to say than… I couldn’t care less. Honestly, most people have them, baby. It’s natural, your body is changing, it’s just trying to keep up with the pace. But you know what I’m looking forward to?”

“What?”

“I can’t wait till you have marks from pregnancy, Love,” he huffs dreamily and you can’t help, but smile at his words. “Those marks will be a reminder to me how much you’ve gone through for our family. I think those are just so wonderful.”

“Why are you linking everything with having babies?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks chuckling. “Because I can’t wait to have babies with you. I can’t wait to see you with a big belly, so I can love on you, take care of you and that our babies, I’m so excited for that.”

“You want all of that… with me?”

“Have I not made it clear to you?” he asks, looking down at you and moving your head your eyes finally meet his. “I’m not just saying all those things for nothing, Love. I see my future with you.”

Closing your eyes you let his words sink in and for the first time in a while, your mind is not trying to convince you that he is not telling you the truth.

“Okay, next,” he mumbles, his fingers dancing up and down your arm as he holds you tight.

“My boobs are weird,” you say out loud, cringing at your own words. You hate talking about this.

“Excuse me? What’s wrong with my girls?” he gasps, making you laugh.

“They are not as round as I would want them to be, a little saggy because of the weight gaining.”

“But they are boobs,” he points out, making you furrow your eyebrows.

“Yeah?”

“Okay, so that’s all that matters. Boobs are great, nothing else matters. Men are simple, baby.”

“I can’t believe you,” you laugh swatting his chest playfully.

“What? I mean it! Do you think I think about all that stuff when I see your boobs? My mind goes: Oh my God, boobs! And that’s it. I just get excited to see your tits.”

“You are such a pig,” you laugh, snuggling closer to his side.

“Are you shaming me for my preferences now?”

“Your preferences?”

“Yeah, you are my preference,” he remarks smugly, kissing into your hair again. “I literally don’t know how to say it differently, and I’m sorry for being so vulgar in advance…”

“Oh God,” you mumble, already fearing what he’s going to say.

“But you have nothing to worry about until you see my dick getting hard at the sight of you.”

“That was highly inappropriate.”

“Yeah, but it’s true. I find you sexy and there’s evidence. I can’t really hide it,” he chuckles and when you look up at him you see a dirty, twisted smirk on his pink lips. “Please don’t ever doubt any of my feelings for you, alright?” he asks in a more serious tone. “And if you feel like this again, I want you to tell me. Those pills and bottling it up inside you don’t help. I don’t want you to risk your health just because you have doubts about me. I love you, and when I say that I mean that I love all of you. Everything.”

“Okay,” you answer in a faint whisper.

“Don’t just say okay because you want me to get out of your hair. Promise me that you won’t keep it to yourself. I want to help you, I want to be there for you like you are always there for me.”

“I promise,” you nod, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip.

“Alright. Have you eaten today?” he softly asks and you fear to give him an answer, because you haven’t been able to push anything else down than just your morning coffee. “Okay, then let me make you something.” “I don’t… I’m not hungry…” you quietly tell him.

“Mhm, then I’ll make something for myself and being the romantic boyfriend that I am, I’m gonna share it with my lovely girlfriend as a cute gesture,” he says, rephrasing what he said earlier. You don’t argue with him, just let him slip out of your hold and go to the kitchen to make something for the two of you.

It’s a tiny step on a lifelong journey and you know that. You know that your feelings and opinion about yourself won’t change from one day to the other, but you slowly start to accept it. You have a lot ahead of you, the road might get bumpy sometimes and maybe other times you’ll have to take a few steps back. But at the end, you know it’s all going to be alright, because you will never be alone. Harry will be your greatest support through it all and now you can finally see that.

Don’t Worry - The 1975

When you're in love but you don't know what to do with it When blackness hangs overhead like a cloud

Don't worry, darlin' 'Cause I'm here with you Don't worry, darlin' The sun will shine through

When you wake up and you don't know what day it is When the pain flows through your heart and your bones

Don't worry, darlin' 'Cause I'm here with you Don't worry, darlin' The sun will shine through

When you feel no one knows just what you're goin' through When your insides feel much colder than snow

Don't worry, darlin' 'Cause I'm here with you Don't worry, darlin' Oh, don't worry, darlin' Don't worry, darlin' I'll always love you You

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

#playlistficchallenge #harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff

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high-functioning-lokipath · 3 years

Text

RPF - Tom x Reader - He's attempting to be in disguise and you run into him at a library and recognize him. - Words: 1,152

A/N: Alright, so for clarification sake, there is a text message conversation in this imagine. You, as the reader, your texts are in blue text. The other person's texts are in green. I simply do not have the skill to make bubbles lol

Also Y/F/D means Your Favorite Drink

Now, without further ado....

"Ma'am? Ma'am?" You whisper to the lady behind the desk. She seems to be ignoring you though so you whisper louder. "Hello!"

"What do you want?" She snarks, finally paying attention to you.

"Where do you have your classic literature?"

"Ya mean like Shakespeare an’ that?" She asked, obviously disinterested. You nod and she points to the back corner of the building. Thanking her, somewhat half-heartedly, you walk off in search of a copy of your new favorite Shakespeare play. You'd never read it in full but, after seeing a spectacular performance of it, you wanted to read it yourself. Finding the correct aisle, you saw another person was looking at the same area. You tried to get a look at him but he had a knit cap on, pulled down, covering his hair and part of his face. He also had his jacket collar turned up shielding the rest of his face from view. You just shrugged it off and started scanning down the shelf looking for the right book.

"All's Well That Ends Well, Antony and Cleopatra," You read quietly, running your hand down the spines. "As You Like It, Comedy of Errors."

"King Lear, King John, Julius Caesar," The Man muttered to himself, working towards you on the same shelf. He hadn't seemed to have noticed you yet. You couldn't shake the feeling that there was something familiar about him though. "Henry 6, 5, 4, Hamlet."

"Ah ha!" You exclaimed. As you reached for the book you were searching for, his hand bumped yours reaching for it too.

"Sorry," He immediately said, pulling his hand back from yours.

"It's alright," You replied, trying to get a look at his face. Much to your disappointment, however, he was wearing dark glasses.

"Coriolanus is a fine play. Have you ever read it?" He asked.

"Not yet," You admitted. "I saw a spectacular production of it from National Theater though and-" you cut yourself off, finally recognizing the badly disguised voice and the not horribly disguised face.

"Uh, I," He stuttered. "Perhaps I should go."

"No!" You immediately said. "I mean, don't worry about it. I won't tell on you." You smiled abit shyly, surprised you've been able to keep yourself together long enough to form a sentence. "You've obviously gone through a lot of trouble to get here quietly, so," You shrugged. "I shouldn't ruin that for you."

"Well, thanks," He smiled. "Sorry about trying to take your book," He apologized.

"Oh no worries," You replied. "Here," You held it out to him. "I'll just re-read Hamlet for now." He took the book and looked at it for a moment. Then he looked back at you and smiled again.

"Aren't you going to ask for a picture or something?"

"No," You shook your head. "I'm not going to impose on you. Now if you offered," You teased. "Not going to lie, I really really want to but-"

"Give me your phone," He interrupted, holding out his hand. You handed him your phone, unlocked and on camera, and he took off his hat and sunglasses and ruffled his hair a bit to get rid of matting from his hat. Turning to stand next to you, he leaned over a little and held up the phone for a selfie. "Smile!" Once he took it, he brought it up on the gallery to make sure it looked alright. He tapped a couple of things and then showed you the picture. "What do you think?"

"Oh!" You said, finally finding your voice again. "Perfect! Thanks so much, Tom."

"You're welcome. Look, I have to go take care of something real quick. Are you going to be here for a while?"

"Probably."

"Ok, I'll see you again in a few minutes, alright?" You nodded happily, a silly grin working its way on your face. He turned to walk away but stopped and faced you again. "Oh, I forgot to ask, what's your name?"

"Y/N."

"Would it be too cliché of me to say that's a lovely name for a lovely lady? Because it's true." You giggled, blushing furiously and shook your head. He took your hand and kissed it, grinning mischievously. "Y/N, adieu! I have too grieved a heart to take a tedious leave." And with that he left. In a bit of a daze you grabbed the Hamlet book off the shelf and sat on one of the comfy sofas in the corner. After quickly making your new selfie your background on your phone, you settled in to read. About 5 minutes later, though, your phone buzzed.

"This better be important," You grumbled.

Hey, what would you

like to drink? Coffee?

Tea? Frappuccino? Let

me know.

Tom?

Yes? 🙂

"Holy crap," You gulped. Scrolling up slightly, you saw he had texted himself your selfie together.

Sorry if that was a bit too forward. I can just delete your number. I'd just ask that you don't publish my information anywhere.

NO!

It's fine. Actually, kinda funny. Usually I'm the one who has to tell people to ask me first before giving out my number 🤣 I'm not on social media, by the way.

Good for you. It can get messy. Now you haven't answered my question.

Oh! Yeah! Lol Uh, well, I usually get Y/F/D if that's not too much trouble. 🙃

No trouble at all. ☕🍵

[Image attached] (pic of drinks)

Heading back! I have a surprise for you! 😉

Lol 😂 Ok! Can't wait!

"Hi there," He said, peeking around the corner of a bookshelf a few minutes later.

"Hi," You squeaked. He handed you one of the cups in his hand and then sat down next to you.

“Oh, this is for you.” He handed you a smaller package in a brown paper wrapper. You opened it quickly and saw the copy of Coriolanus that had been on the shelf.

“I don’t understand,” you said, a bit confused.

“Well, I may have taken it to the desk and bought it,” He admitted. You stared at him wide eyed. “Open the front cover. I hope you don’t mind.”

For Y/N

Let it be virtuous to be obstinate.

Love, Tom Hiddleston

“You didn’t have to do that, Tom!” You exclaimed. “I-wow! Thank you! That’s a great line too! I haven’t read it before but like I said, I saw a wonderful production of it,” you teased. He laughed and took a sip of his tea.

“Maybe we should read it together,” He suggested slyly, another mischievous glint in his eyes. “And then, perhaps, if you’re agreeable to it, we could go to one of my favorite restaurants a few blocks away and have dinner?”

“I would most certainly be agreeable to that!”

“Wonderful!” He smiled. “Now shall we begin? I have a few favorite scenes that I’m sure we would quite enjoy acting out as well.”

“Indeed. Let’s get started!”

#tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston oneshot #coriolanus #tom hiddleston rpf #real person fiction #rpf

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itsthestutterforme · 3 years

Text

I Reject You (Ransom Drysdale)

Summary: Ransom has a friends with benefits relationship with Y/N recently learned that she is pregnant with Ransom's pup but rejects him as the father because of how he treated her when they were together.

Notes: GIF is not mine, slight smut, fluff, A/B/O dynamics, mentions of human trafficking, mentions of depression, implied sexual assault (if any of these trigger you, please do not read. Take care of yourselves.)

Here you are exactly where you promised yourself you weren't going. As soon as you saw Ransom sitting in your office chair, you knew where this was headed. He picked you up from your job and drove straight to his house.

Your body shakes when he lazily thrusts into your soaked cunt as you both are laying down on your side. Leaning your head against his collarbone, your mouth falls open when he rubs your clit when his thumb.

You follow his hips when he pulls out of you, leaving just the tip in before drilling into you hard and fast. "You are such a slut for my dick aren't you? No matter how many times you say you never want to see me again. You. Are. Mine. Omega." He whispers into you ear and you were starting to see stars.

A sharp gasp leaves your lips as you cum for the fifth time today. His knot pops open and his seed decorated your walls. He pulls out of you and you lay on your back, mustering up the strength to get up but he grabs your chin roughly so you could look at him.

"No one can make you cum like I can. No one." You pull away from his grip and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You curse at your body for trembling. You needed to get out of there and quick before he notices something is off.

You noticed a different abouf a week ago and went to the doctor. Only to find out that you were pregnant by no other than Ransom Drysdale. The trust fund playboy. There's no way you were going to tell him the baby was his. You needed to end whatever this is and you needed to end it now.

"You smell different," he says, trailing his nose along the curve of your neck. "Is your heat starting?" He asks and you choose not to say anything. What is there to say to a man that calls you a cumslut one second and is worried about your well being, the next?

You stand on wobbly legs and slide on your underwear while in search for the rest of your clothing. "When I talk to you, I expect you to speak." He says, standing from the bed and you jump into your dress pants. When you reach for you blouse, he rips from the your hand and tosses it across the room.

Attempting to get the blouse, a growl emits deep in his chest and you still your movements. You don't meet his eyes but you could feel the anger blossoming in his gaze. He grabs your throat sharply and lowered his head until his blue eyes met yours.

"Speak, Omega." Chills rolls down your spine at his command. "There's nothing to talk to you about." "You could have just said that. You didn't have to ignore me." "I didn't peg you as the sensitive type, Drysdale." You snark, and he allows you to pull his hand away from your throat.

"You're not going to shower before you go like you normally do? What, am I that bad of a person?" "There's nothing normal about this, Ransom. And to answer your question, yes, you are." You walk across the room and button up your blouse.

"What's up with you? You've been acting bitchy all day." "Wow, you talk like you're a ray of sunshine." "You know what, you want me to speak. Fine, I'll speak. Don't talk like you give a shit about me because you and I both know you don't. The only thing you care about is getting your rocks off like a horny little bitch."

Oh your hormones are going to get you in trouble. The omega in you was trembling with fear of what Ransom was going to do to you. He snarls and before you could even think about running, he turns you around and shoves into the nearest wall. His eyes glowing a dreadful crimson as he growled in your face.

"You got a death wish, omega? Who the fuck do you think you're talking to." He snarls and you instinctively expose you neck to him. Your arm maternally drapes over your stomach protectively and he noticed. His eyes lost their glow and he stares down at your stomach with wide eyes.

He takes a few steps back and you could hear his anxious heart pattering in his chest. "Is it mine?" "No," you answer a little too quickly and he raises his eyebrow questionigly. "You're lying," he says, taking a step toward you with his eyes glazing over your mating gland.

"Absolutely not," you snap and he takes another step towards you. "Stop, Ransom. Please don't," you whimper as he blew warm air over your sensitive gland. Something else stirred inside of you that wasn't your omega part of you. It was something more dominant and heavy.

Your hand comes up and in between your neck and his face. Your gripped his face and shoved him as hard as you could with surprising strength. You sent him flying across the room. He initially landed on the bed and bounced off to land in the corner.

A deep, protective roar erupted from your chest and something happened that you dreaded for most of your life. Your eyes were glowing. Your eyes didn't shine a normal golden color. They glowed like a broken mixture between crimson and ogate from an unspeakable past trauma.

"What the hell are you?" He asks as your eyes restore to normal. "Baby," he adds, his features softened. "Stay away from me. And stay away from my pup." You threaten, before sliding on your shoes and walking out the door. You wave down a taxi who drives you back to your house.

"Hey, I stopped by your job and saw you- Y/N, are you okay?" Your mom asks as her eyes settle on your trembling frame. "He found out." You croak, she motions you to sit on the couch and you comply. "He found out about the baby?" She asks. "He found out," you repeat, watching as she realizes what you really meant.

