#//posting it now before i forget and it gets wiped out when the next update rolls around

[mechahero]

//RETRIBUTIONNNNNNNN

[twola]

Passerine : Chapter 3

PAIRING: High Honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

One step forward, two steps back.

Warnings: This fic has graphic descriptions of non-consensual sex, violence against women, the trauma thereafter, and somewhat unhealthy coping mechanisms. If any of that content makes you feel uncomfortable or triggers you, this may not be the fic for you.

Hi - I know it’s been over a year since I’ve updated this. Passerine is a love letter to trauma and the thereafter. It’s heavy. It’s hard to write. But thank you all for holding on to this. I promise it won’t be another year before I post chapters 4, 5, and 6 to finish it out.

Note: I play fast and loose with the passage of time as compared to the canon game.

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Abigail pulls the canvas around the tent’s opening closed behind her. She sighs as she arranges the fabric to preserve the privacy that you so desperately need.

Wiping the back of her palm across her forehead, she squeezes her eyes shut as she tries to stave off a headache.

“Mama!”

She jolts, steadying herself as her five-year-old son barrels into her legs, whipping his arms around her skirts.

“Jack…-Jack,” Abigail reels slightly as she places her hand on his head as he snuggles into her thigh. She pushes gently and he unwinds his small arms from around her. He steps half a step back and she stoops down on one knee to look him in the eye.

She tucks some of his hair behind his ears, her hands cupping his small cheeks, losing the last bit of baby fat from them as the boy grows in fits.

“Can you be a good boy fer me and go find Uncle Hosea? I think he has a new book fer you.” 

His eyes flash in excitement as he nods, and Abigail gives him a wry grin as he tries to wriggle away, not letting go of him until she places a kiss on his forehead. When she takes her hand from his shoulders, he darts away across the camp, calling after Hosea.

Bless him, he’s like a grandfather to Jack. Between him and Arthur, sometimes, sometimes, she can almost forget how terrible of a father John is.

Speaking of which, she finds him staring at her from across the camp, elbows at his knees as he sits in front of the fireplace. She glares back at him before turning away, huffing in a moment of agitation.

She pulls back the tent's canvas slightly, confirming to herself that yes, you are asleep.

Frowning, she lets the canvas go and walks over toward the lakeshore behind where Arthur had set his tent wagon up, crossing her arms over her chest as the red-painted sunset reflected off of the still waters of Flat Iron.

When she had asked you when was the last time you bled, she expected sputtering, anxious eyes and having to come up with a way to tell Arthur that he’d gotten a child upon you.

Instead, your flushed face turned almost white as you shot to your feet and immediately stumbled away from the wash bin and toward the treeline.

Abigail dropped laundry she had been working on back into the tub and hitched her skirt to run after you, catching up only as you doubled over, leaning against a tree as you choked up bile onto the ground.

You had burst into tears in between wet, gasping breaths, your stomach heaving dry when there was nothing left to expel. Abigail rubbed your upper back soothingly as she pulled your hair back from over your shoulder.

“C’mon now, it’s gonna be okay. Arthur’s- he’s the best of the men, he’ll take care of you.” She cooed softly, her hand working in slow circles between your shoulder blades.

You sob aloud, which unseats her. “It’s…it’s….”

You could barely get the words out.

Abigail’s circles slow, “Is… it not his?”

You collapsed to your knees as sobs racked your body, wet coughs echoing through the woods.

Abigail spent the rest of the afternoon trying to console you, able to pry details between your fits of dry heaving and sobs. She narrows her eyes against the red sun in the distance, her shoulders finally letting down from how tightly they’ve been wound all afternoon.

The truth was much worse than she had been expecting.

She had managed to coax you away from the trees and usher you quietly into Arthur’s tent, where she immediately pulled the canvas shut before turning back to you and pushing you down gently into the cot, taking your boots off one at a time and placing them on the ground next to the cot.

In hushed whimpers, you told her about what had happened those months ago when the gang was still at Horseshoe.  Her brow furrowed in shock as she brushed your hair off of your forehead, taking a handkerchief from the pocket of her skirt and dabbing it across your damp brow.

The truth, as terrible as it was, was not unfamiliar to Abigail. A whore by fifteen, she had seen her share of women forced against their will. A customer gone too far, a rat of a man waiting to catch one of the girls alone, not wanting to pay for services.

She herself had experiences with it. 

But you, as you regaled the terrible details in hiccuping breaths, you had never been part of that world, and when the O’Driscoll forced you down on that bed, the act of sex had never been weaponized against you until that moment.

She had finally calmed you down enough that you drifted off to sleep, not more than an hour ago.

Rubbing the back of her neck, Abigail glances back toward where the horses are hitched, Arthur’s mare still missing amongst them.

She lets out a long, mournful breath. As many times as she had tried to assure you that if you were with child it was likely Arthur’s… all you could dwell on was that man who bound and gagged you and had you on the old bed in that dingy cabin.

You had cried yourself to sleep, and Abigail now has to figure out what to do going forward. Obviously, she thinks as she brushes the loose hair at the nape of her neck that escaped her bun, she needs to figure this out with Arthur. No matter what the decision was. She needed to talk to him before she made a trip to Saint Denis to collect the needed items.

A pang of memory flashes in her mind - the horrified look on John’s face when she told him she was with child. How it was months before he had her in his bed again. Only once, when she was swollen with child, did he lay with her - now years ago. 

The sound of hoofbeats draws her from the fugue of her thoughts. She turns partway around to see Arthur ride into the camp atop his mare, weighed down with a whitetail deer strapped across the horse’s rump. Wiping her hands on her skirt, Abigail sighs and moves towards where Arthur dismounts, following him silently as he shoulders the deer carcass and slings it over Pearson’s table.

He scoots over toward the tub of soapy water to wash the blood from his skin.

“Arthur.” 

Arthur looks up, shaking his hands from the wash bin, “Miss Roberts,” he drawls with a smile on his face.

Abigail does not return his smile.

-

“She was raped?”

Arthur stares at Abigail from under the rim of his hat, clenching his jaw, “How-”

“She told me.” Abigail sighs, leaning against the tree a bit away from the camp that she had led him to.

“She alrigh’? What happened for her to tell you?” Arthur mumbles, glancing back at the camp looking for you, but you are nowhere to be found.

“Arthur. I think she’s with child.” Abigail states in a hushed tone, and Arthur’s eyes dart wildly back to her.

“Child?”

“Yes, Arthur,” Abigail retorts, her patience frayed and finally worn out.

Arthur’s jaw clenches before he opens his mouth again, “It’s mine.” He mumbles, almost too soft to hear, eyes shooting down to the ground.

Much like how you refused to listen to Abigail’s pleading and reassurance as she tried to convince you of the same, Abigail brushes aside Arthur’s comment.

“Did he… did he spend in her?” Abigail rubs her eyes with the back of her palm, exhausted as dusk was closing in on the camp.

“I have,” Arthur says quietly, continuing to look at the ground.

“I know you have, idiot. But th’ first thing she thought is that this baby belongs to some dead O’Driscoll that raped her.”

Arthur’s jaw sets, unable to hide the snarl from his tone. “Ain’t no way it's his. We’ve been sleepin’ together for a couple a’ months. And I don’t always-”

“Yes, Arthur, I get that.” Abigail interjects with exasperation, “The question is - does she?”

The outlaw’s gaze flicks upward, landing on Abigail for a moment, before he turns his head to the side, looking over the western horizon at Flat Iron Lake.

“Look - I don’t know what y’all want to do. I don’t know what she wants to do. But…” She trails off, her gaze also looking out to the lake, “I can give her things to make it end.”

Arthur doesn’t respond.

Abigail dusts off her skirt as she begins to step away, “But Arthur…”

He finally can make eye contact as she looks back at him.

“She’s gotta make up her mind - quick.”

-

The dinginess - the sour smell of off-food and dirty men permeated the air. The kind of stink that simple cleaning would never get rid of.

Your head is killing you as you blink away the pain, but you find yourself biting down on a foul piece of fabric tied around your mouth. You try to pull it down, but find that your wrists are bound behind your back.

The door opens and the feeling of dread in your chest explodes into a blazing fire of fear.

“There’s my little girl.”

His greasy, dark hair is slicked back away from his disheveled beard, and he smiles that toothy, nauseating grin at you.

The O’Driscoll pulls up your chemise from your thighs up and over your belly, baring your bottom half to him. You try to clench your thighs together, but as he leans over you, you do not find that he forces your legs apart.

But you cannot fight him as his rough and dirty hand spreads out over your belly.

“Pretty miss - gonna be all big and swollen with my child.”

Your eyes shoot open, your fingers closing tightly around the blanket that you’ve pulled around yourself. You have to bite your lip to stop from screaming aloud. 

Dusk’s shadows permeate through the canvas of Arthur’s tent, and you realize you’ve spent most of the afternoon sleeping. You push yourself up in the cot, breathing out heavily.

You pass your hand over your stomach. As soon as Abigail asked you the last time you bled, the cavern inside you opened up. You hadn’t bled since before the house in Cumberland. The nausea, the vomiting. God, you’ve been so tired too. 

Shit, was it true? Could there be a child there, under the softness of your belly? Would you grow round and hard there beneath your fingertips? 

Not only was there a pit in your stomach, but you felt like your chest had been cracked open - you’re drowning in yourself - why can’t you escape that O’Driscoll and what he did?

You curl up smaller in Arthur’s cot, pulling the blanket over you, trying to hide from the world.

-

Usually, it’s before a job that he reaches for a cigarette. Something to calm his nerves and hone his senses before roaring into a situation with guns blazing.

That’s not the situation he finds himself in now.

Arthur finds himself pacing in the wooded area outside of camp, smoking hurriedly as his palm clenches in agitation. He throws the half-smoked cigarette to the ground and smashes it under the heel of his boot, turning his face upward and exhaling a plume of smoke with a sound that could be described as a sigh.

The lantern lights of the camp start to glow in the distance. He hasn’t worked up the courage to rejoin the group since stalking out to the woods and smoking half a pack of damn cigarettes.

Flat Iron Lake is still in the distance, a few ships passing between Saint Denis and Blackwater illuminate the dark waters.

Arthur grabs his hat off his head with one head and wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of the other. He closes his eyes, letting another long breath out.

Arthur swears he can hear a child’s laughter. It ain’t Jack though. Another young boy - with tawny hair and freckles dusting his cheeks. 

“Papa!”

A young boy who darts toward him as he slides off of his saddle.

The smile of a dark-haired girl leaning in the doorframe.

Fishing rods and toy horses and bedtime stories when he came around. A cup of coffee and pleasant conversation with a girl he shared a night with so long ago…

And two wooden crosses. Silence. Not even the birds sang that day he came upon the little house off the road. 

Arthur continues to pace, cursing under his breath. He goes to reach for yet another cigarette when he stops, swallowing, and grits his teeth.

How goddamn selfish of him to wallow in his own miserable past when you need him. The pit in his stomach reopens as he remembers the sight of you in that cabin. Bound, gagged, and violated.

And now his dumb ass has gone and gotten you pregnant. Foisted this upon you when you were still so vulnerable and hurting and god damnit - he told you he wasn’t a good person. This absolutely proves it.

There’s no lantern light on in his tent, he can see through the woods, and he’s stayed out long enough. Lord only knows Abigail is going to come find him and smack him the way she’s hit John - but he wouldn’t be any less deserving.

With yet another long, burdened breath, he heads back toward his tent.

Arthur Morgan moves as quietly as he can through the canvas, pulling it shut behind him. Darkness has fallen upon the camp, and he’s thankful that he can reach the oil lantern on the table with just enough moonlight for him to light it low. A yellow-orange glow emits from it, illuminating the tent.

You’re sitting in his cot, in the darkness, and in the light, he can see the sheen of tears down your cheeks. Your hair is falling out of the bun it’s half tied into. Fuck, he’s the goddamn scum of the earth.

“Darlin’,” his voice cracks with uncertainty.

You shiver, the threadbare blanket pulled over your shoulders as you sit in the cot. Arthur holds the rim of his hat in his hands, fidgeting with it restlessly as he cannot meet your eyes.

“Abigail seems to think…”

“Abigail’s right.” You mumble, monotone while staring into space.

Arthur chews his lip, “This is my fault.”

“Ain’t your fault an O’Driscoll-”

“I got you pregnant,” Arthur interjects, moving to sit on the small stool across from the cot.

“You don’t know it’s yours.” You snap back with a vicious snarl in your voice and he nearly recoils as if shot. This he did not expect.

Neither it seems, did you. Your eyes widen when you finally meet his, and hold his gaze for but a moment before your brow crinkles and you shove your face into your knees as you draw them up to your chest.

You hiccup a sob, “What if this baby looks l-like ‘im? What if the baby has them cold dark eyes starin’ at me like when when he-”

“Shh,” Arthur hushes you, preventing you from speaking aloud your terrible truth. He wraps his arms around you, drawing you into his embrace, “That ain’t gonna happen.”

You wriggle uncomfortably in his arms, trying to pull away. Arthur lets go of you, but his hands move to cup your cheeks and force you to look at him.

“No matter what, I’m gonna be here for you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes are only able to hold his stare for but so long before you look downward. Arthur lets go of your face and you take the opportunity to scoot further away from him in the cot, unable to look him in the eyes.

You’ve pulled your knees to your chest and hidden your face in them, ashamed of the tears that spill down your cheeks again.

“I had a son.”

Arthur’s voice is not loud, not strong, not solid. You slowly raise your head, sniffling, to find him sitting with his elbows on his thighs and head hung low, staring at the dirt below his feet.

“…had?”

He nods, still not looking at you, “He ‘nd his mother were killed, long time ago. Robbery.”

You remain quiet, your gaze down to the ground also. 

“I wasn’t there.”

You wrap your arms tighter around your legs.

“Wasn’t there for any of it. Wasn’t there when he was born, barely there as he grew up, wasn’t there when he ‘nd his mother needed my protection.”

Arthur rubs tiredly over his eyes, his thigh bouncing slightly with something you recognize as agitation, anxiety. 

Fear.

It is several moments before he looks up at you again, swallowing before the low timbres of his voice fill the tent again.

“If you want this baby - I’ll be here. For all of it.”

-

You curl up on Arthur’s cot and try to sleep. At your obvious discomfort, he maintains a distance between you, pulling a chair in from outside and posting himself in it, pulling his hat over his head to try to get some sleep. 

Just before dawn, the pit in your stomach threatens to open up, and you toss the blanket from your body and pad outside, hurrying toward the treeline for what has become your normal. You’re able to make it a few trees back before you have to stop and hunch over to empty your stomach.

You wetly cough between heaving breaths, and it is not but a few minutes later that you feel his fingers grab into your hair, pulling it up as you vomit into the leaves below. 

You lean into the tree harder as you spit up the last of the bile in your belly. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you stumble slightly when you try to stand up, and Arthur’s hands find your waist quickly to maintain your upright position.

“C’mon there, sweetheart, let’s lay you down again.”

You don’t answer him, instead allowing him to guide you back to his tent as the first vestiges of the dawn overtake the sky. You let him help you lay down, you let him pull the blanket over your body. Exhausted, you finally fall asleep.

You awaken several hours later, when a hand presses to your forehead, checking for a temperature. Your eyes flutter open to see Abigail leaning over you, and you scramble to get up as she moves to the end of the cot to sit opposite of you.

Abigail takes your hand in your lap after a few terse moments. “Y’ wanna get rid of it? I can make that happen, but we gotta do it sooner than later.”

You look up at her, unable to stop the sheen of tears from glazing over your eyes. Tears escape and trail down your cheeks as your gaze moves from Abigail, sitting on the cot with you, across the small tent to Arthur, sitting on an old chair with his elbows on his knees.

Behind those blue eyes of his is a maelstrom, one you know he’s trying to hide from you. Arthur’s whispered voice echoes in your mind as he tells you the sorry tale of his own fatherhood. His loss, the indescribable hole in his heart full of regret and sorrow. Arthur’s gaze moves from you down to the ground.

You close your eyes as another wave of tears slides down your face, sighing loudly as you try to gather what little composure you have left. 

Finally, you look back to the woman gently rubbing your hand.

-

“Seen you hanging all over Arthur,” Grimshaw eyed your waist critically, “It’s his, ain’t it?”

There comes a time that you can’t hide it anymore - the swell of your belly just under your skirts. You’re sure the girls know - you’ve seen their eyes flit on your figure.

You continue to stare at the setting sun over the lake. Part of you wishes you had the wherewithal to respond, but you don’t have the strength to anymore.

Susan had clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Idiots. The both of you.”

You avoid people. Get your chores done quickly. Don’t complain about not getting jobs. Arthur moved everything of yours into his tent, more permanently letting down the canvas sides.

From that very first day that you cowered in his cot away from his touch, Arthur had given you a wide berth since you pushed him away - hesitant, sleeping on either a chair or laying his bedroll on the ground.

You awaken many days before dawn, silently padding out to the wooded area south of the camp, far enough away that the rest of the folks couldn’t hear your retching. Several times in the beginning, Arthur follows you, and you angrily shoo him away before he stops tagging along behind you.

Over the weeks, your belly hardens, your breasts swell. You have to let out the waist of your skirt, and there is no hiding anything when the height of the summer finds Clemens - it’s so miserably hot that layers to hide your growing body must be shed or you’d sweat to death.

You’ve seen Dutch eye you. You’ve seen him argue with Arthur. You’ve seen Grimshaw join the fray. Hosea has been dropping ginger tea off to you in the morning with a gentle, knowing smile - it tasted terrible, but after the first few bracing sips, it did settle your stomach.

“Mind if I join y’ for a smoke?”

From the grassy spot you sit upon, you look up to find the widow Adler looking down at you. She’s shed her skirts and blouses in favor of work pants. Arthur had dragged her away from Pearson hollering some kind of awful and they returned with her much less agitated. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a braid, the scar above her eyebrow much more noticeable when she wasn’t wearing a hat.

You nod, looking back to the water, and the spurs of Sadie’s boots jingling as she pulls a matchbook from her trouser’s pocket.

“You know me, I ain’t gonna pussy foot about you. I know you ain’t gettin’ fat because of Pearson’s cookin’.” Sadie lights the cigarette between her teeth, continuing to talk through the process.

You remain silent, sitting there on the shoreline, arms looped around your knees, your skirts hiding your frame - your belly, swelling with child.

The match sizzles when she chucks it into the lake and takes a drag.

“Y’got a look about you that you ain't happy bout it.”

You frown, placing your forehead against your knees. “No,” you mumble into the fabric of your skirt.

She lets out a plume of smoke. Silence settles between you before you work up the courage to speak again.

“When they came to your ranch… did they… did-” you swallow, stuttering as your voice cracks.

Sadie drops the cigarette, mashing it into the ground under her boot.

“Yeah.”

You squeeze your eyes tightly shut, sighing before your voice cracks again,  “I… when we just got to Horseshoe - there was a house I was scopin’ a-and then… then an O’D-driscoll-” you start to sniffle as your vision clouds with tears.

Sadie does not meet your gaze, simply closing her eyes and breathing out her nose.

“And you're thinkin’ it's his.”

You nod, the tears slipping down your face. What a miserable excuse for an outlaw you are, weeping like a frail woman in front of someone who endured the same trauma.

She lets out a long, thoughtful breath, heavy with the weight of familiarity, “I know, better than most, that you ain't gonna listen to anyone, but y’know it's probably Arthur’s.”

You swallow, about to retort something back at her when she turns on her heel, her spurs jingling.

“You and he weren’t exactly subtle with what you were up to.” Her hand brushes your shoulder before she walks back toward the camp. You remain still, looking out over the lake with your arms wrapped around yourself.

“Best if you start lookin’ forward instead of lookin’ back. You’re only gonna find pain there.”

You look back toward her.

“Are you lookin’ forward?”

Sadie Adler turns halfway to look at you, her jaw set and eyes hard.

“No.”

-

You dream of blood. Of the overpowering richness and stifling warmth in the stale air of the tent. Of movement, people, murmuring voices, and hushed tones.

You dream of pain. You dream of being torn apart from the inside. You dream of screams, nearly inhumane, echoing in the tent.

You dream of Susan Grimshaw dabbing a damp rag over your head, a soft, pitying look on her face.

You dream of the women of camp surrounding you - of Abigail and Sadie, Tilly and Mary Beth. Karen, even Molly. Sadness, forlornness in their eyes.

Abigail holds a whimpering newborn in her arms, swaddled in a blanket.

The bundle is placed in your arms, and as you draw back the linen, the child’s features are revealed. Instead of Arthur’s dark honeyed hair and blue eyes, the babe has dark, dark hair and near-black eyes that blink up at you. Dark, cruel eyes that are nothing like your own.

Nothing like Arthur’s.

You rocket up in the cot, gasping, holding a hand to your breast to calm your racing heart. Your movement has awakened the other person in the tent, and Arthur shoots up from his bedroll on the ground, his head darting this way and that, looking for potential danger before realizing that you had been plagued by a nightmare.

“Sweetheart-” Arthur reaches toward your face to wipe the tears from your cheeks but you flinch and draw back further so that he cannot touch you.

“I just… I…” your voice stutters in the night, “P-Please don’t touch me.” 

His hand retracts from between you, “Course, darlin’.”

You gather the thin blanket around you closer, refusing to make eye contact with the man who has crawled closer to the cot from where his bedroll lay spread out on the ground. “Why are you doin’ this?”

“Doin’ what?” Arthur says quietly as he pushes himself up, from his knees to sit at the very end of the cot, opposite where you have curled yourself.

“This.” You gesticulate to the distance between you, then to his bedroll on the floor, “You shouldn’t be sleepin’ on the ground. You’re far too high up in this gang to be doin’ that.”

