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inbabylontheywept · 1 month ago

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Reach Heaven (Through Violence)

When I was in 2nd grade, my school started a zero-tolerance policy for bullying. I want to emphasize that I started out very excited for this program. I was a small, visibly autistic child on a playground with fourth graders on it. In theory, this program might as well have been called The Rescue Babs Initiative.

In practice, however, zero-tolerance programs almost always sink into madness. The motivations never line up right - too many incentives for cheating.

The first victim of the program was actually my friend, Sam. I was standing next to him in line when one of the fourth graders gut punched him. There was no reason for the punch, he was just small and in arm's reach. Sam got the wind knocked out of him, but he managed to gasp out the phrase stupid motherfucker right as the playground aide ran over to keep the peace.

(Sam had an incredible vocabulary for a 2nd grader. Consequence of his dad being a recently divorced mechanic.)

Puncher got a two week suspension. That was fine. But Sam got a one week one for verbal abuse, which was beyond the pale. But that’s just what zero-tolerance is, right? No hitting became a rule everyone had to follow, and it didn't stop when someone hit us. So our options as kids were to somehow make like Jesus and ascend up to heaven… or solve things ourselves.

We started solving things ourselves.

I'll be honest, I think that was always the plan. A school can do a lot of things to reduce bullying, but if the goal is zero, there's only one path forward: Shoot the messenger.

---

My part in the story was a few weeks after that. Long enough to know that the school's new unofficial policy was to suspend kids that reported problems, short enough to have no idea how to defend myself. It turned out the 4th grader that hit Sam was part of a trio, and that trio had their sights on me next.

I asked some of my classmates what to do, and they said that the best idea was to just ignore the bullies. Refuse to give them a reaction. That was dogshit advice, but it was common enough in the early 2000s and it's not like I can fault 2nd graders for not knowing much about life.

Anyway. I took the advice and I ignored my bullies. I ignored them when they said nasty things about my mom, and I ignored them when they bounced soccer balls off my head, and the one time I broke was when the biggest of the trio grabbed my arm hard enough to leave finger shaped bruises. We were watching a movie in the gym when he did that, and I leaned over and told him he could hold my hand if he was scared of the dark. Which worked, thank God. The grip hurt bad enough I had to excuse myself for a bit to keep my composure.

I think a more mentally flexible kid would've changed strategies by then. Clearly, things were escalating. But it's hard for me to change my mind, so I stuck to my bad strategy, right up until the day the big kids caught me after school. I was crossing the baseball field when they got me. It was just one of those places you had to walk through to make it to the bike rack.

The big guy, again, was the instigator. He pushed me down then stood over me, yelling for me to get back up. But I knew that if I got back up, he'd just push me down again, and for whatever reason, their Bully Code didn't allow for kicking a kid that was already down. So I stuck to the grass, and they tried a bunch of things to goad me into standing back up. Eventually, I started kicking at them while on my back, and one of them took the opportunity to grab my leg. Second bully thought that looked fun, so he grabbed my other leg. Kicking me like that was off limits, but dragging wasn't, so they just started pulling me around that way.

They were so much taller than me that I was almost vertical during the pull so all my weight was put on my shoulders. And the fields were just made of unkind stuff. There was crushed gravel all over the place, spilled out from the divider between the big kid playground and the little kid playground, so every time they dragged me over a piece it just ripped a new gouge up my back. The ground itself was sunbaked caliche and dead crabgrass. There was a grit to it, like sand stuck to the outside of a clay pot.

It grated all the skin off my upper back. Everything between the bottom of my neck to the bottom of my shoulder blades. I don't know at what points I went from yelling, to screaming, to just crying, but I did, and I know they seemed almost giddy every time it changed. Eventually they finished off with one loop around the baseball diamond and that hurt the worst. The dust there stuck to the snot and spit all over my face and made it into a foul mud, and the same happened in my shirt. The dust stung like salt, and the gravel in the lines tore open a few more cuts for dirt to pour in. I remember them stopping, and actually crying again I was so relieved. It was done. Thank God, it was finally done. They were done hurting me.

They left me on my back near homebase. They'd finally got the reaction they were looking for.

It took me a few minutes after that to stagger back to my feet. I was able to wash the snot-mud off my face in the bathroom, but I couldn't bring myself to touch my back. It just felt like it was on fire. Then I made it back to the bike rack.

That’s where my older sister, Liz, was waiting for me. She was just a grade ahead of me but it always felt bigger than that. There’s some deep weight associated with being the oldest. She could see that I was dirty and tear soaked so she asked what happened. I didn’t know how to put it in words, so I just tried lifting my shirt to show her. It made a sticky, tacky sound coming up - like the plastic coat coming off a slice of American cheese. Tchhhhk.

I didn’t know how bad they’d got me before I heard that noise.

She looked at my back for maybe two seconds before telling me to put my shirt back down. I never actually looked at it when it was fresh, but I still had straggling scars by the time I got to highschool. Long silver-grey lines, visible mostly for the dirt still stuck in them. She looked a little sick when I turned around, but she kept it cool, which I really appreciated. I always hated crying in public, and I was half a hair from crying all over again. I don't think I'd have been able to keep it together if she'd freaked out too.

Instead, she just asked me some questions. Who did this, how long they’d been doing it, what I’d been doing, if I’d told anyone. Some 4th graders, a month, trying to ignore them, nobody.

She mulled those answers over. I could see her trying to chart a course forward - trying to figure out what it would take to solve this problem for good. She's always had this weird, sad, blank face that she'd make when she found a solution she didn't like. She'd make that face, then think some more, then make the face. Then think.

Eventually, she just made the face.

Don't tell the parents, she said. I can fix this. But only if you don’t tell them.

I believed her. She was the most capable person I knew, and her word was gold. So I didn't tell our parents. I biked home, and every drop of sweat that rolled down my back felt like acid on my skin. I remember getting home and beelining straight to the bath, because I needed something to put the fire out. Took that as my moment to cry it out again too. First time I'd cried was from pain, but the second time was from the cruelty. Second time took longer, but the nice thing about a cold bath is that the water never runs out. I could just pop the plug out with my toes and just keep rinsing and draining and rinsing and draining until my mind was as clean and empty and stark as the tub itself. Then I could go fill that emptiness up with Calvin and Hobbes.

It worked.

Mostly.

---

I spent the whole next week feeling nervous anytime I was outside and Liz wasn't nearby. Some days she'd beat me to the bike racks, and I'd be relieved as hell to just go home. Other days, I'd be the first one out, and then I'd have to spend a few minutes worrying about what I'd do if the big kids showed up. But they never did. Liz always got there just a few minutes later, and I'd pretend I hadn't been planning escape routes.

Friday, I was sweating by myself when she showed up a few minutes later than normal. She unlocked her bike but she didn't move to leave. She had this big, long cable-type lock, maybe six feet of braided steel. She folded it over in her hands so it looked like a swatter and swung it a few times in the air. Made it whistle like a falling anvil in a cartoon.

Today's baseball practice, she said. All Our Guys are on the baseball team.

Our Guys. Odd phrasing. Also, I actually hadn't known that about them, but I nodded along anyway. She wasn't really looking at me as she talked - she was inspecting the lock.

My plan, she continued, is to wait here until baseball's done. Me and you. When it gets time I'll send you outside the bike cage.

The cage was a chain link fence, maybe six feet tall, built all around the rack. They’d lock it after school as an extra precaution against bike thieves.

Your job, she continued, will be to hold the gate closed after they're all in. Keep em’ stuck. Think you can do that?

She was being very frank, which helped me think clearly. I didn't think I could actually hold the gate closed if all of them ran into it at once, but I knew where a big half broken cinder block was, and I knew if I could wedge it in there, it would hold. So I told her that.

Great, she said. Do that.

Then I went to go get the block. She gave the cable a few more experimental swings, right as I made it around the corner.

I'd been thinking in straight lines before that. Just meeting goals. It wasn't until that moment that I really allowed myself to know what was happening. That I allowed myself to have a choice.