"He saw your eyes?" She asks with disbelief. "He tried to forcefully claim me and I bellowed at him to protect my pup." "What are you going to do? Do you want to leave?" She asks, running a comforting hand down your arm. "I have no idea, Mom. I don't get it. I thought I wasn't able to get pregnant."

"This is a blessing, honey." She says and you shake your head. "It would have been a blessing if the father was a decent human being, but he's not, Mom. He treats me.." you trail off and your mother purrs sadly, resting your face on the sides of hers. "He's a terrible person, Mom. But I need him and I fucking hate it."

"I know, honey. We don't need to figure everything out right now. Take a deep breath." You take a deep breath and a series of sobs escape your lips. You're screwed and everyone knows it.

Ransom bounces his leg nervously in his Beemer as he parks outside of Y/N's house. He could smell her, she's in deress and she's feeling an immense amount of sadness. He doesn't even know what he's doing there. It's not like his presence would help anything. She hated him and he doesn't blame her.

He would always call you names and insult your intelligence to keep you rilde up so he wouldn't know how it was to be loved by you. He started to fall for you when you would talk back against his misogynistic tendencies. He loved how your nose crinkled just before you were about to snap on him.

You have guts and you stood your ground, regardless if you were an omega or not. He respected that about you. But now he wanted to show you that he was willing to change for you and that he treated you like shit because he was scared of what your love could to him.

But he knew you. You would tell him to fuck off and leave because that is what he was good at. He had a plan to get you to trust him, but if that doesn't work. He has no idea what to do with himself. With a deep breath, he hops out of his Beemer and stalks towards the front door.

He knocks firmly and he heard footsteps ascending to the door. His heart races in his chest but he swallows it down. The door opens and he meets the gaze of a very angry mother. "How dare you come here?" "I need to see her," "I think you've done enough."

"She's carrying my pup, I can't just leave her." Ransom's explains, desperate to be given the benefit of the doubt. "I've heard terrible stories about you. You trust fund, prick. My daughter made a mistake and I'm sure she'll learn from it without your help." She snaps.

"Did she say that?" "She did," "You're a terrible liar. Just like your daughter." He sighs when she growls defensively at him. "What happened to her? To her eyes?" He asks. "Please, I want to be in her life. She makes my heart tingle and that scares the hell out of me, so I tried to push her away by.."

"By treating her like trash. You have no idea how to deal with women, do you?" She asks and he shakes his with defeat.

"Come in," she says with a sigh. Ransom walks into the house much smaller than he's used to. That's what a family house looks like. The entire living room is the size of his walk in closet. But he understands why Y/N would call it home. "Stay here, I'll be right back." Y/N's mom says before disappearing down the hall.

He sits down on the side of the couch where your scent is the strongest. His eyes fall to the shut door closest to the kitchen. Your scent dripped from the room and it took everything in him not to burst in there and pull you into his arms.

Y/N's mom returns with a thin stack of newspapers. The looked to be a few years old by the font and the faded lettering in some places. The newspaper crinkles in his hands as he read the headline on the first page.

HUMAN TRAFFICKING VICTIM FOUND AFTER 7 YEARS. Below the headline was a picture of a young girl with bruises litering her face as she pulled the blanket close to her.

The most heart wrenching part about the picture was how hollow her eyes looked. It was like looking into a dark tunnel with no light at the end of it. Whatever she experienced ruined whatever childhood she had left. Ransom's eyes scan over the article and flipped through the rest of the pages, growing angrier the more he read.

"How long ago was this?" Ransom asks. "Five years ago. She was twelve when she was taken." Ransom shakes his head with disbelief and sets the newspaper on the table in front of him. "Can I see her, please?" He asks desperately.

"She hasn't moved since she came back from your house a week ago. She barely talks and eats. Hopefully you have better luck than I do." She says, motioning for the door.

Ransom stands up and opens the door within a few strides. Goosebumps littered his skin when he inhales Y/N's miserable musk. Tears threatened his eyes but he wiped them away quickly. She already been through hell and Ransom made it worse by treating her the way he was. She deserved better than him.

"Y/N?" Ransom starts but Y/N doesn't move a muscle. Her bed covers were draped over her entire body, leaving a small opening above her head so she could breathe. Her breathing was barely audible, she could easily be mistaken as dead. The room was dim from the closed curtain and lack of light.

Not knowing what to say, he decides he was going to stay there with her. Maybe.. hopefully.. his prescence is enough to comfort her because he has no idea how to do that as he was never comforted as a child. He was just told to suck it up and stop being a baby. He's a Drysdale. And Drysdale's aren't weak.

He shrugs off his peacoat and pulled off his cable knit sweater. He stepped a little closer to admire her nest but notice the lack of his scent. He drapes his cable knit over the headboard of her bed. Not wanting to push his luck, he walked away from the bed and slid down the wall a distance away from you.

He smiles when he hears you purr softly in your sleep as you notice his scent. "Baby, I'm going to stay here with you, if that's okay." Ransom says and you continued to purr. Guess that wasn't a terrible sign.

Later that night, Ransom left your house to grab a week's worth of clothes plus an assortment of clothes you could add to her you. You still haven't said anything but your vile scent of shame and sadness has lessened.

When Ransom came back, Y/N's mom offered him the guest room but Ransom claimed it was too far from her. So she pumped up an air mattress for him. He's spent every day in the room with Y/N without saying a word. One day, Ransom came back with sushi for lunch to see you out of bed.

You froze when you saw him down the hallway after closing the door to the bathroom. "You came back earlier than I expected," you say and a sigh of relief leaves his lips. You both stay in your spots and stare at each other, waiting for someone to make the first move.

"I'm not good at comforting people. But I am good at telling people what I know. And I know that I feel like absolutely shit for how I treated you. And I know what happened to you when you were younger. Why your eyes are the way they are." He starts. "The fact that you can stand up for other people despite your past makes you strong. A strong mate and a strong mother." He adds.

He sets the sushi on the counter and you shove your hands into the pockets of your sweatpants. "We're not meant to be parents, Ransom. This could be the worst thing that could happen to us." She explains. "Or the best thing. I don't know about you, but I've been looking for a change. And then I met you and that was the change I was looking for." He explains.

You eye him suspiciously, unsure of where this verbal affection came from. "Why are you saying these things? Did my mom put you up to this? I told her I would be fine." You say, walking down the hall and into your room. "She didn't put me up to this. And no, you're not fine." He says, leaning against your door frame.

"Baby, we're in this together." "I don't trust it. I don't trust you. I've seen what you're capable of and the way you treat people. And I will be damned if I let you treat my pup like that."

"Your pup?" "My pup," you repeat, placing a hand on your stomach. His gaze falls on your stomach and he nods to himself like he's making a decision in his mind.

"Mark me," he says, taking off his pea coat, cable knit sweater and tank top underneath that. He sets on the air mattress and nears you slowly. "What? No." "I'll honor the bond. I'll be yours and only yours. I won't mark you unless you want me to. Just please, mark me."

"This is insane," you start and takes your hand to place on his cheek. He inhales the scent of your pulse point on your wrist before placing your hand on his mating gland. You shake your head no and he sits down, pulling you into his lap and burying your face into his neck.

Your inner omega takes over and you wrap your arms around his neck. "Alpha," you whimper. "Oh, omega. I'm so sorry, baby." He whispers. He stares up at the ceiling as he tries to hold back his tears but it was no use. He always thought that he was fucked up because Linda never showed him any affection as a kid.

But to hear about what you experienced as a kid. The fact that you had nothing and you had your will and autonomy stripped from you. Ransom's autonomy was the only thing he felt like he truly had. He rubbed circles on your neck and you sigh into his. He learned that from a Google search he did but you didn't know that.

You pull away from his neck and cupped his cheeks, pressing a warm kiss on his soft lips. You were desperate for each other's touch, but it wasn't in a sexual way.

It was more like a tending to an internal scratch. Your eyes fluttered closed and he lifted your chin to deepen the kiss. Your tear stained cheeks rubbed against his and his tongue swiped against your lip, begging for access.

You glady give him the access he needed and his happy hummed vibrated your chest. He pulled away slowly and held you gaze before exposing his neck to you. You couldn't believe your eyes. The Ransom Drysdale was exposing his neck to you. Submitting to you. Maybe he wasn't bluffing after all.

You ghost your fingers over his mating gland and he sighs at the touch. You look to him and he nods, encouraging you to continue. Your tongue darted out to moisturize your dry lips and press a kiss to the sensitive skin. You purr as you inhale his musk of honey and crackers, his favorite childhood snack.

."Y/N, please." Giving him one last look before sinking your teeth into his neck, his mouth falls open and you bite down harder until you could taste the metallic drops of his blood.

You lick away the droplets of blood escaping the wound before pulling away. You lick away the blood from your lips and expose your neck to him but he gripped your chin and shook his head.

"You have to want it." He says sincerely. You barely recognize the Ransom in front of you. His ogate eyes dilate as they met your Y/E/C eyes. And in that moment you realize that Ransom was just as broken as you were. He truly was yours.

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #knives out #slight smut #fluff #chrisevans

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

Text

King of Cups || Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Judgement

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | seven

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: Things have changed, things have stayed the same.

Word count: 3.7k~

Rating: Mature

Warnings/tags: e m o (i can't stress this enough), illusions to mental health issues (?), emo, mature themes and language, EMO, family-trauma related angst, emo

Notes: I wanted to completely cut Din's perspective out of this chapter to emphasize the reader's pov. Hopefully it tracks? Big lovey-dovey shout out to @pedros-mustache for bonking me in the head with a proverbial pool noodle. ily friends. Be kind to yourself. Cheers x (gif credit: @bestintheparsec)

This is fine. You’re fine.

You’re okay with this.

You’re okay

You’re

You think, perhaps, the sting is made worse by the normalcy of it all.

You think, perhaps, that this stabbing—this splinter in your gut, prodding prodding prodding—would not be so sharp if it were different between you—if things were different; if it were clumsy and cumbersome and mauled. Ruined.

But it isn’t; it’s the same. You and Din and his boy, his adi’ka—it’s ordinary. Evergreen.

You suppose you should be grateful—grateful your dynamic hasn’t shifted, hasn’t sullied any. Grateful you still have your Mandalorian piloting you home. Grateful you have his foundling to keep you company, to keep you preoccupied.

But you feel false.

It’s as if you slipped into an alternate reality—one where you and Din touched each other, held each other; one where he buried his frustration to the hilt in your womb and you moaned his name like your tongue was formed for it—and then were snapped back to this one here—this nothing, this void—without anyone taking note of your absence. Because your routines—those domestic tableaus—remain unchanged. They are well-oiled and operate regardless— undeterred, succinct.

The days start the same.

You set aside a warm bowl of fruit and porridge, steam rising to greet him as it fans over his helm. Good morning.

Exiting the fresher, you find the dishes washed and dried—the towel folded neatly into a square beside them. Good morning.

You return the bowls to their shelf, nestling them right next to your unfulfilled expectations and embarrassing desires—butted against your silly, silly heart.

“Anything good?” he asks one night, passing through the galley as you thumb through the news on your holopad

You nearly choke on it—your throat closing up tight around the casual banality of the question. Because that’s what you two share now: you have things. You have quips and lines and normal and none of that disappeared after you’d made each other unravel not four paces away, pressed there against that wall—the wall that stands there even now, a tall and mocking reminder.

You wonder, if you sealed your ear to the bulkhead, could you still hear yourself? The symphonic reverb—your girlish pants, Din’s hoarse rasps— trapped there in the seams of the steel siding like the grooves of a record, to be played and played again.

“Never,” you say, like you’ve always said, and do your best to flash him a grin—the one you’ve worn before, the one, perhaps, you hope he likes. The one where you go dimpled and dove-like.

And then he makes for the cockpit and you are left

without.

The afternoons stretch familiar, too.

Din flies the ship and you watch the child—steering him clear of disasters and shenanigans the best you can. He tugs gentle at your hair; you nip at his little hand until he’s dissolved to giggles—the same the same the same, all of these acquainted patterns continuing to revolve on. Din lands and prepares for his hunt—banging around the belly of the ship, gathering weapons and ammunition and rations—and your eyes skitter along after him, following his hulking figure as he steps past where you and Munch are seated, heading towards the mouth of the Crest.

Din.

You’re half afraid of what it will sound like now— what it will feel like, bruised and jagged in your mouth. Like it doesn’t belong there, like it has no right laying claim to your tongue.

“Din,” you call hurriedly to the span of his broad back as he leaves the ship, your spine straightening out of the chair. You say it; you speak his name and to your surprise find it is none of those things—none of those ugly fears, none of those roughened gums. It’s worse.

Because scarier still, it comes out cotton soft; it comes out comfortable and true. It tastes like home maybe — like a version of home where people could come and go and laugh and not be frightened. Where they could hold little children in their arms and sleep and breathe and be and say I am here with you. Here we are. How special. I have chosen this. I have made this with you.

Din.

His shoulders tense and his feet stop short, just before the apex of the ramp. He turns to you, slow. Controlled.

“Good hunting.”

Din looks at you, the heavy umber of his eyes settling on your own, and he freezes—stock-still, his blood and muscles and bone thickened to paste, rendering him motionless. His dark gaze scans over you—the wisps of hair dancing around your face, the sag of your shirt lolling from your shoulder, his son in your lap. You bounce Munch on your knee and he gurgles out a quieted hum, glancing between his surrogate parent and you.

“Thank you,” Din replies, stilted, and you think you discern a subtle scrape of his modulator; you think you sense his lips part, pained and breathy, the cusp of another thought—of more, anything more— corralled by his sense of duty, hampered by the armor that plates him.

You untangle the boy’s claws from your hair and slip your fingers around his wrist, waving his green hand in a delicate to and fro.

Goodbye, it says. We’ll be right here when you get back.

He stays. For another glimmer of a millisecond he remains, sunlight pouring in through the opening of the Crest—shining off his beskar, off the gunmetal grey covering his body—focus trained on you both—before he pivots, cape whipping behind him as Din vanishes like he does without fail—away. Away.

To vapors.

Three days of this—three miserable days. Seventy-two suffocatingly mundane hours.

You figured this would be easy. You figured it could be as painless as you chose to make it. You were two consenting adults, after all—you both had needs, and you both met them—and you thought that this would be simple.

What you failed to take into consideration however, is that Din Djarin is anything but a simple man.

Because he is all these things, paradigms and paradoxes, coiled into one very tightly wound warrior—a warrior who can dismember a blaster just as effectively as he can sop up baby vomit from his foundling’s brown robes—one handed, no less. In flight. Din is all sharp edges and smooth silver, he’s cold and calculating and roguish and endearing and you can’t grapple with the dichotomy of him—with all these mismatched pieces at odds with themselves that somehow fit perfectly, inexplicably together.

You were naïve to assume you could go back—as if you could unremember the shape of his fingers as they filled you; as if you could make yourself forget how needy he bowed against you, how hot and thick his cock rested in your palm when he pitched his hips and released his desperation in white streaks along your skin.

And when your mind isn’t wholly consumed—smothered with the crushed velvet sin of that time-capsuled memory—it’s tortured in other ways, with crueler techniques. Pointed. Specified.