“You’re pregnant. I c’n sleep anywhere, don’t need a bed.” Arthur says, running his thumb over his bruised knuckles, also not making eye contact with you.

“I ain’t pregnant with-” You begin, clenching your fists in the blanket, your voice faltering.

“You are. Don’t start with this - you remember how many times we was stupid.” Arthur looks up, clenching his jaw and narrowing his eyes in a look of irritation before sighing, running his palm down his face against the exhaustion creeping in on him, “Look, sweetheart. I don’t know why you keep thinkin’ the baby’s his. We’ve been sleepin’ together for months.”

You turn your head away from him, setting your jaw. He doesn’t understand, how would he ever understand?

Arthur lets out a breath and moves from the floor up to sit at the opposite end of his old cot.

“But what if he is? What if this baby’s daddy is that O-”

“My daddy wasn't nothin’ but the man that made me.” He interjects, “Hosea and Dutch raised me more than my actual father did.” 

You glance at the mugshot placed on the wagon in the corner of the tent. Lyle Morgan stares at you, with unrepentant eyes, as if he were mocking you from the grave.

“If…if-” You stutter, your eyes watering over again as you draw your knees awkwardly to your chest, your belly getting in the way, The strap of your chemise slips down your shoulder, “If this baby is born and y’ see it’s h-his-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Arthur’s voice raises a bit, and as he realizes it, he slides closer to you on the cot, and grasps one of your hands in his own, his large, calloused hand engulfing yours, “I’m gonna be this child’s pa. Me. I’m gonna be that for the babe, and I’m gonna be that for you.”

You don’t fight his touch. Your eyes water over as you tightly close them, “I don’t know why you’d want another man’s-”

His thumb tenderly swipes your cheek, dashing the tears cascading from your eyes, “Cause I want you, sweetheart. ‘Nd anythin’ you create, it’s gonna be from you, and I want that too.”

You can’t hold back the sob from your throat as you crumble forward in the cot, Arthur winds his arms around you. You breathe in the musk of him - of leather and tobacco and safety.

And in the dim silence of the night, you allow it, burying yourself into his embrace, crying into his collarbone, your swollen belly pressed against his ribcage. 

[arcadia-of-pluto]

Twist of Fate; Seventeen

Pairings; LADS OT4 x reader

Word count; 4,562

Themes; isekai, eventual smut, slowburn, canon divergence

Rating; 18+ for swearing and eventual mature themes

Notes; Only update for this week! I decided that it's better to drop my updates down from multiple to just one per week– just until I get a few buffer chapters in-between where my chapters are here and what I'm currently writing!

Also Tumblr on mobile seems to really hate anything over 4k so I'm not sure what to do when it comes to posting longer chapters– but if I do, I probably won't be able to add itallics and bold, but I'm sure no one would mind if I didn't go through and add those little details.

Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter! It's yet another memory one that will span over two chapters (including this one).

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Masterlist

“Y/n…Sweetie, wake up.” You hear a voice and a gentle hand shakes your shoulder. Your eyes slowly opened and your cheeks felt damp. Once your eyes are fully open, you wipe your face and rest a hand on your chest. It tightly grips the front of your dress as you struggle to breathe. Your gaze goes to Sylus with wide eyes and you look around, confused to see the interior of a car and not the beautiful lake you were just at. 

The only reminder of your dream laid In your hand…A gem, devoid of colour as if its power had been drained, was in your palm. Was this the aether core Xavier found? No…no way that would've followed you back.

“Where..?” You were still disoriented, trying to keep a grip on which reality was your own. Your hands were trembling.

“We’re back at the house, sweetie. Or did you forget where we were going?” Sylus's voice sounds soft. It sounds too kind, much sweeter than his usual tone with you. Were you somehow in a different kind of dream now? 

“No— I...” You hold your head in your shaking hands. “I had a dream...It..” You want to punch yourself in the chest– anything to try and fix the disorder nestled deep in your heart. 

“I know, you started crying so suddenly. I was almost scared.” Sylus seems rather calm as he speaks, not waiting for you to elaborate as he opens the car door, “I told you it would be happening more often. You just need to be prepared for it.” His hand reaches out for you as the cool breeze nips at your skin. 

“But I felt– Months passed, Sylus. Seasons changed and it’s only been an hour.” You stammer as you try to get out of the car, but your knees almost give out underneath you. 

Sylus lets out a sigh and picks you up bridal style. “Was it scary?’ He asks, softly, as he carries you inside. “No…just really sad,” You reply, resting your head on his chest, “And I feel even more tired than before…I felt like I haven’t slept at all…”

“It’s just the first of many,” He muses, not bothering to ask what it was about or explain how he knew so much as he enters your room, and lays you down on your bed. “I’m sorry there’s not much I can do for you,” He speaks in a low register as he takes your hair down from its up-do, running his fingers through the strands, before he gently removes your jewelry. “But I can sit right next to the bed if you want me to. You know I don’t sleep around this time.” 

You press your lips together in a thin line, before quickly nodding as you grab his hand, “Please?” 

Sylus doesn’t give you a response, but he keeps a tight hold on your hand while you slowly fall back asleep…

The next memory is more involved than the last. You’re not sure who this one is about just yet, but judging by the ghastly sight of bloated corpses and water steadily filling up a ship as a storm raged on, you can only assume it’s Rafayel’s.

From what you could see, it was a dark and stormy night on the high seas. Some of the ship’s crew were talking about a sacrifice that had gone missing and to let down the sails as the stormy sea was too strong from their ship. The large boat was rocking back and forth from the force of the waves, and you almost felt seasick.

You notice waterlogged bodies floating past you as you were hidden behind a wooden storage box. Then, suddenly, your arms are seized in a tight grip and you’re dragged to the edge of the deck. Your eyes widening as the sight of the dark, unforgiven see was all you could see below. “Now throw her overboard!”

What? You were the sacrifice!?

Amidst your surprise, you begin to hear a faint melody, a song sounding as if the sea itself were singing to you. Calling out to you, almost, and like an invisible hand, the melody calms down the raging whirls of the ocean and the winds die down.

“Fools…Any further and a storm would be the last thing on your minds.”

Rafayel?

Though you can’t ponder on your thoughts for too much longer as you’re tossed overboard. Your limbs spread out in a panic as you try to slow your descent into the depths. You can hear the emissaries cheering as you, their sacrifice who was raised for years just for this very reason, finally fulfilled your purpose.

A sinking sense of fear overwhelms your body and the salty ocean water drowns out your pleas and cries for help. Briny water engulfs your body and your eyes burn as you try to keep them open from under the crashing waves. You could’ve tried to hold your breath, but it was already too late. 

Your panic had caused you to take in gulps of water and you felt your vision fading. You could feel yourself slowly…and painfully suffocating. Before you lost consciousness, however, you felt something warm envelop you.

Whenever you resurfaced, you greedily gasped for air, coughing out salty water, and felt the cool rain hit your face. Then, you turn toward your savior but your pleasantries die on your lips as you meet his beautiful, otherworldly eyes. 

Those familiar, charming bluish-pink eyes.

“Were you abandoned?” He asks, holding an ornate flute as he seemingly stands on top of the now calm waves. The ethereal melody you heard earlier had since disappeared as he was no longer playing his flute.

“Save me…please.” Is all you can croak out and the purple haired man chuckles. He sits down on a piece of driftwood. 

Under the moonlit night sky, he looks at you, the scales on his neck emitting a faint glow. He’s lemurian?

“Did you ask for my assistance?” He asks, raising a brow as he rests his arm across his leg. Then, you take a moment to look at him, really look at him. 

He had paint-like markings on his face under his right eye, the paint marks were also along his shoulders and chest. Were they tribal markings? He was wearing gold jewelry, the bangles wrapped tightly around his biceps and wrists. A sheer, blue sash across his right shoulder seemed to be the only form of top he had on and his pants were more of a white and gold tunic.

He brings you back to the situation at hand by holding his hand out to you. That’s when you realize his nails were also painted black.

You reach out toward him but, when your hands touch, flames burst forth from his fingers. You let out a squeak of surprise and jerk your hand back, but he starts laughing, amused at his little joke. You, in turn, puff your cheeks out and grab his hand tightly.

Even if this was a memory from the past, it seems Rafayel still acts just the same. It almost makes you want to stay in this dream forever, having missed the man after not seeing him for some time.

The man makes a noise in the back of his throat as you squeeze his hand, “Release me.” The scales on his neck are raised ever so slightly like a cat’s bristling fur. “I said release me!” 

Another thought crosses your mind, an even older memory that a lemurian’s kiss can allow one to breathe underwater. This gives you an idea since you’re trapped in the ocean with no other way to survive, you decide to take your chances.

You suddenly reach forward to cup your hands on either side of his face, catching the man off guard, and kiss him. Your lips smash against his in a clumsy kiss, your teeth clinking together in your desperation for survival. 

The lemurian lets out a small gasp of surprise as you plead with him again to save you. Your vision becomes more blurry by the second, but you desperately try to hold his gaze.

After a long silence passes, his voice rings in your ears– low…soft…almost like he’s casting a spell to enthrall someone, “I will grant you deliverance and in exchange, offer yourself, your everything to me. Become my follower mortal.”

After this exchange, you assume you passed out. You hear children whispering about whether you’re alive or not. As the conversation turns toward the children wanting to use your possible dead body for dissections, you open your eyes. 

The first thing you notice is that you’re in a rather luxurious room. It’s completely covered in the colour blue. From the drapes across the windows to the bedsheets, to the walls. 

The children are, understandably, surprised that you woke up in the middle of their conversation. “Where am I?” You ask, slowly sitting up, “Am I below the waves?” You realize you’re probably asking too many questions and bring your hand up to rub your temples. “Keep your distance– she bites.”

You knew that sassy demeanor like the back of your hand. You puff your cheeks out, annoyed that he had to scare those poor children with nonsense. 

Rafayel stood by the door with his arms crossed over his chest and, as you took a moment to take him in during the daytime, you realized he was quite attractive. He was always attractive, but in his lemurian garb, he was all the more so.

Though, you do notice that his mouth is swollen and there seems to be a wound on his lips.

Oh, did you…

Once he meets your gaze, he glares at you. “Uhm...where am I?” You finally ask after a few moments of silence.

“A single glance would reveal that you’re in Lemuria. Treat her wounds and give her clean clothes. I’ll inform Elder Amund that we’ve found my devout follower.” He says and you fiddle with your fingers in your lap. “Uhm, you’re my savior right? I should express my gratitude—”

Though, he leaves before you can even finish your sentence. 

Maybe…You should go back to the real world after all. You miss Rafayel. 

A young girl with beautifully braided blue hair pops up from her hiding spot and excitedly sits on the edge of the bed, “Worry not! When Rafayel brought you back, it seemed you’d been vomiting bubbles with the crabs for a fortnight.”

Then she continued, “My name is Algie and he’s Konche. You’re the first live human we’ve met! Well...There are ones who swam along the currents, but none of them could talk like you.” 

The blue haired boy next to her scolds her, “You’re scaring her, sister. Look, her hands are shaking like a shrimp seeing a whale for the first time!” 

“My apologies, I didn’t mean it!” Algie quickly clasps her hands together apologetically. “You’re fine. Don’t worry about it but…May I ask why you brought me here?” You ask, head slightly tilted to the side.

“You’ll know when you visit the temple.” Algie says, “It’s a very, veerrry long tale. I’ll tell you on the way!” 

She said that in the Deep Sea lies the forgotten kingdom of Lemuria and that the God of the Sea lives there. He protects whatever the briny sea touches and his followers include not just denizens of the ocean, but also humans. His most devout followers must gift him a heart so he has the strength to protect Lemuria and becomes the god recognized by the entire ocean.

Hmm…Rafayel did say ‘we found my devout follower’. Does that mean he wants your heart? And not in the romantic way??

It’s said that the Sea God of this generation was born in flames as dusk turned to dawn and only he can use fire.

Huh, Rafayel did use fire earlier…

In the Tome of the Sea god, it’s stated that in Whalefall City’s temple lies a great flame that has burned for thousands of years and that if this fire were to ever go out, then Lemuria shall fall into a deep slumber for centuries.

So…to keep the flame alive, the Sea God requires a certain human follower. It cannot be a lemurian, it must be a human because they are some of the most selfish, greediest creatures so when they offer their hearts, love, or even their lives, it’s considered the most precious form of worship. This Tome also confirms that Rafayel will be the last God of the Sea.

Once in the temple with Rafayel, you gaze upon the fire in the middle of the room. It almost resembles a sun about to go out.

“She’s most suited to be the one.” You hear Rafayel say and you really hope he doesn’t mean to toss you into the fire as a sacrifice. “Her?” You hear an older voice from across the room.

A man in a robe, holding a staff, questions, “She is the human your Quintessence has decided on?”

“‘Twas more of fate’s whimsy. I wandered about on the earth and became her cushion when she fell.” Rafayel speaks as if you were a stray animal that he had brought home out of the kindness of his heart. 

“For now, I shall forget that your Quintessence snuck out and burned the guard’s hair. I must ask again, is she truly to be the human your Quintessence is bound to?” 

“As long as the Sea God’s ceremony is assured, I’ll make her my follower.” Is all Rafayel says in response before he goes back to being the sassy Rafayel you truly know, “However, we should remove all of her teeth and nails. I worry she’d bite and scratch us if given the opportunity.”

“I-I don’t think that’s a good idea,” You finally manage to get a sentence out. Amund sighs, “Once a lemurian is bound to someone, it’s impossible to go against their wishes. She will have the power to command your Quintessence. When the two of you barely know each other, is that something worth giving?”

The light flickers on Rafayel’s face and he lowers his head to ruminate about his answer. Then, the Elder leaves so you and Rafayel are alone.

“So…if you’ve yet to decide, can I be set free? I promise I won’t speak of this to anyone.” Though you try your luck, Rafayel continues to stand there. “The day has dragged on long enough. I’m tired.” He sighs, finding a comfortable spot on the floor to sit down. 

“What’re you doing?” You question, still standing up. “Sleeping.” He answers simply. “Why??” You are appalled but Rafayel continues, “Wake me before nightfall.”

 “You—” 

He ignores you, leaning his back against a marble pillar as he closes his eyes. The temple is heavily guarded, so all you can do is sit in a corner and ponder how you were going to escape. Though your thoughts are regularly interrupted by Rafayel’s breathing and after an hour of it, you’re fed up by it. “Rafayel! Ra-fay-el!” You try to wake him up, hands on your hips. Though, he doesn’t react. 

A small blue fish suddenly appears and begins swimming around his shoulders.

“Oh– where did you come from? You’re so cute...” You muse, reaching a finger out to poke the fish with a small smile on your lips. “Do you know the way out, Oh little fish?” The fish swims in a circle and settles on your finger as you softly giggle at it. “Do you understand me?” You softly ask the fish, completely endeared with it, “Could you show me a way out?” 

Flicking its translucent tail, the fish swims to the stained-glass window behind the alcove...

“Half a day has disappeared like sea foam,” You sigh, walking through the beautiful hallway of the temple, “Why have we returned to these crossroads?” A pout dances across your lips, “Do you lack a sense of direction or do all fish have terrible memory?” 

Twirling its tail, the fish suddenly swims into a crowd and leaves you behind. “Where–” You sigh, shaking your head, “I can’t believe I’m trying to talk to a fish.” The fish finally leads you to a coral reef and goes into a small hole in the city’s walls.

“Do I have to swim through that?” You question and the fish spits bubbles at you, almost as if trying to communicate. “I’m coming. I'm coming.” You sigh, swimming through the narrow passageway until you’re on a beach alcove.

You dust the sand off of your knees in triumph. “I’ve definitely got to think of a way to express my gratitude to the fishies…I could possibly feed them during the Sea God’s ceremony,” You murmur to yourself.

“Was it fun to explore Lemuria?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of Rafayel’s voice. “Rafayel!?”

“There is no need to shout my name.” He says behind a silk curtain, before he steps out to face you. 

He lifts his finger and the little fish swims around it, then transforms into a blue scale that lands in his palm. The fish was his own creation!? 

“You planned this?” You groan. “‘Twas a test for you. Elder Amund was right. Human promises are nothing but meaningless words.” “Huh– When did I make a vow to you??” You were a bit exasperated.

“I told you to wake me before nightfall, didn’t I?” Rafayel crosses his arms over his chest and then yawns, seemingly not upset in the slightest. “Besides, when I saved you from the ocean’s clutches, we made an oath. Did you forget?”

“That…counted? Look, you’re the sea god, respectful and awe-inspiring. Can’t you consider my rescue an act of kindness and let me go?” You rub the back of your neck as you look away from the man.

“I am not a God who answers every whim. The ceremony is to take place in a month and, as you’re aware, ceremonies always need–” He rests his chin in his hand as he narrows his eyes, filling you with a sense of dread.

“...Followers right? There are plenty on land. You know? The ones who wear robes and pray to you every day. They’re more devout than me.” You quickly cut him off, not wanting to hear him say the word ‘sacrifices’.

“Alright…Then, return to me your life.” He says, one hand on his hip. His other hand reaches out toward you as if grabbing an invisible rope that’s tied tightly around your neck. Though you're unsure of what he’s doing, suddenly you can’t breathe. 

You place a hand over your chest, doubling over for a moment as you reach toward your throat and cough. Water enters your nose and throat. Did he…take away your ability to breathe underwater? “Wait, wait!” You panic, air bubbles escaping your mouth as you try to speak, “I’ll do anything you ask!” 

Suddenly, a grin spreads across Rafayel’s lips and he loosens his hold. You find yourself able to breathe again. “‘Tis not worship I desire. From the very depths of your soul, I seek only the purest devotion.” 

“I beg your pardon?”

“The tides ebb and flow and with every setting sun is a moon rising. ‘Till time’s end, I should occupy your every thought. You must believe in me alone.” Rafayel says as he walks closer to you and your eyes widen a bit.

Okay, that’s hot—

“You mean I…” You trail off and the tips of your ear turn a pretty shade of pink. “Think of it from another perspective,” He pokes your chest, specifically where your heart lies. He acts as if he’s stating a truth, “Thou must find a means by which thy heart becomes smitten with me.”

‘Find someone who will kiss you, even if you do not give them the world. Love a soul that is like your own, that which compliments you. Love and death are the most important things in life. Death is a matter of time, so love with all your heart can muster.’

- Lemuria: Tome of the Sea God, Chapter 3  

The two of you ended up sneaking to the top of the temple’s spire to watch the sunset. After a few days, you had grown used to the Lemurian’s snarky demeanor. You had also learned a bit more about him, like how he doesn’t like people touching him but is fine with you gently holding his hand.

You recall Amund saying that once the Sea God is bound to a person, they’ll do anything they command so as Rafayel sits down in the shade to nap, you decide to bother him for a bit. His eyes are closed with his arms crossed over his chest, so you reach your hand out to grab his.

“Make some flames for me,” You ask. Rafayel lifts his fingers up before curling them back around yours, but doesn’t say a word.

“Hmm...I didn’t work at all,” You murmur with a pout. “Don’t waste your time.” He lazily opens his eyes. “One should practice silence when watching the sunset.” He drops your hand, resting his arm on his propped up knee. 

“Do you want to see the real sun, Rafayel?”

“I do not.” He simply says and the blue fish from earlier reappears. “You wanted to sneak onto the beach the day we met,” You say as the fish swirls around his palm.

“Your tongue barely moved when we first met. Back then you were rather…” He trails off, bringing his hand up to his mouth to tap his lips.

A crimson red blush appears on his ear tips before spreading across his cheeks. His eyes widen as he catches your gaze and he quickly looks away.

“This side of you is much more to my liking.” He finally finishes his sentence. 

You tap his shoulder, “Hey, so on the surface we have a Sea God ceremony too. We play wonderful songs on lyres and...”

“Were the surface world as lovely as you claimed, you’d be elsewhere,” He glances toward you before looking back up at the light in the distance. 

“There are evil people on the surface! Once they learnt you were Lemurian, your tears that turn into pearls would be harvested day after day endlessly.” You try to spook him, though deep down you knew there would actually be humans as evil as that. Rafayel crosses his arms over his chest as he shakes his head, “If you were to persuade me to bring you to the beach, you’ll run away.” 

Though after a few moments of silence, Rafayel leans back against the marble column behind him. “Is the surface world’s sunset different from the one in the ocean?”

“Honestly...my memory of it is hazy…” You trail off as he closes his eyes and you take your chance to sit closer to him.  Your head slowly drifts down to rest against the column as well– close to him but not touching him since you recall him saying he doesn’t like to be touched.

“You take me to see the sun and I’ll take you to see the festival...What do you think?” You ask as you look up at him, drinking every detail of his face. Though, as silence fills the room, you realize Rafayel had most likely fallen asleep. The tranquil nature of the situation also somehow makes you sleepy as well and your head leans against his shoulder, almost close enough to touch his head. 

Though, you’re hesitant to fully lean against his shoulder. Suddenly you feel a hand on your shoulder, pulling you closer and hear Rafayel tiredly go, “Mmhm.” almost as if saying you’re okay to lean on him. You lift your gaze to look up at his face, worried he was awake, but all you see is his closed eyes. His face way too close to yours, so you instead close your eyes and rest your head on his chest as you join him in sleep…

After a few days, Rafayel decides to go to the beach with you to watch his own celebration first hand. You tell him of how the emissaries on land had adopted you and raised you as a follower of the sea god, only to tell you that you were a sacrifice years later.

You talk of how you wouldn’t have been able to escape because of the island’s size. It was nice to be able to actually talk with someone about your situation for once.