I chose to jog a little faster. I wanted revenge.

---

I came back with the block a few minutes later, then we just talked like nothing was happening. The sun was shining, and we’d both gotten into bionicles, and it was easy to talk and be people. Normal, happy people.

But that feeling went away when I heard the coach tweet a long whistle. Me and Liz both knew that was the signal that practice was done. I walked out and got my bric while she folded the cable in half in her hand again. Then we both waited.

Eventually I saw the kids that drug me around the baseball diamond emerge from behind the portables. I watched them make a straight line back to the bike rack. They were laughing together, having a good time. Being normal. Like me and my sister. I realized I could let things be normal too. I saw my chance to let things go softball pitched to me, nice and easy, and I didn't even bother to swing. I didn't want normal anymore. I wanted this. I knew why my sister had that lock, and I'd thought about it, and I liked it.

God help me, I think I needed it.

The kids went inside the bike cage. I gave them ten paces head start, then put the cinder block under the gate. That was the signal Liz had been waiting for.

She blitzed those boys. There were three of them, and the smallest still had two inches on her, so they probably would have kicked her ass if they ever had a moment to think. But she never gave them that moment. She picked the biggest kid, and decided he needed the first blow. I remember how much muscle she put into that swing - the cable was so heavy, and she was so small, that it kind of swung her back as she made that first half spin. Like a dog getting wagged by its own tail.

It was a perfect connection. Flawless. She swung through her target, not at it, and the resulting slap that the cable made bouncing off the biggest kid's stomach was loud enough to echo through the cage. It brought a tear to my eye. It brought a tear to his eye too.

The trio split after that, bouncing around the cage like fresh broke billiards. I can't describe how Liz did it, exactly, but she managed to chase the boys back together so she could hit them all more efficiently. She had a real knack for getting them right between the shoulders, so I never got to see the real perfection of her work, but she wasn't above swinging for the arms or legs if that was all she had. Those marks I could see, and they were brutal. The welts were wider and thicker than my thumb, like giant purple worms were trying to burrow out of their skin. Some even bled. I cheered on every hit.

Liz, for her part, just had a sort of grim, single minded determination to her. She was so angry she was shaking, and so scared that tears just kept running down her face, and she was grinning all the way back to her molars, but the grin didn't get any bigger after a solid hit than a glancing one. When the kids started blubbering, she didn't change her process. I'd spent my time crying, she'd spent her time crying, of course they were getting theirs in too: That's what violence does. It brings tears. Sow the wind, reap the whirlwind.

Eventually, one of the kids split off from the main herd and scrambled up the fence, gecko-style. Liz let him go. It was either that, or take her attention off the other two. Easy choice.

Now, there were two kids left, the big one, and one of his smaller friends. Smaller friend did the same trick. I was worried he was gonna turn back, fight me and open the gate for his buddy, but he just fled for the hills. I remember thinking, damn, I hope they never forgive each other for this. I hope this ruins their whole friendship. I hope this festers into something awful.

The one kid that was left really was trapped though. He wasn't built for climbing and he had no one to work as a distraction for him. Every time he started trying to make it up the fence, my sister would just twist up like a spring, then swing the cable with both hands right into his spine. The slap it made every time she did that was loud enough to hurt my ears. He never made it more than two hits like that before hopping off the fence and just trying to run around some more. He could get Liz tangled up in the bikes for a bit if he really tried, but it never bought him enough time to actually get out. She'd always find her way out of the thicket, swing the cable, and send him running again.

Eventually, he just couldn't run anymore. He sat down, and my sister hit him a few times, telling him to stand up. He refused. He knew he was gonna get hit either way, so he might as well get hit sitting down. He put his arms up after a bit and let those take a beating too. Eventually he just started begging her to stop. So she did.

He cried he was so relieved. I remembered how that felt: It’s done. Thank God, it’s finally done. They’re done hurting me.

Liz told me to come in and show him my back. I took my shirt off, and I showed him a scab as large as a dinner plate. Cracked up like dry river mud.

He looked sick. Started babbling about how he didn't know. Said he thought I was crying because I was just a kid - that he didn't know he was actually hurting me. That he'd just wanted to get a rise out of me and didn't know it would take so much.

He didn't know he'd gone too far until it was too late.

And suddenly, it was like looking in a mirror.

Two snotty, welted boys, crying alone in the dirt. Backs burning like fire. Ashamed. Trapped. Realizing that they'd just done something awful, and worse, that they’d dragged the people that meant the most to them along for the ride.

I hated him more at that moment than when he drug me over gravel. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill anything but their own brokenness reflected. Looking at him was unbearable. Like staring straight into the sun.

I could've hit him again if I hadn't just gorged myself on violence. But I had. I was fat with it, sick and aching - anything more and I would have puked. So I just told him to get his bike and go. Please. Just go.

He did. He staggered to his feet, and he grabbed his bike before running away like all the demons in hell were following behind. All bar two. There was a swingset nearby, and once he was fully out of sight, Liz and I walked over to it. We picked two seats next to each other and sat for a while, talking until our hands stopped shaking. Can’t remember about what. We didn’t really know how to process what had just happened. Still don’t, to be honest.

Then we went home.

---

Thanks to @elisabethdeep-blog, @foldingfittedsheets, @amateurmasksmith, @caramel-catss @arataya, and @rozenkingdom for being my alpha readers.

And thanks @lizardho, for being my first friend, my best friend, and my childhood bodyguard. I know it took a toll on you. I'm truly sorry.

#tw: bullying #tw #babylon-lore #this story is kind of gruesome tbh #but its done and i can offer it up to tumblr #enjoy this wildly unpleasant event from my childhood

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rex-rambles · 3 months ago

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➤ SOMETHING FISHY (SMAU + FIC)

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: you dress up as a mermaid for your niece's birthday, and end up rescuing a f1 driver that's convinced you're the real thing

wc: 4.3k

warnings: mentions of a minor injury - photos from pinterest

➤ MASTERLIST

Your niece wasn't your niece by blood, but that didn't matter. You had been there for your best friend through pregnancy, through labour, through the late nights when Ruby was just a newborn, and now that she was four? She was your niece in every sense of the word, which meant what Ruby wanted, Ruby got.

Even if it was you dressing up as a mermaid for her birthday. You had rented the tail from some costume shop near the beach, set yourself up on some rocks near the shore for them to "discover" you as they stormed across the beach, more of a hunt than a party as you watch them. When they get close enough, you happily push yourself up on the rock, waving at them, and they gasp in unison.

"It's a mermaid!" One of the younger girls says, quite easily believing in the fantasy of it all, and your best friend helps them up the rocks to sit near you, and instantly, there are little hands everywhere, grabbing the tail, the shells woven into your hair, but Ruby? Ruby is perched right in front of you, beaming with her gap teeth.

"I told you!" She says, clapping her hands together. "A real live mermaid!" Then, she leans in close to whisper, "I know it's you, auntie."

"Nonsense," You say, gently splashing some water up at her. "I have no idea who this aunt is you speak of. I am a Mermaid, of the Coral Sea."

"Coral Sea is up North," Your best friend scolds softly. "I think you mean Pacific?"

You flick water up at her with a grin. "I travelled a long way to get here. Coral Sea."

"Are you tired?" One of the little boys asks, now intently trying to braid your hair and failing.

"No, I made sure to get plenty of rest for your big day! I hear a certain someone is turning five!" Ruby happily shows off her birthday sash as your best friend begins to take some pictures. "I asked some of the other mermaids to join me, but they thought it was just too far."

"Like Ariel?" Another little one asks, as you gently try to guide her away from ripping one of the fins of your tail off.

"Well, she lives much farther away! More like...Siren-a?" You pull the fake name out of nowhere, but they all seem to accept it as fact, before returning to their questions.

It was a precious thing, you think, getting to do this for them. They might not believe in mermaids for much longer, but for an afternoon, you get to be a real, live mermaid, taking pictures and reciting facts about fish and shells you memorized this morning. You get to hand out little mermaid-themed gifts, wave to those wandering by who also happen to stumble across a mermaid. It was a perfect afternoon, you think, until the waves picked up.