You watch him. You wish you could look away, but there isn't anywhere else to look. There isn’t a corner you can escape to, nor an inch of the Crest that isn’t him—isn’t an emblem of him, isn’t an extension of his personage.

You see him - day in, day out - interact with the child and Maker, it’s so precious and he’s so damn good. Two arms, cradling Munch snug to his chest—you know their strength now, you know their weight—and you observe as Din holds this boy with the same hands that unmade you—that molded you like clay and parted your wet heat. You see this man—so stoic, so reserved—dote on his child in a way that you never were, and bit by bit, it breaks you.

You caught them napping together once, compressed in that dingy of an alcove by the refresher. Your feet halted in their tracks at the sight and you held your breath—he’s a light sleeper, you didn’t dare wake them—Din’s helmet nodded to his chest and the kid, open-mouthed and adorable, nestled into the crook of his arm.

It made you want to sing. It made you want to cry.

You had to pry your boots from the floor and force yourself to move, to scram. You had to be anywhere else but there, ogling like a spectator at a zoo, nose smushed against the glass, watching the last of some great species simply be as nature intended—calm, drowsy, at peace.

You busied yourself then, scuttling preoccupied about the Crest but the image never evaporated, it never faded—it dogged you, tacking itself onto your psyche: the picture of him there, Din and his boy, holding on to one another like anchors while they slept, and you can't resist drawing the question.

Is that what it’s supposed to look like, to feel like—a father’s arms around your shoulders? Is that what safe looks like? Is that what family is?

You wouldn’t know. You cannot recollect the glow of it—the memory of such an embrace—on your own skin, and isn’t that what makes it all so achingly befitting, so inevitable. As if the Moirai—those weird sisters—spun this string of fate tailored to your being and plucked it like a harp, curating a melody for you and you alone.

Because you see Din give what you never got, and it makes you want. You want him. You curse yourself for it, but fuck you want him—every sordid part of you is tugged and pulled in his direction. You want him, magnetically, you want him you want him you wa—

And Din is fine. A Mandalorian pillar, undisturbed. He is bedrock. This is the Way.

And while he withstands the weathering, you crumble beneath it. It's eroding you. Like tides crashing monotonous against a beaten shore, you are in granules—and these morsels, ever-fine, they nick you - gritting - sanding you raw, abrading you rugged.

You thought you could ignore them at first. They were but lace whispers behind your ear—muted and tickling and just far off enough to deflect. But with each passing moment those feathered words grew loud—rude and vocal and you couldn’t keep them out. Round and round, they wriggled into your most tender swathes of skin. Skipless. Poison.

He regrets it.

He didn’t want it.

He didn’t enjoy it.

He didn’t want me He doesn’t want me I’m not wanted

These thoughts, insistent and pervasive, they are sewn into the bed of your mind one ugly seed at a time. You water them. You don’t mean to, you don’t wish to cultivate these errs but you know they will fester and grow with or without you. So you tend them—watchful, you garden—and they push up through the soil, sprouting weeds, choking the dirt. Marring it fallow.

But you’re okay with this. You’re fine—look at you, you’re fine.

///

The planet of Jelucan is bustling.

It’s got a pulse of its own, energetic and thrumming; there’s an electric current charging the cool air. It’s alive. This place is alive. Towers and buildings are chiseled into the cliff faces of the mountains framing the city, reaching tall towards the pale blue sky overhead. The capital—Valentia, you learned—is almost offensively busy— far busier than any of the backwater territories you and Din had explored in the recent months. There’s so much noise, it’s cacophonous— speeders dodging pedestrians milling about the throughway, engines whirring and backfiring, merchants arguing, hawking foods and goods from their windowed shops and brightly colored stalls, politicians and well to-dos seemingly gliding above it all as the common rabble of varying species and origins mingle and mix.

You suppose it reminds you of Coruscant. You suppose that makes you nervous.

Because you’ve been holed up in his ship and flitting through the Outer Rim, seeing the stars and the moons and planets and there’s just so much life—everywhere, everywhere— this galaxy is chalked full of it; it’s spilling over the sides with it all. And Maker, these months have felt like an adventure; they’ve felt like a fantasy, like an escape. You’ve eloped, caught in the whirlwind romance of it all—shirking your duties, your career, absconding from your shitty, shoebox of an apartment back home.

But Valentia is all too quick to ground you, all too eager to remind you of that blissfully forgotten reality; it taps on its wristwatch, gutting you with a look:

your time, my dear, is up.

The cobbled pavement underfoot is stony and industrial, each step landing too hard, too hollow—like everyone can hear your chipped heart pounding through your boots—exposing you, coloring you a liar.

This is fine. You’re fine. You’re okay with this.

You’ve been telling yourself that—bargaining, pleading—attempting to manifest into fruition; speaking it to yourself like a chant in hopes it’ll stick—in hopes you’ll fall for the ruse.

But it’s as if each dulled footfall shakes the rust from your neglected truth, revealing all too plainly that no. No, you’re not. You aren’t.

You and Din do not walk in tandem—his gait is longer, and he’s a stride in front of you—but there isn't so much space between your bodies that his presence doesn’t distract you completely, doesn’t eat you up and make you fizz. Your gaze could latch anywhere in this packed, teeming city, and you would still see him. Still feel him—on the nape of your neck, in the wet pink of your cunt. Throbbing reminders of the man that has knotted himself so seamlessly into your world.

You shake your head, locks rustling— as if you could rock him loose from where he clings on to your mind— when you feel a spindled hand at the wing of your back. Startled, you spin towards the touch.

There’s a woman— she isn’t human, but judging by her general appearance she’s some species close to it. She’s old. Whittled. Her maroon eyes are clouded, her silvered hair swooped back into a low bun, wiry frizz haloing the crown of her head.

She’s petite, but it looks wrong— inorganic. Too knobby, she’s all elbows and boney angles where she shouldn’t be. It’s as if she’s shrinking, right there before you. Time, pressing her in— pressing her down.

She’s lived a life in the sun; she wears lines on her face, deep and haggard, and her skin is pulled taut around her skull like hide stretched over a tanning rack. She’s ancient, prehistoric.

She’ll probably outlive you all.

An alien language you don’t recognize comes spilling fast from her thin mouth. You can’t decipher the string of words rushing like river water, the current unstoppable, but you garner she’s insistent; there’s no misconstruing the earnest fervor in her voice. Something woolen is held tight in her grasp—a blanket, by the looks of it, intricate and pleated—and she’s handing it to you like her very existence depends on it.

“I’m sorry,” you begin, confusion evident on your brow, “I’m sorry I don’t—”

She continues speaking, urgent and desperate and pleading—gesticulating as she offers you the throw, the shiny golden thread needled into the patchwork winking in the afternoon sun. The child slung at your side chirps curiously, saucer-large eyes following the shimmer of the fabric.

“I’m sorry, it’s beautiful - really - but—”

You’re jobless and blowing through your savings at a blistering speed. You barely have two measly credits to rub together; getting supplies is tricky enough as is. Purchasing something as ornate and superfluous as a blanket was out of the question. Munch coos sadly, a twitter of his voice, and it ruptures your heart to say it, “I can’t afford something like this.”

The bell on the door to the adjacent shop grabs your attention, producing a Twi’lek as it opens. She’s younger, perhaps around your age, and her lilac lekku bob as she bounds over to you.

“Hi,” she breathes, lips pulling back to reveal a charming smile as she glances between you two. “Everything okay?”

Before you can get a word out the elder resumes chattering, incensed as she addresses the other store attendant—you think it might be Old Corellian, some archaic dialect you presumed died out eons ago, predating the Battle of Yavin by centuries.

Just how old is this woman?

There’s a hushed exchange between them—the Twi’lek’s attempt at the language proving stiff. Her cadence is clunky, nowhere near as smooth and lilted as the other woman’s, but they must come to some sort of a conclusion, because they face you—two sets of eyes, burrowing blinkless into yours. The girl takes a small half step towards you, speaking - blessedly - in Basic.

“The blanket. It’s for you. She wants you to have it,” she explains, “for the little one.”

A twitch notches your eyebrow, gaze flickering back to the older woman, something akin to a crinkled smile worn into the grooves of her wizened face. She nods, fervent and solemn—a seriousness set in the desperate way she bores into you, urging you to understand. To see.

More foreign utterances pass between them— the younger woman listening to her soft vowels and gritting consonants for a beat, before continuing to translate.

“She says, you have a beautiful family. It makes her—” the Twi’lek pauses, choosing her next words, “yearn for the past, to reclaim time.”

Family. A beautiful family. A beautiful—

You consider telling them.

You consider correcting her, informing these kind souls that you’re only temporary. A fleeting thing— like the seasons, autumn dying cold into winter— you’ll leave when the time comes. You consider telling them that that’s the arrangement you agreed to, and that you’ll be delivered back to Coruscant and deposited off at your doorstep with nothing but a cheap, portable cot and an unused blaster the bounty hunter had unfathomably given to you once upon a time. That they’ve mistaken you for someone else—someone important to Din and his foundling. Someone relevant. Someone permanent.

But, you don’t.

You don’t rectify their assumption. Your silence betrays you, confirming the lie, and you grant yourself to revel in it. Like slipping into silk sheets, you roll in the luxury of the imaginary sentiment— letting it swaddle you, comfort you, kiss your skin.

And just for a moment, maybe you allow yourself to believe that this is real: the three of you, a perfect band of misfits; entwined together, fated and star-crossed.

A family.

“She hopes you know that what you have is special. She says, she hopes you hold onto them—never let go. Never.”

Fuck.

Can they hear it? Can they hear the way parts of you fracture like slate and quake to the asphalt in shards? Can they see the shiver in your knees—how your nails dig into the rough tweed of the satchel hung long beside you?

You steal a trepid glance back at Din who has since stopped and stands idle in wait—there in the middle of the lane, a single stone splitting the sea of people passing through. He’s unreadable, his visor illegible. He appears statuesque, arms immobilized in plaster by his sides—inhuman under all that effacing steel as life moves in flurries, eddying around him.

The kid babbles, snapping your focus off the Mandalorian and returning it to the two women. They adorn their sincerity openly, as one would a badge, extending the blanket to you—you, a perfect stranger.

Shit. Tears prickle the wells of your eyes. There’s something lodged in your throat— a canary in a cage, batting violent against its bars. You attempt to swallow it down with an ugly gulp, but it provides no relief. This emotion you’ve leveed—your joy, your pain and embarrassment, your desire and need—it swells in you, threatening to slosh over. You blink it back, keeping it confined safely behind your lash line.

“I—thank you,” you manage, looking between them. Awed and humbled, you accept their offering, handling it with the care of something holy—something sacred—and drawing it to your chest. Immediately, Munch latches a claw into a drooping corner of the woven material, a happy hum sounding from his droll grin. “Thank you,” you murmur again, reverent and breathy, reversing away from them—refusing to drop their gaze until you must—before finally righting yourself and walking on.

You’re shaken. You’re shaking.

And it is on shaky feet that you meet Din some steps later, pausing once you arrive next to him. His helm shifts; you register the sweep of his eyes roving over you—the burn of them along your shoulders, sloping down to the blanket folded against your breasts, slipping lower to his adi’ka sitting in the satchel at your hip. He’s clutching at the new token, dipping the edge of it into his tiny mouth to teethe.

And then,

he lifts at the wrist, orange glove tips raising - reaching - towards you. Din takes the hem of the quilt between his fingers experimentally, massaging the feel of the fabric—his knuckles brushing the exposed skin of your arm, searing into your flesh like a hot iron, lingering there mesmerizingly.

It’s the first he's touched you. It’s the first he’s touched you since, since—

His hand drops, hinging back to his side.

“Ready?”

His modulated voice crackles indiscernible and your stomach leaps to your neck. Are you breathing? Kriff, you’re not sure. You have to check—deliberately drawing in a gust of chilled air, the rush burning your lungs as you suck it down. With a nod of your head, a placid smile glosses over the shudder of your features, dousing the singe of your nerves.

“Ready.”

///

You think about that old woman later that day, and the many days that follow, her visage marked with centuries and regret and history. Life, evident in the spider’s web of wrinkles engraving her. But there was love too, clearly wormed into the lines of her face. So much of it— almost too much for a galaxy this hard and war-torn. The things she’s possibly witnessed: the atrocities, the devastation, the loss.

The wisdom she has gained while all of those she’s ever known succumb to the inevitability of age, as her past decays around her. The knowledge she absorbs while she withers—while time does nothing but skip by. Blameless. Forever onward.

In your dreams that night, she appears in front of you like mist rising off a lake, astral and ephemeral— there, but not. Haunting you, inescapable wherever you fix your eye. The woman nods silently. She’s mouthing something to you, but the words never come.

You understand.

tags:

@girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @djarrex @djarinsbeskar @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled @bookishofalder @helmet-comes-off @grumpymuffinmama @niiight-dreamerrrr @spideysimpossiblegirl @janebby @greatcircle79 @gracie7209 @thatonedindjarinfan @altered-delta @email2ash @stevie75 @shegatsby @onebrownoneblue @sammysdaisy @uniquebiscuitmongerdonkey

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #mando x fem!reader #Din Djarin #Pedro Pascal #star wars fandom #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x you #mando x you #din djarin x ofc #mando x ofc #king of cups

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aizawabby · 4 years

Text

LILY (m)

Pairing: Yakuza!Tamaki Amajiki x florist! Reader

Plot: your flowers were the one thing you loved the most in your life... well it’s in the top ten so you bet your ass that you would scream at anyone who would dare to ruin and it didn’t matter if the person was the biggest mobster around.

Genre: mafia au, florist au , NSFW 18+

word count: 6k

Warnings: slight sub/dom play, soft dom Tamaki, explicit smut, oral(f), vaginal penetration, creampies, mirror sex, choking, no protection (wrap it before you tap it), light spanking, mentions of sucking dick, multiple orgasms, praising ish, fat cock Tamaki, dirty talk, slight mention of blood (I was listening to auralescent while writing the smut)

Disclaimer: this is my first time writing explicit smut so pls if I didn’t any mistakes or need to improve any where pls let me know! Also the art work above is not mine nor do I own any of the bnha/mha characters.

A/n: hello~ this is my first fic in this blog, I really hope you guys like!! I’ve been planning it since a month and got way to lazy to complete it :(

ko-fi

The hot rays of sun burn your skin as you walk out of your flower shop for the 10th time today to display your flowers letting them get sunlight. Regretting not putting on sunscreen before leaving home, you whipped the sweat off your face and smiled at the aesthetic you created in front of your flower shop.

It truly was beautiful.

Satisfied with your work you were ready to go back into the air conditioned store. As you neared the glass door, a loud thud noise that came from the background making you flinch. Praying as you turned around you hoped that whatever caused that thud had nothing to do with your flowers and it was just the neighbors cat, Ginger, who had once again jumped over the garbage bin and toppled it over.

You sighed in relief when you saw that your flowers were still intact. Just when you were about to go back a man with a white cloak tripped over your vases not paying attention while running ruining all your hard work.

The man laying on the ground looked at your angry face and seemed like he was about to cry, but you didn’t care right now. You were furious, all your hard work has gone to waste just because one person didn’t pay attention to where he was going.

Getting off the ground he noticed how you were about to start to scream at him, quickly got up and started apologizing.