Then, you both enter the festival with driftwood masks that Rafayel made and you overhear a storyteller.

“Unable to break his vow with the girl and his own burning passion, the God of the Sea left the ocean and lived happily ever after with his beloved...”

The children talk amongst themselves after the puppet show. “But Lemuria is centered around bonds. Without it, the Sea God won’t remember or obey her!” A little girl says, clearly upset over the ending.

“What are you talking about? The God of the Sea will find his beloved and live happily ever after,” The little boy next to her sighs, not understanding her. 

The young girl lets out a huff of annoyance before tugging at your sleeve as she looks up at you, “What do you think, Miss? Will the Sea God be with her because he loves her or because of their vow?” “Uh...” You glance over at Rafayel before clearing your throat, “All of those legends of Lemuria are just made-up nonsense…”

Though, you seem to have made the wrong choice as the children start crying. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t...” You panic, not used to being around children enough to deal with the situation.

“What about you, Sir? Does Lemuria exist? Would the Sea God gift his heart to a human?” The girl quickly turns to Rafayel for an answer.

The man in question, the Sea God himself, rests his chin on his hand before nodding, “He would. Lemuria is my homeland, so that is how I know.”

Should...he be saying that? You tried to cover his mouth with your hands, but he pushed you away.

“What are Lemurians like?” She asked, excitedly.

“Hmm…Their tears turn into glimmering pearls, and their voices bring dreams of wonder. Their blood can make one live forever or even resurrect the dead.” You really don’t think Rafayel should be saying this but the girl quickly sighs, “I already knew that.”

“Lemurians don’t fall in love with people they’re bound to. ‘Tis a human fantasy.” Rafayel says with a shrug and you can’t help but frown.

“What else?” The little girl jumps up and down.

“Are you that curious?” Rafayel teases with a smile ghosting across his lips. It seems like the Sea God adores children– how cute.

Though, you could only faintly hear the conversation from afar, having walked away after Rafayel said Lemurians don’t fall in love with the humans they’re bound to.

Hmph, you’d just drink your sorrows away with some pomegranate wine.

You take a sip of the wine, being distracted by all of the lights and stalls like an excited little puppy.

Suddenly, the girl walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve again. “Miss! Your friend said that if you don’t return soon, he won’t keep waiting.”

Also, woah! I did not expect my bad weather drabbles to blow up like they did! Does that mean yall want to see more drabbles in the future?

If yall have any ideas for some, I'd love to, at least, try them out! Because I really didn't expect so many people to actually like it. I kept checking my Tumblr and being like "woah 35 notifs???" And then I'd check again and "WAIT, there's 25 more???" So, I'd love to keep doing them. They'd be good to post in-between my ToF schedule!

Hope yall enjoyed this chapter! I'm hoping it still makes sense that the reader can't fully control their body during these memories...I'm not really sure how to convey that tbh.

Taglist; @orphicmeliora , @yoongi-tunes , @mitzkooni , @hiqhkey, @tanspostsblog

[takingthehobbitswhere]

fivefourthree.

Summary: Jason Todd getting feelings for someone he just met. In a flower shop of course.

Word count: ~2840

A/N: Well, well look who finally posted another piece. I am so sorry. Might be sort of character accurate, might not be - all I know is I'm doing this instead of a speech I'm supposed to be writing. Oops.

Warnings: strong hints of spice

jason todd x f!reader

The door had barely creaked open when the bells tied to the entryway alerted you to a new presence. A stifled sneeze made you look up from the bouquet you were cutting, towards a head of curly black hair glowering as he wiped his nose. Keeping him on the edges of your vision, you leaned back down to your flowers as he started to mill about, gently fingering the colorful blooms. After crossing in front of your workspace for what was at least the fourth time you sighed, cleared your throat and spoke. “May I help you?”

The boy spun around, hands in the air, and sauntered over, placing his hands on the counter. “Yes.” He looked at you intently, eyes almost seeming to shift from blue to green and back. “What kind of flowers scream I hate you, and I don’t plan on forgiving or forgetting any time soon?”

You tried to fight a smile as you turned to evaluate your stock, nodding. “Sounds serious. Let’s see what I have here. Ah, petunias, orange lillies, butterfly weed-”

“I’ll take all of them.”

“Do you have an hour?”

The boy looked down at his watch, then up at the flowers, back down, then at you. “Yeah, yeah I got time.”

You hummed in response, already in motion. Choose. Cut. Prepare. Working in near silence, a tinny speaker letting out strains of a somber piano was the only accompaniment. He watched you as ten minutes ticked by before uttering a single word. You had expected him to leave, but you had to admit you appreciated the company.

“How long have you been doing this?” He asked, leaning over the counter.

“Almost four years now. I learned from a older lady in my building when I first moved, and haven’t looked back.”

“Well, your arrangements out front look incredible.”

You looked up, finding him staring at you with something that resembled a smile on his face.

“I'm Jason.”

“[Name].”

Greenery. Focal. Fill. The space filled with silence again, but ever so slowly, over the next forty-five minutes, you found yourself opening up to each other, laughing the most you have in months, telling the safe pieces of your stories, until begrudgingly, it was time to hand off the bouquet. The time, however fleeting, was refreshing. Wrap. Finish.

“Well, here you are.” You pick up the flowers, extending them to Jason, a shy grin on your face as your eyes meet. His fingers brushed your hand, startlingly cold. “I hope whoever’s getting them is properly accursed for their wrongdoing.”

“I’ll make sure to tell my brother that. Just for insurance purposes, I’m going to need your number. Can’t leave you without an update can I?” He grinned cheekily, ripping off a small piece of the bouquet’s wrap paper and slid it across the counter.

With a sigh, you picked up your pen, tapping your chin.

“And collateral, for the allergies,” He whispered.

A small chuckle escaped, and with a flourish, you handed the paper back to him, number, name, and all. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Almost out the door, bells ringing again, Jason paused, lifting his hand in a wave. “See you tonight!” he called. Before you had a chance to react, he was gone.

It rang through your head the rest of your shift, a reoccurring distraction as you gathered arrangements, watered flowers, and helped customers. A timer rang somewhere in the back, shaking you out of your reverie, a violent reminder to start closing the shop. Finally.

Humid evening air greeted you, clouds parted for the summer evening. The walk home was pleasant for once, the smell of the city no longer trapped in the now-absent layer of grey, the sun’s glow casting a spell on everything it touched. The light framed in your apartment window warmed a spot on the wood floor, and gladly you sunk down, curled into it. The shorter, colder days always came too quickly for your liking. Peace settled into your bones, your eyes growing heavy.

A phone somewhere vibrated. Again. Closer this time. The buzzing danced along the floor til it reached you, waking you up. A hand, your hand, brushed the edge of the vibrating box, yours. Oh. OH. You became alert, fingers scrambling to grab the phone, hoping the call wouldn’t be missed. Unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, this is Jason.”

“Long time, no see.”

“I don’t know if you’re free tonight, but I highly suggest you make it so because I’m inviting you to my favorite dive bar where you can enjoy some live music, my company, and most likely a free drink or two. And if that’s not enough, just know I’m extremely stubborn.” His voice came through tinny, but just enough you could hear the tease in his voice.

A beat passed. You bit your lip. “Okay. Count me in.”

“Great. See you there. Seven.” And with that, he hung up, leaving you once again in silence. Dang. It’s a date.

30 minutes later, you found yourself seated in front of your closet, practically every article of clothing you owned on the floor. By the time you grabbed your keys, you had settled for something slightly more than what you'd usually wear. Your phone buzzed again with an address. It was just a short walk. You weren’t worried. Living in Gotham for almost all your life greatly shifted your classification of dangerous.

The bar was in an older building, dilapidated in a sophisticated sense. You could see the orange glow through the windows, shadows moving about to the light thrum of music. Your nerves stirred in your abdomen, slowly climbing into your throat. Just open the door and step in. Inhale, exhale. In you went. The wood paneled interior gave warmth to the space, various stained glass lights hanging about the space. Booths and few tables decorated the space about the bar, a constant buzz of conversation barely discernible above the live band playing from a corner stage. A saxophone caught your attention, crooning as the drumset hissed in response. Everyone seemed in their own world. Watching the music so closely, you didn't notice the someone coming up behind you until they had placed their hands on your shoulders, bracing as you flinched.

"Hello, [name]," the voice, Jason's, whispered into your ear. A knot forming in your stomach as he barely brushed the back of your hair. Shifting, an arm was slung across your shoulders as he steered you gently towards an empty pair of barstools. Seated, you were able to look him up and down for the first time that night. He had changed, but He looked good. A simple black tee, arms tensed, the rest of his clothes the same.  An appreciative look on his face as he took in what you were wearing.

"So, what'll it be for you two?"

"An old fashioned for me, and for her.."

"Wine. Red, please."

The bartender nodded, drifting to a waving patron, leaving you two staring at the counter. Jason shifted towards you, leaning onto his leg, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "Loser of the pool game gets the first round."

So there you were, in a hidden corner away from the din of the bar, lining up your break. It had been awhile since you played a game, and you knew he let you go first to size up his competition. Five, four, three, two, on one you let the cue fly, the chain reaction hitting the triangle of balls into a thousand different directions. A striped ball made its way into the pocket, leaving the cue ball in a compromising position. Huffing, you took a sip of your wine, and leaned, ball ricocheting off the side of the table, knocking into stripes and solids with a clack. His move.

Jason paced around the table until he found an ideal angle, testing his shot, eyes peering through his shaggy hair. With the utmost precision, his target found its way into the same pocket you landed your ball in. Clack, another one off the felt. "What can I say? Beginner's luck."

You bumped him forcefully, rolling your eyes. "In your dreams."

He was always one up on you, an aggravating dance of hope and loss, and the table was looking bare. Focus. A brief moment of consultation opened a possible shot, one you had to take. Practicing with your cue, you stared the no. 13 ball down. Line it up, pull back, and release.. It sailed into the pocket, the cue ball aligned beautifully with another striped one. Jason looked on approvingly as you hit another into the pocket. The eight ball was all that was left. Your cue slipped, scratching the felt, causing you to hit it from the side, barely moving.  Jason's turn. 

Jason's smile was burning through your back; you didn't even have to turn around to know he was already celebrating. Or so you thought until he slipped his arms around yours, adjusting your hands until your shot was perfectly positioned. His breath tickled your ear as he said something about your almost victory. He was steady, still as he played the shot through in his mind. You felt him shift, drawing the cue back, and as you both exhaled, the tension released, the ball rolled neatly into the corner, disappearing from view. Nobody dared move, staring at where the white ball remained. Jason's arms seemed to twitch, tightening around you as he whispered, "I owe you a drink."

Nodding was the only command your brain seemed to transmit as you were released from his grasp, his hands retreating, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin. He came back, another drink in hand, another smirk on his face. Giving it to you, he gently grabbed your arm with his free hand, leading you toward the band you saw earlier. The space was hazier, the lights dimmer, and it was harder to keep your balance, even ignoring the wine you had already consumed. His grip transferred to your hand as you approached the throng of dancers, pulling you into it, disappearing into the thick of bodies.

Surfacing in the middle of the mass, fresh air was a welcome commodity amongst the sickly-sweet mix of sweat and alcohol. Jason didn't seem to be perturbed, wholly focused on you, the music swelling back into existence. You stared right back at him, the red lighting bouncing off your surroundings, casting a soft glow on his face, transfixed. His hand extended, and once again, he pulled you, this time into a dance.

Back nestled into his chest, your hand was around his, resting on your hip, his fingers barely brushing under your shirt. A compromising position, but oh, it felt so good. The buzz was starting to hit you, and it heightened everything. Swaying, you fell into rhythm amongst the others around you, a steady pulse from the bass seemingly keeping time to your pounding heart, trying to ignore how he pressed into you, lips floating over your shoulder, the crowd moving around you.

Jason seemed to respond immediately to your growing tenseness, his hands hovering over your skin, forehead leaning into the back of your skull. The song ends right on cue, and in the resulting silence to applause, he turned you around, looking directly into your soul. His tone dips softly as a new riff fills the air. “Are you okay?”

A beat passed, and you finally found the courage to return his gaze. “Yeah- I just needed a moment.” Breathing deep, gathering a smile, normalcy returns. You tugged him into a spin, and in response, he dipped you, a squeal escaping from your throat.

The hours passed in a liquid haze, the end dancing closer and closer, until finally, you stumbled onto the street, the cool air shocking sobriety into your system. A glance was shared through the neon haze, another look, nothing was said, but a conversation, a dialogue, deeper than either of you were aware, had just begun.

Fingers slipped through yours, drawing you in a direction you didn’t want to go. Your place was closer. Your place was safer. Let’s go there. A gentle pull from you was all that was needed, and there you stood, in front of your door. No memory was formed of entering the building, standing in the elevator, walking down the hall, but none was needed. He was here, in front of you, and that was all that mattered; the quiet want in his eyes as he crept closer and closer, the struggle with the door handle as he pressed his lips to yours, the tumble into the entryway as the door gave, and the catch as his hands stabilized your bodies against the nearest wall.

The hunger built, space was no longer a concept. One of you ended where the other began, feeding into each other, caresses turning to grabs, mumbles turning into gasps, never staying in one place for long. The agony, the ecstasy of it all. A single thought lingered, questioning the sanity of this decision, but you pushed it back, trapped it in a box, and simply gave in.

Coming up for air, chests heaving, you had tucked into Jason’s arm, oblivious as he slowly surveyed your apartment, taking in the 400 foot studio you called home, warm light filling every inch of the space from a corner lamp, a portable chess set on a nearby table. It wasn’t much, but he could tell you had poured your heart into making it comfortable, safe. It was an abrupt, welcome change of scene from what the man laying beside you knew. This could be his safe place.

Your breath evened out, and he just listened, occasionally shifting his gaze to your figure, back to the ceiling, reaching out to trace a path down your sheets. With his heart keeping steady, with the rhythm of your inhales, he felt his eyes growing heavy for the first time in a long, long time.

Jason shot upright, head pounding, struggling to focus in on the unfamiliar room around him. Oh. His eyes shot to where you lay, peaceful and still, relieved the outburst was ineffective. What am I doing here? Shifting to the edge of the bed, he ran his hands through his hair, exhaling firmly, forcing himself to reprocess the events of yesterday. Maybe he was flirting with this girl, maybe he saw a friend, but all Jason knew was he didn’t know what he needed. Not a relationship. Anything, anything, but that. He dared to look back at you again. You would hurt and suffer for his actions, and that would be irreparable.

With practiced stealth, he picked up his scattered clothes and slipped them on, not daring to use the bathroom, minimizing his presence. He hoped you would forgive him. Then forget. That was best. Cramming on his shoes, he took one last look at the space he would think about for many more nights in the next sequence of life and quietly closed the door behind him.

The boy’s mind was already whirring, solving the next problem before it could happen. The entire house would ride his ass for this. He was sure he looked ridiculous, for sure jogging back to his car. And running up his front steps. And trying to inconspicuously unlock the side door. He was halfway to his room when-

“Jason!”

As slow as humanly possible, he turned around, peering over the stair rail at a one, very interested Dick Grayson.

“Dude, did you actually hang out with a girl? Wait ‘til Bruce gets a load of this.”

Before Dick could take another step, Jason was flying down the stairs, grabbing his shoulders, staring him dead in the eyes. “Do not mention this to anybody. I know where you sleep.”

“Master Jason, you’re home-” Alfred stops in his tracks, analyzing the situation before him, deciding a simple nod and a dismissive bow would be sufficient for pretending he never set eyes on the situation in the first place.

Waiting until Alfred finished rounding the corner, Jason finally let go of his brother, firmly dusting Dick’s shoulders. “Sorry.”

Dick sighed, looking at him suspiciously. “I won’t let it slip if you tell me the details of your outing. Scout’s honor.”

“That’s– illegitimate. You? A boy scout?”

“Ha, ha. Very funny. Okay, I’ve changed my terms. Just make me a sandwich.”

“Fine.”

Dinner that night proceeded to be filled with Dick offhandedly chuckling to himself while everyone just offered questioning looks at Jason, afraid to ask. The scraping of cutlery was the only noise in the dining room, as he ignored them, stuffing another bite of chicken into his mouth. Every so often, a lighthearted comment was exchanged, but his heart wasn’t in it. All he kept coming back to was you as he stared at the bouquet on the table. His mind had convinced himself you would be fine, but his heart was telling him otherwise.

He knew he had to see you again.

[memberment]

Good evening

Guys I just got home from work and proofread everything I needed to including this next Dandelion chapter and I'm trying so hard not to just fucking SOB over it.

I hate it here I want out LMFAOOOOOOO THIS IS SO SAD WHY DID I WRITE THIS FR

10:59 update......

I'm thinking about an absolutely diabolical twist for the Trin series(it doesn't actually change the story in any way, if anything it actually makes it make so much more sense). Like, I've been ruminating on it since last night but idk if it's gonna throw people off. But at the same time like part twos and threes never do as good anyways so do I really even care?? Like, I'm just out here telling stories in fanfic font bc I would rather throw myself in the street than make OCs and not share my fun little stories.

I think I may commit to it.

I don't wanna say it on here though bc it's one of those plot twists you get will not forget even though part three is like FOREVER out.

The more I think about it the more I wanna do it. Someone tell me I should do it.

Oh my god I am shutting up and finishing reading Dandelion, y'all will hear my virtual screams in approximately one and a half business hours.

(11:43) I'm actually fucking sobbing and I didn't even start the last few chapters. Like, I'm actually crying over this. It's not funny.

(12:00) Never by mag lo coming on while I'm finishing up reading this is not funny. I'm devastated. I hope you all hate me after this oh my god I feel like I just ruined my own life. WHY IS IT SO MUCH WORSE AFTER BEING DONE WITH THIS FIC FOR ALMOST TWO MONTHS. Jesus Christ. Yeah. No more angst from me for a long while. I'm banned.

(12:20) Me skimming through tags on fics debating if I want to pick up something new. Everything being totally normal. Suh happy. Trying not to stew in my own misery. And then I see such a vile tag my stomach twists and now I'm just like okay I'll go fuck myself I guess I'll go write or do my homework. I'm sorry, I adore ao3 and I'm never gonna be a hater, BUT SOME PEOPLE ARE WILD. LIKE I AM TALKING SO BAD I'M ACTUALLY CONSIDERING DOING MY HOMEWORK OVER THAT. LIKE I ACTUALLY JUST WIPED THE TEARS OFF MY FACE AND GOT OVER HOW SAD I WAS BECAUSE OF HOW GENUINELY SHOCKED I WAS. Like wow oh wow.

Anyways. Updates here if there's gonna be any. Also Dandelions up if anyones reading this LMAO

It's 1:40 in the morning and the beginning of Morning Glory is making me fucking unwell. I was not joking when I made that joke about like ten dreaded weeks of angst, Jesus Christ.

(2:12) This is my second time posting this exact part. Like I know I've posted this exact part. But I seriously love Christophe and all of his dialogue with my whole heart.

(4:31) I do not recall making Dova this tragic and I'm literally about to sob over him. LIKE WHY???? WHY DID I DO THAT??? WHY ARE HIS LITTLE SUBTLE BITS OF STORYLINE SO ACTUALLY PAINFUL AS THE STORY GOES ON????? (I am allergic to happiness I am my own canon event at this point)

(4:48) THE ABSOLUTE DEVASTATION THAT COMES WITH WANTING MORE STORY BUT IT SIMPLY NOT EXISTING BECAUSE YOU HAVE TO WRITE IT IS DEVASTATING.

(5:02) Welp. I'm ruined and am now compelled by god to start working on Morning Glory again. We're at 73k rn. And only two chapters that aren't the prologue are under 4k. That's fucking terrifying. Like I have 17 minus the prologue rn. WE ARE LITERALLY THREE CHAPTERS AWAY FROM THE FOURTH OF JULY. THERE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE ANOTHER 16/17 OF SUMMER ALONE. AND THERE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE AT LEAST ANOTHER 14 AFTER THAT. LIKE THE 14 ARE THE PLANNED SPECIFIC EVENT CHAPTERS. BRUH. WHY DID I DO THIS????

regret.

regret is all I feel.

but I will push through.

(7:38) before I go to bed I will just say I am at 75.3k. I had no idea how I would even get close to 4k on a birthday chapter where the group effectively decided to just stay home and hang out. But now there is like 1.5k of them playing muffin time. It's wild. I love it. GOOD NIGHT.

[searchingwardrobes]

Scarborough Fair: 6/?

Finally, another update, and just in time for Halloween! Which is fitting because here’s where everything gets weird and crazy. So strap in, folks, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Oh, and I apologize for not linking to previous chapters on Tumblr. This site is being annoying, I’m tired, and it’s a weeknight. I’ll make sure there’s a master post at the end. But here’s your link to Ao3 if you prefer reading over there (which I do!)

*Reminder that this is an M rated fic that includes rape/non-con, and later, dubious consent of a magical variety.*

Chapter Six

Killian wiped his arm across his sweaty brow as he slid the last can of paint onto the shelves of the garage. Next to him, Liam was red-faced with the heat and utterly apologetic.

“You’ve been working on a construction site all day, and before you can even take a step into the house, I’ve put you to work again.”

Killian waved him off as he lifted the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe his face more thoroughly than his sweaty arm could. 

“It’s okay. We’ve been putting this chore off too long.”

While Ingrid had loved the new arbor in her flower garden, she hadn’t loved the mess they’d left in the garage from building it. She’d been on them since Mother’s Day to clean up the mess. It was rare for Liam to leave a mess behind, especially where Ingrid was concerned, but he’d gone straight from finals week to teaching a summer school course. 