"Oh, my." You say as they creep up on the rock, gently spraying the group with the salty water. "Seems like Poseidon is eager for me to get home!"

"Aw, but Auntie-" Ruby pauses, sparing a glance to the other girls, "But Mer-Auntie, we don't want you to go!"

"I'm sure you have snacks waiting for you back home! I hear you got a special cake, made of sea sponges!" They all pause to look at you, and you try to put on your best Little Mermaid impression. "Sponge cake? Isn't that sea sponges?"

"No, silly! It's just cake." The waves pick up again, but this time, a hand appears at the edge of the rock with it, and the girls scream as they stumble away.

For a moment you're terrified it's not attached to anything, but there's a person hanging off the edge of the rock, obviously washed in with the waves, and you and your best friend quickly grab him and pull him up onto the rock as he coughs up water. He's breathing, considering he's coughing, but he's clawing at his chest to get his life jacket off, which you quickly help remove to get some pressure off his chest.

"It's Prince Eric!" Ruby shouts, coming to splash in the water next to the poor man. "Like the story!"

"That's not Prince Eric, sweetheart." Then, gently from below you,

"Ariel?"

Charles wouldn't call himself a gifted surfer, but he'd say he was alright. Good enough to take on the waves of one of Melbourne's beaches before the race weekend. He wasn't alone, either, an instructor and some friends joining him, and for most of the morning, it was fine, in fact, it was better than any of his previous surfing had gone.

And then the waves picked up. He hadn't expected it, easily overtaking him and forcing him under with the current, and he had thought he was going to drown until he hit up against a rock and desperately tried to claw his way up it against the force of the tides and waves, board lost somewhere in the water below him.

Spots began to appear in his vision as he almost broke the surface, and quickly, people pulled him from the water, helping him up onto the rock as he gasped for air, choking up the sea water and probably bits of sea weed. His life preserver felt like a weight against him as he tried to get it off, and luckily, someone from his team seemed to understand what he was trying to do and helped him out of it.

A small voice screamed something near his ear, and opening his eyes, Charles realized rather quickly that it wasn't anyone on his team who saved him, but a mermaid.

A real live mermaid. He must've hit his head, he thinks, as he blurry blinks up at the figure, peering over him like that scene in the movie. Your hair is woven with shells, top made from something that looks like seaweed and netting, a blue tail to accentuate it all. He lays there, panting heavily as he tries to blink away the vision, before finally coming to terms with the fact that mermaids are real in Australia, or he's died and is hallucinating a mermaid in heaven.

"Ariel?" He creakily manages to get out, and you gently wipe water away from his face, hitting something high on his forehead that has him seeing stars as he hisses, reeling back and into the rocks and only jostling himself further.

"SEE!" The tiny voice continues screeching, "HE'S REAL!"

He's real? Whoever's child got loose ought to be freaking out at the fact that the mermaid currently tending to him is real. It might be the concussion, or the delirium that comes with seeing mermaids, but he can't help but think you're pretty as he manages to open his eyes again. You look blessed by the water, the kind of sight that Charles thinks would make a good siren. He'd follow you into the water, anyway. "Let's give him some space, girls." Another voice says, and very gently, your hand returns to check out his forehead.

"Can you hear me?" You ask, voice as melodic as he'd expect a mermaid's to be. You shift closer to him, your tail coming to press up against his leg, and it even feels real. "That looks pretty bad."

"You're real," He breathes out, hand awkwardly reaching out to poke your tail. "This...Australia has mermaids?"

"No, no." You answer gently. "This is a costume, sweetheart. I'm just dressed up for a party."

He squints, trying to focus on where your tail meets your waist, and he softly shakes his head. That's something a mermaid would say to try and hide its existence. After all, your tail seems to meet perfectly with your skin, which he most certainly isn't focusing on. "I don't believe you."

"Oh?" You laugh, sitting back as Charles props himself up. "Must've hit your head harder than I thought."

"You look so real!" He finds himself saying, hand reaching out to gently pet against one of the little side fins on your tail. "This is...like the Little Mermaid, no?"

"Well, I did save you from drowning." Your hand comes up to find his forehead again, tilting his head towards you. "But I'm serious about that, you might be concussed."

Then the panic starts to sink in a little at the tone of your voice. He can handle a scrape or two, but a concussion? He'd be out of the race, and he'd be out of the race for potentially a long time. "I'm sure it's fine," He says, coming up to move your hand away. "It doesn't hurt that bad."

"Here," That other voice says, and Charles looks up to see another woman, handing you a bag. "There's some first aid supplies in there."

"It's a real mermaid, right?" Charles asks them, and they just sort of stare at him, like one would at a delusional man.

"It's for my daughter's birthday party." Then, giving a small pause, "They're actually a werewolf. Werefish. Fish by night, person by day."

"Enough of that, you two." You say, beckoning Charles forward. You gently wipe over the cut on his forehead and he hisses, hand reaching out to clasp over your tail-knee, and you hum gently. Werefish - you both were mocking him. He had made the discovery of a lifetime, and you were mocking him. "Easy there, Prince Eric. I need to clean this."

"Charles," He says finally, "My name is Charles."

You wipe over the cut again and then apply a bandage, offering a smile that makes Charles's heart do things, and he's pretty sure it's not the seawater he ingested, or the potential concussion. "Well, Charles. That's the best I can do, for the time being."

"Is the Prince okay?" The tiny voice returns, and Charles turns to see a young girl with a birthday sash slung over her shoulder peering up at him.

It was a child's birthday party, and his subpar surfing skills crashed it.

Literally. "Yes," Charles answers. "Sorry for interrupting your party."

"It's okay," She says, gesturing to you. "We were waiting for her prince anyway. Now you can kiss!"

"Ruby!" You say with a small laugh. "Prince Charles here just got hurt!"

"And you can kiss it better," Ruby states firmly. "Mermaid magic."

Then, there's a little swarm of girls behind Ruby, all looking at you and Charles intently. "I'm sorry about them," The woman says quickly. "It's sort of a mob mentality."

"I can only kiss it better if the prince gives me permission." You say, crossing your arms over your chest, and making Charles's eyes widen. He has to give permission? For you to kiss him? He would say it's the other way around, considering you're a majestic mermaid, and he's a drowning man you just pulled from the water.

"Go on!" Ruby says, glaring at him. "Let her make it better."

"I-of course." He rushes out, tilting his head down. "Anything to stop the pain."

Then, to his shock, you lean over and gently press a kiss to his forehead, and the tiny crowd erupts in cheers as heat flushes from Charles's cheeks to his ears. "Now, you all have to let Prince Charles go to get actual medical help."

"I'll take them back to the car." The other woman says, quickly herding them away as Charles wobbly stands.

"Sorry about that," You say up at him, and he has to remind himself that you can't stand. Tail, and all. Maybe he'll have to carry you out here, and he'll get to be the hero in reverse. Maybe, he thinks before he can stop himself, he'll get another kiss for helping. "If that was uncomfortable, or you felt forced, but-"

"No, no!" Charles says, sounding far too eager. "It's not every day you get the chance to kiss a mermaid. I should make it up to you, and your niece, for crashing the party and all. Dinner?"

Then, because today is truly full of surprises, you slip your phone from the bag and unlock it before handing it to him. A mermaid with a phone. Part of him thinks you'd use a shell.

Part of him thinks he might be genuinely losing his mind, and his team should come and rescue him soon. "Dinner sounds lovely, Prince Charles."

"Will you wear the tail?" He asks over the phone as he types in his number.

"Unless it's a swim up bar? No."

f1gossip Something fishy is going on! Charles Leclerc suffered a nasty fall while surfing in Melbourne this week, only to be saved by a mermaid! the unnamed sea creature was seen tending to Charles's wounds on the rocks before returning to his crew. (We don't really know either.)

↳ carcarcar ...what timeline did we enter for Charles to be saved by a MERMAID?