“Look here sir, apologizing isn't going to do shit for my flowers nor is it going to clean up this mess so I suggest you t-” just as you were about to finish your sentence you felt him grip your wrist and pull you into your store.

‘What the hell’ you thought as you looked up at your captive, he pushed you on to a corner wall where no one could see you, his one hand on your mouth keeping you from making any noise while the other was near your head trapping you from the outside world.

If you weren’t being kidnapped in your own store you would’ve been very much aroused by the situation.

Having let your only staff member go on their lunch break, leaing you alone with your captor was not helping your situation either. Even if you scream for help no one would come to your rescue.

Your captor must have felt your gaze as he looked your way and then looked away once again a blush creeping on his cheeks.

What the hell? Why is he blushing

You continued to study his features so that you will be able to memories them in case he decides to do something, only if you were left alive.

damn he’s cute

You watched him as he kept shifting his gaze from you and the window, curious to what he was eyeing, you peered your eyes out the window to see some pro-hero, whose name you couldn't remember, along with some police officers gathered together holding a piece of paper which seemed like a sketch, showing it to civilians that walked past them.

Since your hearing quirk wasn't going to help you get free you thought it might be useful to hear what the heroes were saying.

“Have you seen this man?” one of them asked “please if you do call the police station right away”. The hero held out a picture. It was your capture.

Holy shit

You let out a quiet gasp at the information discovered, your capture hearing the sudden noise turned towards you once again, his gaze unreadable.

He masked his emotions so you wouldn't be able to tell how nervous he was staying within such close proximity with you. Something he learned pretty early, since in his line of work showing any type of emotions was a weakness.

The sweet smell of your perfume that was helping calm his nerves, was making him lose focus on the tasks at hand. Finding an opening to escape without the pros seeing him.

God how did he want to bury his head is the crook of your neck a- his train of thoughts broke as he felt you try to wiggle out of his grasp.

He glared at you, eyes dark and menacing seeding chills to your spine, he was about to lean closer when the pro-hero left their post and started walking towards their new location.

‘That was close’, he thought

He freed your mouth and placed it on the hand on the other side of your head trapping you. “W-who are you?” you managed to say, he looked you in the eye “Suneater,”.

Thank god for the wall that was supporting you because you were sure that you would've fell on the floor because how much your knees had been wobbling out of fear and being so close with this very handsome man who happens to be the biggest mafia leader of Tokyo.

You blankly stared at him as the headlines from several news articles popped in your head about the man holding you captive, opening your mouth to say-no to beg for your life, this is definitely not the way you imagined yourself dying.

“I” you breathe out watching as the man leaves from his spot, freeing you.

‘is he getting some torture weapon? Is this because i screamed at him omg me and my stupid big mouth’ as your mind filled with gruesome thoughts when all of a sudden cough broke your trans, you whipped your head to the noise almost getting whiplash from the sudden movement.

It was him.

He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, his head hung low looking at his shoes as if they were much more interesting than you. He rubbed his palms together and was saying something under his breath. It almost seemed like he was...shy

What the hell is up with this guy?

“I… um… i am sorry for that” wide eyed and mouth agape you watched the man who once looked so frightening you nearly passed out from fear was now stumbling on his words as he apologized to you.

‘God i need to talk to my therapist after this, if i get out of this’

He lifted his head, his eyes barely noticeable as they stayed hidden due to the length of his hair. “I… I am s-s-sorry for putting you through this mess. I-it's just because, you see I didn't mean to, it's just that” he paused, he looked as if he were about to cry. What does one do in this situation? Do you go and console him for kidnapping you in your own store?

Confused, you stayed still, scanning him to look for some weapons he can use on you, eyes stopped at his trembling hands.

He’s bleeding

Once again mumbling something under his breath he continued “ you see, some people are looking for me, a-and because of some… things, that's why i ended up bumping into you, i-i didn't mean to knock down your flowers, you see i was just in such a hurry and needed a place to hide that i brought you here” he explained his situation.

He looked back at you waiting for you to respond,

“Are you gonna kill me?” he looked at you even more panicked than before almost like he was disgusted at the sheer thought “oh no no no no” he frantically moved his arms telling you no.

“Good, because i know how to fight” you lied, but seeing how scared he is you began to question whether this man actually was the notorious yakuza you heard about on the news.

Maybe he was the weak twin no one knew about

Your legs finally regained their strength and you leaned off the wall, and walked past Suneater as you disappeared in one of the rooms in the back of your shop.

“Are you coming?” your head peered from the room as you waved your hand at him to come.

‘What are you doing?!? Inviting a yakuza in your safe place’ you thought, while one part of your mind told you to run, the other told you to stay you were conflicted.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard Suneater enter the room, without turning around, you pointed at the chair, “sit” said a little more sternly than you wanted to. Confused at the sudden change in your demeanor, he raised an eyebrow at you, why did you want him here with you when you knew his truth. Anyone with the slightest of common sense would call the police right now, yet you stayed calm.

“Look” you turned around, tiered “ if your not gonna kill me then let me help you with your injury”

‘injury? What injury?’

He looked down at his hand feeling a sting. There was a deep cut, most likely from when he knocked over your flowers ‘oh’ his palm was covered in blood.

He sat down at the designated seat waiting for you, closing his eyes letting the sweet and earthy smell of the flowers fill his nostrils, calming his senses.

* * *

“Hey did you even listen to a word I said?” Tamaki lifted his head from his palm, “hmm?”. The spiky red head grunted, rubbing his hands on his face tired of his boss being so distracted.

“What’s gotten into you, man?” he questioned, Tamaki innocently looked at him as if he did nothing.

Truth was he was bored, he knew the plan they had went over it a millions of times heck he was the one who made it in the first place.

“Nothing Kirishima, I heard you, ” he said, moving his gaze to where he was looking before, Kirishima followed the direction in which he was looking and spotted you.

You were out in the scorching sun, moving huge pots of flowers around the front of your store.

Grinning he looked back at his superior “why are you looking at me like that” Tamaki said, not liking the way Kirishima smiled at him, he knew something.

“You got a crush don’t ya boss?” Kirishima proceeded to repeatedly poke his bosses arm, annoying him.

“fuck of” Tamaki flustered, turned around avoiding Krishima’s graze, maybe he did have a small crush.

“hey boss” Kirishima scooted his chair closer to Tamaki “after our mission why don’t ya go get her number hmm? Who knows you might even get a date” he said grabbing his bosses shoulder and shaking it as he told him to man up.

* * *

He broke out of thoughts feeling the pads of your fingers linger over his palm.

“Is this okay?” you kneeled in front of him, placing the safety kit on your lap concentrating on the task at hand.

“Y-yeah” you looked up, worrying that you might have hurt him accidentally, instead of seeing him wince in pain you were faced with a blushing yakuza.

Not knowing how to react you quickly lower your gaze and continue working on the task at hand.

“You're good at this,” he was the first to speak, breaking the silence.

“Huh, oh yeah i guess,” you let out a nervous laugh, “I used to volunteer as a nurse in hospitals back when I was in college, at one point in my life i wanted to become a doctor or nurse, to help people like pro-heroes did but then i lost interest in the subject and started to like other things so i opened up a flower shop,” you bit your lip realizing you might have over shared, “sorry that was to much wasn't it?” he smiled.

Shaking his head no, he looked at you warmly making you feel weird inside. As the two of you continued to talk, you learned more about him, nothing too personal but enough to make you feel like maybe just maybe you were starting to become friends.

“Alright all done, Tamaki” giving him a bright smile as you got up. He looked at his bandaged hand, smiling “Thank you, Y/n”. He got up from his seat, bidding you goodbye after apologizing for the inconvenience he caused, and walked towards the front door.

“Wait Tamaki!!!” you ran towards the front door hoping he hadn't left already, opening the door you called out for him once again, he stops and turns to look at you, confused as to why you called him.

“Y/n? What happened, are you okay?” he waited for you to catch your breath “yeah i'm fine i just,, i wanted to give you something” the tips of your ear started to burn as you felt a blush creep in, you handed him a purple lily.

Dumbstruck at the present he stayed quiet, smiling shyly as he reached for the purple flower, his fingers grazing you for a second, blushing he thanked you for the gift “ but why?” he asked, finally gaining the confidence to look at you.

You were smiling softly, a light blush spread on your cheeks “it reminded me of you,” you looked at him “and it's pretty like you” you said mentally cursing at yourself for voicing your inner thoughts, and for blushing harder.

Before the tomato looking man could say anything else, you ran back into your shop waving him goodbye.

* * *

Six months ago today, you were ‘kidnapped’ by the notorious Suneater. Your life hasn’t changed much since, you still wake up everyday at 8 am, you still drink the same type of coffee, and you still come back home at 8 pm.

But there was one thing that was significantly different, everyday at noon Tamaki would present himself in front of your store.

At first, it started with him coming to your shop, waiting outside debating whether he was coming in or not.

You would stay in the back of your cash register, listening to him mumbling to himself “common just go say hi that’s all you can do! Common just like you did with kirishima” you giggled.

But without a word he would leave. Disappointed you waited for the next day, maybe then he’ll talk to you.

The next week, he finally came in the store, (with the push of a spiky redhead) he wandered around before picking up a single rose, and came to the cash.

Ever since that day, he started to come more often and stayed longer talking to you about everything and nothing.

Slowly, his visits at the store became more constant just like his presence in your life.

“Are you here to buy something or to see me?” you winked at him going in the store, leaving a flustered indigo haired man behind.

He followed you inside, taking a deep breath calming his racing heart.

“Do you like me?” you asked casually as you picked up boxes from the front desk. Eyes wide Tamaki looked at you and gulps nervously before speaking “I-um I...w-well actually”

‘Fuck was I that obvious?’ He mentally screams at himself.

You laugh at his panicked expression “I’m just kiddin Tama, you don’t need to worry, come on help me with these boxes” you say grabbing his hand drawing circles trying to calm him, but it didn’t. It made him even more red and made his heart beat so fast he thought it was going to come out of his chest.

And sometime along the way, you had begun to fall for him too.

* * *

Breaking you out of your day dream you felt a strong grip on your shoulder, you grabbed the intruders hand and twisting your body as fast you could ready to attack.

You lowered your hard after seeing your crush.

“Not bad, Y/n” he showed you the bag of food he was holding “you’ve improved I’m impressed” Tamaki said pressing his hand on your lower back pushing you towards the front door of your apartment complex.

Oh yeah you had also started to take self defense lessons from Tamaki once he found out about your bluff about knowing how to fight. From that day he took it upon himself to teach you how to defend yourself in case you were abducted by another Yakuza.

“Didn’t you have a meeting today with the Kyoto group?” you opened the door to your small apartment where you guys would often hang out “how did it go” you asked taking off your shoes.

“It was alright i guess, they wanted to make a deal” he spoke calmly and went to set the table for the two of you. You hummed at his answer without further questioning him because nothing good ever comes with dealing with the Mafia.

The two of you silently enjoyed the Takoyaki brought by Tamaki.

“Can you pass me a napkin?” you observed as he manifested a tentacle thanks to his quirk and handed you a napkin.

“Hey Tama” you rested your chopstsicks on your place, resting your head on your palm looking at him as he was midway of putting an octopus ball into his mouth, he hummed in response telling you to continue.

“With your quirk you can manifest everything you eat right?” nodding he put another ball into his mouth “so can you…” you wiggled in your seat regretting what you were about to ask, but you needed an answer it was a question that kept you up during many sleepless nights.

Confused at your sudden shyness he lifted an eyebrow at you, this was very out of character for you since you were usually pretty blunt “c-can you make your semen taste like chocolate?”

Tamaki choked on his food, spitting it out looking at you with a horrified face, you scoot closer to him waiting for his answer. Unable to look at you in the eyes he raised his head looking at the ceiling rubbing his hands on his face trying to calm the rush of heat he was feeling. “Taaaammmakii” you whined, tugging on his arm like a child begging him to answer you, he looked at you opening his mouth but then closing it going beet red.

“Ohhh did you do it” you giggled as he blushed even harder and hid his face in his hands and you laughed harder.

* * *

“what are we watching tonight?” Tamaki walked into your living dressed in gray sweatpants and a black shirt sitting on your sofa, poking you with his left foot.

It wasn’t often that you got to see Tamaki dress so casually due to his job most of the time he would wear expensive suits (which made him look very hot) but there was something about him dressing down that made your heart flutter.

It was nights like these you loved the most, nights when you do nothing but stay up all night watching movies still you passed out cuddling against Tamaki.

“hmm I don’t know” pouting as you looked through your nail polish wondering which color you should paint them next. Tamaki smiled and pointed towards the purple bottle.

“Then how about” he scanned through the list of shows and movies “this” he said finally stopping at Avatar the last air bender.

While one would expect Tamaki’s attention to be at the screen in front of him watching the show he picked out it wasn’t. He was much more interested watching you paint your nails. He watched as you stuck your tongue out while concentrating on not to make a mess.

She’s so cute

“didn’t you go for lunch with your friends today?” He asked his eyes glued to the tv, mouth slightly agape.

“oh yeah I did, it was fun” he hummed and laughed at something Soka said. “My friends kept asking me if we’re together yet” you laughed at the memory of your friends teasing to finally confess your feelings for the man.

“then why don’t we” not paying attention to what he was saying he continued to watch tv.

Wide eyed he looked at you when it finally hit him you looked back at him in shock from the sudden confession“i ..i mean if you want you haha” he panicked.

Grinning as you got up from your spot on the floor you climbed onto his lap. Tamaki’s face burned a deep shade of red as he tried his hardest to sink his head into the couch wanting it to swallow him whole.

“Hey tama look at me” you brought a hand to his cheeks caressing it softly, making him look at you as you leaned onto him giving him a kiss.

“I like you” he breathes out as you pull away from the kiss smiling at each other “will you go out with me?”.

You rest your forehead on his, catching your breath you nod “yes I will” he holds you tighter holding your body next to his never wanting to let you go.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, his lips brushing up against yours, you nod “i'll be mad if you didn't”

He captured your lips in a delicate kiss. The kiss slowly escalated, becoming more rough as he pushed his tongue in your mouth. His wet muscle exploring every nook of your mouth as you submit to him, soft moans erupt from your throat as he grabs your boob giving it a squeeze.

“Oh fuck” he moans grabbing your hips pressing it harder on his crotch as you continued to grind against him.

“Someone’s excited” you smirk against his neck making it, as you grab his clothed dick gasping at size. He was big.

Stopping your movements, he stared into your eyes softly, his hand coming to caresses your face “ are you okay with this if not we don’t need to go further” he reassured. Smiling, you took his hand and kissed it, “I want it Tamaki, I want you.”

He pulled your shirt over your head throwing somewhere in the room, eyes lingering on the lace white bra. His hand was quick to go back on your breast, squeezing it with such an eagerness that just made you wetter by seconds. Taking off the bra, he grabbed your left tit. Soon, your nipple was engulfed by his mouth, he eagerly sucked it letting the tip of his tongue roll around, making you release another moan as you grab his hair pulling him up attaching his lips with yours.

Tamaki’s tongue was back in you, eyes closed as he enjoyed the warm and sweetness of your mouth. He held your hips, lifting you up heading towards your bedroom.