Killian was just about to head inside for a much needed shower when he heard a rattling in the corner. He turned around to see Liam wrestling with a familiar, rusty shopping cart.

“This is still in here?”

Killian reached out to spin one of Mary Margaret’s whirligigs. “Yeah, I put it in here pro- you know, that night?”

“Oh, that’s right . . .” Liam’s voice trailed off. 

Emma’s rape had made Killian completely forget about the drama with Mary Margaret, but now that he saw the cart with all of her things, it came rushing back. 

“Is she still in jail?”

Liam shook his head. “No. Ingrid called to check. Since no one pressed any charges, they had no reason to hold her. Ingrid’s beside herself, though, because they just let her walk out and back onto the streets.”

Killian’s brow furrowed. “It isn’t like her not to come back for her stuff, right?”

“No, it isn’t, and that’s got Ingrid worried. As if we don’t all have enough weighing on us.” Liam’s expression turned uncharacteristically dark. “If I could go back in time and change things, I would. I should have made them go in the limo with the group.”

Killian held his brother’s gaze, and understanding passed between them. No one had yet voiced the regret, and Killian was relieved to hear his brother confess it.

“I should have gotten to her sooner.”

Liam’s eyes turned to slits of rage as he studied Killian. “No. Neal Cassidy should have driven his car into that river on his way here.”

“Or one of Mary Margaret’s glass bottles should have sliced him through the jugular.”

“I hope he suffered in that river.” Liam’s jaw was in danger of cracking, he was clenching it so hard.

“I hope he’s burning in hell.”

“Like a pig on a spit.”

The venom in Killian’s voice was matched by Liam’s and his voice cracked when he confessed the full depravity of his fantasies.

“I imagine torturing him in a thousand ways, Liam. I want him to suffer the way Emma has suffered. No, worse. If you only knew what I think about sometimes, the rage I feel -”

“I wouldn’t be shocked. I promise you.”

Killian let his breath out in a hot rush and muscles he hadn’t even known had gone rigid relaxed. He blinked, trying to clear the burning behind his eyes. Liam grasped his shoulder and squeezed in understanding. Killian was alarmed to feel a lump rise in his throat and as a quick sob escaped, Liam yanked him forward into a brief yet fierce hug. 

“This family is strong, little brother.”

Killian nodded as he pulled away, clearing his throat, slightly embarrassed, though he knew he shouldn’t be. Liam returned his nod, his eyes shining with tears of understanding. 

“Well,” Killian said, voice scratchy, “I better get a shower.”

Liam gestured to the shopping car. “I’ll hide this somewhere.”

Looking at it once again, Killian suddenly remembered something else from that night. Something that was upstairs in his desk drawer. 

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

Emma set aside her dog-eared copy of A Wrinkle in Time to massage her brow. She’d been having headaches a lot lately. Her therapist said it was a common physiological response to stress. Headaches were also sometimes a side effect of medication for anxiety, so there was also that. 

It wasn’t the book, though. Reading about Meg, Calvin, and Charles Wallace was a balm to her soul. She especially loved Aunt Beast, which was the chapter she was reading right now. She would love to have a giant, soft, and furry creature to hold her and heal her jagged inner wounds. She was re-reading all of her favorite childhood books. They were like comforting, old friends. In their pages, she could be rocked to sleep by Aunt Beast, tumble in the grass with Aslan, or fly away to Neverland. 

“Hey.”

Emma looked up at the sound of Killian’s voice and his swift knock upon her door frame. The sight of him shouldn’t have made her heart flip over the way it did. Not when he was absolutely filthy.

Or maybe that was exactly why her mouth suddenly went dry at the sight of him. 

His face was beaded with perspiration, and his damp, dark hair was tousled. His thin, white t-shirt was so damp with sweat that it clung to every muscle of his torso. He noticed her staring, and glanced down at his shirt, which was stained with dirt. 

“Oh, sorry, I know I’m disgusting.” He pulled it swiftly over his head, causing his hair to stick up even more crazily than before. 

Yeah, that didn’t help. At all. Now she could feel her cheeks burning as she tried not to stare at his bare chest. He balled up the shirt and used it to rub at the back of his neck. The motion only made his muscles even more noticeable. 

Emma cleared her throat and picked up her book, hoping it wasn’t upside down, or something equally embarrassing. 

“So take a shower,” she snapped. “You stink.”

Killian just laughed. “On my way, I promise.” 

It didn’t stop him from striding all the way into her bedroom. She schooled her features into one of indifference as she glanced up at him. 

“I’m trying to read, and now I can smell you even more.”

He reached into the back pocket of the Wranglers he had bought for work. Wranglers should not in any universe be sexy. They were loose fit, which wasn’t Killian’s style at all, and they were that actual denim blue, which hadn’t been in fashion since the OK Corral. And yet . . .

They hung low on his hips, which did decidedly uncomfortable things to her pulse, and damn if that shade of blue didn’t light up his eyes. She was so distracted by this very obvious display of masculinity, that she almost didn’t see the slim book that he was handing to her. He had to wave it a little bit before she took it. 

“It’s Mary Margaret’s,” he told her softly. 

Emma ran her hand over the faded green cover. “Wh- where did you get this?”

“The night of the prom, it fell out of her shopping cart. When I saw what was written on the inside cover, I kept it. I thought you might like to have it.”

Emma flipped it open and read, To my daughter, Emma. I hope you understand one day. Love, Mother. She snapped her gaze back up to Killian.

“I didn’t read it,” he assured her, lifting both hands in surrender. “I just completely forgot about it after . . . everything.” 

Emma swallowed nervously as she flipped through the pages. She didn’t register any of the words, but the handwriting was neat, the cursive looping and elegant. Not at all what you would expect in the journal of a crazy woman. 

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to,” he assured her. 

Emma just nodded, her emotions on a roller coaster. Did she want to know what her mother had to say? Would these words reveal a slow descent into madness? Or for once could she understand the person her mother once was? The sweet friend Ingrid remembered?

Killian left the room quietly, and she scarcely noticed. That proved how much her mother’s journal had shaken her. 

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

Killian meant it when he told Emma that she didn’t have to read her mother’s journal if she didn’t want to. Killian also felt that it was a private matter, so he didn’t ask her about it, nor did he mention it to the rest of the family. 

If he were in Emma’s shoes, if he somehow found a letter or a journal from his dad “hoping Killian would understand one day,” he wasn’t sure how he would react. He might burn it without a second thought. Nothing could make sense of a man abandoning a woman sick with cancer. Killian would never forget the day he sat in a social worker’s office, the day after his mother passed, and saw Liam’s imposing frame fill the doorway. At seven, he had a difficult time understanding that this big, superman was his brother. Half-brother, technically, though Liam never liked that term. 

“We’re brothers, end of story,” was what Liam always said.

Not many twenty-three year olds, especially those just starting graduate school, would consider taking custody of a baby brother they never even knew existed. But that was Liam Jones. 

In a way, he supposed, he was blessed. Liam was a better father than Brennan Jones had ever been or ever could be. Nothing the man could ever say would make Killian want him back in his life. 

So yeah, if Emma had taken a lighter to that journal and watched it burn, he wouldn’t judge her. 

It was for that reason two weeks passed before Killian gave the journal another thought. He was also just too plain exhausted to bug Emma. The contractor he was working for was fair, safe, and honest. Nevertheless, the hard physical labor had Killian wearily ascending the stairs to the attic every night for a much needed shower, followed by a quick dinner and then collapsing into bed. The money was good, though, so he couldn’t complain.  

Killian had just stepped out of the shower one night at the end of June when his phone buzzed on his nightstand. He was surprised to see that it was a text from Emma.

I need you.

She didn’t have to say another word. Be down in a minute he texted back, and then rushed to throw on a pair of pajama pants and a clean t-shirt. When he got to her room, he found her sitting cross-legged on her bed. Her mother’s journal lay on the comforter in front of her, and she was staring at it as if it might bite. He paused in the doorway, and she looked up at him with a stricken expression on her face. 

“Shut the door.”

He nodded and did as she asked. She scooted over as he neared the bed, and he sat down beside her. He couldn’t help eyeing the journal as he did so. 

“Did you read it?” 

She nodded her head. Then she looked at him, her expression pleading. “Do you remember that day we got ice cream?”

“Of course.”

“Do you remember what you swore to me?”

Killian nodded. He would never forget that day. “That you would never lose me.”

“Yes, that, but the other thing.”

Killian rested his head on the headboard, thinking as he looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, you mean that I would never think you were crazy?”

Emma picked up the journal and handed it to him. “Remember that.”

Killian looked down at the journal, then back at Emma. “You want me to read it?”

Emma nodded, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Her eyes were wide as she watched him open the slim volume. A sense of dread snaked through his veins, but he began to read nevertheless . . . 

My dearest, precious daughter Emma,

I found out today - officially on the ultrasound - that you’re a girl, and my heart broke all over again that your father isn’t with us. When we talked about baby names, we always liked Emma for a girl. I want you to know first of all how much your father and I love you. David was so excited when I found out I was with child, and he went to the market the very next day and bought an obscene amount of stuffed toys. His absence is not by choice. Of course, I’m getting ahead of myself . . . 

I’m writing this because I fear that time is running out. The future is uncertain, and I want you to know the truth. It will be difficult for you to believe, I know that. I just hope and pray that my words are enough. Believe, my darling daughter, even when it seems impossible. 

The second thing I want to say is this: I am not insane. I am writing this with full mental capacity. The woman you likely know now as your mother is not who I am as I write this. However, I fear madness is a curse I can not outrun. Some may tell you to ignore this journal as the ramblings of an unstable woman. That, I promise you, is not the case. Ingrid will tell you that during my pregnancy, I was completely sane. 

Speaking of Ingrid, it brings me great relief to have met her. She doesn’t understand when I talk about it, because she knows how much I want you and has no reason to believe I cannot care for you. However, she has promised to raise you if I cannot. She is a wonderful woman and a dear friend. I know you will love her, too. 

Well, I suppose I shall get to the point. You will grow up in a world, Emma, which does not believe in magic or fairy tales. However, that doesn’t mean they do not exist. The world you will grow up in, the world I find myself in right now, even has magic. Most people just aren’t aware of it. 

This is not the only world there is, however. I’m not talking about space aliens, don’t worry. Or perhaps you’ll think it’s worse. I’m talking about other realms. 

I am from a place called the Enchanted Forest. It should have been your home too, Emma. My name is not Mary Margaret. It is Snow White. I know that sounds crazy to you because since I arrived in this strange realm, I have discovered that my family, my friends, almost everyone I know, are considered nothing but stories here. It sounds impossible, but it’s true. I am Queen Snow White of the kingdom of Misthaven and your father is my Prince Consort. Yes, my Prince Charming. I actually do call him charming - it’s a silly nickname, really.

But that’s a story for happier times. Hopefully when we are all reunited. 

Just like in the fairy tales you’ve heard about Snow White, my mother died and my father remarried an evil witch - the Evil Queen. She murdered my father shortly after the wedding, and I had to flee for my life.  It’s a long story, but your father helped me win the kingdom back. (And yes, a poisoned apple was involved, but again, that’s a story for another time.)

We were young and knew little about battles or politics, especially when we were up against an evil queen. We made a grievous mistake. The Dark One, also called Rumplestiltskin, came to our court offering his help to defeat the Evil Queen. We knew The Dark One’s motto - “magic always comes with a price,” however, his deal sounded so simple. 

The Evil Queen was drafting boys as young as eleven into military service against the ogres. The Dark One’s own son was among them. If we accepted his help, our first royal decree must be to absolve the draft. It seemed perfectly reasonable. After all, we found the law despicable ourselves, sending innocent children into battle. 

Rumplestiltskin brought us victory, his son was spared, and all seemed to be well. Or so we thought. 

Unfortunately, the ogres weren’t routed so easily. We continued to battle their terror across the realm. Finally, in the fifth year of our reign, the ogres were finally defeated in a decisive battle. Shortly after, I discovered I was pregnant with you, Emma. It seemed like we finally had our happy ending. 

We were feasting, celebrating our victory, when thunder and lighting descended upon the banquet hall. Red smoke filled the room, and when it cleared, The Dark One was in our midst. 

His manic, high pitched voice is seared into my memory: “I warned you, Your Majesties, all magic comes with a price!”

We abolished the draft, but when Rumplestiltskin’s son came of age, he joined our army against the ogres after all. Just in time for that last battle. 

“I held my bleeding son in my arms, with death all around me!” Rumplestiltskin shrieked. “You promised me my son’s life!”

We pleaded our innocence. After all, how could we control his son’s life? His choices? Your father expressed his deepest condolences to The Dark One, and that’s when things became most bizarre. Before our eyes, Rumplestiltksin seemed to split in two, like another being was fighting to come out of him. For one moment, his son Bealfire stood before us! Baelfire pleaded with his father to let him go, let him die an honorable soldier, then he began to writhe on the floor as The Dark One battled with him. Then Rumplestiltskin, and him alone, was before us once again! The Dark One had absorbed his son with Dark Magic, keeping him alive - or at least, in a way. 

Then the Dark One pronounced his curse upon us:

“Your entire kingdom will be ripped away, trapped in a realm where there is no magic and no happy endings. None of you will remember who you really are. Except for you, Snow White! You will be separated from your love, and you will know it, with all your memories intact. You will wander alone in this strange realm until you give birth to a baby girl. Yet you will only hold her for a moment before madness descends upon you. She will be taken from you, and she will detest you for the rest of your days.”

I nearly collapsed with the cruelty of this curse, and your father fell upon his knees and begged the Dark One for mercy. He gave that eerie little giggle of his and practically danced with glee. 

“Mercy? I don’t do mercy. I do, however, love games. So I’ll tweak the curse just a tiny bit. I’ll give you a riddle, in the form of a song. Solve each riddle and perform the three tasks by the time your baby is born, and the curse will be broken.”

My royal lineage overtook me, and I stood to my full height then and vowed that the true love I felt for your father would help me conquer this riddle. Little did I know that The Dark One’s sadistic cruelty wasn’t finished.

“Well,” he squealed, “if you don’t solve it, perhaps your daughter will. When she is seventeen years of age, I will find her, my son will woo her, and she will give me another child to replace the one you took from me.”

“Our daughter will never be wooed by the son of the Dark One!” your father thundered.

Rumplestiltkin’s answer rattled the windows. “Then he will take her by force!”

Emma, my heart grows sick to think that The Dark One will find you. I pray that you read this in time. He’s here, Emma! I’ve seen him! He taunts me, sneaking around and showing up in the most random places. I’ve seen his son too, and after months of sharing body and soul with his father, he has become dark and twisted as well. He’s no longer the heroic boy he once was. Beware of him! He goes by the name Neal Cassidy in this realm. 

Killian stopped reading then, his face pale, his hands shaking. Emma rested a slim hand on his leg. 

“You saw his name, didn’t you?” she whispered. 

He couldn’t answer, he could only shudder, his hands gripping the journal until his knuckles turned white. 

“Keep reading,” Emma ordered gently. 

I have tried to solve the riddle Emma, but I can’t even figure out how to complete the first task! How does one make a shirt with no needle or seam? There are two other tasks. The second is to find a town that no one knows, and I am certain that’s where your father is. If I do not succeed, Emma, it will be up to you. Solve the riddles, complete the tasks, find us, and break the curse! I know it’s overwhelming, but also know this: In this family, we always find each other. If I can’t break the curse, I know you can. 

If The Dark One has found you already when you read this, then also know this: if you do not break the curse by the time your baby comes, you will also descend into madness, and all of The Enchanted Forest will remain cursed forever. Here is the riddle:

“O, where are you going?" "To Scarborough fair,"

    Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;

"Remember me to a lass who lives there,

    For once she was a true love of mine.

 And tell her to make me a cambric shirt,

    Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,

Without any seam or needlework,

    And then she shall be a true love of mine.

 And tell her to find the town which no one knows,

    Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,

And reunite the lovers there with a kiss ,

    And then she shall be a true love of mine

 And there she must sow an acre with but one kernel of corn,

    Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,

Upon the seashore before the tide comes,

   And then she shall be a true love of mine

All my love, my darling daughter, and may hope and truth be yours. 

Love,

Mother

Killian snapped the journal closed and dropped it on the bed. He turned his head to look at Emma, seeing for the first time that she looked a bit sick and green. 

“And you believe this is all true?”

“How else do you explain his name being there? And remember what I told you? How Neal changed? And he said the same thing my mother wrote about! All magic comes with a price.”

Killian felt sick. Sick with the certainty that it was all true. He knew it like he knew his own name. There was just one thing . . . 

“But Emma, you aren’t pregnant.”

Her face was stoic as she reached under her pillow and pulled something out. She pressed it into his hand. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see at first, but then he looked down. 

A white stick with a tiny pink plus sign rested in the palm of his hand. 

Tagging  @snowbellewells​ @teamhook​ @kmomof4​ @jrob64​ @xhookswenchx​ @thisonesatellite​ @welllpthisishappening​ @spartanguard​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @tiganasummertree​ @sparlecorn93​ @sals86​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @xarandomdreamx​ @zaharadessert​ @huntressandlioness1​ @jamif​ @undercaffinatednightmare​ @onceratheart18​ @sparlecorn93​ @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza​ @xarandomdreamx​ @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1​

[taintedsoul-if]

How dare you make me blush with your post. I was around my girlfriends and now I’m hot and bothered. Shit.

Also 🙌 can’t wait for more. And for the next update. And interesting 🤔 the cockroach Really cares wow PC won’t ever believe her.

Don't believe that white lotus. She deliberately approach the mc while they're in a crowd. She wanted to show everyone how much she cares about this older sibling. Until things turned sour. Even instructor Pyresnout, came running out of nowhere, to berate the mc for causing a commotion. So the mc sneakily implied that the instructor must be fucking Yesenia, because there's no way he would reach over here so fast. Lies! I know you lie. 😂😂. All these instructors keeps forgetting that, the mc mother literally left all the shares for the Academy in the mc name. Ragriel is only micromanaging until mc is old enough.

I'll say it again, all the wealth Ragriel sits on belongs to Lady Anaya's family. There's a secret will that was written, before Lady Anaya's family was wiped out. It's your Mc job to find that will before it reaches in the wrong hands. 😋.

Lady Anaya grandfather washed his face with tears, when the sword was pointed at his neck. If he had known, he would have allowed his granddaughter to find her own happiness. The poor old man, blamed himself for his children death. It's never easy. Watching your whole family killed infront of you. 😭. Sorry.... this took a dark, gloomy turn.

Anon don't get hot and bothered! That's trysten smut scene! No! 👀👀

[nagichi-boop]

A Star That’s Out of Reach (Chapter 5)

[Previous] - [Next]

[Masterlist]

Once again, I apologise for not posting an update in a while. Honestly I kinda keep forgetting, but I’ll try to update this more regularly from now on. Life’s just been kinda chaotic rn, ya know?

— x —

Shadow sped through the mountains of Green Hill to stretch his legs after another restless night. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt oddly irritated – he chalked it up to his lack of sleep. At the highest peak, Shadow stopped and took a moment to survey the area, though as usual it was uncomfortably peaceful. After some time, he spin dashed down the hill and made his way back home. He opened the door sighing, which caught Rouge’s attention.

“Welcome home,” she yelled out from the kitchen. “Good timing, I just made some pizza. I’ll get you a plate and we can share it.” She walked into the lounge to see Shadow sat on the couch arched forwards, his arms folded. “You seem upset. Wanna talk about it?”

“Nothing to say,” Shadow huffed. Rouge offered him a plate, but he turned his head away from it.

“I won’t force you to talk,” she assured. “But please at least eat something?” Shadow stared at the plate reluctantly then took it from Rouge and grabbed a slice from the table. “Atta boy,” Rouge chirped, then grabbed herself a slice. Shadow didn’t eat as much as Rouge, but she was content with the fact he agreed to eat at all. After all, she knew that Shadow tends to become more stubborn and irresponsible when something is playing on his mind, even though he very rarely shared what was on his mind.

“Thanks for the food,” he mumbled before standing up.

“You’re not gonna stay?” Rouge asked. Shadow shook his head and made his way towards the door.

“I’m expecting to see someone,” he replied vaguely.

“Okay then,” Rouge conceded. “But please come home tonight. I am worried about you.” Shadow looked over his shoulder, paused for a moment, then nodded before he opened the door to leave.

Shadow took his time to arrive where he wanted to be – his usual spot under the tree. He stared out at the city with his arms folded. Without realising it, he began tapping his foot impatiently. After about an hour or so, Shadow noticed someone approaching.

“You came,” he commented, not turning around.

“Of course I did,” Amy responded giddily. “Couldn’t leave you hanging after what I said yesterday, now could I?”

Shadow smirked. “Of course,” he chuffed contently. Amy made her way next to Shadow, overlooking the city with him. To his surprise, she didn’t say a word. “So,” he continued. “How did it go?”

Amy took a moment to respond. “About as expected,” she answered softly. “I told him how I felt and he didn’t reciprocate.” She then forced a laugh. “I guess I should’ve guessed, right?”

Shadow glanced down at her. She was smiling, but he could tell something was off. “Maybe,” he spoke. “But that doesn’t make it any less painful.”

She looked up at Shadow with a surprised look. She chuckled a little before her eyes welled up and her façade broke, at which point she looked away and began using her hands to wipe her tears. Shadow stood motionless for a second, then without turning to look at her, he placed his arm around her, pulling her into his side. They turned towards each other, to which Amy pressed her head into Shadow’s chest and began wailing. Shadow held her closer, then felt himself grow increasingly frustrated. But that wasn’t important right now. What mattered now was making sure his close friend was okay.

Eventually Amy calmed down, wiping her eyes as she pulled away from Shadow, who looked down at her worriedly.