↳ forza-ferrawri hopefully a timeline where Ferrari can win

↳ brocedes never letting go of the disney prince allegations

↳ fan44 f1gossip, I think it's time for a nap...or a reality check

"Okay, okay-" Pierre wheezes out, barely managing to block the pillow Charles tosses at him. "Okay! Let me get this straight: you wiped out and got saved by a mermaid? With-with the tail?" Then, when Charles can't bring himself to answer, "And you believed it!"

"You'd believe it too!" It had been a few days since you'd rescued Charles, and he was sort of still losing his mind. His team had given him a clean bill of health, no concussion, safe to race, but he couldn't stop thinking about you. It had been real, your texts to him had proven. You were dressed up for your niece's birthday but deep down in Charles's heart, a young part of him still wanted to believe that you were an actual mermaid, if only to help his bruised ego. "It was either a real mermaid or I was hallucinating."

"You never thought it could be a costume?" When you'd just been dragged underwater and smashed against a rock?

No, a costume did not cross Charles's mind. "It looked so real! Even the tail!"

Max appears in their little rest station, Red Bull in hand like it always is, offering a matching, shit-eating grin as Pierre's, and without having to say anything, Charles throws a pillow at him too. They wouldn't understand! He wasn't just being an idiot, or delusional, you had been so ethereal, so beautiful, you had to be magical. Magic was the only way to explain why you'd say yes to dinner with him. Magic was the only reason any of this could have happened at all. "So," Max finally says, coming to sit beside Pierre, "You were saved by a mermaid, who helped bandage you up, and who you then asked out to dinner?"

"They also kissed it better." Charles admits quietly, and both Pierre and Max blinked at him before finally speaking again.

"You're fucked." Charles throws another pillow, now out of them on his couch, and Max catches it and launches it back, and Charles can't block it in time. It hits against his head and he hisses, gently rubbing at where you'd applied the bandage, and all Charles can think is that you technically already had your first kiss together.

He wasn't like this, with people, with dating. He didn't randomly give out his number, most certainly now that he was a driver. It had to be magic, for you to have won him over so easily, or maybe it was his injured mental state. All Charles knew is that he was, in fact, fucked, and there was nothing he could do but see it through.

"This can't be real!" Pierre says, shaking his head.

"They are too real." Charles snaps back, already pulling his phone out to show off your Instagram. He didn't do that normally, either, stalk social media accounts, but he needed to see if you worked as a professional mermaid or something, or if you were hiding a secret mermaid identity.

"Who, the person or the mermaid?" Max teases, and Charles pauses to stare at a new post, underwater shot of you and your tail and all, and Charles just sort of stares at his phone until Pierre and Max come over to join him.

"Oh." Pierre says, reaching over to zoom in on the photo of you with a tail. "That does look real."

Vindication, Charles thinks, has never looked so good.

Liked by yourbestie, charles_leclerc and others

yourusername we take playing mermaids very seriously in this house

↳ yourbestie the best aunt/mermaid in the world

↳ yourusername anything for my baby 🥰

↳ charles_leclerc how can you tell me you're not a real mermaid? look at the second photo!

↳ yourusername maybe you hit your head harder on that rock than we thought...

↳ charles_leclerc this is a conspiracy against me.

↳ f1_fanatic CHARLES???

↳ mclar_win they really weren't kidding that he was saved by a mermaid

It was just supposed to be dinner.

You weren't crazy, after all. Most of the world thinks you are, considering pictures have ended up everywhere of you and Charles, apparently an F1 driver, with you in a mermaid tail, but you were not crazy. You didn't just randomly accept guy's numbers, especially those you're pretty sure are concussed, but there was just something about Charles that made every little crazy thing seem normal.

Because it wasn't just dinner, it was an incredible, five star experience that turned into drinks the next day.

And it wasn't just drinks, it was laughing and bonding and skipping what felt like a 100 first dates and just going straight into getting to know each other. He'd told you about his race, and you'd watched it, and you told him how happy you were for him, and he didn't understand. He'd placed eighth, injured and all! He didn't seem thrilled with the number, but to you? You'd save his life, and then he'd gotten eighth in a grand prix.

You deserved part of his points, you'd joked, and he told you he'd send every trophy he got your way.

That's how you ended up on a boat that he'd rented, alone off the coast. Your best friend said you'd be crazy to turn him down, but now, you're starting to wonder if you're crazy for seeing this through. It wasn't supposed to be like this, but there was something about Charles that just sort of made you see it through.

"I'm still not convinced," Charles says from where he's sprawled on a beach towel. "I think this is all a disguise."

Even if he was still pretty caught up on the mermaid thing. "What? My legs?" You say, rolling onto your side to squint down at him

"Mermaid magic," Charles answers like it's the most obvious thing in the world, hand coming up to play with your drying hair. You'd spent a better part of the morning in the water, spending Charles's last day in Australia together, and something unspoken was stuck between you. The way you feel isn't just some fling, but you'd only known him for three days. You wouldn't blame him for moving on and forgetting about you, and all this mermaid stuff. "You don't want the world to know mermaids are real, so you're hiding it from me."

You laugh, falling back down onto your towel, and Charles shoots up onto his elbows to offer a soft glare. "Oh, you're serious?"

"It looked so real! This-" He pokes at your leg a few times, before his hand flattens out to smooth against your thigh, and your faces heat up in tandem. "This isn't right," Charles says finally, giving your leg a small squeeze. "Where's the fins? The shells?"

"Do you have a thing for mermaids?" You tease, and Charles rips his hand off your leg, cheeks turning a rather nice shade of pink.

"All I'm saying is you make a very beautiful, believable mermaid, and that your secret is safe with me." A beautiful, believable mermaid. You can't immediately think of anything to say after that, stuck replaying those four words on a loop. He doesn't move to lay back down, just perched at your side, and you reach over to grab his ankle.

You'd have to address it eventually, you think. Until then, however, you'll play along, even if it's starting to grow old. "I should get my shark friends to eat you."

"See! Proof." Charles says before rising to his feet, and he smugly crosses his arms over his chest as he peers down at you. "You're terrible at hiding your secret identity."

"At what point do I get concerned that you think I'm a mermaid?" And, instead of answering you, Charles bends down to pick you up, an arm easily slotting under your back and under your knees to haul you up. You gasp, quick to wrap your arms around him, and pressed this close, you think he really might be a prince.

He's wealthy enough to be, surely, but it was just the way he looked, but more specifically, the way he looked at you. You couldn't find anything particularly poetic to say about his eyes, or his hair, or that damning smile, but when Charles looked at you, it didn't matter whatever else was going on.

You just wanted him to keep looking. "Well, I suppose there's one way to test if you are a mermaid or not."

Then, with little grace, Charles throws you overboard.

You gasp as you hit the water, sputtering as you breach the surface, and Charles squints down at your legs pedalling in the water. You splash water up at him as he laughs, and you wouldn't take back any of the things you'd said about him, but you would add that you were getting annoyed at his antics, and fast. "Charles!" You admonish, "I'm not going to grow a tail!"

"You can forgive a man for trying, no?" You swim back to the boat, trying to get up the ladder. "Oh come on, ma perle. Your secret is safe with me."

"Help me up," You say, and as Charles takes your hand, you get a wonderful, terrible idea.

You let go of the ladder, falling backward and pulling Charles with you, and he screeches as he hits the water, payback for all the ridiculous things you've put up with so far. If it were anyone else, you think, all this mermaid business would have grown old fast, but with Charles's charm, it's hard to hate it, especially when he's wrapping his arms around you again. "You," He says as his hands find your waist, and your arms wrap around his neck, "Are mean."

"Payback." You answer happily, and Charles's eyes dip from yours to drag down to your mouth, and suddenly, the chill of the water is gone and replaced by the heat of being pressed so close to him.

It was barely a week, you try to remind yourself. You'd only gone to dinner, and drinks, and out this afternoon, but something about it felt enticing in a way you'd never felt before. It had never felt like he was a stranger, considering he let you kiss his forehead for your niece, or the way he talked like he'd known you his whole life.