Amajiki hovered over you, smiling softly, he leaned in sealing lips with yours; peppering your skin with his soft kisses and marking you all the way to your breast. His hand finally finding the soft flesh, he gave it a squeeze as his lips came in contact with your areola, you let a breathy moan as his tongue worked on teasing your erect nipples while his other hand massaged the other in pleasurable manner.

He lifted his head from your chest, leaving a trail of kisses all the way to your aching core. Spreading your thighs open, kissing the soft flesh slowly, he teasingly nips at your inner thigh marking you, ignoring the place you wanted him the most.

You grind your hips in the air, hoping it will get his attention, you whimper as he rubs circles on your clit over your underwear finally feeling some relief, you feel the cold air hit your wet core as he slides it off your legs.

“You’re so wet, bunny” he hummed in approval as he twirled his finger in your wetness, content that he was able to make you feel this good. “I bet you taste good too ” he murmures, his eyes darkening with lust, he props your legs into his wide shoulder.

Unable to wait any longer to taste you, he lowered his face to your folds, the feeling of his mouth on your lips, moaning as you pulled his hair telling him to continue. He moaned into you sending vibration to your core, he squeezed your thighs to signal that he understood, he ran his tongue along your dripping slit and plunged his tongue past you lips and shallowly thrusting it inside until he was lapping up your juices with fervor while you arched your back as you moaned his name “you taste so fucking good, bunny” he moaned as he grinned his hips on the mattrest revealing his arousal.

Addicted to the slight bitter but sweet taste that he continued to eat you with more force.

“Ohhhh fuck fuck fuck” your legs trembled.

He knew you were close, slowly he slipped the first finger in, your walls warm and welcoming clenched his finger as he pumped it in, adding another right after. His mouth finding your clit, sucking the sensitive bud, sending pleasure coursing through your body.

“A-amajiki don’t stop” your toes curl at the sensation of his fingers curling inside you, you breathlessly moan your mind going blank as pleasure takes over. Pulling on his hair as his mouth works on your clit while his fingers work their magic, overwhelmed by the pleasure you felt from your lower stomach tightening, “Amajiki… i'm gonna-” before you can finish your sentence you feel the third finger slid in, you roll your eyes back feeling your walls stretch “Oh god, Tamaki”

Tamaki grinds his hips harder at the sounds coming out of your lips, his rock hard cock twitch in sweatpants “fuck” he groaned into your heat fingers slicked with your juices as he worked them in and out of you and lapped your sweet juices with his tongue “I love when you say my name,”.

“T-tama” you moaned bucking your hips on his face in search of release. Only a few moments later you came hard, with his face between your thighs and into his mouth. Your vision blurred as felt Tamaki continue to eat out even after cuming so hard. “Amajiki” you tried to get out of his grasp telling him that you’re too sensitive, he didn't move. He stayed there till you felt another wave of pleaser hit and you came into his mouth.

You were panting hard, your chest rising and falling as you felt euphoria, you watched Amajiki get up from his position between your thighs, get up to kiss you, you tasted yourself on his lips moaning as you felt his boner poking your inner thigh.

He pulls away from the kiss, whining at the loss of contact eyes following him as he gets off the bed. You watch him as he takes off his sweatpants revealing his black boxers which had a wet patch at the tip of his dick, drooling at the outline of his fat cock you imagined having it in your mouth fucking your troat till you became sore.

You get on your knees and start to crawl to where Tamaki was standing, pulling his briefs down until you were met with his painfully erect cock. Licking your lips you looked at him “can i suck your dick” he grabs your chin giving you a peck on the lips “sure, but not now” he says as he backs you up on the bed, laying you down as he starts to nip at your jaw “i wanna be inside you first” he whispers in your ear.

Tamaki separates your legs with his knee, placing himself between your thighs, stroking his dick as he brushes the head of his cock your wet centre. “Amaji-ah” you feel his tip rub against your entrance, but then backing away with flushed cheeks “baby… do you have any condoms” he rubs the back of his neck. It was moments like these where you would question how this man was a mafia leader.

Wrapping your arms around his neck you pull him on top of you kissing him, “its okay im on the pill” you say kissing his face. He aligned himself with your dripping core, his length sliding against your folds and getting coated by your arousal. You shudder, hearing him grunt as he inserts his tip in, stretching you out. He then thrust his length in you, grunting as he felt your wall squeeze around him, once completely in he stayed still letting you adjust to his size, since he was on the bigger side.

You moaned, biting his shoulder as you felt him stretch out your walls, you felt full. “ oh no baby are you okay?” Tamaki cooed still inside of you as he whipped tears from your face “should we stop? Does it hurt?” It wasn't the first time that he had to pull out because he was too big during sex, as he got ready to pull out, you wrapped your legs around his waist kepping him in place “Tama i-its okay, it doesnt hurt, you’re just big” you kiss his cheeks giving him a okay to move as you grip his shoulders” as he slowly began to move.

“Fuck youre so tight baby, you feel so f-fucking good” he let out a groan thrusting even deeper in you.

“Holy shit, your pussy feels so good” he moans in your mouth, picking up the pace. Your mouth drops open and you watch his brow furrow as he slips deeper into you, and fills you up. He continues to push until he finally bottoms out, he pants out a heavy breath that he's been holding out. Your eyes flutter but you fight to keep them open, and your arms wrap around his torso to grip his back.

“oh god Amajik” you moan, hips moving to match his thrust “feels so good”

“Yeah?” he pants out, moving at a steady pace, and you nod in response.

Admiring how he looks on top you, lips pink and swollen from your kisses parted as soft moans and grunts pass them. His eyes dark, looking at you with insatiable hunger that told you that he was holding back.

“Amajiki harder” you whimper, “fuck me harder.”

He pauses for a second, studying your face to make sure he was hearing this well. His breath stuttered before he let out a shaky breath.Then his hands gripped your hips in a bruising hold and he started snapping his hips as hard as he could into yours.

Your eyes roll back at the force of his hips slapping against yours. His nails dug into your supple skin and it stung but you didn’t bother to care because the feeling of him stroking along your sensitive walls was too overwhelming.

“Fuck baby” he gruffly let’s put “you’re making me feel so good”

Clenching around his words, you feel more of your juices coating him as he fucks you harder into the mattress.

“You like it?” he pants “ is my cock making you feel good, baby”

You nod. You couldn’t speak properly, not with the way his hips seemed to increase their speed and hit you deeper with each thrust.

“Use your words, bunny” he grunts into your ear. He releases your hips in favor of gripping your thighs, pausing to shift onto his knees and have a better handle of you and angle his hips just right. “You love it don’t you? You love it when I fuck you with my cock?”

“Yes” you moan “i love it, i love your cock”

“Your close aren’t you? I can feel the way you keep clenching around my cock,”

“Oh god I’m close tama, don’t stop” you say when the thrust abruptly stops when he pulls out of you, and you whimper in shock and desperation. But he doesn’t allow you a second to question him before he’s gripping your hips and flipping you onto your stomach lifting your ass up. He spanks your ass and you squeal in surprise but it morphs into a moan when he shifts your hips to position himself behind you properly. He’s slipping inside you with ease, and you’re back where you left off.

Trailing a hand from your back, all the way to your head he gripped your hair, pulling your head back to capture lips with his.

His mouth on your neck kissing his way to your ear, nibbling on it before he continued spewing filthy phrases in your ear that had you whining in blinding pleasure.

“You're taking it so well, baby. Now be a good girl and cum on my cock” he pants in your ear.

His hand finds your engorged clit, rubbing vigorously as he snapped his hips faster. Your mouth dropped open but no sounds came out, your voice was gone as you felt the pleasure rapidly increasing and the heat in your tummy growing larger and larger until it finally exploded.

“oh tamaki” you moaned “ fuck, I’m cumming.” You called out his name breathlessly as if it was a mantra as you felt yourself come undone all over him.

Amajiki groaned, fucking you through your orgasm, chasing after his own. After a few deep thrusts he stops and gripping your hips as he feels himself shooting his release in you.

He stays inside for a while and you feel him kiss on your along your spine, whispering soft nothings. He pulls out leaving you feeling empty.

Unable to move your body, you let yourself fall into the mattress resting your head on your pillow.

“Tired” you hear tamaki leaning against the headboard of your bed. He pulls your limp body making you hover over his lap, your back against his chest “but i'm not done with you baby” he bites your shoulder, rubbing the head of his cock on your entrance lubricating it with both of your juices.

“Yeah that’s right watch yourself as I fuck you” he says starring right at you through the mirror. You watched him as he slipped himself inside you with ease.

He held your hips keeping you in place as you watched his length disappear in you with each hard thrust.

“Oh my god” your moan feeling the tip of his cock hitting your g-spot. “Are you gonna cum baby?” Amajiki grunts going faster, you nod grabbing his thighs to help you steady as you start to move your hips to match his pace as you feel your 4th orgasm approach.

“Look at you bouncing on my dick like a good little slut” he growled in your ear, his hands wrapped around your throat choking you “come for me slut” with a couple more thrust both of you came undone.

Breathing heavily as you calmed from your high, you got off his lap and sat beside him leaning on the headboard.

You looked ahead seeing both of your reflections in the mirror; cheeks flushed and swollen lips.

Tamaki turned towards you smiling as he caressed your face leaning for a kiss.

“You're amazing, you know that?” you smiled at him, finding him adorable in his fucked out state.

“So are you,” you said, returning the kiss.

Tamaki gets off the bed and goes to the bathroom to get something to clean both of you up. You manage to keep your eyes open, smiling as you see Tamaki’s naked butt as he leaves the room. Reaching out your hand imagining to squish it.

You close your eyes letting the sleep take you over when you something cold on your inner thighs opening your eyes only to see Tamaki cleaning you off.

You feel the bed dip from Tamaki’s weight, you turn around laying on your back facing your lover. Smiling at him you wrap your arms around him and bury your head in the crook of his neck inhaling his sent mixed with sweat and sex.

“You're gonna be sore tomorrow” he places a kiss on the crown of your head “don't blame me for it though it was you who wanted it” he tries to mimic your moans from earlier. “Shut up” you say playfully slapping his chest he let out a low chuckles holding you tighter ready to let sleep take over.

879 notes · View notes

real-work-of-art · 4 years

Text

Golden

A self indulgent story ft. a very soft boyfriend!h

A/N: Wow, I feel like I am going to throw up. I wrote this a couple weeks ago, with honestly no real intention to post it. But with all these golden music video rumors, now just felt like the perfect time. So here it is! This never would have happened without the kindness and encouragement from @for-fucks-sake-h, @andwhenshesays, @idk-who-she-is, and @smokeinherperfume. And a very special thank you to @oh-honey-styles who read through every small piece of progress and encouraged me practically every single day for the past two weeks. I love you all! Anyway, here is my first ever official piece of writing. I hope you enjoy it!

Word count: 1.7k

She is beautiful. The way she is curled up on the couch, legs pulled up to her chest, hands pressed between her face and the pillow. Harry sits across the room watching as her eyelashes lightly press against her cheeks and her shoulders move slowly with each inhale. The sunlight is casting a slight golden hue around the room. She was almost too bright for him.

He sits there in complete awe—watching her rest so peacefully. He wonders what she might be dreaming of. Because ever since they met, he only dreams of her.

Quickly, he stands up from his chair, and walks out of the room, careful not to make too much noise. Entering his bedroom, he walks straight towards the built in bookshelves to the right and grabs his camera off the shelf, quickly checking to make sure it’s charged.

Harry slowly tiptoes back into the living room, stopping behind the couch to make sure she is still asleep. As he peers down at her, he desperately wants to reach down and move the stray piece of hair that has fallen across her face, but he resists out of fear of ruining the moment. Instead he holds his camera up to his face, adjusting the settings and snapping his first picture. She stirs slightly at the sound of the camera's shutter but remains asleep.

Harry walks around the couch, back to the chair across from her. He snaps a couple more photos, changing the angles and adjusting his focus, trying to catch the way the soft light of the setting sun drapes over her face.

After taking at least a dozen photos he starts to look through them, surprised that his amature photography skills were actually able to capture the beautiful image in front of him.

As he flicks through each photo on his camera he hears a soft shuffling coming from the direction of the couch. Looking up he sees her eyes still closed, arms and legs stretching along the couch. He quickly tucks the camera into the drawer of the side table next to his chair.

As she opens her eyes she sees Harry looking right back at her with a gentle smile on his face.

“Hello beautiful,” Harry softly speaks.

She smiles softly back in his direction, closing her eyes again.

“Hi,” she mumbles.

Again, she opens her eyes slowly, immediately catching his gaze. She stretches her arms out in a silent invitation for him to come join her in the small sliver of space on the couch. She’s desperate to feel the comfort of his warm body against hers. Harry slowly stands and takes the few steps over to the couch. Grabbing her hand, he gently pulls her up so he can better fit himself against her. With her head now resting on top of Harry's arm and her right knee slotted between his, she looks up at his face. Her eyes first gaze over his chin, admiring the slightly grown out facial hair. Slowly scanning upwards taking in the soft rosey color of his lips, noticing the slight sunburn on his nose from being out on the boat earlier, and finally catching his green eyes.

“Wish I could take a picture of you,” she whispers.

A quick zip of panic rushes up Harry’s spine, making his back stiffen up slightly. Does she know? Searching her face for any sign that she’s hinting at something, he realizes all he sees is genuine admiration. He relaxes into her, leaning down to press his lips softly against hers. It’s a gentle kiss filled with so many unsaid declarations of happiness and love.

Pulling away she looks back up, meeting his eyes that are already staring into hers. “I’m hungry,” she mumbles.

Throwing his head back, Harry lets out a loud laugh, always finding her honesty and poor timing incredibly endearing.

“Well let's get you something to eat then,” he says bringing his eyes back to hers, a huge smile spread across his face.

9 months later

Harry was putting the finishing touches on his dinner spread. Tonight they were celebrating their one year anniversary. Well, one year of knowing each other at least. But since Harry travels so much, he tries to take advantage of any celebration he can with her.

They opted for a relaxing dinner at home, where they could be comfortable and focused on only each other. Harry put himself in charge of preparing the whole evening. So after lunch he surprised her with an afternoon at the spa, having to push her out the door just a little bit.

While she was out, Harry got busy trying to make their night special. Cooking a simple but delicious pasta dish, hanging up some gold and silver decorations he found in the garage, and formally setting the dining table with their favorite red wine. On their trip to Italy last month they became obsessed with this wine, which resulted in her trying to fit as many bottles as she could into her luggage.

Pouring the wine into their glasses, Harry hears the faint sound of the front door opening and closing. Looking at the clock on the oven, he smiles to himself. “Right on time,” he mumbles under his breath while walking to the door with an excited hop in his step.

“Hello love,” he greets her, wrapping her up in his arms and placing a kiss to her forehead. “How was the spa?”

“Mmm, could have stayed there all day,” she says into his chest. Slowly moving her head so her chin is resting against his cross necklace, her eyes meeting his. “Thank you,” she says, reaching up to place a quick kiss to his lips.

Smiling down at her, he unwraps his arms, grabbing her hand to lead her into the dinning room. Her eyes dance around every detail in the room. From the beautifully set table to the shimmery decorations, her eyes can’t seem to focus on one thing.