“Are you feeling better?” Shadow asked nervously.

Amy flashed a bittersweet smiled. “I am,” she replied. She then took a step to the side away from Shadow, facing the city again. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Shadow copied her and faced the city, then shook his head. “It’s fine,” he assured. “This is what friends do, right?”

Amy giggled sincerely. “I suppose you’re right,” she agreed. They continued to look out at the city together, enjoying each other’s company despite the silence. Unbeknownst to Amy though, Shadow slowly grew frustrated as he was left alone with his thoughts. He eventually glanced over to Amy, who was rubbing her arms.

“It’s getting late,” Shadow commented. “Perhaps we should call it a night. I am guessing you’re pretty worn out.”

Amy looked up at him, then smiled sadly. “I guess you’re right. I do feel tired.”

“I can take you home,” Shadow offered, pulling out his Chaos Emerald and then opening his free hand to Amy. She grinned then took his hand, to which he uttered “Chaos Control” and teleported outside her house.

“Thank you, Shadow,” Amy spoke gloomily. “Have a good night.” She then turned and entered her house, leaving Shadow on his own. He sighed, then turned and walked away. After making it some distance from the house, he stopped himself. He planned to make a stop, but upon remembering Rouge’s words, he made his way back home.

After eating a meal with Rouge and Omega, Shadow went straight to bed and laid on his back, staring at the ceiling. Feeling uncomfortable with the pent up irritation, Shadow decided to close his eyes and focus on the sounds of the tv in the other room, hoping it would help him fall asleep. Unfortunately, as he somewhat suspected, he spent the entire night in and out of sleep, just barely falling unconscious before something small snapped him back to reality.

“Good morning to my favourite boys,” Rouge announced energetically as she flew off of hanging on the bed. “Did you sleep okay?”

“ROBOTS DO NOT SLEEP,” Omega commented bluntly, prompting a chuckle from Rouge. She then flew up and rested her arms on the upper bed railing.

“And how about our favourite hedgehog?” Shadow opened one eye and looked at Rouge with a stern look on his face. Rouge’s smile dwindled. “Another restless night, huh?” Without saying a word, he made his way down the bed ladder past her and walked out of the room. Rouge swooped down after him and watched him from the doorway to see him making his way to the door. “You’re leaving already?”

“I have some unfinished business,” Shadow answered coldly then left, slamming the door behind him. He swiftly made his way to Hedgehog’s Pass, then began surveying the area, impatiently dashing around. Eventually he saw what he came for. He charged straight at the blue blur, knocking the unsuspecting hedgehog into a wall. Shadow stomped angrily towards him.

“You’re here after all,” Shadow growled. Sonic rubbed his head, then looked up at Shadow.

“Shadow? What are you doing here?” Sonic asked in confusion. “And why did you attack me?”

“I have a bone to pick with you,” Shadow answered before dashing towards Sonic again, who swiftly dodged him. Shadow turned to Sonic and snarled, causing the blue hedgehog to instinctively start running away with Shadow on his tail. He continued to launch attacks at Sonic, who dodged and countered as expected. This only infuriated Shadow more, which caused him to lessen his restraint and attack more ruthlessly, landing more than a few blows on Sonic. He threw a hard-hitting punch at Sonic, causing him fly backwards and tumble across the floor a bit. He looked up at Shadow, wincing a little.

“Look Shadow,” Sonic spoke as he wiped dirt off his chin. “I don’t know what you’re so worked up about, but the message isn’t getting any clearer by fighting me like this.” He charged a spin dash and launched himself himself at Shadow, who guarded himself with his arms and was pushed back until Shadow threw him off.

“You know what you did,” Shadow growled before attacking again. Sonic fought back a little, eventually landing a punch in Shadow’s face, causing him to grunt and cover his face with his hand.

“Well clearly if I knew, I wouldn’t need the clarification,” Sonic huffed, getting frustrated at Shadow’s lack of communication. “Just tell me what it is this is about so we can stop this meaningless back and forth.” Ignoring Sonic’s plea, Shadow once again charged at Sonic, the two of them exchanging attacks until Shadow knocked Sonic to the floor. He then pinned him there and raised a fist, but Sonic stopped him from landing a blow and held his fist tight, much to Shadow’s annoyance.

“Let go, hedgehog,” Shadow ordered angrily, trying to free his fist from Sonic’s grasp.

“Not until you tell me why you’re doing this,” Sonic barked back. Shadow clenched his teeth.

“Because you hurt her,” Shadow yelled furiously, which only seemed to confused Sonic more.

“Her? Who?”

“Amy, you fool!” Shadow blurted in return, causing Sonic to flinch a little. “You thought it was funny to string her along just to break her heart?” Sonic scrunched his face up, then placed his feet on Shadow’s chest and kicked him off.

“Look buddy,” Sonic replied, brushing himself off as he stood. “I don’t know angle you’re playing here, but you’re clearly misunderstanding something here.”

Shadow scoffed angrily, poised ready to lunge at Sonic. “Oh yeah? Then do enlighten me.”

“I didn’t break Amy’s heart,” he continued. “I just did what she asked and I told her the truth, that I don’t feel the same way about her that she does with me. And she seemed fine with it!” He then furrowed his brows at Shadow. “I still don’t know how that concerns you, anyway.”

“Well of course she did,” Shadow shouted lividly. “Did you really expect her to show that she wasn’t okay with it? She’s been chasing you for years - of course she wasn’t okay!”

“What do you expect me to do?” Sonic snapped back. “Lie to her and say I loved her too? How is that the kind thing to do?” Shadow’s eyes widened and he stepped back a little in shock. He looked down at the ground, still seething in anger. Sonic’s expression changed as he came to a realisation. “Wait Shadow,” Sonic spoke, hesitating in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you like Amy?”

Shadow quickly looked back up at Sonic, scowling. “Of course I do,” he sneered. “She’s my friend.”

“That’s not what I meant, Shadow.” Sonic’s voice and expression softened. “I meant do you…love her?” Shadow stared at Sonic with a bewildered expression.

“Of course I…” he stopped himself. The tightness he had felt in his chest before returned. Sonic sighed, then smiled warmly.

“That explains things a little,” Sonic spoke, placing his hands on his hip. Shadow looked at Sonic with an angered yet panicked expression. “Don‘t look so worried, bud.”

“That can’t be right,” Shadow mumbled in denial. “Why would I…”

Sonic tilted his head in confusion. “Is it such a bad thing?”

“Of course it is,” Shadow responded, raising his voice more than planned. “I can’t afford to have feelings like this, especially not with her of all people.”

“Harsh,” Sonic gently teased, which caused Shadow to frown at him. He raised his hands in front of himself defensively. “Kidding, kidding!” He then lowered his hands again, speaking in a more serious tone. “But I think you’re really overthinking this.”

“I can’t deal with your snarky attitude right now,” Shadow sighed, placing a hand on his forehead. “It’s giving me a headache.”

“You know,” Sonic added. “I think it’s actually rather sweet to learn you have these sorts of feelings. I’ll admit it’s a little unexpected, but it’s a refreshing development. I just thought you were brooding and aggressive all the time.” Shadow once again looked at him disapprovingly, to which Sonic playfully poked his tongue out at him.

“There’s nothing good about this,” Shadow replied defeatedly. He then turned and began walking away from Sonic.

“Wait wait,” Sonic called out. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” Shadow answered bluntly.

“You’re not going to talk to Amy?”

Shadow briefly stopped. “That’s the last thing I want to do,” he mumbled, then continued walking away. Sonic stood there silently watching Shadow walk away,, who appeared to be crushed. He felt a arm twinge in his arm, causing him to wince. Now that he was alone, he felt his body ache all over.

“Man, that Shadow really did a number on me,” Sonic grunted. He stared off into the distance, then sighed and scratched his head. “This certainly isn’t a turn of events I was expecting.”

Sonic sprinted home, but ran into Amy as he got closer, causing him to come to a grinding halt. She briefly smiled before taking notice of all the injuries on Sonic’s body.

“Sonic, what on earth happened to you?” she exclaimed.

Sonic took a moment to compose his thoughts, then smirked playfully. “Oh this? It’s nothing. Just some stray Badniks getting the jump on me.”

“Eggman did this to you?” Amy spoke worriedly. “Why didn’t you ask for backup?”

Sonic scratched his ear, trying to appear calm. “I didn’t think it was necessary. And I was right! I whipped those Badniks into shape.” He threw fake punches to appear dramatic, but flinched as they began aching again.

Amy sighed. “If you say so,” Amy conceded. “At the very least, let me bandage you up.” Sonic nodded compliantly then walked side by side with Amy. For the sake of peace, he was content with the slash to his ego that these injuries brought him. He stared up to the sky as they walked, scowling a little as he tried to figure out what to do with the new information he had received.

“Eggman did this to you?” Amy spoke worriedly. “Why didn’t you ask for backup?”

Sonic scratched his ear, trying to appear calm. “I didn’t think it was necessary. And I was right! I whipped those Badniks into shape.” He threw fake punches to appear dramatic, but flinched as they began aching again.

Amy sighed. “If you say so,” Amy conceded. “At the very least, let me bandage you up.” Sonic nodded compliantly then walked side by side with Amy. For the sake of peace, he was content with the slash to his ego that these injuries brought him. He stared up to the sky as they walked, scowling a little as he tried to figure out what to do with the new information he had received.

[sstan-hoe]

𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑴𝒆 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — lloyd hansen x fem!reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒚 — this piece is actually based on some real events, some happened in my life like the parents stuff and others are just lloyd comforting you

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — the reader has a mental illness which in this case could be a form of depression, anxiety or paranoia or more and both [I can't tell you which exactly because I was never at a doctor to confirm being mentally ill which is why I sometimes doubt it but then again the signs are there], then there are talks about parents fighting – they're not divorced

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 — primarily this fic is for myself but then again it's also for everyone who wishes that they had someone in their life to turn to, who just comforted them and not with words with actions. Too many times I've heard my friend give advice about my parents when all I needed was a listener and a big hug. follow @sstanhoe-updates to get notifications everytime I post!!!!, don't forget to like, comment and reblog!

The rain was bucketing down cloudy sky that bathed the city in a dark theme making it look dull and grey like it was lifeless, the few people who walked through only confirming it.

Tears streamed down your face matching the intense rain while your umbrella tried shielding you from getting damp. Your shoes were already soaked from stepping into the paddles.

You heard something fall down behind you causing you to rapidly turn around in fear. All you found was a dog who knocked over a trash can. Taking a deep breath, you continued walking. Only a few minutes an uneasy feeling sneaked up as a man with grey almost white hair and a garibaldi beard made eye contact with you.

He stood a few feet away from you, he was tall, and his clothes were drenched because of the heavy rain. The man glared at you and then began walking.

The uneasy feeling turned back into fear, you started walking faster rounding a corner. You squeaked in fear as you saw to other men standing there in an entry of a shop hiding from the rain. They looked at you confused, you muttered a ‘sorry’ before turning around once again to see the grey-haired man gone.

You shook your head at your own actions. Everytime you were out alone this would happen, you walked at a fast pace to avoid everyone and the moment you walked past someone your heartbeat would pick up.

Finally, you reached the apartment that you shared with Lloyd.

You sniffled as you searched for the key in your purse, right when you heard the jiggle of your keys the door opened.

There stood Lloyd who had a smile on his face which faded the moment he saw the tears streaming down your face. Without hesitation he pulled you into his arms, the umbrella fell to the floor as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

The tears only became more and didn’t seem to stop. Lloyd scooped you up in his arms, your arms snaked around his neck and legs around his waist.

He held you on your thighs and stepped back inside the apartment kicking the door close with his foot. Lloyd walked to bedroom, sitting you down he removed your shoes and other wet clothes.

After he took your clothes to the bathroom, he came back with one of his shirts.

Lloyd slipped the shirt over your head and kneeled down in the process. He cupped your cheek and wiped your tears away with his thumbs.

Your eyes drifted to his grey polo shirt, the one with the oval shaped pattern…his favourite had wet stains from your tears. “I destroyed your shirt…” you whispered with regret.

He shook his head with a smile, “nothing that a quick wash can’t handle.”

“Now sunshine tell me what happened…” Lloyd pulled his polo over his head and threw it in the laundry basket. Then he sat down next to you, laying his back against the pillows. He patted his thigh inviting you to sit on his lap.

You climbed on his lap and laid down against his chest wrapping your arms around him. Closing your eyes, you snuggled deeper into him enjoying the warmth is body.

“I was at my parents’ house, and they didn’t know I was there…. They were fighting, I knew they had this rough patch when that woman came into their lives, and they fought day and night. I thought it stopped after they weren’t spending so much time with her anymore, but their relationship got worse.”

Lloyd knew about the woman. She was a friend of your parents, and she always asked your father for help, and he did what she asked. Your mother got jealous, spoke with your father but he didn’t see anything wrong and that caused fight after fight.

With time they stopped spending time with her, and it only came occasionally and not every day of the week. Then the trip to Poland accrued and your father went swimming with her which he never did with your mother.

The woman had a husband of her own and children. You knew your father would never do anything but that didn’t stop how your mother felt.

A year later it stopped – or so you thought.

“My mother told him that he wasn’t doing anything to change their relationship for the better. She said he acted cold to which he responsed ‘maybe I’m just acting like you treat me’.  They went back and forth until she mentioned his co-worker who he befriended, she told him that he didn’t need to befriend every single person he met.”

Lloyd caressed your back as tears threatened to leave your eyes. He felt deeply sorry for you, he himself hadn’t had the best childhood either but he believed it was better if the parents got a divorce instead of fighting every day and having an unhappy marriage.

“I met the girl, and she is younger than him, has a boyfriend and is a really nice person. My mother has nothing to worry about, but I know it’s not that easy.”

Your boyfriend looked down at you with concern in his eyes, his other hand trailed up to your hair. When you were sad, he would hold your head, it gave you comfort and made you feel safe.

“I should have realized it way before that she wasn’t happy. My father was almost never there and when he was then he didn’t spend time with my brother or me. When I told him something he didn’t care enough to remember or when I was really excited about something and the only thing, he did with my brother was yelling at him.”

“Oh, sunshine I’m so sorry.” He felt your tears drip down on his naked chest as you hugged him closer.

“That one time I was in my room writing on my book and as if I hadn’t told him countless times what I was doing, he was surprised and all ‘you write a book?’ and he asked my mother if she knew of course she said yes but…. Why does it still affect me? I’m an adult for god’s sake.”

“Sunshine no don’t think that. You may be an adult however that doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to feel like this and after what happened all those years ago, you’re scared.”

Lloyd lifted your chin and brought his lips to yours giving you an encouraging kiss. He could taste the slight saltiness of your tears on your soft lips.

“I’m scared to go there again, what if they fight again?” you sniffled as you broke the kiss.

“Then I will be there with you, it’s you and me forever sunshine.”

God you loved that man with every vein in your body. You could always count on him.

“However I don't think that was the only reason for those tears was it?” he knew you too good, you couldn’t keep anything a secret from though you didn't need to.

“My paranoia got worse today, when I was walking home” Lloyd's eyed showed a hint of guilt, he was supposed to pick you up.

You told him about your problem after six months of dating and he promised you that if he could he would accompany you or drive you. At the beginning it wasn't so bad but over the years it got worse and he tried everything to help you.

Today he promised you he would pick you up. The way to your parents took a while hence why he said he'd do it.

If it were only a five minute walk you would have tried to go alone.

But because you left earlier than expected Lloyd didn't pick you up. In your shock, sadness you forgot to call Lloyd or well you weren't able to so you walked.

“Sunshine, I promised you that if I could I will take you. Why didn't you call?” He gently asked knowing the topic was a bit sensitive. “I didn't want to be a burden and I know it's dumb but I guess it is the anxiety...”

“Hey, don't talk yourself down. It's not dumb it's normal and you know I would have been there without hesitation.”

“Maybe you should sleep now, relax...you had an eventful day,” he added tracing patterns on you back lulling you to sleep.

You could stay like this forever, it was you and him.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮 𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐) || sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader

(𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐)

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || your newest client asks you to give him a real challenge, and you’re happy to oblige.  

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 6.3k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || smut but no actual sex (lots of handjob stuff though and some brief oral m receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, more cnc (because of the overstimulation), bondage, edging, impact play (riding crop), brief cock torture (she just hits him with the crop a couple times), implied “kink as trauma response” (this is gonna be a theme throughout the whole fic), forced to break a rule/doomed to fail/impossible challenge (idk how to warn for this but yeah), forced voyeurism?, thigh riding (reader rides bucky’s thigh), some degradation/dumbification, brief/implied dacryphilia, a bit of angst/feelings

new parts posted on thursdays!  join the taglist here

“Can’t,” he sighed, “can’t come again.”

He looked so painfully adorable when he begged like that, his brow glistening with sweat as he jerked under your touch.  “Aw, poor baby,” you pouted, twisting your hand when it stroked over the head of his cock, “yes you can.  I know you can.  Just gimme one more.”

“F-fuck,” he whimpered, “Mistress, please— just stop, please, I can’t… can’t take any more…”

“I know you can, sweetheart— I know you can be my good boy and keep coming for me.  Tell me your color.”

“Yellow,” he whispered.

“Think you’re almost done?” you pressed, smiling when he nodded breathlessly.  “Yeah, there’s my good boy— gonna come again for your Mistress?”

“Yes,” he breathed, baring his teeth as his hips bucked wildly to try to avoid further sensation, “y-yes, one more, just one more, I’m gonna— fuck, gonna come, just don’t stop… fuck, it hurts.”

“I know, but you’re being so good for me,” you purred.  “You like it when I milk your pretty cock, don’t you?  Even though it hurts?”

He winced but nodded.  “C-coming, Mistress, fuck, I’m coming…!”

Since it was his fifth of the evening, he could only give you one thick drop of come that gathered at his slit before running down over your hand which finally slowed to a stop.

You both sighed with relief as you pulled your hand away and leaned back, admiring how beautiful he looked as he caught his breath, covered in come and sweat.

"Good job," you praised with a chuckle, "I hope I didn't go too hard on you."

"N-no, that was… that was really good," he sighed, slumping back onto the bed.  "Can I use your shower before I go?"

"Yeah, totally," you nodded.

After a long pause, you gave him a confused look.  

"I thought you were gonna shower?" you reminded him.

"Oh… I guess I have to get up for that," he sighed, making you laugh.

"Rest a bit longer.  You've had a… challenging afternoon."

He nodded a little and you got up from the bed to go wash your hands and freshen up a little, smiling at your own appearance in the mirror— sometimes you forgot how you looked when you did this, but there was an undeniable aura of power around you… especially after a session like that.

This was only your third week with James, and already the dynamic felt so natural between you— and yet, so fresh compared to your other clients.  Normally it took longer for a newbie to get comfortable with you, yet most of them had had multiple doms before and here was James, totally inexperienced and taking it all like a champ.  There was an air of innocence about him, you figured, in contrast to this undeniable strength and intensity that you caught glimpses of from time to time.

Sometimes, it felt like he was chasing an innocence he lost a long time ago.  Whatever it was that drew him to this, you were happy to help him along the way.

It was probably a little dangerous to enjoy sessions with a client so much; even though you often pretended that everything was about your pleasure and not theirs, obviously since they were the paying customer it was the complete opposite in reality.  But there was an equity to the dynamic with you and Bucky, he served you with a real dedication rather than for his own gain.  And you, meanwhile, had rediscovered the fun in this career that had originally drawn you to it in the first place.  It was less like a science now, more like an art— you let yourself go with your instincts and do whatever felt right in the moment, and both of you benefitted for it.  

“Come on, get up and clean yourself off,” you encouraged— gently, of course— as you left the bathroom and returned to find James laying sprawled out on the bed.

“I know you said falling asleep here was a one-time courtesy,” he remembered with a smile, “but I could use it now a lot more than I needed it then.”

Honestly, you didn’t see him smile that often.  It was pleasant; you hoped to see it again.  He did get up, though, and take the washcloth you handed him to wipe off the come that had gotten all over him.  “What are you thinking for next week?” you asked as you leaned against the wall.  “Any special requests?”

“We can discuss all that over the phone,” he decided.  You still didn’t understand fully why he didn’t like to discuss future scenes in person; it was like he wanted the in-person interactions to be as ‘in character’ (if you will) as possible.

“Alright, just keep me updated,” you requested with a shrug.

You got changed while he took his shower, and when he emerged to the living room he seemed surprised to see you sitting on your own couch.  After a moment, you realized it was the fact that you were in normal clothes that threw him off.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in jeans before… or pants of any kind.”

You looked down at your outfit with a smile, glad it was at least still professional and not sweats and a t-shirt or something.  “Yeah, I guess you haven’t.  First time for everything, right?”

“Yeah, had a lot of first times with you,” he chuckled.  “Most significantly less mundane than this.”

A brief silence filled the room but it wasn’t exactly awkward, at least not for you.

“Well, I’ll see you next week,” he decided as he grabbed his jacket from your chair and slipped it on.  You’d been spending most of this session trying to forget how good he looked in the leather motorcycle cut, so that was out the window now as you tried to keep from visibly biting your lip while he walked towards the door.

Damn, he was fine.  But there were more pressing matters at hand.  Like preparing yourself and your apartment for your next appointment.  This guy wanted to get slapped around until he cried… shouldn't be too difficult, but your arms would probably be sore tomorrow.

Opposite of last week, I really want you to edge me tonight, as long as possible.

Don't go easy on me, make me hold it in.  I need a challenge this week.

-J

It was odd how emails from James made your week.