Maybe you were the one losing it, considering all the things that meant this didn't work out in the end. He was a famous driver who lived in Monaco, nowhere near you or Australia, but it's hard to think of excuses not to kiss a man when he's currently leaning in. You meet him halfway, a clumsy thing as you try to stay afloat in the water, but it's right, like you were always meant to be pressed close to Charles like this, like this was your hundredth kiss, and not your first. Charles deepens it, hand coming up to cradle your cheek before he seems to forget that he needs to keep himself afloat and he slips underwater, breaking the moment. "Maybe you're a siren," He says as he re-emerges, shaking out his hair and spraying you with it. "Trying to drown me."

"Maybe I am." You tease in response, and Charles feigns a gasp.

"Proof! Again!" Then, with a grin, his hands find your waist again and he pulls you against him. "You know, you shouldn't be out here, terrorizing Melbourne's beaches."

"Oh really?" Charles nods enthusiastically.

"Mhm," He says, pressing a kiss to your lips. "I happen to know a prince, in Monaco, who could use the company instead."

f1gossip Shapeshifter or Siren? After being saved by a mermaid, Charles Leclerc was spotted getting cozy with a certain someone in the water after his race...without a tail!

↳ fan16 why am I lowkey disappointed they aren't an actual mermaid

↳ brocedes after Ferrari's race this weekend?? man probably is trying to drown himself

↳ forza-ferrawri he already tried it with the water in his seat

↳ totallynotyourbestie can we just appreciate how cute they are??

↳ mclar_win Charles dating an Australian Mermaid? Checks out

Liked by yourbestie, charles_leclerc and others

yourusername he keeps pushing me into the water to see if I'll grow a tail

↳ charles_leclerc it might work, ma perle

↳ yourusername you're lucky you're cute

↳ fan16 my pearl 😭 even her nickname is mermaid themed

↳ yourbestie @/charles_leclerc i hear mermaids like the waters better in monaco...just saying

↳ charles_leclerc tickets are already booked

Liked by yourbestie, yourusername and others

charles_leclerc might not have any pictures of mermaids, but plenty of us

↳ yourusername you're never letting this go, are you?

↳ charles_leclerc no

↳ pierregasly no

↳ yourbestie no 🥰

↳ brocedes the meet cute to end all meet cutes

↳ forza-ferrawri literally a fairytale

a/n: i need to be on a beach. right now. that is where this came from

#➤ rex works #➤ cl16 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc smau #charles leclerc fluff #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 imagines #reader insert #f1 social media au #f1 smau #f1 fluff #formula one fluff #australian gp 2025

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faramirsonofgondor · 3 months ago

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imagine your a firefighter in LA in the 911verse. you hear about some guy getting impaled through the head with rebar and surviving: the guy is a firefighter. you think “woah what a coincidence”. you see on the news a firefighter getting stabbed and a woman getting kidnapped. it’s the same guy as before. you see on the news a fire truck getting blown up, and a firefighter getting crushed by it. at least it’s a new guy this time. it’s the same station as the guy before. that’s a little strange, isn’t it? he makes a miraculous recovery. a year later you hear about a man saving people during a tsunami. it’s the same fucking guy. you see on the news a firefighter getting trapped in a well, and another firefighter clawing at dirt. the firefighter looks familiar. it’s the same. fucking. guy. whatever, there’s plenty of coincidences, right? a year later you see your colleagues getting shot on TV, one face looks a little familiar, but you don’t place it until after the shooter is caught. it’s the fucking guy who was stuck in the well. this is getting a bit ridiculous now, isn’t it? you hear on the news that a firefighter got caught killing people on purpose, and that is was solved by two other firefighters. you beg, you plead, you pray to the TV gods that it’s somebody new, some other station. it’s not. when you hear about a firefighter being struck by lightning at a scene, you have a fleeting moment of hope where you believe it might someone else. you punch a hole through your TV as soon as his face shows up. you don’t replace your TV. you go to a poker game with your boss, hoping to find some solace in this horrible, hopeless world you’ve found yourself in. you see them and nearly the flip the table. you don’t follow the news anymore, you don’t go anywhere besides work, paranoid that they will appear suddenly. you get a call about a bridge collapse. you quit your job as you as you get to the scene. you go on a cruise. you meet another man who says he’s also a firefighter. you ask him what station he works for (it’s only the polite thing to do). you run away and stay in your cabin. the boat fucking capsizes. a helicopter descends from the sky, and you want to feel relief, but all you feel is horrible, all consuming dread. a hand reaches out to pull you up, you grab it, unthinking, and look up to see who’s rescued you. you let go.

#911 abc #911 show #911 #911 fandom #911 fox #911 speculation #911 spoilers #crack #crack posts #crack post #ok but imagine how annoying and horrifying it would be to a be firefighter in the 911verse watching your colleagues go through hell #and they somehow always survive and you don’t know and they’re somehow everywhere you go and look

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whatifitis · 10 days ago

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♡ to build a home - LN 4 ♡

Summary: You're beginning to build a life with Lando. One of the steps you were excited for the most was building a home with him. So when it's time to finally start furnishing the house... let's just say we're glad everyone got to keep their fingers.

WC: 950

CW: fluff, two idiots in love trying to use their shared braincell..., not proofread

-=+=-

It’s finally time! A chapter in your life you were waiting for for so long. Not just building a life with your favorite person, but building a home with them too. You and Lando recently bought a home together and were excited to finally decorate it after having renovated it yourselves.

The two of you (mainly just you) spent ages on pinterest and various furniture websites, trying to put together an aesthetically pleasing home that could also make the environment feel homey and warm, something Lando had lived without for so long, well, at least until you joined his life. From the day you’d met, his life suddenly seemed brighter and warmer, like he’d been living in a plain, grey world prior.

After some conflicts and adjustments to the mood board, you both had settled on some furniture that you both loved. Some things were ordered to the house while the others were picked up in the store by you and Lando. Lando, of course, insisted on helping because 1. It could be some nice bonding time since he’s away a lot and 2. He’s a “Big strong man” who can help you carry everything… In other words, he was afraid another man would come to your rescue and steal you away. But that would never happen.

As you awaited everything you’d ordered, your home still only held a mattress, Lando’s gaming set up and boxes that were filled with various objects. One of those boxes held your collection of books. Your collection grew through the years as you got older, the collection expanding a lot quicker since you and Lan had started dating. Everytime he traveled without you, he would stop by a bookstore and get you a book. Whether it be a special edition of a book or just something he thought you’d like, he always came back with one to add to your collection.

“Baby.” Lando called to you, jumping onto the mattress where you laid.

“Baby.” you reply.

“I was thinking-”

Sitting up fast and gasping, “You can do that?”

Lando’s jaw dropped, “Rude?! You know what? Nevermind.” begins to stand up to walk away, hiding a smile.

“No! Come on, baby. I was joking. Tell me what you were thinking.” you say, pulling his arm so that he falls over top of you on the bed.

“Fine. Only cause I love you so much.” the man says, receiving several kisses from you that scatter his face.

“I love you too. Now, tell me.”

“Do you wanna go to ikea? I know we ordered most of the furniture or we’re going to some stores in person but we need to get some bookshelves for your books. We can get to building them today and putting away the books.” he says, moving to stand, “That way we can clear a few boxes and we’ll have more room for activities.” he says as he pranced around the room, twirling in the air as if he was a dancer.

You laugh at the show before you, being eternally grateful for his existence and the chaos he brings with him, “That sounds amazing, Lan. We can go now. That way we’re not up late trying to put together the bookshelves.”

“How hard can putting together bookshelves be?”

-=+=-

Lando and you took the opportunity to enjoy the day to the fullest. The sun was out so you guys drove with the windows down, blasting some Taylor Swift and singing your hearts out to each other.

Although the drive was fun, the same can’t be said for the adventure in Ikea… The two of you got lost for 5 hours inside of the Ikea. And don’t ask how, cause not even God knows how the two of you got lost, though it might have to do with the fact that you guys share a brain cell…

Eventually, with the help of an Ikea employee, the two of you made it out to the other side, half tempted to kiss the ground once you saw the sun again.