“Wow Harry. It’s beautiful,” she beams while leaning into his side.

“Come on, let’s celebrate,” Harry says, taking her hand and leading her to the table. Grabbing their wine glasses, he hands one to her.

Raising his glass to hers. “To one year,” he says, smiling and tapping their glasses together.

After finishing dinner they continue to sit around the table, drinking wine while laughing and sharing their favorite memories over the last year. She was currently laughing at Harry’s dramatic retelling of the time she forgot she had invited him over for dinner and a movie, before they had officially started dating. She answered the door in a bubbling face mask and eyes as wide as the pepperonis on the mostly eaten pizza in her living room.

As her laughs start to die down, Harry looks at her with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. She eventually makes eye contact with him again and they just look at each other, smiling like idiots and absorbing the other’s happiness.

“I have a gift for you,” Harry says breaking the silence.

“What?! Another one?!”

Harry simply nods while releasing a quiet “Mhm,” and slowly standing up.

“Okay now I’m starting to feel bad. The only gift I had planned for you was a pretty amazing blow job followed by some equally amazing sex.”

Harry looks back at her with raised eyebrows and amusement dancing in his eyes. “Now those are two gifts I am very excited for.” He leans down to place a kiss to her lips before walking out of the dining room.

Sitting up straight, she places her wine glass on the table and straightens her top. Popping his head in from around the corner, he flashes his bright smile at her. “Close your eyes,” he instructs.

With a silly smile, she closes her eyes. She hears Harry walk back into the room and around her chair. She could feel him standing across from her. She raises one eyebrow, hoping he is watching her, to tell him she is getting a little impatient.

Harry speaks in a silky smooth voice, “Ok… open your eyes.”

She opens them slowly, first focusing on his face before looking down at the two picture frames held in his hands. She takes in a small gasp at the warm golden images of her. Instantly her mind transports her back to that afternoon. She had accidentally fallen asleep on the couch while Harry brought in the bags and towels they had brought for their day on the boat. She remembers how gorgeous he looked when she woke up from her nap. How the sun was shining into the room, casting a bronze hue around them, and the white curtains blowing with the wind.

She stands up from her chair, taking a step closer to him, and slowly running her finger tips along the frames.

“Harry... these are beautiful.” She could feel her cheeks starting to heat up and the prickle in the back of her eyes becoming stronger. She rarely ever cries, and is fighting back the feeling to do so right now. This is how Harry sees her, glowing and radiant. She looks up into his eyes, but before she could speak Harry interjects. “I just wanted a reminder of how beautiful you are. Then I realized how incredible these would look in the living room, and how much they make me smile. I wanted to share that with you.”

Placing her hand at the back of his neck, she reaches up to kiss him. Holding him against her lips, trying to transfer all of her feelings into that kiss. She pulls back and looks up into his emerald eyes. “Thank you,” she whispers, lips gently brushing over his.

Grabbing the frames out of his hand, she gently leans them against the wall. Taking his hand in hers, she begins to lead him out of the room. “We can hang those up tomorrow. Right now I have some gifts I need to give you.”

Thank you so much for reading! 💕

Can We Fall?

The Night Before

Shut Up And Kiss Me

#i will be throwing my phone and computer into the ocean now #it was nice knowing all of you

424 notes · View notes

pickledpascal · 2 years

Text

‘tis the damn season

Chapter Eight: exile

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Minor violence, threats of violence, minor insanity

Summary: Unfortunately, Ailani is not able to make it to the demonstration of Otto's fusion reactor but either way, his plan does not go as expected.

Song: exile by Taylor Swift

It was late at night when Ailani walked back to her apartment, knowing that her mother was asleep and hoping that everything went alright with Otto’s reactor. She had to go to work that day and because of that, she wasn’t sure how the showing of it went. It was a bit scary though, Ailani hasn’t heard any news from anyone. Especially Peter. He was there, Ailani knew he was because he told her she would be.

Ailani huffed as she entered her apartment, locking the door behind her. It was a quiet night, almost too quiet for her. That made her nervous. She looked up the stairway to the bedrooms and hummed, her mother was home thankfully so she didn’t have to worry about that but something was itching at her mind.

Something must have gone wrong with the reactor because neither Otto nor Peter texted her about it’s success. It was strange. But it was also strange that she hadn’t heard about the failure yet or what may have happened. Though, when Ailani was at work, the only thing she focused on was her work.

The woman took off her jacket and shoes at the door, looking out the windows of her apartment before she turned on the news. Immediately, she saw stories of the reactor failing and how Doctor Octcavius had turned into a monster with those four new metal appendages attached to his spine.

But that couldn’t be right…. The inhibitor chip was meant to stop the actuators from gaining any sentience which would be the only reason Otto did the things he did. Ailani’s jaw tightened as she listened to the news, a sad shine in her eyes before she turned it off. She took a breath and looked down at her hands, she had to do something about this. Otto was alive and going insane–most likely–but she didn’t know where.

If the inhibitor chip wasn’t working, Ailani would simply make another.

She remembered seeing blueprints for it in the lab and even when she was younger. And not only was she a brilliant chemist, but she was also amazing at robotics and working with computers. Ailani also thought Peter would help since he was great with technology too. All she needed to do was ask, especially since he idolizes Otto. Hell, he may have a bigger crush on him than she does.

Ailani walked up the stairs to her room, flicking on the light before she sat at her desk. She hummed for a moment, putting on some magnifying glasses that had lights at the side as she pressed a button on the side of her desk. The back of the desk elevated to show some small weapons attached to it and some hidden drawers opened, showing some unfinished projects and parts.

There were many things no one knew about Ailani. Most of those things started from the accident.

The woman grabbed some tools and parts, trying her best to go off her memory from the blueprints. From what Ailani could tell, Otto’s lab was completely ruined so she wasn’t sure if she could even find the tangible blueprints of anything. She started to carefully sotter things together, focusing on what was at hand.

Ignoring sounds around her apartment, brushing it off as appliance sounds.

But then Ailani heard something fall. Taking off her glasses and immediately hiding what she was working on, Ailani started to creep downstairs with her hands glowing, charging, in case anyone was there. She wasn’t afraid to fry an intruder.

The woman scanned the area, humming for a moment before she spotted what fell. It was a picture of her when she was younger, back to her freshman year of college. Ailani picked it up and set it back in its place, her lips pursed before she let her eyes glow. She scanned the area again, her eyes catching onto a…. Different form than usual.

“Otto?” Ailani asked, a frown on her face as she flicked the light on. Not to mention, she could see the actuators attached to the man starting to hiss at her like she was the devil.

The man nodded, his eyes soft compared to the offputting nature of his metal tentacles. “I-It’s me, Dear…. I can also see you have a few of your own upgrades.” He tried to joke but Ailani could tell he was struggling. He was wearing tattered clothes and his hair was not put together like it usually was.

The glow to Ailani’s eyes and hands immediately died at the mention of her ‘upgrades’. “You did break into my house.” She narrowed her eyes at him. Though Ailani knew Otto would never hurt a fly, she was worried about those metal death traps that were definitely influencing him. Not to mention, they had just murdered a room full of doctors.

“Hah…. It seems I did.” Otto chuckled softly, his eyes darkening for a moment as the tentacles hissed at him like they were talking. Ailani watched Otto carefully, not wanting to aggravate him in any way. She was sure that it would be easy to make him mad like this. “I-I want you to help me, Ailani. Help me rebuild the reactor.” He pleaded softly, his top two tentacles raising to make him seem more menacing.

Ailani shifted her head in a questioning way. She didn’t know the first thing about how to build the reactor, nor did she care to be Otto’s ‘Queen of Crime.’ “Otto, I can’t do that.” She said, her eyes on the actuators behind him that seemed to become infuriated at the rejection.

“That wasn’t a question.” The Doctor growled, the tentacles going to try and grab Ailani.

The woman’s eyes and hands erupted with light, blocking the tentacle and had it bouncing off her hand. “Neither was mine.” Ailani smirked back at him before she took a breath, “Otto, I can help you take control of them back…. Let me.” She tried, her tone light and soft.

“No. If you will not help us then you will get out of our way.” Otto growled, his tentacles helping him to crawl out the window and down the building.

Ailani let the man leave, knowing they would meet another time even if neither of them wanted to. She let out a small sigh, falling onto the floor as she tried to regain her breath. She wasn’t usually like this, only when the person she has been harboring a crush with decided to turn into a supervillain.

Eventually, Ailani picked herself up and went back up the stairs to her room. She took a deep breath and sat on her bed and crossed her legs, closing her eyes. Starting from the root of Ailani’s spine, her tattoos started to glow a bright blue color. She stayed like that for a little while, just breathing and soaking in calmness.

“I’ll help you, Otto.” Ailani whispered to herself, “Show me where you are….” She murmured before she opened her eyes.

The woman caught a glimpse of an old building down by the docks. It was old and worn, half of it was underwater. The building seemed to be for some sort of underwater study. Perfect for trying to hide something away from the city.

Slowly, the glow of Ailani’s tattoos died down. “I gotta get to work on that chip.” She mumbled to herself, grabbing it back out to continue it. But she also knew she had to put it on Otto at the perfect time.

Who knows? The tentacles might know to protect that area. Not just in case the inhibitor chip is fixed but also because that area of the spine is one of the most tender places on the human body.

Ailani needed to be smart. And careful.

#doctor otto octavius #otto octavius #otto octavius x oc #otto octavius x ailani tolar #doc ock #ailani tolar #tobey!peter parker #tobey maguire #alfred molina #alfred molina x oc #spiderman 2 #raimi spider man #spiderman

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luvlyrv · 3 years

Text

My Model | Yeri x f!Reader College!au

Genre: College AU, fluff

Summary: Yeri needs a model for her final project. You need some money. With the time you spend working for Yeri, something starts to bubble up in your heart.

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Ah, school's already started again. What a bummer. It's almost 2AM and my sleep schedule is still very much fucked. Whatever, I'm feeling kind of down in the dumps so I wanted to write something cute. I also am considering writing a mafia!au series for Irene, please tell me if you'd like that or not! Otherwise, just enjoy this writing please :) even though I feel like the quality is significantly worse than my other writings. OH AND HAPPY NEW YEAR! AHH ALSO IN THE MIDDLE OF WRITING YERI POSTED ON IG.

Date: 1/6/2021

It all started when you spent Saturday evening venting out all your stress to your close friend, Sooyoung.

"I'm sorry, I know we're supposed to be relaxing together right now but it's the only thing on my mind! I mean, they laid me off work last second and it's not like I have another job lined up and waiting for me. I wasn't even a bad employee! They were just trying to cut costs!" You tiredly half-shouted to Sooyoung.

She sat on the other end of the couch, body bundled up in your blankets while nodding. She patiently listened to your worries and complaints. After you had said what was on your mind, you both decided to binge some awful zombie movies.

* *

You were quickly redoing some of your notes when you heard a faint vibration coming from your phone. You picked up your phone, checking the notification from Sooyoung that just appeared.

"heyyy, i know this isn't an actual long-term job that ur looking for but i have a friend who could use some help rn! she'll pay!"

You feel a spark of excitement as you begin to type back a reply.

"Yes!! Anything helps. I don't care what it is I'll do it."

"are u free tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"her name is yeri and she just needs a model for her to create some outfits and shoot pictures of. meet her tomorrow at xxxx at three?"

"Tell her sure thing :)"

With that you returned to studying with a small smile on your face with a little bit of your worries melting away.

* *

You rock back and forth on your heels, nervous to meet a stranger. You knock on Yeri's door only to be met back with a faint clatter and muffled footsteps. A short while later you hear some muttering as the door finally opens.

"Hello!"

While you were curiously scanning the area around her dorm room, the sudden sound of her voice made you shift your focus to the now open door and the girl standing in front of you. You felt your body stiffen as you made eye-contact.

"Ah, uhm, hello! Hi, you must be Yeri, right?" You manage to say aloud.

"Yeah, and you must be Y/N! Nice to meet you. You can come in." She says as she steps aside to make room for you.

You enter her room, only to be greeted by materials being strewn across nearly every piece of furniture possible. A clean mirror was in the middle of her room and a sewing machine sat off by the side.

"I'm a fashion major if you couldn't tell already." Yeri half-joked with a smile gracing her lips.

You smile back at her. "Yeah I assumed so from what Sooyoung described yesterday. How much are you paying again?"

"Well, I assume you took this job because you're a desperate broke college student. I am also a desperate broke college student. I'll give you around $25 after every session. I can't pay much but I'll try. I mean, you're giving me your time after all."

You nod at her answer. "Sessions? Am I going to have to come over multiple times?"

"Yeah, I have to create three different outfits. I'll just get your measurements today. After that you'll have to come over and model and make sure that they fit well and so I'll know if I have to do any revisions. So, mind if I start taking measurements now?"

"I wouldn't mind at all."

Yeri pulls out a measuring tape and begins to measure your body. She makes sure your posture is correct, placing a hand on your back, sending miniscule shivers down your spine. She moves around your body carefully making sure everything is accurate all while giving you the faintest touches around your body. You felt bad. There wasn't anything unprofessional about this situation at all, yet you couldn't help but to feel your face heat up a little. Yeri was a pretty girl and you just couldn't help but to melt around pretty girls. You found it a bit adorable to see her so focused on her task at hand.

All too quickly Yeri announced that she was done taking your measurements.

"Is that going to be all for today then?"

"I guess, I'll start working on the outfits now that I know your sizes." Yeri is already going to her sewing machine, her hand reaching out to a sketchbook you didn't realize was there before. "Oh! By the way, we should exchange numbers so I can tell you when we should meet up again." She says while looking back at you.

You pull out your phone and walk closer to her, the both of you exchanging contact details.

"Thanks for today, Y/N. I'll pay you next time you come. I'm sure you'll love the way these outfits look on you too!"

You make your way out of her room and shut the door behind you for her.

* *

Time has passed and you've already been to Yeri's place a couple times. Each time feeling a little bit more suffocating under Yeri's overwhelming presence. The way her eyes would look at you, carefully judging the details of the clothing she put hours of hard work in. The way she'd always thank you for your time. You couldn't help but want to know her more.

Despite wanting to get closer with her though, you never seemed to text her for any reason besides modelling for her. Sooyoung kept encouraging to just talk to her casually. You tried to follow her advice, tried to convince yourself that it wouldn't be the end of the world if Yeri didn't want to text you back, but every time you began to write a hello or considered sending her something you chickened out.

Today was another day where you would visit Yeri. You enter her room, basking in the warmth of Yeri's now familiar and welcoming smile.

Wearing the third and final outfit of Yeri's project you shyly spoke out, "Well, do you think this one needs anymore revisions?"

You watch as Yeri once again eyes you up and down. Yet, something felt different this time. Or perhaps you were making things up in your head. You watch as she turns her head back up to you with shining eyes.

"I think you look wonderful."

You purse your lips as you feel your heart beating way too fast.

"Honestly, this is my best work yet! God, I'm a genius. Hey, one day Y/N I'm gonna become a top designer and you'll be my model again. Got it?"

You crack open a smile along with Yeri at the sight of her enthusiasm. Although you didn't really feel close with her, let alone as close as you wish the both of you could be, over the past couple of weeks it felt like the two of you had warmed up to each other.