He seemed to prefer to communicate his desire with you this way; maybe it was easier for him, and you couldn’t really blame him for that.  The nice part was that you didn’t have to temper your reactions, if you had any, since you were always alone when you got his messages.  You might be old hat at it now, but you could remember a time that you had to hide a grimace when a client told you to your face what he wanted.  Not that you would shame them for it or anything (unless, you know, they paid you to), but you didn’t enjoy everything you did with these men.

Did you enjoy everything you did with James?  Yes, but you were pretending not to— for your own sake.

You dressed a bit differently for today’s session, more conservatively… not that it was especially conservative by any other person’s standards.  But it left your legs and chest covered, somewhat in the spirit of ‘mean corporate businesswoman’ aesthetically.  For some reason you felt like using a riding crop required wearing pants.

James certainly didn’t seem to mind, with the way he nervously cleared his throat after you opened the door.

“Good to see you again,” you greeted formally, “please, come in.”

He stepped past you, still looking at you and not at what was in front of him, meaning he ended up slamming himself gut-first into your kitchen island.

“Oh!  Are you alright?” you smiled when you noticed. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” he nodded, rubbing his stomach for a second but recovering quickly.  “I told you I can take a lot of pain,” he joked.

“Well, we’re going to put that to the test today,” you promised cryptically.  “You must’ve seen the crop on the table.”

He nodded again.  “Yeah....”

“Are you looking forward to it?”

“Yes,” he answered, a bit too quickly.

“Then let’s get you tied up, James.”

Straddling his lap, you realized the rope was a bit too tight when you saw it digging into his skin; maybe he wouldn’t mind that, but you did, so you pushed the rope back through itself to loosen it slightly.

“How long did it take you to learn all these knots?” he asked casually, watching your fingers nimbly work the ropes around his wrists.

“Not too long,” you shrugged, “I’ve only been doing this a few years… but I knew them before that.”

“Boating school?  Boy Scouts?” he suggested jokingly.

“Just a hobby,” you decided, dodging the covert question about your past.  “Were you a Boy Scout?”

“Do I look like a Boy Scout?” he countered with a scoff.

“Not anymore,” you shrugged, “but I bet you did once.  You’re sorta innocent, you know.”

He swallowed dryly, and you raised an eyebrow as you glanced from the knot you were tightening to his face, which looked a bit flustered.  “R-really?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, leaning back on your heels to look at him straight-on.  “Are you surprised to hear that?”

He nodded quickly, and you laughed.

“Aw, you thought you were so kinky, huh?  So dirty,” you purred, running your hand up his leg until he tugged slightly on the newly-tied ropes— a subtle way to get him to test them for you.  “But you’re really not.  You’re just my sweet, innocent boy.”

He whined— really, properly whined— and you dug your nails into his skin until he hissed instead.

“I don’t think you believe me,” you noticed, leaning back to reach for the crop behind you.  “You think you’re so filthy and perverted, right?  Are you a pervert, James?”

“Yes,” he breathed, shivering as you let the crop slide gently over his skin— his abs, his hips, his legs which were already quivering so adorably.  “Yes, Mistress.”

“And how’s that?”

“I think about… getting hurt,” he admitted weakly, “when I touch myself.  And I touch myself all the fucking time.”

“Yeah?  How many times a day do you stroke that pretty cock, James?”

“Twice every morning,” he blurted out, “after that it depends.”

You didn’t let yourself show your surprise at that number.  “Depends on what?”

When he hesitated, you hit him sharply on the thigh and he winced.  ���Depends on what I… what I end up thinking about.  Sometimes… sometimes something reminds me, and I have to get off.”

Something told you not to press on what it was that he needed to be reminded of, and why it made him want to jerk off so bad.  Something told you he wasn’t ready to tell that story yet.  “Did you touch yourself today already?” you asked instead.

“No, no ma’am,” he shook his head, voice wavering as you brushed the crop over his chest, “it’s… it’s different with you.”

“Yeah, I bet it is,” you smirked, hitting him on the stomach quickly.  “I bet you’re finally satisfied, right?  Nothing’s ever worked for you before.”

“Yes,” he moaned, crying out slightly when you hit him on the arm (flesh— you were too afraid what sound the metal one would make) much harder than before.  “The nights I see you, I… I can sleep.”

“You sleep better?”

“No, I just… sleep.”

You tried not to react to that, moving to a new question instead.  “Do you want me to hit you again?  Or do you want me to stroke your cock for you?”

An obvious choice to some, surely, but he seemed to really struggle with it.

“Which one do you think you deserve?” you asked instead.

“Hit me more,” he decided.

Instantly, you struck him once on the face and again on the shoulder, then moved down to his legs for three in a row in spite of the way his body jerked away instinctively.  

“Fuck,” he sobbed, “don’t stop— I need more…”

You focused on his legs, on the inside of his thigh where he seemed the most sensitive.  His twisted joy turned to true fear, though, when you brushed the end of the crop over his balls.  “Do you want me to hit you here?” you challenged.

“I… I don’t know,” he stammered.

“Let’s make a deal, James,” you offered, “wherever I hit you, I’m gonna kiss it to make it better.”

“Then hit me wherever you want,” he nodded, almost smiling at you.  He cried through his teeth when you whipped his shaft with the crop— not especially hard, in fact quite delicately, though the second was harder.  And the third, though not much more aggressive, was right on the sensitive tip; his eyes shot open and his hips jerked away.

“So good, such a good boy,” you whispered proudly, putting the crop aside to lean in and kiss his cheek where you’d hit him before, his shoulder, his arm.

You worked your way down carefully as he breathed heavily beneath you, whimpering slightly when you kissed his thighs and notably ignored his flexing, leaking cock.  “Please,” he whimpered.

“Shh, be patient,” you soothed, “be my good boy.”

“Your good boy,” he repeated, trying to restrain himself but already bucking up into the air again, “fuck, wanna be your good boy, Mistress.”

“Are you already close, pet, just from getting hurt?” you asked in a faux pout.  “You’re not gonna come if I give your pretty cock some kisses, right?”

“I— I won’t come,” he promised.  “Not until I get permission.”

“Baby, it’s gonna be a long fuckin’ time before you get permission,” you promised with a toothy grin.  “Look down at me, honey, I want you to see this.”

He hesitated for a second but obeyed, looking down at you with an expression that was full of awe as you gripped his cock and gave gentle, teasing kisses up his shaft.  It bobbed in your hands with each one, and he let out the most beautiful sigh when you kissed the tip carefully.

A wide lick made him jerk beneath you.  “F-Fuck,” he stammered.

“You said you wouldn’t come,” you reminded him.  “Can I keep going?  Are you gonna be a good boy?”

“Don’t stop, please,” he breathed, “I’ll be good.”

Taking the head between your lips, you suckled gently as he shivered and moaned.  You weren’t sure you’d ever been with anybody— on or off the clock— who was so sensitive.  And you loved it, honestly; who could resist those precious noises he made?

As much as part of you wanted to go nuts and really push him to the edge, you tried to be gentle and careful so as not to make it impossible for him to hold back.  But even then, when you gently grasped his balls in one of your hands and squeezed them, he apparently couldn’t take anymore.

"S-stop," he hissed, and you pulled back, sitting up.

"You were close?" you asked, and he nodded a little.  "Oh, what a good boy."

He whimpered briefly.  "Yes, your good boy, Mistress…"

Your fingers trailed delicately up the underside of his cock, making him shiver violently.  "I know you want to come, but you want to be good even more.  You're such a sweet little pet."

It seemed like the praises did more to keep him on the edge than the touches, so you kept both going; wrapping your fingers around the ridge of his head, you gave the most gentle and subtle strokes, and leaned in to whisper against his ear.

“Is this why you wanted me to edge you today, James?  So you could show me how good you can be?” 

“I-I don’t know,” he blurted out, rocking his hips as best he could while restrained, “I just wanted to… I just wanted you to make me wait.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry about that,” you laughed slightly, “I can make you wait all day.  Is that what you want?”

“No, that’s— not that long, I can’t wait that long,” he shuddered.

“Mm, that sounds like your problem, not mine,” you smirked.  “Not sure why I asked what you want, honestly… cause I don’t fucking care.”

His choked-out whine was too perfect to ignore.

“Oh, what a pathetic little moan that was, poor baby,” you cooed mockingly, “are you regretting it now?  You’re probably wondering what you got yourself into, ‘cause you’re worried Mistress is never gonna let you come.”

“No, I don’t regret it,” he denied weakly, “whatever you want— do whatever you want to me, just… give me what I deserve, please.”

You stopped touching him completely and he straight-up sobbed.  “You don’t deserve anything from me, James.  You don’t deserve me at all.”

He told you before that he liked when you rapidly cycled between soft and mean.  Kept him on his toes, apparently.  Honestly, you felt a little guilty talking to him that way sometimes, but his cock leaking enough pre-cum to soak the bedsheets beneath him was a sign you were doing something right.  “I know!” he cried.  “I know, fuck, I’m sorry, but I need you.  I fucking need you, Mistress, please— you know I’ll do anything.”

“I’m feeling generous today,” you shrugged, “so I won’t ask you for much.  Just beg me a little more.”

“Please, pleasepleaseplease,” he rushed, “touch me.  Anywhere, whatever you want, I just need to feel you.  I know I… fuck, I know I don’t deserve it, but let me try to— to earn it.  Please.”

You knew if he had it his way, he wouldn’t do much talking at all.  But you couldn’t just let him have it his way, now could you?  It was better to make him just the right amount of nervous, just the slightest hair uncomfortable, by making him talk to you.  And, of course, you liked the way his deep and rough voice got all whiny and needy like this.

One finger under his chin guided him to look up at you, those pretty blue eyes watery and sparkling and wide with misplaced innocence.

“Tell me who you belong to, James,” you instructed darkly.

“You, Mistress,” he whispered, “I’m yours, I— oh fuck…”

Unshockingly, he was reduced to only moans again when you started stroking his cock, the slick precum making every movement smoother.  “All mine, huh?  My little toy?” you confirmed, but he could only nod and swallow thickly.

You sped up quickly, getting faster and faster until you were really, properly jerking him off and he was biting hard on his lip.  Just when he seemed to really fall into it, get almost comfortable, you had to stop.

"Oh, fuck—" he gasped, bucking his hips up to try to chase your hand when you pulled away, but it was no use with him tied up.  You watched his cock bob in the air and smiled.

“Did you think it was going to be that easy?” you smirked.

Shaking his head, you tilted yours to look at him, reaching up to trace your fingers over his chest.  

“Don’t lie, baby, you thought I was gonna let you come, didn’t you?  You’re so sweet, James, and so, so stupid.”

He gasped, and for a second you thought you might’ve gone too far, but it shifted to a moan quickly and you realized he was having the time of his life.

“Just my dumb, brainless little toy,” you continued with a snarl, watching him tug at the ropes as his eyes fluttered shut.  “It’s okay, James, it’s okay… you don’t need to think, I don’t want your mind.  It’s useless.  I want this pretty cock, that’s all I want from you.”

“It’s all yours, Mistress,” he promised, cheeks burning bright red and eyes forced shut.  “All of it, I swear.”

“I know,” you cooed, holding his face gently to soothe him a bit.  But then your other hand wrapped around his cock and he was anything but soothed.  “Shh, shh, don’t make any sounds, you’re just a toy and toys need to stay quiet.”

You missed his noises, actually, but he looked so cute biting his lip and struggling to suppress them.  His cock was so swollen in your hand that you honestly wondered if it was somehow getting bigger.  Was that even possible?  Your mouth was watering regardless.

“I’m gonna give you a little break,” you promised gently, “but I’ll be honest, pretty boy… I don’t think you’re gonna like it one bit.”

The look he gave you beautifully balanced fear with anticipation, and you stopped stroking him to reach over towards the bedside drawer and pull out a vibrator.

“Your Mistress is feeling a little.... self-indulgent today,” you winked.  “And since I, unlike you, don’t need to hold myself back from coming, I think I might as well get myself off if I want to.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed dryly, watching you closely as you stood up off the bed and started to carefully undress yourself.  It was a lot more fun to get naked when you were wearing something that didn’t actually show much skin— the button-up seemed to really get him going, his tongue mindlessly darting out to lick his lips as you opened one button at a time.

Once it was off your shoulders and on the floor, and he could see the almost-transparent bra you had on, you moved to opening your trousers as well.  Just to be mean, you faced the other way as you pushed them down over your ass; you heard his breath catch and you smirked to yourself, spinning to face him again in just the matching, dark red bra and panty set.

“What do you think, do you like this better than the black ones?” you asked coyly.

“I like you naked better than both,” he answered, and you grinned.

“I’m gonna let that backtalk slide just once because it’s not worth my time to go over there and slap you for it,” you decided.  “But don’t test me, James.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he answered dutifully, sounding a bit out of breath as he watched you climb back onto the bed, positioning yourself carefully.

You faced him straight-on and laid your legs over his, meaning your lace-covered pussy was in full view and only inches from his leaking cock— the damn thing looked sore by now, purple at the tip and just as desperate for attention as the rest of him.

When you pulled the fabric aside to show him your cunt, he hissed and looked away.

“Look at me, James, keep your eyes open,” you demanded, seeing how totally wrecked he looked when he turned his head back to you and stared down at your body with half-lidded eyes.  “Look at how fucking soaked my pussy is.  You remember how it feels to be inside it, don’t you?”

He swallowed, sighed, and finally (just barely) nodded.

“You remember how hot and wet and tight it is, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” he choked.

“Well, that memory’s all you’ve got to work with, sweet boy, because I don’t think I’m ever gonna let you fuck this pussy again.”

He really, properly sobbed, tears streaming down his cheeks, and those arms flexed against the ropes defiantly.  “N-no, please—” 

“I’m gonna make myself come with this,” you promised, interrupting him as you grabbed the vibe, “and I want you to remember how it feels when I come around you, okay?  

Turning it on, you wasted no time pressing it to your clit, moving the end of the toy in slow circles and keeping a close eye on him as he watched you.  Your intention had always been to give him a show, but the embarrassing thing was how little of it was an act.  Ironically, even though you’d been edging him this whole time, having to touch him that way without any pleasure for yourself was almost as torturous.  You’d soaked through your panties by the time you had him tied up, to be totally honest.  So, giving into it and letting yourself feel good was a breeze.

“Think about when I was riding you, James,” you instructed, your own voice clearly affected by your pleasure now.  “Think about how good it would feel if I let you come inside me.”

“Oh, god,” he cried, leaning his head back.

“Think about my pussy milking every fucking drop of come out of you.  You know I wouldn’t let you stop until I was completely full of your come, I bet you’d like that.  I bet you’d like to eat your come out of me, you sick little pervert.”

“Fuck!” he yelped, tugging at the ropes harder now— for a second you thought he might really break them and jump you.  And for a second, you knew you’d let him.  It made your walls clench as you imagined facing the consequences of driving a man to the brink of insanity until he couldn’t help but fuck you like an animal.  It was a good thing he didn’t see you bite your lip as you imagined that.

“You know what I’m thinking about?” you taunted.  

“God, don’t tell me,” he sighed through his teeth, but obviously you ignored him.

“I’m thinking about what a good boy you are for me,” you cooed, your hips starting to rock up against where you held the end of the vibrator; you pressed it down harder onto your clit and moaned instantly.  “Yeah, I’m thinking about how pretty you look when you’re all desperate and needy and fucking pathetic—”

“Oh—” he choked.

“My dumb litlte whore, that’s all you are, James,” you groaned.  “I know you wish you could touch me, it’s all you can think about, right?  That pretty head of yours would be completely empty if it weren’t for thoughts of me and how badly you want me.  Right?”

“Yes,” he whispered huskily.

A shiver ran up your spine when the vibrator bumped into a more sensitive part of you, and you did it again and again until you thought you might lose it a bit faster than you meant to.  “This toy feels really good,” you informed him in a purr, gasping when you slipped the vibrating body of it into your pussy, “but it doesn’t feel as good inside me as you do.”

His eyes fell shut but he still winced a bit every time you made a sound; he couldn’t run from this, no matter how hard he tried.

“Oh James,” you moaned loudly, fucking yourself with the vibe for a moment before you pulled it back out to focus even harder on your clit, “I’m gonna come.  I’m so, so close… I can feel it getting stronger, I think I might make a mess on these sheets.  And the only way I’m ever gonna let you come is if you watch me do it.  So open your fucking eyes.”

He blinked quickly as he opened them, gaze scanning your whole body before settling on your cunt; you were sure he could see it pulsing as you got closer and closer, you knew he was imagining how it would feel.  You only spared a brief glimpse at his cock, bobbing between his legs, and wished you could just slip it in you now and come while it stretched you out. 

But that wasn’t what he was here for, sadly, and you were sure you were the only being truly denied of your desires, despite how it probably seemed from the outside.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, numbness starting to tingle in your legs as your orgasm built up quicker than even you expected.  “I’m coming— James, I’m coming, oh, fuck… right there— yes!”

A gush of heat warmed your cunt at the same time that shocks ran up your spine and down your limbs; you could feel your legs shaking, and you knew he could, too.  

It got so intense for a second that you had to pull the vibrator away, though you didn’t stop coming until a few moments later, eyes falling shut without you meaning for them to.

You actually laughed a bit, breathlessly, as you turned the vibe off and set it aside, although you weren’t sure exactly what was supposed to be funny about this per se.  When you opened your eyes, you saw James looking down and looking positively defeated.  But he looked tense, too, and you sat up on your wobbly legs to get closer to his face.  

“Relax, James,” you told him firmly as you examined him.

“I— I can’t,” he whispered. 

“Why not?”

“I’ll come.”

Nothing could fight your wide grin anymore, not when you heard that.  “Oh, baby… are you about to come without even being touched?  Is that how much you liked watching Mistress come?”

He nodded, ever so slightly, and you laughed.  Not quite a mocking laugh, moreso impressed.  Prideful, even.  You leaned in to give a wet kiss to his neck, licking over his pulse as he shivered violently.

“That’s my good boy,” you whispered against his skin.  He whined and you cooed soothingly right away, “oh I know, I know.  It’s so unfair, isn’t it?  Mistress gets to come and you don’t…”

“Please,” he stammered, “I’m so close, let me come, please.”

“But I don’t wanna see you come, baby— I wanna see you cry.”

You started to slide your hand down his chest and he jumped up to attention as he tried to squirm away.  “No, please, don’t— don’t touch my cock, not if I can’t come.”

“You can hold it in, can’t you?” you pouted.

“No, I can’t, I can’t,” he sobbed, watching fearfully as your hand moved down to his stomach and over his hips.  

“But I thought you were my good boy,” you frowned, suddenly wrapping your hand tight around his cock as he choked on a gasp.

“Mistress!” he sobbed.  “Please, don’t—  don’t move your hand, I’ll come.”

"Never fucking tell me what to do," you instructed firmly, just barely stroking as he cried weakly.  "I'm gonna touch you however I want and you're not gonna come because you're my good boy, right?"

"No, Mistress, I can't stop it, I'm gonna come— stop, please…"

"You'd better not fucking come," you hissed through your teeth, speeding up your movements and watching his eyes shoot wide open, "you'd better hold it in until I'm done with you."

"I'm trying— please slow down, can't take it—"

You shook your head, tutting disapprovingly.  "No, baby, I tell you what you can take."

"Oh— oh god, Mistress, please, please stop, please, I c-can't— fuck!"

You pulled your hand away the second his cock started to flex but it was too late: come was shooting from his swollen tip and painting his chest and stomach.  You didn't even wait until he was done to backhand him across the face.

"I'm sorry!" he yelled.  "I'm so sorry, I couldn't help it…"

You softened slightly when you heard his broken voice, saw the desperation and fear on his face— it was real, more real than the fake ‘no’s and the encouraging pleas for mercy.  "Baby, it's okay, you tried so hard," you soothed instantly.

Hope filled his eyes just as much as tears as he looked up at you.  "Am I still your good boy?"

"Always," you smiled, caressing his face where it was already turning red from your slap.  

You reached down and caressed his cock with the back of your fingers, watching it flex weakly.  

“Let’s get you cleaned up, alright?”

His lip twitched, almost like a wince.  “Do we… do we have to stop?”

You quickly glanced at the clock.  “Um, no,” you mumbled, “we still have time.  Just tell me what you want.”

“I wanna watch you come again…” he admitted softly.  “Is… is that okay?”

Although you weren’t sure what you’d been expecting, you were still surprised.  “Yeah, sure.”

“But… but closer this time,” he added, “not so far away.”

You were literally laying on top of him, how did that count as far away? 

“I wanna see your face,” he clarified.

“Okay,” you nodded, deciding to indulge him.  It was sort of like aftercare, except that this wasn’t exactly the ‘after’ part yet.

On your knees beside where he was leaning back against the headboard, you slipped your hand down into the lace panties again, finding your clit still swollen but not too sensitive.  A little gasp fell from your lips when you touched it, rubbing it carefully with two fingers while he looked up at your face.  

You felt slightly exposed when he watched you this close, and you didn’t know where to look to avoid direct eye contact.  Looking at his lips was just a little too tempting, so that wouldn’t work.

“My hands are a little tired,” you explained, “they might cramp up.  Maybe I could use your thigh…”

“O-okay,” he nodded, and you removed your fingers from your panties to sit down on the thick muscle of his leg.  You felt him tense up under you slightly, and you carefully began to rock your hips until your clit rubbed just right against the inside of your underwear.  Surely he could feel how wet you were— actually, you both could hear it, almost a wet clicking-like noise as the soaked lace slid against your skin.

The dynamic shifted slightly, not that you minded it, as he watched you ride him carefully.  Just as he couldn’t hide much from you when he was naked and tied up and baring his soul to you in the kinkiest way possible, you couldn’t hide your pleasure from him when he was looking at your face so up-close.  You let your hands carefully roam his body, narrowly avoiding the trails of cooling come he’d left on his stomach and chest, until you found his strong shoulders and held onto them for balance.