-=+=-

Finally, after a stop at Mcdonalds for some dinner, the two of you were safe and sound at home, cutting open the boxes that contained the pieces of wood to build the bookshelves. As Lando was unboxing the pieces, he began throwing things about, not paying any mind to what was going where.

“Lan, calm down. We’re gonna lose the instructions if you keep doing that.”

“Pish posh. Who needs instructions for bookshelves? It’s easy. I built that desk myself with no instructions.” he says, pointing to the desk that holds his gaming set up… the most basic table to have ever existed.

You put your hands on your hips as you exhale loudly, “Lan, that table has 5 pieces total…”

“And? I still did it. Ya know why? Cause I’m super smart and super strong. I don’t need the instructions… Now… where do we start…?” he says as he rests his hands on his hips, squinting as the mess of screws and panels of wood he scattered on the floor.

-=+=-

Building a bookshelf was NOT as easy and Lando claimed it would be. Not only were the instructions missing, but Lando kept insisting he didn’t need them. You tried to help him but it felt as if the pieces kept moving on their own. You felt like the boys in the Maze Runner, trying to figure out the pattern of the maze changes every night.

It’s been two hours since anyones spoken… so it startles you when he breaks the silence, “How… is the bookshelf… inside out…?”

“It’s 9pm… and we still haven’t finished the first bookshelf… we have 6 more to build…”

“FUCK”

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honeekyuu · 2 months ago

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casual. [miya atsumu x f!reader] chapter one.

>> being best friends with a frat boy can be a real pain in the ass sometimes

there's no one who knows you quite like miya atsumu <<

series status: [ongoing]

masterlist. || next.

a/n: somebody lmk if atsuyn know they have feelings for each other bc i havent figured it out yet

[feel free to buy me a cup of coffee!]

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

Miya Atsumu has attachment issues.

Even at five years old, you can see it – the difference between him and the boy who shares his face.

Osamu is quiet, with a gentle expression and disinterested eyes. Whenever he spots you on the other side of the fence, playing by yourself in your backyard, he waves and says your name in way that flies away with the wind. Sometimes he just peers over at you until you notice him, asks what you’re playing when you finally do. But he tends to leave you be, more interested in escaping the whirlwind that is his brother.

Atsumu is a different story – the same face, but a voice that makes your ears hurt and your heart pound. He makes you mad, makes you want to yell at him. But when you do raise your voice, you think he might like you more because of it. He only ever calls into his house, asking his mother if he can come play in your yard. Laughing when you yell that he can’t. Appearing at your side, taking your toys and forcing you into a game you didn’t come up with.

“Go away,” you say, every day without fail. “You’re annoying!”

His response is always the same, loud and grating and marked by Osamu just behind him, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but ya like me!” Smile so wide that his eyes disappear, gap in the space where he’s just lost a tooth.

You don’t tell him that he’s wrong.

–

He follows you around in school. You’re smaller than him at that age, and he makes it known that he’s aware of it.

“Gimme, I’ll do it,” he says, taking your books from your arms and carrying them to your cubbyhole.

“Watch where yer goin’!” he yells when older kids bump into you in the hall, caring less than you about manners and politeness and getting himself into trouble with them more often than not.

“Can ya see alright, shortie?” he asks when you crane your neck to see the board, pointing to his own seat as if offering it to you. Grinning playfully when you just roll your eyes and squint harder at the teacher’s handwriting.

“Samu and I are thinkin’ of tryin’ out fer the volleyball team,” he tells you one day, shoveling food into his mouth and only smiling when you look him over in disgust. “You gonna be okay on your own?”

You huff at him, eating much more carefully. “I’m not a kid, Tsumu – I don’t need you to keep an eye on me all the time.” You gesture at the cafeteria around you. You’re the only one sitting with him at lunch – you’re the only one who ever sits with him at lunch. Osamu sits somewhere else, with Aran, and occasionally drifts over to talk to you. “You sure you don’t need someone to keep an eye on you? You’d be all alone without me.”

He just shrugs and shoves more food in his mouth. You’re not quite sure where he puts it all. “Ain’t you enough?”

“What about Samu?”

“Samu’s a given.”

“What about the volleyball team?”

“What about ‘em?”

“You have to at least try to get along with them, Tsumu.”

“Sure, I guess,” he starts, lifting the lip of his rice bowl to his mouth and scooping the last few grains in. His voice echoes against the metal while he talks. “But what’do I need them for? I got you.”

You warm, wondering if he knows how that sounds to anyone passing by. A quick glance tells you that no one’s even close enough to hear.

You’re on an island alone with Miya Atsumu. Sometimes you wish you had a way off, a lifeboat or a rescue ship to come get you.

He meets your eyes when he’s done eating, his expression genuine – always a little too intense, but genuine all the same. “I heard the team needs a manager.” When you only lift your brows in response, he shrugs. “You wouldn’t have’ta walk home alone, at least.”

Most days, you don’t mind the island so much.

–

Your first crush hits you like a truck in junior high. A boy with a sweet face but a wicked sense of humor – you’re drawn to the way his eyes twinkle, the way he’s a little too playful. He jokes a little too much, but his smile when he’s scolded is too pretty for you to care. And you have the wonderful privilege of being his seatmate, the closest you’ll ever get to him.

There’s a point in time when you think you might actually have a chance with him. He finds you funny, and he always asks how your weekend was. You fantasize that maybe there’s a world where he likes your company.

The issue, however, is that he’s popular. He’s popular and he knows it.

And you’ve grown into a girl who acts like a boy because you were raised with twin boys who act like animals.

You’re not the kind of girl he’d look twice at, not when the other girls in your class smell like flowers and giggle to each other quietly. You think you smell fine, but there’s certainly no giggling happening in your life.

No, you tend to be surrounded more by screaming and fighting and swearing, courtesy of Miya Atsumu.

It makes the twins popular, too – they have that mischievous energy, the kind that makes girls fall for them more whenever they fight in the hall.

Girls want to be near that type of boy, but boys don’t want to be near that type of girl.

“Sorry,” your seatmate says when you corner him behind the school one day and nervously hold out a box of chocolates, hoping for a single chance with him. “You’re really cool, but I’m not that interested…”

He doesn’t make fun of you, you’ll give him that. He’s sympathetic, and seems genuinely sorry to hurt your feelings. Even now, during a rejection, your crush on him grows.

“Besides,” he adds, uncertainly and with a nervous smile. “Aren’t you and Miya a thing?”

It’s the first time you’ve ever felt your brain stop working.

“N-No,” you mumble, shaking your head forcefully after a moment. “Not even a little bit – why? Did he say that?”

You can’t imagine that he ever would; Atsumu may be attached, but he’s never gone too far.

“No, no! Sorry, I must have misunderstood…” He scratches the back of his head. “It’s just that… you two seem really close. You’re always together.”

He leaves you there after a moment of silence, whispering another awkward ‘sorry’ that you never hear. You just crouch in place, box of chocolate on the ground and confusion numbing your limbs. You pull your phone from your jacket hollowly, dialing the most frequently called number and listening to it ring.

“Y/n? Where are you? I didn’t see yer stuff in the locker.”

Atsumu’s voice is the same as always. Unassuming, unapologetic. Attached.

“Have you been telling people that we’re dating?” You whisper it, too afraid that you’ll speak something horrible into reality.

“What’re you talkin’ about?” He laughs, a bark of confused amusement. “Why the hell would I be doin’ that?”

“So… you haven’t, right?”

He makes a noise of derision. “‘Course not, don’t be insane.” There’s a silence between you that you find disquieting. He seems to feel it, too. “Why?”

You consider it a moment longer. He really must not be behind this. “Nothing. No reason.”

“Yer lyin’. ”

“Forget it.”

“Don’t wanna-”

“Well, I do,” you snap.

He pauses for a moment – just a moment, pointed enough for your anger to become embarrassing.

His response is quiet. “Yer shit at hiding things, you know.”