"I really appreciate the offer." You tell her with sincerity in your voice. It seemed like there would be no more revisions though, and no more revisions meant no more modelling for Yeri. With that your happy mood seemed to be ruined as you sighed and spoke out. "Well, I guess I'll change and be on my way then. Thank you so much for allowing me to work with you, Yeri."

After all this time, you failed to get to really know Yeri. You felt upset at the fact that it felt like you just wasted a chance to do something. Even though you'd still have her number after today, it was a near guarantee you'd still be too chicken to ever message her something. Disappointment began to build up in your mind as you made your way towards a room to change clothes. All of a sudden you heard Yeri's voice calling out to you.

"Y/N, if you really want to thank me, why not go on a coffee date with me sometime?"

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lovely-necromancy · 3 years

Text

A Cure for Insomnia CH.9

TW Purposeful misgendering of MC, and overall skeevy first POV.

MC is agender and here I started this chapter with the POV of someone out right misgendering them.

Capital He/Him pronouns are associated with Slender.

He was angry, but then again when wasn't He. You've wasted too much time on “laying low”. And now He's getting impatient, you're starting to hear whispers about potential replacements and incompetency. First you fuck up your mission then you gave Him the subpar sacrifice of that dumb hippie. He didn't want her, He wanted her. Her being your current and original target.

The girl who moved to town in the middle of March, YN. Didn't wait for the month to end or come the first week of the new one. Such a strange time to move...almost as if she was running away from something. He had taken an interest in her immediately. You didn't see what was so special about her, just another mousy girl in a small town, very obedient from what you saw.

Maybe that's what caught His attention. A new little puppet to add to His collection...but His urgency with this task didn't really fit. You knew for a fact He wasn't human but...could He have desires of the flesh? Was this a twisted perversion of your god's? The fuzzy feeling in your head gets painful at the thought.

'Ok, you aren't after some ass.' you think trying to appease Him.

It doesn't work, your apology is almost as worthless as you are to Him in this moment. You've really been testing Him lately, understandably this is your last chance so to speak. Bring Him YN or you won't be His problem much longer.

A chill runs down your spine at the ill intent you feel through your contract.

You're working on it, really you are. But she's so stupid and air headed it will take a while to break her for Him to be able to properly mold her. Not to mention she seems to have acquired a new guard dog. One that seems to have problems staying still, yet will spend hours watching her.

You'd seen him around town a few times in the past week or two, he has two other companions who aren't as bad about keeping low profiles. Yeah, you'd seen each of them at her house at one point or another. The short one seemed to have a nasty habit of slinking into her home in the dead of night as she slept. He didn't seem to go in during her drives, only when she'd be there. The tall one would come in the early morning or middle of the day, either to retrieve his partner or to snoop around inside for a bit before leaving. Aside from his partner he never seemed to leave with anything, never went in with anything either. They weren't leaving traces so they couldn't be your replacements.

Even if they had been they didn't seem too tough, you could over take them easy. Show Him you were still good for something.

But worst of all was her fucking mutt. He'd just circle the outside of the house, inspecting it. For what you have no clue, but he kept at it like he had a keen eye and could detect the slightest change of the home. One day he started looking off into the tree line and you'd almost swear he knew where you were. And while his nearly all black eyes made you think he was your replacement, intimidating you, your god suggested otherwise.

Reminding you that they weren't breaking her down for Him. That was your job.

Not only was the twink annoyingly thorough when at her home but he seems to have followed her to work today. You hope this isn't a new habit for him, you'll need to catch YN off guard at some point and you can't do that with that stupid twitching bastard around.

He bought two books and YN had seemed surprised when he came up to chat with her after finishing the first one. She's not your normal type but you can't deny she is cute talking so excitedly, you really wish that fucking mask was off her face so you could see her plump lips move. Come to think of it, twitchy was also wearing a mask. Is that why she talks so freely with him? Was all you had to do to get close to her was wear a mask? Or did she have a little crush on this guy?

No, she's speaking the same way she would with one of the Hornets. He however has a certain look in his eye while they talk. Maybe someone does have a crush...Or maybe he's just a disgusting stalker like you are. Were, like you were that is before your god saw the potential in you. And blessed you as one of his followers.

If he is a creepy little stalker tailing her you could let him do the breaking, and then you'd swoop in for the kill. Would that take too long? Better yet would your god even be happy with the idea. He can get very touchy about plans, down to the tiniest details too. You've witnessed first hand what He does to those who leave gaps for targets to get through.

Reprogramming doesn't seem pleasant. But that'll be the least of your worries if you don't get a move on with delivering Him His choice of offering. In the years you've been of service to your god...you don't recall Him ever choosing his offering. A target yes of course plenty, but His next puppet or a special meal. No this was big, testing your worth probably, very big.

'And you're failing.' that voice isn't yours.

'How, astute.' He's chatty today. That's always a bad thing. For you anyway.

You turn your attention to the bookshop across the street, coffee shops make such great covers especially when you add a laptop and act as though you're writing a novel, no one spares you a glance. It's five and that means quitting time, maybe YN wouldn't go home right away. You could run into her and plant some seeds of paranoia in her.

Mess with her head, have her freak out and cause a scene in town to discredit her further in the future. Your typical MO. After all she is just the simple new girl in town, and small town residents don't trust easy.

'This should be fun.' you think as you pack up your computer and notebook.

Heading to your car you wait in the parking lot for a moment, making it look as though you were busy with your phone while you waited to see that ugly yellow car drive in one direction or another. It doesn't take long before you catch sight of the brightly colored Kia taking the road towards the general store.

Wonderful, one humiliating panic attack in public coming up. This was something you could manage perfectly on your own. Though maybe once your god was more pleased with you, you'd ask for His assistance in giving her a few more hallucinations. After all the faster she's broken down the faster He gets what He wants.

Once at the small store you park one space away from her Kia. Normally for targets you prefer if they don't notice your car but it's not like there's room to go else where in this parking lot. Just as you're about to make your way inside, you hear more murmuring.

How the hell are you supposed to do His bidding when all He seems to want to do is keep interfering? It's getting so frustrating that you're starting to question your god's intelligence.

For your insolence you are hit hard with the worst migraine you've ever gotten since taking up a contract with Him.

'You are not the only one following them.' is the biting retort.

Moving your head despite the pain, you scan the store through squinted eyelids as you stand just out of your car. And you catch sight of him, that twitching guard dog from before. He hasn't noticed you but he seems to be sharing a cart with YN.

Did she get a boyfriend? Were you just unaware of that detail this entire time? She seems too relaxed with him for that to be anything else. They look too domestic together, you'll have fun ripping them apart. She'll probably cry like the bitch she is when you do, that's a very nice picture.

'Leave.' what now?

'Leave before he catches on to you.' The twitchy twink? You could take him in a fight, kid is practically all bones, why should you leave?

Instead of an answer your migraine intensifies. For the first time in years you are racked with so much pain that you would've collapsed on the ground if your car hadn't been near to steady yourself.

A chime of a bell sounds, “Hey pal you alright there?”, it's just Leo. Luckily you've never shopped at his store so likely hood of him knowing who you are or mentioning this to anyone isn't high.

“Ah...yeah,” you say through the wincing, “real bad migraine.”

“I got some Excedrin-”

“I'll just come back later.” you cut him off and get back into your car. Movement isn't easy for you under all this pain but you can feel His presence in your mind gaining control. You'll either wake up back in your bed or on the forest floor covered in blood and ticks. You really hope it isn't the last one as you black out just as you turn onto 3rd Avenue.

Leo comes back into the store almost as soon as he ran out.

“Everything ok?” you ask. You'd seen the man run out when you turned around to ask if he had gluten free vegetable stock.

“Yea, some tourist must'a got car sick or somethin'.” you nod at his gruff reply.

“Oh, do you have any gluten free vegetable stock?”

The old man eyes you warily.

“Kid don' tell me ya got on one a those fad diets.”

“No it's for the Picnic next week. I wanted to make an all diet friendly foragers pie.” you said shaking your head, which snaps right twice. Behind you you hear a muffled clucking coming from Toby.

Toby had hung out at the shop with you today. After he read through The Son of Neptune the two of you had discussed the series for a bit before you almost let some spoiler slip through. Toby couldn't help but laugh when you pushed him into a reading nook to finish reading the series before you ruined it for him. He got two thirds of The Mark of Athena done before you clocked out for the day.

While leaving he mentioned he needed to go shopping and asked where the grocery store in town was because he hadn't seen one in the area. You offered to take him to Leo's shop because it had everything you could need and was a small local business. Like most things in Kepler but there was a Trader Joe's that opened up in town, and they don't have much to offer when you cook from scratch. So here you were shopping together.

“I think we have organic no clue if it's vegan though.”

“Gluten free.” Leo rolls his eyes in dismissal and goes off to find the organic broth for you.

“Was there anything else you needed to grab?” you asked turning to look at Toby.

He had a list with him and had been ripping small tears to cross off what he'd gotten. He nods once then twice as his eyes find items he had yet to find, until they stop near the bottom of the list. Toby's dark brown eyes roll so hard you're pretty sure they rolled to the back of his skull. He lets out a dramatic 'agh' sound at whatever was on the list. Before crumbling it and tossing it into the cart.

“Atomic Fireballs and eggs. Can you grab the candy? Some people get pissy about their eggs.” he says cutting his eyes to the cooler containing eggs. This is probably a regular argument with the group.

With a small nod and an “mmhmm” you run off to the candy isle. You smell the cinnamon candy before you even see the container on the shelf. Before running off back to Toby and the cart, you pause debating if you should grab some M&Ms or chocolate chips to make cookies for tomorrow's movie night. You had stress eaten the snacks you bought last week only having the Surge left for Kirby, like hell you would drink it yourself.

After the week you've had baking sounded really nice. The mind numbing activity would probably be therapeutic since you haven't baked in so long. You grab two of the bigger bottles of mini M&Ms they always taste better to you, plus mini cookies tend to be a bigger hit than their regular sized counter parts. On your way to the front of the store you pass an end cap for chips. Seeing the white cheddar popcorn you like you grab a bag to replace the one you ate earlier in the week.

You should be set now, as long as Leo had the broth. If he didn't gluten free broth seems like something the Trader Joe's would have.

Toby's already at the counter with Leo, who had a box of broth off to the side. Noice. You place the Atomic candy on the counter with the rest of Toby's items. Leo looks between the two of you but brushes off whatever thought or comment he had.

“This it for you kid?”Leo has already begun ringing him out.

You see the movement of Toby's mouth open while he double checks the cart, he closes it when he sees the wad of paper. He must have forgotten something. Going over your own list you double check to make sure you have everything before it's your turn.

“N-n-n-no, can I-I-I get two boxes of condoms? St-s-st-standard and Large.” Toby's popping his knuckles a little more aggressively than normal, well what you've equated to normal for Toby.

'Oh.' the add ons sort of surprise you, but his exaggerated sigh from earlier makes more sense. Why did you even think that eggs caused that sort of reaction? It was probably because he was gonna have to ask for condoms in front of you. His new friend, nearly a stranger. Toby's agitated tics and stuttering are very valid right now.

You miss the look Leo gives you but Toby doesn't and when Leo looks back at him his tics get more frequent.

Looking to Toby when his 'mrrow' tic keeps repeating, you see the tips of his ears are a soft pink. A stark contrast to their normally grayish white complexion. Wanting to help but knowing he's most likely just embarrassed you decide to say nothing and ignore the situation. Thankfully Leo doesn't make any type of comment either as he finishes ringing out Toby and hands him his receipt.

“This it kid?” He says as he starts checking out your items.

“Um...ah, what's the pizza today?” this week isn't your normal pizza week but with the Picnic being next weekend you probably won't do pizza next week. And you have to have a slice ready for Chonk, least he decides to see what human taste like.

“Spinach and mushroom, a white pizza.”

“Yea I'll take one of those then please.”

“Garlic crust?” How very dare this man. What kind of question is that.

“Of course.”

He leaves to the back of the store yet again to retrieve your pizza. There's a silence that falls over the store as he leaves, leaving only you and Toby out front. Not an awkward type of silence but you definitely aren't going to risk a glance at Toby right now.

“I threw in an extra for that stray you've been feeding.” He says as he returns. Toby having calmed down a bit scoffs at the stray comment.

“That isn't a-a-a stray it's a fucking dem-mon.”

“Ok like that's fair, but he is kinda cute.”

“I don't care what it is, just keep it away from my store.” Leo finishes ringing you up. “Bad for business to have a wild animal rooting through the garbage.” Leo doesn't care about that stuff he also fears Chonk, and all his trash panda glory.

Once you settled your tab with Leo you and Toby go out to your car. You place his items in the backseat while you take the trunk, so no one goes home with the wrong item. Stars forbid you end up with the condom bag and have to awkwardly give that to Toby or even worse Brian or Tim. You've had four interactions with the man but already you can hear Brian's teasing banter.

Getting situated in the car you hand your phone to Toby to pick the music. You'd left your entire library open this time and not just the home page, you wanted to see if he'd pick something different or just go with the last thing played. He did scroll a bit before just clicking the last played playlist. Well at least he looked, maybe you'd make a playlist and see what he liked. He could just enjoy the songs.

While you're stuck at the light waiting to turn you remember consciously that Saturday Night Dead is tomorrow. You wonder if the trio would be joining you all. Wouldn't hurt to ask.

“Hey so are you guys coming over to the Cryptonomica tomorrow night?”

“Tim and Brian are.” Toby's eyes glance at the window as he picks at the skin around his nails.

“Oh. Why aren't you coming?” you hope you don't sound too pushy.

“Hi, I'm Toby I have Tourette's.” He says in a deadpan.

“Nice to meet you, I'm YN I have Autism.” you sass back cutting your eyes to him, “and I have tics too remember.”

“You can sit beside me. The gang never mentions my ticcing or stimming during a movie and I sit in the corner to be less of a distraction.”

From the corner of your eye you can see he peeled off a bit of skin and is now bleeding. When you slow down at the light you reach over him to the glove box and pull out a box of band-aids. Tossing the box in his lap you focus back on the road. There's a cracking sound when Toby's shoulder pop from a tic but other than that you two fall into a lull in the conversation.

From the corner of your eye you see Toby put the box in the cup holders between you. This little shit, just because he doesn't feel pain doesn't mean picking his skin is a healthy fidget.

“...I..I'll think about it.” he's still picking at his skin but maybe reassurance will help him calm down.

“Well, I hope I see you tomorrow then,” you can't help the grin on your face, you're just a touch giddy at the fact you've made a friend this fast. “No pressure though.” can't be too pushy you might scare him off.

You hear a huff as he turns more of his body to look out the window. He isn't upset his energy feels calm almost excited, it's nice to meet someone who isn't so confusing with their actions. Though you'd wish he wouldn't try to hide them. Maybe you both have the same idea of not wanting to overwhelm the other right away. You get the feeling this situation...your blooming friendship with Toby, it isn't something he's use to.

Getting to the RV you help Toby carry in the groceries, despite his protests that he can do it. It was just machismo of course, because once inside the RV you noticed how clean it was for three bachelors and their huge dog living in it. Sure there were dishes in the sink but dishes are a care chore that never ended. There was very little clutter that you saw but you also weren't paying close attention since you were just helping bring in groceries and not here for a visit. It would be rude to look, you think.