“Fuck,” you mumbled to yourself, biting your lip as your sore clit throbbed against his hard, muscular thigh.  

“Will you… could you kiss me?” he requested quietly, and your heart broke a little bit.  You shook your head, and he nodded in understanding.

“I’ll kiss you here,” you offered instead, whispering against his skin before you pressed your lips to his forehead, then his cheek, then his jaw.  “Is that better, James?”

“It helps,” he agreed in a sigh.  

“I’m close,” you warned quietly, pressing your cheek to his and weaving one hand into his hair.  “I’m gonna come again, on your thigh.”

“Let me touch you,” he begged, “just a little, please…”

You nodded, about to reach forward to untie one of his hands, but he snapped the ropes and you had totally forgotten he could do that.  He quickly ran his touch all over your body, calloused hands and bound wrists in stark contrast to your soft skin.  The metal one was a little cold but it didn’t bother you; the other was almost too hot, and it was like being warmed and cooled all at once.

He ran his fingers down your spine, he gripped one of your shoulders, he rubbed your legs: he did everything he must have been wishing he could do this whole time, even gasping as he ran one hand up your chest and over a cup of your bra.  Just as you sensed that he was about to ask if he could touch you there, you nodded and felt his metal hand tug down the red lace and grab your breast— thankfully not very hard, though he did give your nipple a quick pinch which made you gasp.

Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he finally settled his hands on holding your hips, just tight enough to slightly guide your movements as you rocked faster and more desperately.  “Please come,” he begged weakly, “Mistress, please… use me.”

It sort of hit you all at once then, like a punch to the gut.  Except, you know, a lot more fun than getting punched in the gut.

“James,” you gasped, legs quivering where they straddled his as a new patch of slick soaked the lace (and presumably his thigh as well).  He held you tight, kept you moving through it while your fingers tangled in his hair and your mouth fell slack for another, louder moan.

The way his lips moved over your skin, laving your collarbones and pulse point and the innermost corner of your jaw, was positively worshipful; reverent.  “Mistress,” he whispered, almost sounding like praise but tinted with awe.  Your movements slowed down to a stop and the two of you breathed a sigh together, unintentionally.  “Thank you,” he mumbled.

“What for?” you asked, blinking quickly and looking down at him, coming back to reality (though you weren’t quite sure where else it was that you had just been).

“I dunno, everything,” he decided.

“Don’t thank me,” you smiled.  “Keep paying me, though.”

He laughed a little, glancing away.  “Yeah, and I’ll pay you back for these ropes… sorry."

"No, hey, don't be sorry," you dismissed, getting up off of his leg and standing up to go grab a towel for him.  "I'm just sorry we still haven't found anything strong enough to hold you."

"It's fine, they're strong enough to make me stop myself when I want to do something I shouldn't, that's all that really matters."

You nodded to yourself as you dampened the towel and came back to wipe him off.

"I can do that for myself," he reminded you, sounding a bit embarrassed, but you thought it was sweet. 

“You just focus on getting those ropes off of yourself,” you decided with a little smile.

[k-llama-llama]

A Piece of You

Seventeen AU: 14th member

Rei x Seventeen

A glimpse into Rei and Taemin’s last day together.

Rei is not a permanent addition so if you have requests let me know…but she’s just an idea I had. She is NOT cannon with the rest of my AUs.

A/N: sorry for the delay!!….ALSO CHECK OUT MY PATREON FOR ACCESS TO EXCLUSIVE CONTENT AND EARLY ACCESS (patreon.com/kllamallama)

Requests are OPEN!!!

Masterlist and other Follow Me links in bio!

“Are you going to stop moping around?” Taemin asked. “Or am I going to have to finish your noodles for you?”

Rei sighed, shoving the bowl towards him. “You can finish them. I don’t feel like eating.”

Taemin rolled his eyes and didn’t touch her food. “Rei, I love you, but you’ve been super depressing today. What’s up?”

Rei just stared at him. She’d been at his place for almost two hours, and she’d yet to crack a smile. Looking at him just made her want to cry even more, but Chan had made her promise not to be weird when she was with Taemin.

“You should eat.” She said finally. “You need it.”

“I still have some promotions to do,” He shook his head with a wary laugh. “You trying to fatten me up?”

“No…I just…” Rei trailed off. “Never mind, just eat it.”

She looked down at her lap. This was the last full day that they would have together before his enlistment, and she wasn’t handling it well. Her breakdown at the dorm that morning had been evidence of that. Chan had shaken sense into her, so here she was, being miserable and thoroughly unable to enjoy her limited time with her boyfriend.

“Rei, you know you can talk to me about it, right?” Taemin smiled softly.

Rei turned away from him, tucking her legs under her on the couch and studying the frayed pattern on the cushion. “Just eat, okay? Who knows what the food is like…where you’re going.”

Taemin sighed, reaching across the coffee table to place a hand on her knee. “Rei, I’m not going to Mars. I’m not even leaving the country. They’ll have food there.”

“But what if it’s not enough?” She protested. “They’ll have you working hard and you might not eat enough and I’m not going to be there to…” She trailed off, staring at the cushion again as she tried to swallow her tears.

She heard him stand up and felt him settle on the couch beside her. “Baby, I thought we talked about this. You were fine last week.”

“Yeah, well…” She pulled on a loose thread. “Last week wasn’t the last time we were going to get to spend the day together until who knows when.”

“We’ll still be able to talk.” He rubbed her shoulder. “It won’t be so bad.”

Rei could no longer hold back her tears, and they broke free.

“No, no, no.” Taemin pulled her into a hug, kissing her hairline. “Rei, please don’t cry. I promise, you don’t need to worry. It’s not worth crying over.”

“I’m sorry. I promised I wouldn’t cry.” She sniffled.

“What? You promised who that you wouldn’t cry?”

“The boys.” She wiped her eyes. “They told me not to make this about me but I can’t keep it together.”

“Make what about you? Rei, what’s wrong?” He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.

She swallowed. “I just wanted to make sure that we could have a good day. But I’m going to miss you so much and I’m so worried and I just don’t know what to do.”

“Trust me,” He brushed her hair back from her face. “I’d much rather hang out with sad Rei than one who’s pretending to be okay when she’s not.”

“I’m going to miss you.” She said quietly. “I love you.”

“I’m love you so much and I feel like I already miss you so much that it’s crazy.” He pulled her closer. “But I really don’t want you to be sad.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think we can help it.” Rei gave a small smile. “I’ve been told that I’m an overly emotional person.”

“By Chan?”

“Yeah.”

“I really don’t know if I like him.”

Rei snorted. “I always forget you don’t really know him. He’s fine. Once he finally grew out of hating me he’s really embraced the whole ‘tough-love’ mentality.”

“You aren’t going to need any tough-love, you’re going to need someone to snuggle with when I’m gone.” Taemin paused. “Platonically. I’d better still be your number one.”

Rei smiled. “Always.”

“Good.” He pulled her in for a kiss, and Rei let him distract her from her tears.

“On that note,” He said when he finally moved away. “I have a present for you.”

“Can I eat it?” She asked hopefully.

“No,” He laughed, standing from the couch and walking over to the kitchen counter. “But I’ll buy you food later. This is kind of a gift for you, and kind of a favour for me.”

“Ohh,” Rei sat up straighter. “Is it sexy?”

“Just take it,” He shook his head. “And don’t freak out.” He held out a piece of paper.

“Now I’m worried.” She leaned forward to take the paper. “What is…this looks like a lot of official writing.”

“It is.” He sat back on the couch.

Rei studied the document. There was a signature at the bottom, but it took her a minute to decipher the official documentation in Korean.

“This is about your apartment.” She said finally, scanning the page. His name and signature were at the bottom of the page, and next to it she recognized her own name in small font. “Why is my name on this?”

“There’s a spot for you to sign, too.” He pointed. “It’s an updated version of my lease.”

“What? You want to put me on your lease?” Rei dropped the paper into her lap. “What are you talking about.”

“I’m not going to be here, so I thought…” He trailed off.

Rei’s eyes widened. “I’m not moving in here. Especially when you’re not here. I live at the dorm with the guys.”

“I know.” Taemin said quickly. “That’s why I said it’s a favour to me. I need to have someone accessible on the lease when I’m away, and if you don’t do it, I’ll have to pick Key or something.”

“So you want me to be…your landlord?” Rei tilted her head.

Taemin chuckled. “I want you to put your name on the lease so that I have someone I trust taking care of the place, and you have somewhere you can go whenever you get sick of living with thirteen other people.”

Her panic gone, Rei felt her tears welling up again. “You want to put me on your lease?”

He nodded.

Rei let out a sound that was somewhere between a squeak and a scream and shoved the paper aside, tackling Taemin into a hug.

“I love you so much.” She smothered his face in kisses.

“I love you too.” He kissed her back. “So is that a yes?”

“Of course it’s a yes.” She laughed. “This is easily the best gift you’ve ever given me.”

“I’m happy you like it.” Taemin wrapped his arms around her waist, sighing deeply. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

“At least I’ll be able to show all of my army friends pictures of my super hot girlfriend. All of the other guys had to go in single.”

“Glad I can help you with that.” She deadpanned. “Should I send the nude photos via email or post?”

“Video message will do.” He laughed.

“Sure.” She rolled her eyes, leaning her head against his chest.

For a few long moments, they just held each other.

“Taemin?”

“Yeah?”

“Does this mean I can finally have the guys over here?” She settled back against his chest. “Because I’ve been telling them about the view from your balcony, and I just really think that –“

“Rei, you can have anyone over here that you want. I want this to feel like your…home away from home. You can do whatever you want.” He kissed the side of her face.

“Anything I want, huh?” Rei flipped around to look at him.

He narrowed his eyes. “We still have food on the table.”

“We’ll get more.”

[your-local-grubdog]

Fragile Things Chapter 9: Love So Far From Home

Small quick update, needed to change how I'm handling this in the middle of things oops. Can't do drawings for every chapter anymore, I just can't keep up with it. Will still do drawings for some chapters though. I've also decided to start posting entire chapters here instead of just on Ao3.

You'll still need to go to Ao3 to read chapters 1-8 and read tags and warrnings and stuff (which you can do here, link will take you to the full work) but tbh it is the easiest way to catch up.

A loud thud woke Olimar up.

The captain jumped, causing the pikmin sleeping on him to tumble off. At first they whined, but quieted down as Olimar quickly climbed out of the loft bed. "Ship!" He called out.

"It was Louie. He fell out of his bed…"

That made Olimar's eyes go wide as he rushed to Louie's room. The automatic lights were slow to turn on, but that was fine. He could see perfectly fine in the dark. If anything, those bright white lights coming on all of a sudden made it harder to see, at least for a moment as a small spike of pain shot through Olimar's head.

"Louie?" He called out, vision now a little blurry.

"I - I'm okay…"

Olimar looked down, seeing Louie on the floor rubbing his head. "I - I can get medicine if you need it."

"N-no thanks." The kid sounded choked up. In fact, as Olimar's eyes finally adjusted to the light he saw that his cheeks were red and rear stained.

"Buddy…" Olimar slowly knelt down and sat next to Louie. "What… happened?"

"... bad dream. Fell outta bed…"  

"And you promise you're not hurt?"

"Y-yeah - just - s-spooked…" Louie wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

Olimar nodded. "I understand…" though he doubted someone could fall from that height and not at least have a bump on their head. "Do you wanna uh, talk about it?"

Louie paused for a long moment. "... bulblax." Was all he managed out.

The captain tensed at that. He could be referring to any number of events but… "I see. I… understand. I get them too."

Louie looked up at him, worried. Why was Louie worried? He was here to comfort the boy, not worry him!  

"... about the pikmin?" Louie asked.

Olimar gave him a stiff nod. Was this about yesterday? He already shoved it to a dusty corner of his mind, eager to move on. To finish work and go home. It didn't feel great but the tactic worked thus far for everything that's happened. "This planet is… you've seen it. It's dangerous. And things… happen. But a-as captain I'll do what I can do to protect you and the pikmin!"

Louie was quiet for a moment. "And what about you?"

"... what do you mean?"

"A rotting tree isn't safe to lean on." 

Olimar huffed a bit. "I'm alright. Don't worry about me. D-do you want some water-"

"What I want is for you to promise you'll take care of yourself!" Louie suddenly snapped. "I've seen what this place is like a-and you've been here longer! You've been here alone . And… other things I don't fully understand." The teen's ears were pinned back now, fur bristling. "And you won't even let yourself have the one harmless thing that helps! All because of what your parents said years ago - well they're wrong ! A-And you need something because I don't know how much longer you can last like this!"

Olimar wasn't sure of what to say. He leaned against the wall and let out a sigh. "I appreciated it buddy. I really do… but I am taking care of myself." He was still functioning after all. He's dealt with similar feelings before. He just needed to keep them in that corner of his mind, to keep smiling till he was home. When he could melt into Rose's arms and forget about the world. If he did that, he could survive. A small voice in his head questioned if he was really thriving like this, but he pushed it aside. He was alive. That's all he needed. "Once we're both safe at home, I'll be okay. That I promise."

Louie wouldn't look at him, ears still pinned in annoyance. "... you're a stubborn old man." 

Olimar rose a brow playfully, desperate to move onto something else already. "Old man…? I'm thirty-seven." 

"You're like-!" Louie began to count on his fingers. "You were an adult when I was born!"

Olimar paused as he did the math as well. Louie was nineteen, yeah? "Can you call an eighteen-year-old an adult? Either way, I'm still closer to your cradle than my grave."

"... not if you keep this shit up." Louie mumbled. 

Olimar flinched hard. Well… no! Louie was wrong about that too! He already overcame that . Lightning didn't strike in the same place twice! Right??? "I already promised you that I'll be okay once we're both home. On this planet there's not much more we can do then push on."

Louie sighed as his body deflated, ears now drooping instead of being pinned. "Finally, you said something correct." He mumbled. "I'm just worried about you, dad…" 

The captain was quiet for a moment before a smirk appeared on his face. Oh? Now this was interesting. "You mind repeating that last sentence for me?" 

"Uhh… I'm just worried about you, captain…?"

"That's not what you said." Olimar's smirk was only growing wider.

"I - I don't know what you mean!" Louie huffed and turned around.

"Well, it just sounded like you called me dad is all." He let out a chuckle, grateful that they had FINALLY escaped that dreadful conversion and were talking about something so much better. 

"What - no I didn't!!! You're hearing things, old man !"

"Hm, you sure ?" He ruffled Louie's hair playfully, earning a groan from it. "Seems I am captain and dad now!"

"Great gods above…" Louie mumbled.

"Get used to it, champ." He chuckled. "You got a loooooong day ahead of you now!"

"Is this what really makes you feel better?"

"Yes!" Olimar chirped. Louie didn't sound like he was joking, but Olimar chose to take it as one anyway. He wanted the past dead and gone already.  

"... fine." Louie groaned.

"And on that note, you should head back to bed. Sure you don't need water or medicine?"

"Yeah. I just need sleep."

"Alright buddy."

"You sure do adjust quickly." Louie mumbled.

"It's my pride and honor." The captain smirked again. "Good night, bud."

"... 'night asshole."

At that, Olimar began to laugh hard . Oh he needed that. With his sides hurting, he slowly left Louie's room.

Yes, he had to care for Louie and the pikmin now. They were, in some ways literally, like kids to him. He had to be okay for them.

So he'd force himself to be okay.

[browneyesbrighteyes]

Fic Masterpost

I figured I’d make a Masterpost of my fan fictions since I’ve never made one before!

I only have a few since I’m extremely new to writing fanfiction (and writing at all, thanks dinluke), but wanted to make a post where you could access them all!

All works are dinluke. I’ll update this post as more works are written. 

What Remains in the Aftermath (Rated E) GFFA, warnings for drinking and nightmares Summary: After getting spectacularly drunk, Din and Luke accidentally get married, but forget about it by the following morning. They then wake to find the news has spread all around Mandalore and the New Republic. This one was my first foray into writing, and it was lots of fun!

Across the Galaxy (Rated G): Soulmate AU, no archive warnings apply  Summary: Luke couldn't wait for his 18th birthday, having thought about his soulmate every day since learning of them. Din had once hoped for a soulmate, then feared one, but when years went by after he turned 18, he just stopped thinking he had one. Today was Luke's last day of being 17. (This one is a short little prompt challenge fic)  

Darkest shade of blue (Rated G): Established/background relationship, no archive warnings apply

Summary: When he first laid eyes on Luke, it was to find him still frozen in place at the temple entrance, with an expression Din had never seen cross his face. Because Luke looked afraid. “Luke?” Din started to take hesitant steps back toward the man, one hand already reaching out in hopes of wiping that expression away. “Cold.” 

Nurse & Protect (Rated T): Modern AU, warnings for implied/referenced child abuse Summary: Dr. Luke Skywalker is a pediatric resident struggling through his intern year, when a new child abuse patient case turns his life upside down. Now, along with his intern responsibilities, he has to deal with his growing attachment to the charming child, Grogu, and his assigned Mandalorian guardian, Din Djarin. (A medical/resident Luke au because I wanted to read one and one didn’t exist so I did it myself. This one is my current WIP! I update sporadically, but I am currently writing the next chapter!)

[b-chansbbygirl]

Bake the Cake

Summary: A sweet surprise for Bucky turns into a disaster only he can fix.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 945

Warnings: messes are made, fluff, a few tears, a little bit of panic, Bucky is definitely out of character in this so bear with me.

A/N: This is the first thing I’ve posted in almost 6 months and I’m not gonna lie, I’m pretty proud of myself. For those of you that have asked if I’m going to update my series, there’s a large possibility that I may in the future. I’m just starting to dip my toes into this stuff again so it’s going to take a while but I still appreciate for patience. I’m a bit rusty but I hope you enjoy! I also couldn’t find an appropriate gif.

~

4 missed calls, 2 voicemails, and 5 unanswered texts. 

He hasn’t heard from you since the previous night and he’s worried. It’s not like you to not answer, and it’s definitely not like you at all to at least tell him you won’t be free that day. 

Of course, his mind goes to the worst possible scenario. Bucky would beat the hell out of himself if you got hurt - or worse - but he tries not to think about it. You’re probably fine and just having a day to yourself but he can’t help but check his phone every seven minutes with his anxiety nagging at him in the back of his head. But it’s almost four in the afternoon and you haven’t even looked at his messages. 

Finally, he loses the battle. He’s throwing on his jacket and locking his apartment door behind him before he can think twice about his decision. 

~

Your door is unlocked when he gets there, and he can feel his heart race through the flesh of his hand as he turns the knob. Bucky’s tried to remind you multiple times to lock it when you’re home alone after the creepy old guy next door got evicted but you forget almost everything so he’s not surprised. 

When the door clicks shut behind him, it’s quiet inside. Everything looks like it did when he was here the night before, except there’s no you. And then he smells it - multiple smells, something sweet and something...burnt? It’s something familiar, so familiar he can almost taste it. 

“Y/n?”

No response. 

He takes a few light steps into your living room and takes a peek through the doorway of your kitchen. Finally, he’s able to release a sigh of relief. Nothing’s broken, there’s no mess like he’d think he would find. It’s just you, sitting on the kitchen floor with your head in your hands….covered in flour. Everywhere.

Then he notices the real mess. It’s not just you; it’s the whole kitchen. Sticks beyond sticks of butter, flour, sugar, and a few dozen eggs litter every inch of countertop he can see - there’s some on the floor, too. And there’s enough both burnt and raw dessert in the trash to feed Steve and himself four times over.

“Y/n?” 

Bucky’s voice is more hesitant this time as his boots thump quietly on the tile of the kitchen. You mumble into your hands and his eyebrows furrow on his forehead. “Are you okay?”

There’s a sniffle, then you look up to him in his crouched position in front of you with puffy eyes. “I just wanted to do something special.”

“Special?” Yeah, he’s confused, but he goes along with it.

“You weren’t supposed to know or even be here. And was gonna bring it over to your place and we were gonna eat it together and-” 

Bucky’s heart breaks when he sees more tears spring to your eyes. More flour gets smudged onto your cheek when you attempt to stop the tears from falling. He knows when you’re truly upset about something; you get so infested, so passionate about something and when it doesn’t work out all hell breaks loose. 

He sighs through his nose and reaches to wipe his thumb across your cheek, taking some of the mess with it. “Well,” he starts, a sympathetic smile on his lips, “I’m sorry I ruined the surprise. I just haven’t heard from you since yesterday and got worried, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you sniffle, dropping your hands in your lap and looking around at your mess, disgusted with the aftermath of your first attempt at baking. 

With a huff, Bucky lowers himself to the floor beside you, resting his arms on his knees. “What were you trying to make, anyway?”

Suddenly, you’re sheepish. You duck your head and wipe your nose with the back of your hand, shrugging your shoulders in that cute way you do when you’re embarrassed. Bucky watches and waits for a moment with an amused smile as the gears turn in your head. With another sniffle, you tilt your head up to him. “It was supposed to be gooey butter cake…”

He pauses, his smile falters, and it clicks. Gooey butter cake...he used to make it with his Ma and little sister all the time before he was shipped off to war. The memory of a messy kitchen and laughter and smiles - it puts a bittersweet sting in the back of his throat. Bucky can’t help his grin, now.

“Do you want help?”

Are you offended? You look like it. “It was supposed to be a surprise, Bucky. You don’t make your own surprises.”

“Please?” he asks, a hopeful gleam in his eye. “I haven’t had gooey butter cake in decades.”