He’s crude when he talks to you, all honesty and no humility.

But Miya Atsumu has always been that way.

–

Atsumu’s attachment to you continues well into high school.

It’s a running joke now, one that comes in shared looks between Osamu and Suna Rintarou, who had asked only a week into first year if the two of you were dating. To this day, you’re convinced that he’d only asked at all because Atsumu had made a very loud point about needing to be your seatmate when the teacher had placed you across the room. Suna had cracked the joked under his breath – ‘it’s giving obsessed boyfriend’ – but everyone heard, and everyone laughed. Only Atsumu had looked confused, and that was because you were fixing him with a glare that could melt metal.

Suna had made an instant friend in the quieter twin and an instant enemy in you. It had been a struggle for the rest of junior high to be rid of that impression, and you couldn’t allow it to continue into high school, not when the boys in your class are finally starting to notice you.

Suna had made up for it with a semester’s worth of vending machine snacks – half of which were eaten by Atsumu, anyway.

“You know,” Osamu says one day in second year, approaching you during a break in Inarizaki’s practice time. You’re folding towels on the floor, having been roped into the Manager position again. You glance up at him warily, knowing better than to think Osamu’s innocent just because he’s quiet. “Suna thinks Aran has a crush on you.”

You blink in surprise, craning your neck to look around Osamu and observe the older boy. He’s on the floor at the edge of the court, wiping his forehead and stretching next to Kita.

Aran’s sweet, and you’ve known him a long time. You’ve always been fond of him – a little shy because he’s older, but fond all the same. In junior high, he would help you with your homework and was always willing to help you study. He would buy you snacks and ruffle your hair when you would get too riled up by Atsumu’s antics. You’d always liked him, always felt lighter when he was around.

But could you see yourself dating him?

His eyes find yours across the court. You watch as his face warms, and he’s sending you a kind smile. You warm, too, imagining a different kind of relationship with Aran.

There’s a yellow-blond head in your line of sight before that thought can go anywhere meaningful.

“Whatcha lookin’ at!”

You could kill him.

“Nothing,” you say, returning to the towels. Atsumu crouches beside you, leaning into your face.

“Yer definitely starin’ at somethin’.” He tracks where you’d been looking before, tracks it all the way to Aran Ojiro. You glance up through your eyelashes – Aran’s looked away, lips pursed in disappointment.

A spike of annoyance flies down your spine, and the towel in your hand suffers the sudden grip of your tightened fist. When you meet Atsumu’s eyes, you see it.

Surprise.

“You like Aran?” he whispers. Osamu uses the oh-so-convenient distraction to take his leave.

“No,” you mutter, glaring at the younger twin as he sidles away. “Wouldn’t matter if I did, anyway.”

Atsumu tilts his head like he has no clue what you’re saying. “Why not?”

“You know exactly why not.” You stand with the stack of towels, walking away from him quickly – angrily, hoping he doesn’t follow you.

He starts to, but a whistle rings across the gym, so he’s forced to walk away.

You fill water bottles in the sink, wondering why your hands are shaking so bad – why you feel just a little disappointed that the conversation’s over.

–

He follows you home that day. Ignores Osamu the entire walk home, poking and prodding at your anger while he looks for answers. You ignore him in turn, purposely only talking to Osamu, who looks like he wants to melt through the asphalt.

When you finally make it home, you speed past their house and through the gate of your own, looking forward to being alone.

Atsumu would never let that happen.

“Y/n,” he calls, chasing after you and stopping the front door just as you’re slamming it shut. He slips through, following you into your house and only pausing momentarily to greet your mother, who’s less than surprised that Miya Atsumu is in her kitchen.

He still manages to get to your bedroom door before you can close it, leaning into the wood and grunting when you throw your bodyweight against it on the other side.

“Let-me-in,” he huffs, pushing with his shoulder. You plant both hands on the door and lean with all your might.

“Go away, Miya!”

“No! I don’t jus’ go away, and you know that!”

“I’m tired of seeing you!”

“No yer not-” You want to be angrier at him than you are, more stubborn than you’re capable of. “I’m yer best friend!”

“No you’re not!” you yell back. Another lie, one meant to catch him just off guard enough that you can get the door shut.

It doesn’t work. How obvious is it if even he can tell?

“Well, yer my best friend, so I’m not goin’!”

You groan and drop your hands, letting the door fly open and watching as he lands flat on his face. “What do you want? Why are you being annoying?”

He mumbles, face buried in your rug. “Tell me why it wouldn’t matter if ya liked Aran.”

“You know why.”

“Nuh-uh. Got no clue.”

“Because-” You sigh, heated as you sit on your bed. “It never matters if boys like me or if I like boys. You always get in the way.”

“How?!” He lifts his head, clearly affronted and completely ignoring the red spot on his face from hitting the ground.

“You’re everywhere!” you yell, throwing your arms out. “Boys don’t wanna go out with a girl who always has a boy at her side!”

His jaw falls. “That don’t make sense! Just ‘cause I’m a boy, it doesn’t mean anything! We’re friends!”

“Tell that to every boy that’s ever rejected me because they ‘don’t wanna get on Miya’s bad side’.” You quote them directly, the same excuse given over and over again since middle school.

“What the hell have I got to do with anythin’?!” He looks utterly baffled and a little bit annoyed, like it’s your fault that he’s not understanding. “You sure it ain’t ‘cause you dress like a teenage boy and sit like a gangster?”

“Please just fuck off, Tsumu.” You flop onto your back and shut your eyes. “I’m tired of guys backing away and asking ‘What about Miya?’ when I confess to them. You got a whole fanclub of girls wanting your attention, and I can’t get a boy within ten feet of me? How’s that fair?”

You hear Atsumu sit up, so you tilt your head and peer down at him. He stares up at you with wide eyes. Quiet, for the first time in his life.

“I didn’t know that.”

You blink. He blinks back.

He really hadn’t known.

You look away, swallowing hard. “Well, now you do.”

There’s silence between you, one that doesn’t feel quite right.

“Is that what happened before? That day ya called me?”

He remembers. He remembers, but he hadn’t been able to put it together.

What an idiot.

“Yeah,” you mumble, shutting your eyes and throwing an arm over your face. “I thought maybe you were saying something around school.”

“I wouldn’t do that t’you,” he says right away. “Why would I do that? We’re not together.”

You laugh to yourself. “And yet, we’re always together.”

“So?”

You glance down at him from under your arm. “You don’t realize how possessive you are… do you?”

His brow furrows, and he stares down at nothing.

“I’m not-”

“If I started dating Aran, how would you feel?”

You watch him very carefully.

You watch as his jaw clenches, as he struggles to maintain a neutral expression, even though he doesn’t realize you’re looking at him.

“You can date who you want,” he whispers. You keep your eyes on him and drive the point home.

“If I spent more time with him? Walked home with him after practice? Ate lunch with him? Saw him on the weekend?”

Atsumu has no idea that he’s pouting right now. “‘s not like I like you er anything. Yer Y/n.”

You smile to yourself and look away, finally, eyes closing again. “You don’t need to like me to be possessive of me.”

You don’t bother asking if he understands. His silence says enough.

“Ya want me to back off?” he eventually asks, voice soft.

Cut the attachment.

A knife-slice separation of you and Miya Atsumu.

The voice in your head – the one that’s always angriest with Miya Atsumu’s intrusive nature – says no. Whispers it, acknowledges that saying yes means hurting him and hurting you.

Wonders what saying no might mean.

“I mean it,” Atsumu says, his voice a little hollow, like it’s trapped in his throat. “If ya wanna date Aran – or anyone, I guess – and we’re too… If I’m too…”

The word no rings in your head, but the little voice changes its tune – this would be the only time you’re given the choice to change your friendship with him. If you say no, you’d have to be okay with him being like this forever, unapologetic and unmoving.

If you say yes, you’d have some breathing room. A little bit of space, a little bit of a chance to become your own person – a chance to be known as you, not as you and Miya Atsumu.

He’s giving you a chance.