Once all of the boys' bags were brought in and either on the counter or table you saw a majority of them had blood smears all on the handles. Fucking Toby, you gave him band-aids for a reason.

“Tobais you're bleeding.”

“Thanks Captain obvious.” you want to smack him.

“Do you guys have a first aid kit?”

“Nope.” he sounds so smug when he pops the 'p' sound.

“Ok, then I'll go get the band-aids out of my car and you wash your hands.”

“Don'-uwu- Don't worry about it.”

You have to bite your lip so you don't laugh but the small stream of air coming from your nose let Toby know you were laughing. Despite his mask you can see his pout clearly when he turns to you.

“I...I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't...but it's too,” your giggling is breaking down your ability to speak, “cute.”

The grumpy face sort of melts off of the boy in front of you, but you can tell by the vibes he's still touchy. You try to calm yourself but quickly realize you aren't giggling anymore because of his tic.

“C'mon it isn't even that funny.” he says gruffly, before looking off to the side.

“No...it's,” you keep shaking your head as the movement doesn't stop. The loop won't stop and you're starting to tear up from the muscles in your abdomen seizing up then relaxing in repetition.

Toby seems to realize what's happened.

“No fucking way.” is all he says as he comes closer to your still giggling form. “A giggling tic?” You can only nod, you're starting to get light headed. Toby noticing you starting to crouch down, helps ease you to sit. He stays by your side as you both wait for the tic to cease.

He even tries rubbing a hand on your back to soothe you into calming down. You'll need to tell him physical comfort doesn't really help you. It's still sweet of him to try.

Unlike a laughing fit that will have a gradual die down of the action, your laughing tic has an abrupt stop. But you feel just as tired and even more sick than someone who just got out of a laughing fit. Breath coming out hitched though you try to gasp in more air to soothe your impending headache. Your face is red and covered in tear stains, once again you are thankful for your mask. This isn't a tic you get often but you probably hate this one the most, just from how drained it leaves you.

Toby continues to rub circles into your back as your breathing starts to even. Eventually he gets up to grab you some water. You notice it's quiet in the RV, not even Connor is around Brian must have him today.

“That was probably karma.” he says as he hands you the glass. Looking up to him confused he continues, “For teasing me about my tic.”

“But I w-wa-,” you take a large gulp of water for the raspiness of your voice, “I wasn't teasing. I just thought 'uwu' was a cute vocal tic.” you say indignantly.

Really you had only thought the verbal tic was cute. Also it'd been a while since you heard 'uwu' said aloud so it caught you off guard.

“Not as cute as a giggling tic.” who's teasing who now.

“Haha, don't get used to it doesn't happen often.”

After settling down from you tic it's time to head home. You really don't want to over stay your welcome. The fatigue is also starting to set in and you want to get home before it really hits.

Toby is nothing if not a gentleman you've noticed. And he continues to be on brand as he walks you back to your car.

“So thanks for that.” vaguely motioning as if to say 'y'know' with your hands rather than your words. Toby knows, you can tell from that boyish glint in his eyes.

“Hope to see you tomorrow night.” you say getting back into your car.

“It's sounding better now.” there's a pause, “Get home safe.” he slaps the interior of your window before backing away from your car altogether.

With a final wave you back out back onto the old dirt road and drive on home. When you get home you realize you never patched up Toby's hand, now you have a small bloodstain on your door.

#A cure for insomnia #ticci tobyx reader #ticci toby #ticcitoby #brian thomas x reader #brian thomas #timothy wright x brian thomas #timothy wright x reader #timothy wright #creepypasta fanfic #masky x reader #masky

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alexwritesfiction · 3 years

Text

hear my heartbeat? (just focus on that)

words: 2370

genre: fluff, angst, mlm friendship

tw: a bit very sad hmm

a/n: i love this idk why. i really shouldnt be writing so much angst holy hell. please read it!

—

in which michael can't sleep because if nightmares and ashton helps him.

—

Michael hated sleeping. He couldn’t even think about it. Just the thought of closing his eyes sent shivers down his spine. He used to love sleep. Heck, that was all he did back when he could. But things change, especially for him they did. He started to play in a band. With his best friends, no less. And he couldn’t have been more elated.

He needed to sleep, he craved to. Every night he’d lay down, terrified but with a bit of hope that maybe, just maybe he’ll sleep. Maybe, he won’t wake up in the middle of the thrashing and sobbing.

All he could do was hope, and he was running out of it at an alarming rate. For the past couple of shows he’d looked horrendous, as if his eyes had been painted red. He didn’t recognize himself in the mirror anymore. Didn’t feel like himself anymore.

He kept feeling worse and worse every day. It only doubled whenever he was struck with the realization that he should be happy that he even made something out of his career.

Lord, if Ashton could hear him right now, he would’ve no doubt broken down. And Michael couldn’t afford that. He needed Ashton to stay strong the way he was. He lived vicariously off him.

He thought Ashton didn’t know. But then again, he was the band dad after all. It was his job to protect his family. Where the band is, home is.

Today they were going to be playing a show in Copenhagen. The venue they were staying at only had two rooms, which means they’d have to share one each.

Sure, they’d shared rooms before, even beds, all four of them. But, this time, it was different. This time, Michael was different.

This scared him further. If he didn’t sleep alone, they’d know. He couldn’t bear the thought of having a nightmare while one of his bandmates was sleeping beside him. He could picture the disappointment on their faces. They’d hate him for not being okay. He was supposed to be fine. Michael had always been the chill, happy go lucky guy. The soft one, but strong. Oh, how untrue it was.

He may have been fine from the outside, but he just about was erupting like a volcano inside. And the lava ruined him every day. It was like he was the sun: bright from the outside, but just a big ball of black in the inside.

“C’mon Mike, we got to go,” Calum’s voice bounced off his door and he knocked. Michael currently sat in his stage clothes, trying to calm himself down as he curled into a ball. There was some shuffling outside the door, and then it burst open.

He looked up to see Ashton barging in with a wild look on his face. His face fell as he saw Michael curled up. But Michael, ever the tension diffusing machine, stood up faster than light and flashed a bright smile at him.

“Let’s freaking rock the stage tonight!” Michael grinning, hopefully throwing Ashton off track. He couldn’t let him know. But he could see it in Ashton’s eyes that he did. The look was gone as fast as it came, Ashton returning a soft smile.

Michael smiled gratefully, walking out the door, only to be held back by his arm as Ashton pulled him back and crushed him into a hug.

Michael inhaled sharply. He felt safe in his arms. He could breathe a bit better, even though it might just be a casual hug. His arms tightened against Ashton and then slowly tried to pull away. He knew that if he stayed like this any longer, he’d cry. And tears were weak. They weren’t manly. Especially not just before a show.

“It’s okay to not be okay, you know,” Ashton whispered in Michael’s ears, his voice cracking a bit at the end. Michael trembled, recognizing the words he’d said to his band whenenver one of them had felt bad. Michael took it upon himself to cheer them up. If only he could do that to himself.

“Ashton,” Michael said. Because what else was there to say, really. Nothing made sense in Michael’s mind. Other than Ashton.

“Boys, we really do gotta go!” Luke yelled from somewhere.

The hug just ended like that. Ashton held Michael to an arm’s length, scanning his face for any sign of weakness. He knew Michael was sad, but one thing he didn’t know that Michael had one of the best poker faces. And right now, the most heart-breaking thing was that he wanted to die, but his smile said that he couldn’t be happier.

Ashton, finally satisfied, nodded at Michael, signalling at him to go on stage. Michael heaved a sigh of relief. He just merely got out of that one, he thought. If he gets paired with Ashton to sleep on the bed, he would be doomed. He could feel it.

But he couldn’t risk messing up on stage. So, he stood and thought of how rainbows were magical and how kittens could make his heart melt. And when he finally felt ready to go, he did. And he rocked it.

---

He’d messed up. Bad. One of the best shows and it was his fault it messed up. He ran down the stage and to the backstage, ripping the guitar off his chest. Hot tears streamed down his face as he fell near the washrooms. Sobs wracked his body. His bandmates came after him, yelling his name.

“Michael, it’s okay",” the hushed him, standing tall over him, and peering down with pity in their eys. Michael hated pity. He didn’t need pity. He needed to just let it out.

Next thing he knows, he’s being lifted and engulfed into a hug by his best friends. This only made him cry harder. He should’ve stopped, should’ve calmed down. But he just couldn’t. The emotions kept erupting, the lava kept erupting and Michael wasn’t in control of his poker face anymore.

He heard Ashton say that he’d be rooming with Michael tonight, and he was so caught up in just breaking down that he was powerless.

“Let’s go” Ashton stated, and Michael barely nodded, wiping his endless tears with his long sleeves. One could have said he looked adorable even while crying, and Michael would have laughed at them. Right now, he could just imagine Ashton giving him a lecture on how to get better or think positive. But that's never helped. Still, he was determined to not let Ashton down. He was the one person to have cared for Michael even in the darkest times, when Luke and Calum and Ashton rose to shine and Michael was overlooked.

They reached a door, and a man, possibly a bodyguard opened it up, eyeing Michael up and down like he couldn’t believe someone could be so wrecked. he had disgust in his eyes, and Ashton noticed it too.

“You’re fired. Go home” Ashton said in his taking-no-shit voice. The man spluttered before rapidly nodding his head and looking at Michael one last time before walking away.

“Stupid freaking humans,” Ashton muttered, and Michael couldn't have agreed more. He giggled in between his crying, and it sounded like a frog wailing due to his croaky throat.

And then they both were laughing uncontrollably at the atrocity of it all. Michael didn’t know how much more he could cry, so he started laughing, and Ashton joined in until they were in peals of laughter, just laying on the bed,

Ashton laid back down, head on the pillow, Michael using Ashton's stomach as a pillow, and it didn’t feel awkward. Not one bit.

They calmed down after a few minutes, the hazy tension returing. Michael braced himself as he heard Ashton take a deep breath. His stomach bloated beneath Michael and he chuckled.

“You can't sleep, can you, Michael?” Ashton asked, his voice reflecting that he already knew the answer. Michael just chose not to answer that question. Ashton already knew, there was no point in saying anything. Except one.

“Go on, tell me how I should get better,”

Michael hadn’t meant for the words to come out so bitter and he sat up straight as hurt flashed in Ashton's eyes. But he recovered quick. He knew Michael hadn’t meant those words.

“I- I'm sorry – I didn’t – I didn’t mean that-” Michael struggled to explain, his hands flailing in different direction, once again on the verge of crying.

“Hey, hey, calm down. Shh. It's all right, Michael.” Ashton sat up and rested Michaels hand to his sides.

“I know you,” he breathed, and with that, Michael confirmed his suspicions. He was shaken for a second. He did not know why. Why was he so affected? He already suspected Ashton knew.

Michael’s mind was a hurricane, and it was spinning faster and faster. He couldn’t think of what to say to Ashton, how to handle this situation. That got to him, his ability to diffuse tension suddenly not acting.

“I can't sleep, Ash,” he said brokenly. Ashton locked eyes with him like he wanted to tear down the mask in his eyes and pull Michael out of whatever hole he falling into before it was too late. Michael already thought it was too late, but Ashton believed it never was. He hoped it was true.

It all comes down to hope, Michael thought, everything always comes down to hope. He hated that word now, with every fibre of his being.

He wasn’t aware that tears had started falling again, he just stared like a pale dead body at Ashton.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” Ashton said suddenly, surprising Michael with his words. He didn’t believe Ashton. How could he not hate someone so…sad?

Michael truly was a contradiction of himself. He could believe Ashton had his back and that he hated him simultaneously. That’s how he worked.

“I love you, Michael,” Ashton whispered into the dead silence of the room. His hands reached out to Michael’s cheeks, wiping away the drops that showed his weakness. Michael couldn’t hold himself in, he flung his weight onto Ashton, almost attacking him. They both fell back onto the pillows and Michael held onto Ashton for dear life.

Ashton sighed, softly rubbing Michael’s back until his tears dried and he could pass out from exhaustion. But Michael couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes, not when he’d cried so much.

Ashton had closed his eyes when Michael shifted his face from his stomach to look up at him. Ashton hummed in acknowledgement as if to say that he’s still there. Just…there. For him. And weirdly, that was all Michael needed to feel confident in telling him what he was about to.

“Hey, Ash?” he poked Ashton’s cheek repeatedly. Ashton didn’t respond, mocking him for being cute.

“Ash, Ash, Ash,” he kept chanting, finally cracking the curly haired boy up and making him pop one eye open. The tension that had been there had been dissipated as soon as cheeks were poked.

Michael had a soft smile on his face as he gazed up at Ashton. He blinked a few times, realizing they hadn’t even had the time to change their clothes. He still felt comfortable. Nothing other than Ashton could make him feel that way right now.

“Yeah?” Ashton murmured, raking his hands through Michael’s hair, which oddly felt like heaven.

“I can’t sleep,” he repeated his sentence from earlier, making Ashton confused. Why would he say that again?

“You already said-” he started, Michael cutting him off almost instantly.

“I have nightmares.” He stated. He felt Ashton inhale sharply at this. Ashton could never have imagined the extent of his acute insomnia. His hands stilled in Michael’s hair.

“God, Michael,” he stammered, “when were you gonna tell us?” Ashton asked, quietly as if the prospect of Michael keeping it to himself had hurt him. And it had, but he couldn’t focus on himself right now. this was about Michael, and he would be damned if he didn’t help him.

“Probably never,” Michael said truthfully, still lying on Ashton’s stomach. He grabbed Ashton’s hands from his hair and held them preciously between his own.

“There’s so many things I want to say to you right now, Mike. I just don’t know if I should say them now.” Ashton explained, and Michael understood perfectly. He’d known that feeling all too well.

“So, don’t,” Michael chuckled.

“Come here,” Ashton said in a voice that left no questions. Michael crawled up and lay his head on Ashton’s chest. He could feel a steady thumping beneath him and sighed and he put a hand over Ashton’s waist, cuddling up.

“Hear my heartbeat? Just focus on that.” Ashton said after a few seconds. And he did. He paid attention to ever heartbeat, the feeling calming him down. He felt like the volcano had erupted and now it was just calm, like a boulder had been lifted off his chest. He knew it would last, but he couldn’t bring himself to get away from Ashton. He believed then that Ashton was the one he could go to without hesitation.

Michael smiled, his eyes unconsciously fluttering close. Ashton peered down after a few minutes when he heard small snores. And he saw the best sight he could’ve seen, as Michael slept cuddled up to him. Slept because he felt safe. In his arms.

Ashton couldn’t quite believe his eyes, and he had to do a double take before finally letting a grin spread on his face. He adjusted the pair of them so that they held hands, Michael on his chest with his other arm on Ashton’s waist, and Ashton’s hand resting on Michael’s head. He fell asleep too, in a while, the thought of Michael still on his mind.

If someone had seen them now, they’d have seen a couple. Two boyfriends sleeping. But it went far deeper than that. They were best friends. Brothers, more accurately. And neither of them could care enough as to what anyone thought they were.

Because that’s what they were, in the simplest words.

Michael and Ashton.

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