You debate his help for a moment. Do you try to redeem yourself by going for another attempt by yourself? It’ll probably end up being part of the mess that’s already in the garbage can if you do. With a sigh through your nose, you nod and sniffle one last time.

Bucky jumps to his feet with child-like excitement and pulls you up with him. But he pauses for a moment and eyes of the mess of the kitchen, the disaster that was an attempt at doing something for him. He turns back to you, his heart full, and places a featherlight, lingering kiss on your forehead. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles into your skin. And he means it.

With help, a sweet treat finally gets made. It’s not like Ma’s, but he’ll swear on his grave that it’s the best damn 21st-century gooey butter cake he’s ever had. 

~

Like it? Let me know!

[jortsaaaaaaart]

Three Hearts- Tendou x Reader x Ushijima

Soulmate AU- updates will be posted to https://archiveofourown.org/works/32830702/chapters/81464533

You remembered Sendai as being cold, so, so cold. The summers were short but they were also filled with many days spent exploring. You were part of a binational family. Your mother was from the United States, your father from Japan. Most of your early childhood was spent bouncing between the two countries before, finally, it was decided that the schools in Japan were much (much) better. It wasn’t too much of a culture shock. But the freedom Sendai offered was intoxicating. In Japanese culture it was perfectly acceptable to send your child out on errands, or let them visit the local park, on their own.

It was on one of these after school excursions that you ran into your future best friend. 

A humid June evening had you trailing along the bank of the local river. Cicadas and the current drowned out almost all other noise. You were debating turning back or taking a wade in the water when you saw a shock of red. There was another kid sitting by the river. One with a pretty vibrant bowl cut. However, when you got closer you realised his hair wasn't the only thing that was red.

"Uh, hey." You murmured, feeling more than a little awkward. "Are you okay?" He almost jumped out of his skin. Wide red eyes snapped towards you before hiding away.

The redhead hastily wiped at his eyes. "Y-Yeah."

"That didn't sound all that convincing." With a sigh you plopped down next to him, watching as he curled in on himself. You'd never been one to mind your own business, not even as a child. Seeing someone crying by themselves was an instant invitation for you to barge in and try to help.

"I'm fine."

"You're crying."

"No I'm not!"

"Hmm. . ." You leaned back, looking over the river. "So what's your name then? If you don't tell me I'll just have to call you cry baby."

“. . . It’s Tendou Satori.” He muttered. Tendou was eyeing you warily, like a stray dog afraid to take a treat from a stranger.

"I'm (L/N) (F/N). If you want me to leave I can, but you just looked so sad sitting here alone." You gave him the warmest smile you could before returning your attention to the water. Satori's red eyes stayed locked on you but he didn't ask you to leave. A few moments passed in silent solidarity before he spoke up.

"I'm usually alone."

"I know how you feel." You sighed.

"You do?"

"Well, yeah. I moved around so much before grade school that I don't know anyone here." You paused. "But, hey, now I know you, right?" Your smile made Tendou forget all about the tears. His cheeks flushed pink under the setting sun.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Asked Satori, who desperately wanted to believe you were being genuine. But years of abuse had a hold on his heart.

You blinked. "Why wouldn't I be nice?"

". . . 'Cause I. . . Everyone says I'm a-"

"Ah! Look guys, it's the monster!" A group of children walked up behind the two of you. They were pointing at Satori with mocking grins. "You shouldn't get so close to him, he'll gobble you up!"

"Monster?" You glanced over at him but he was purposefully avoiding your eyes. If possible he would've liked to completely melt into the grass. Away from everything and everybody. But you weren't sinking into the ground, you were rising up. The bullies took a step back as you stomped up the embankment. "What gives you the right to call him that, huh?"

"W-What?" The ringleader stammered. "You've seen him, he's a freak! He shouldn't be allowed near us normal huma-"

He fell to the ground, clutching his cheek. Everyone's eyes were wide and glued to you. 

"Y- You just punched me!?"

"And I'll do it again!" You stared down the boy while his friends helped him to his feet. Before you could say anything else, or fight a 1 v 4, someone grabbed your hand. Tendou dragged you away while you stuck your tongue out at the still stunned bullies. 

Neither of you would ever forget that day. It was the start of a lifelong friendship, and eventually, something more.

On your first year of middle school you officially learned what soulmates were. It was assumed most parents would give you the talk before then, but the school board wanted youths to be prepared. 

"They taught us about soulmates today in class." You were both lounging around in his room reading the newest Shonen Jump. You sat next to him on the bed, trying to keep up with his reading speed.

"Yeah?" You hummed.

"When you turn 18 your soulmate's name appears on your wrist. . . But, if you're older than them you have to wait for their birthday so the marks can appear at the same time. . . And then some people don't even get a soulmate." He wasn't paying attention to the manga anymore. His eyes were fixed to the floor while his brain waged war against itself. Tendou had been sure you were his soulmate since that first night. The butterflies in his stomach still hadn't gone away and every time he looked at you he felt like a pile of mush. 

But, still, the 'I think you're my soulmate.' died on his tongue replaced with something much more depreciating. "I'm probably one of those people. Monsters don't get soulmates after all." His grin was shaky at best and you saw right through it.

"Don't call yourself that." You chided. "And of course you have a soulmate, Tori. Someone out there doesn't know how lucky they are. Soulmates with the best volleyball ball player ever. And the greatest friend ever, too." 

You flopped down, holding your wrist in front of you. "I don't know if I'm excited or nervous."

"Well, it's a good thing, isn't it? Having a soulmate? You'll have someone who belongs with you and will love you no matter what." You pouted at him and he smiled, continuing with his speech. "I can't wait till we turn eighteen. And I know you can't wait either. Even if you're being a baby now."

Tendou had your eighteenth birthday planned out for years. Step one, he'd take you to the river where you met. Step two, shower you with presents and affection. And step three, wait for your soulmate's name, his name, to appear. Step four (profit), live happily ever after. However, like many things in life, it didn't go quite as planned.

On March 21st, right after the end of your final year of junior high, your mother died. It wasn't a shock, she had been sick for months, but the pain was still unbearable. Your mother's side of the family wanted to bury her in the family plot. An old tradition from an old, rural, part of America. Your father gladly handed the responsibility off to them. 

Tendou remembered begging his parents to let him see you off at the airport. He remembered how red and puffy your eyes were, the sad smile on your face when you promised him you'd be back soon. 

But you weren't. 

Your father was in no shape to take care of you. Burying himself in his work to try and forget his loss. February came around and you had your 16th birthday in America. The first year of highschool had started without you. Tendou sent you pictures from Shiratorizawa every day, making you promise to try and get back as soon as possible.

Another February came and went. Your father was getting better and you were slowly but surely convincing him Japan was the right place for you to be. Tendou texted you every day, talking to you about his volleyball matches, his friend Ushijima, how much he missed you. 

It was your third year of highschool and finally, finally, you were heading home. You told Tendou the news as soon as you knew. He seemed even more excited than you. You knew why, even if you didn't say it. Tendou had always been the one you thought of when you imagined your soulmate. But. . . There was something else you couldn't quite put your finger on. The whole thing made you nervous, so you kept your feelings to yourself. 

Tendou stayed up all night on your birthday, hoping, praying. His eyes never left his wrist for a second and finally at 2:45 a.m. , something happened. Your name, in your sloppy, too quick, handwriting, appeared. The relief of ten years of wondering washed over him. He laughed, breathless and giddy. He immediately messaged you, sending you a picture of his wrist before a barrage of messages, most of them legible.

A minute passed by, then ten, then twenty. . .

You had to see it too, right? So why hadn't you said anything? You hadn't called, texted, or, hell, even emailed him. Tendou started to feel his heart sink with each passing moment. 

What if you were disappointed?

Tendou's breath caught in his throat and he could feel his face burn. His phone clattered to the ground as he sank down into his bed. He tried to calm himself down, he didn't know what time it was where you were. Maybe you were out celebrating your birthday or sleeping? He just needed to sleep it off and give you time to respond.

Chest tight, Tendou waited. He waited till hours turned to days and suddenly it was March and his heart was broken. He wasn't sure what was going on at this point. You two had almost never gone a day without talking. But you hadn't read any of his texts or snaps. Eventually he stopped messaging you all together.

But he hadn't given up. He knew you were flying back to Japan soon and he was determined to ask you what the hell was going on.

By mid March you had moved back into your old home. Your father had graciously gotten a moving company for you and your meager belongings. Somehow he failed to show up himself though. You didn't blame him though, he was busy and you haven't been the best company recently. Before leaving America your grandma had begun calling you the walking dead. You were barely sleeping, your eyes were puffy with designer bags hanging heavily underneath. She understood why you were feeling so down and she was empathetic, but the rest of your small town wasn't.

You thought about the timing of it all as you began to unpack. The first box, full of books and notes, was barely empty before the doorbell rang.

Tendou was standing on your doorstep. Your soulmate was standing before you, and your first thought was to shrink back and pretend you weren't home.

He rang the bell again. "(Y/N)! I know you're home! I just. . . I just want to talk okay? . . . Please?"

Tendou stepped back as the door swung open. You were holding your wrist close to your chest, looking anywhere but at him. He could see how red your eyes were, though, and thought they matched his completely.

"Why?" He muttered. One pitiful idiot to another. "Was it so fucking awful? Having my name on your wrist?"

"It wasn't. . ." You started. "Tendou, it wasn't just your name." 

[uswntxfootball]

i don’t want to watch the world end with someone else (jackie groenen x muwfc!reader)

a media takeover day makes you realize just how bad you are at hiding your feelings. 

word count: 2634 ish

rated P for painful pining, C FOR CHEESY AS FUCK, and F for fluFF ciTY.

song inspo: clinton kane’s i don’t want to watch the world end with someone else

——

“so is everything clear?”

you and jackie exchange a glance and nod.

casey smiles and says:

“good good. it’ll happen tomorrow so just make sure you follow the guidelines that i gave, though i have no doubt you two will do just fine.”

with that said, she gave a wave and left the call.

you lean forward closing the laptop that sat on the table in front of you, before leaning back on the couch behind you.

jackie promptly laid her head on your shoulder, and you wiggled your arm around her, settling it around the back of her neck, her hand coming up to grasp yours.

your heart threatened to explode out of your chest at the act.

this wasn’t uncommon between the two of you.

you were always holding hands wherever you went, always touching, and always flirting.

this of course, didn’t go unnoticed.

as a result jackie and you have dismissed thousands of press and fan questions, with each and every “we’re just friends” sending a dagger through your heart.

yet here you were, quarantined with her in manchester, holding onto the foolish hope that things might work out.

falling in love with your best friend wasn’t part of the plan, but there wasn’t anything you could do about it now.

“y/n.”

“hmm?” you hum out, watching the girl beside you play with your fingers absentmindedly.

“what if the fans think i’m boring?”

you sit up abruptly and jackie turns to look at you.

“jacks. you’ve got to be joking right? if there’s people who think you’re boring, i don’t want to meet them,” you huff.

jackie rolls her eyes.

“well that’s you. you’re biased you don’t count.”

you gasp in mock offense.

“i don’t count? how rude i- this is how i get treated for-“

jackie cut you off while pulling you into a hug.

“oh shut up you big baby.”

you look up at her and stick your tongue out at her, an action which she returns.

getting a little lost in her eyes, the two of you maintained eye contact for an unusual amount of time, the tension almost tangible.

it’s only when jackie’s phone buzzes on the table that you both break away, cheeks red.

you clear your throat quickly and stand up.

looking at jackie’s flushed face you tease:

“you know you’re cute when you blush.”

her face flushed even redder.

“oh shut up.”

~~

you woke up the next day at the same time you normally do.

the girl beside you was still fast asleep and you couldn’t help but stare a little at the sight.

her hair a mess and currently taking up more than half the bed with her limbs strewn about, you couldn’t be more into it.

there was just something about her.

you shook your head softly.

breaking your eyes away, you began getting ready for your run.

logging into the manchester united instagram page, you recorded a quick video greeting everyone for the day.

“hi everyone! i’m y/n, a forward for manchester united, which you probably knew already, but i’m going to be taking over this account with jackie today!”

after a little pause you continue in a whisper.

“i’m getting ready to go on a run right now, trying to be a little quieter because a certain midfielder is still fast asleep.”

“she snores too,” you added quietly with a giggle. “but i’ll be back in a bit guys!”

jackie would get you back for that later.

you got back from your run about half an hour later, with the midfielder still asleep.

changing out of your running clothes, you made a quick breakfast and some coffee for the two of you, and opened the account again.

you prop your phone up in front of you and begin recording.

“so i just got back from my run, made some breakfast, and guess who’s still asleep.”

you point towards the door behind you.

“hint it’s jackie. i even made her breakfast too. i think i should get like a “best friend in the world” award or something. i’m way too good of a friend to her. anyways that’s it for now, i’ll update you if sleeping beauty ever wakes. bye!”

you finished your breakfast while scrolling through twitter, smiling when you see some of the fans freaking out over the prospect of the two of you quarantining together.

after a little bit you heard the door behind you open, looking up to see a very sleepy (and frankly very cute) jackie groenen in it’s place.

your heart fluttered in your chest.

“coffee?” you offer, grinning at the enthusiastic nod that jackie gave you.

jackie’s cheeks flushed a little when she looked around.

“you made me breakfast?”

“well since someone slept in of course i did.”

the midfielder rolled her eyes and smiled, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek before she walked over to the counter.

you felt like you were going to pass out.

if jackie noticed your shallow breathing and flushed cheeks, she didn’t comment.

“have you recorded anything yet?”

you nod, taking out your phone to show her the account.

she pauses for a moment before propping the phone up in front and starts recording.

“hi guys! i hope y/n didn’t bore you too much this morning-”

you cut her off with a gasp.

“me?! i’m obviously the fun one here! she-ow!’

jackie interrupted you with a punch.

you pouted, rubbing your shoulder.

“see she bullies me too.”

“oh she’s so dramatic,” jackie says while rolling her eyes.

the two of you get so preoccupied with bickering that you forget all about the video.

it’s only when you turn a little bit when you notice.

“damn the fans are gonna get the jackie-y/n quarreling special today.”

jackie snorts at that, deciding to post the 2 minute video with the label you had so lovingly created.

the story post read:

“an early christmas present for the muwfc fans; featuring a 2 minute jackie-y/n quarreling special”

followed by a post that read:

“we’ll be going live in around an hour so make up some good questions for us!”

while you were posting those, you missed the loving smile and stare from the girl next to you.

~~

you grinned when you saw the next question.

“has jackie found out about your post from this morning yet?”

jackie turned to look at you, her eyes narrowing.

“what did you say?”

“hmmm nothing nothing”

“no what- tell me!”

you pretended to think for a moment before answering:

“hmmm nope”

you let out a squeak of surprise when jackie’s fingers suddenly dug into your sides.

“fine! fine! i’ll tell you!” you relent, your chest heaving slightly.

“i just said that you snore is all,” you answered quickly.

jackie gasped loudly.

“i do not!”

“yes she does she-“

your sentence gets cut off when jackie pulls you into a headlock.

“you can’t silence me! jackie snores li-“

she slapped a hand over your mouth.

“okay anyways. let’s keep goin-ew y/n!”

jackie pulled her hand back with a grimace, you smiling triumphantly.

“she licked me,” jackie whined, wiping her hand on your shirt.

a few seconds later her hand settled on your thigh, and you swore you saw her smirk when you inhaled sharply.

a little flustered, you cleared your throat quickly before turning to the screen, noting the incoming flurry of comments about how cute the two of you are together.

jackie read the next question.

“are you guys dating?”

she gave the camera a wink when she said:

“y/n wishes.”

you rolled your eyes.

“we all know you want to. i mean who wouldn’t want to date me? i’m just the hottest person you’ve ever seen and-”

“oh and she’s cocky too,” jackie added with a grin, letting out a laugh at your expression.

you turn back to screen in time to catch another question.

“can jackie play something for us?”

jackie excitedly answered a “yes”, before standing up to grab her guitar.

you shuffled over to the other side of the couch when jackie got back.

here you sat watching the midfielder talk animatedly about her song choice.

you didn’t hear much of it, instead getting lost staring at the dutch girl, her smile wide and eyes sparkling.

“y/n what do you think?”

it snaps you out of your daze.

an “i think you’re beautiful” flashed through your mind, but what came out was:

“uh i-sorry what?”

jackie giggled.

“i’ll take that as a yes then.”

a soft guitar melody filled the air a few seconds after.

this was going to be a disaster.

~~

when jackie started singing you promptly forgot how to breathe.

you could feel your heart racing in your chest, butterflies exploding in your stomach.

her voice filled the air, and her presence was absolutely intoxicating.

strikingly blue eyes met yours during the chorus, and when she smiled softly you seriously felt like you were going to pass out.

and i wish we didn’t say goodbye

cause we’re just standing still

and i don’t really know what tomorrow holds

your heart was threatening to explode, and the three words you’ve kept buried for so long were beginning to make their way out from the back of your mind.

you didn’t know if you could make it to the end of the song.

you didn’t know if you could not tell her.

but i’ve finally realized

if this is our last goodbye until we’re gone

who cares about the wrongs we’ve caused ourselves

cause i don’t want to watch the world end with someone else

it didn’t help that jackie kept smiling at you, her eyes locking with yours and making your brain and heart go into overdrive.

it didn’t help that jackie was just so utterly attractive.

no, it didn’t help at all.

while the two of you were off in your own little world, the fans were going crazy, many picking up on the loving glances the two of you exchanged.

~~

the livestream ended not long after the song did.

and when it did you were torn.

do you keep it to yourself?

or do you risk it all for the measly hope that by some miracle she liked you back?

your heart preferred the second.

and in a game of internal tug o war, your heart won.

“jackie.”

the midfielder whipped around to face you.

fuck she’s pretty.

“i’m-“

fuck.

the words were sitting right on the tip of your tongue.

“i-“

jackie gave you a confused expression.

“you’re what?”

“i forgot to tell you that uhm-“

fuck the words. the words were right there. just say them.

jackie tilted her head to the side, puzzled.

“you forgot to tell me what?”

you cursed at her internally for being so cute.

“i-“

you gulped.

you can do this.

its just three words. three-

“i didn’t do the laundry.”

fuck.

jackie’s puzzled expression turns into a teasing one.

“that’s what you were so nervous to tell me? come on i’m not that scary am i?”

you shook your head, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“hey look, we can do it together then,” jackie said with a smile, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the room.

~~

shit.

this turned out to be way harder than you thought.

you had tried, multiple times on multiple occasions.

your tongue however, wouldn’t let you.

each and every time you failed, coming up with the strangest excuses for your bumbling.

you’re pretty sure you accidentally said that you forgot to fold the dishes once.

jackie just thought it was cute.

though your relationship didn’t change much, you did notice a persistent blush on the midfielder’s cheeks whenever you held her hand.

you didn’t comment on it though.

~~

jackie’s sitting next to you on the tiny kitchen counter.

the two of you are having dinner, having just come back from training, bickering about soccer (or as jackie called it, “football”) and how she missed her shot last game.

which was ironic because being this close to the midfielder made you feel like you were missing your shots.

anyways.

“oh come on it wasn’t like i was trying to miss!”

“could’ve fooled me,” you laugh, jackie gasping in offense.

“like you could’ve done any better.”

“yes i could! in fact i have a higher shooting accuracy than-“

“oh come on that was based off of our shots from like ages ago!”

“potato pota-“

“y/n!”

you smile at jackie’s indignant outcry.

“i’m just better at soccer than you,” you tease.

“one it’s football. two no you’re not.”

“yes i am.”

“no you’re not.”

“i am.”

“you’re no-“

“i love you.”

jackie stops talking.

your eyes go wide when you realize what you said.

jackie’s voice is soft when she stammers:

“wh-what?”

“i-“

you take a deep breath.

welp. here we go.

“i love you. and i’ve been trying so hard not to say it, but you make it so hard for me not to and i- i’ve been in love with you for years now jacks and i just i can’t help myself. it’s like im-“

“y/n. stop.”

you didn’t hear her.

“it’s just you. all the time. when i wake up and when i go to sleep and it doesn’t help that we’re quarantined together which is why i was trying to hard not to say it because if you hated me and this all goes to hell what would we do? i’m sorry if i’m screwing everything up i didn’t even plan on saying it today it just happened and i-“

you’re cut off from your rambling when jackie launches herself at you.

you’re frozen, with jackie hugging you tightly, unsure of what it meant, whether she hated you or not.

then.

a whisper so quiet you almost don’t hear it.

“i love you too.”

you almost fall off the counter.

you look at her with wide eyes, your heartbeat in your ears, worried that you might have heard her wrong.

“you-what?”

jackie pulls back to look at you.

fuck she’s so gorgeous.

“i said i love you too,” she whispers, looking down and looking almost the tiniest bit shy.

god you want to kiss her.

“do it then,” jackie challenges.

your ears heat up a tiny bit, realizing you said that aloud.

“are-are you sure?”

she nodded, and upon seeing your hesitation just decided to do it herself.

she tilts your head up by your chin and all of a sudden your mind goes blank.

everyone always talks about how the perfect kiss feels like fireworks, but you didn’t feel that here.

instead you felt like you were floating, with only the girl in your lap keeping you grounded.

one of jackie’s hands was on your cheek, another tracing on the back of your neck, and you felt weightless.

she broke the kiss after a while.

your heart was pounding so hard it was a miracle you were still alive.

the two of you sat quietly for a while, jackie on your lap with her head against your chest, until she broke the silence.

“that song was about you if you didn’t know.”

your heart fluttered again. the things she did to you.

“really?”

jackie nodded.

she looked up and before she kissed you she whispered:

“you’re the only one i’d want to watch the world end with.”