You close your eyes again, fiddling with a loose string in your sleeve. Wondering why you’d started this conversation in the first place.

“It’s fine, Tsumu. You don’t need to back off.”

You’re not sure when you’d grown attached to him, too.

–

Nothing happens with Aran – he tells you later that it’s better this way, and there’s an inexplicable relief in the pit of your stomach when he does.

Your attachment to Miya Atsumu grows when you’re too careless to keep an eye on it.

–

“Me and the boys’re thinkin’ about joinin’ Lambda.”

You tug another part through Atsumu’s hair, making sure not to get any bleach on the undercut. “You and the boys, huh? Samu’s not much of a frat guy.”

“Said somethin’ about not trustin’ me and Suna to survive a hazing.”

You just hum, completely understanding Osamu’s point of view. “You do have bad impulse control.”

“Do not!” he complains, tilting his head back to look up at you. All he accomplishes is a smear of bleach on your bare thighs and a smack of your gloved hand against the side of his head.

“Watch it,” you snap, hurrying to wipe the bleach off your skin. You’ve got him sitting on the floor in front of your bed, in the cramped little dorm room that the twins and Suna had helped you move into at the end of the summer. Your thighs sit firmly on either side of him, both to balance the bleach mix on your leg and to keep him from squirming. “I’ll let you walk around with piss yellow hair like you did in high school.”

“No, don’t…” he whines, straightening and letting you work. “You always do it the best. And it’s free.”

You laugh wholeheartedly. “You think this is free? I have your credit card number memorized and a lot of online shopping to do.”

He scoffs, mumbling ‘what the fuck’ to himself before making a noise of confusion. “What’re you shoppin’ for? You got all your shit already.”

“Need new clothes.” He points at your open closet, stuffed full of clothes and shoes. “Do ya?”

“Those clothes aren’t flattering on me.”

“Yeah, because you dress like a fucking twelve-year-old-”

“I’ll leave you like this, I swear to god-”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “But seriously, what’do you need new clothes for?”

You shrug even though he can’t see it. “I wanna change my style a bit… be more girly, maybe?”

He shakes his head slightly. “What for? You’re fine.”

“I mean, if I’m gonna be partying at Lambda a lot, I’m gonna want a roster of Lambda boys, don’t you think?”

Atsumu scoffs so hard that he chokes on his saliva. He turns to look up at you, disbelief scribbled all over his face. There’s bleach dripping down from his hairline. You can’t help but wipe at it carefully.

“The fuck are you talking about? A roster-”

“Am I not allowed to?” You level him with a challenging look, but he just rolls his eyes.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” He turns in place to face you, and then his hands are hooked around the tops of your thighs. “Just surprised… that’s all.”

The intensity of his gaze when he searches your face makes you warm and turn away, clearing your throat.

“I’m trying to rebrand a little, I guess.”

He blinks, chews on his lip a moment. Looks away from you.

You can see that he wants to ask – ‘need me to rebrand, too?’ – but he doesn’t. He doesn’t ask if you need him to change, because he already asked once and you already said no.

You wonder if he’s worried you’ll change your mind.

You wonder if maybe he doesn’t want you to.

Instead, he just nods.

“Probably a good thing – us seeing people.” When you just blink in surprise, he shrugs, more to himself than to you. “If people see us dating around, they’ll stop making assumptions.”

Assumptions that you’re mine.

Your heart does a confusing little flip at the thought. You ignore it, chalk it up to the nerves that come with difficult conversations.

“Turn around,” you mumble weakly. “Your hair’s gonna be different colors if you don’t let me finish.”

The next hour of your life is completely silent, but so unbearably loud.

–

The twins and Suna rush Lambda and instantly become boys that every girl wants.

Despite the shopping spree in your first year, you struggle to mature as quickly as they do – talk of hookups and weekly flings become a regular occurrence, both with them and with the girls in your year. You’re unable to contribute over the years, dating here and there but never managing to take the next step.

Despite everything, that age-old rumor you’d been so desperate to be rid of – the one that links you to Atsumu – sticks to you like the summer heat of that moment in your dorm room.

But that’s not what gets under your skin. It’s not that people associate you two in a way that makes it difficult for you to date. It’s that Atsumu is not held to the same assumption. He’s not held to the same curse, unfair and unjust.

No… Miya Atsumu seems to have no problem finding girls to warm his bed, even if those girls still fix you with looks of jealousy. You wonder what the difference is – why no guy is willing to toe the line of Atsumu’s temper, while the line of yours is crossed with every pointed giggle and weighted shut of his bedroom door.

The only girl who seems to understand your near-constant state of confusion is Tanaka Saeko.

“They just want to fuck him because he and his brother are hot,” she’d said to you one day in first year, after finding a group of girls in the dorm lounge whispering about Atsumu. She’d come out of nowhere, startling you while you were seething at the microwave. She’d leaned against the fridge, staring sympathetically at you with her arms crossed. “But to be so real with you, their friend is hotter. The one that looks like a fish.”

Your irritation had been broken by that, a snort bursting out of you unexpectedly. “Suna? He doesn’t look like a fish-”

“Then how’d you know I meant him?” She’d raised her eyebrows at you at that, a grin stretching across her face. “But anyway, it doesn’t matter. None of them are as hot as you – trust me.”

You’d found yourself instantly fond of her. “Yeah? Then why doesn’t it feel that way?”

“Because guys are douchebags and really only care about other guys.” She’d hummed to herself, thinking for a moment. “Maybe they’re all secretly gay… That’s how I get about other girls…”

Your laugh had scared the group of girls in the corner, all of their phones open to Atsumu’s Instagram page. Their glares told you that they could recognize you from the number of posts you occupy on their screens, but the mysterious blonde next to you just pointed at your chest and nodded at them.

“Great tits, amirite?”

You hadn’t laughed like that in a long, long time.

Tanaka Saeko had brought you out of your shell, pulled you out of the orbit that is Miya Atsumu. She’d set you up with friends she thought were good enough, cancelled your Tinder dates when she wholeheartedly disapproved of them. She’d cleansed your closet of anything she couldn’t style into what she’d called ‘frat girl chic’, and had only done so after realizing just how often you find yourself at the Lambda house.

She’d started finding herself there, too – joining you in the group of exclusive few that were allowed upstairs, flirting harmlessly with Suna, dunking Atsumu’s head in a bowl of jungle juice when he was voted President.

Having her around almost made it possible to forget about everything else over the next three years.

Almost.

–

The breakups always come in text messages. They’re never brave enough to do it in person, not when there’s a chance he’ll be with you.

It happens again now, in the late afternoon of a typical Monday, just as you’re lifting a coffee cup to your lips and peering out the window to people-watch. The buzz from the table draws your attention. You glance down, and the eye roll that comes when you see the preview is involuntary.

“Of course,” you mutter, letting the phone drop. It’s a shame, really. You’d actually liked this one. He’d been cute, and he’d always treated you so sweetly.

Suna looks up from his laptop, gaze curious as he tries to read the text upside down. “Boyfriend?”

“Ex, now.” You swipe the notification away and try to get back to your homework, but the stupid discussion board doesn’t hold your attention long enough to stop the annoyance from creeping in.

“What’d he do?”

“Nothing.” It’s true. The sweet junior with the puppy-dog eyes hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d practically worshipped the ground you walk on. He’d been sweet and gentle, so much so that he hadn’t wanted to step on anyone’s toes.

Suna leans over and takes your phone, typing in your password and reading the message in full.

hey, i really like you… but i don’t think this is gonna work. i get the feeling there are some things we both need to figure out first.

The tattooed man scoffs, a hand going to his mouth to cover the laugh that’s slipping through. “Some things you need to figure out, huh?”

“That’s what they all say,” you grumble, typing away at the prompt your TA had posted last week. “Maybe they need to figure out how to assert themselves in a relationship.”

“You gotta admit,” he breathes, locking your phone and setting it down between you. The lockscreen lights up, a photo of you from high school. There’s someone else in the photo with you.

He gives you a pointed look, brows raised. “It doesn’t look great from an outside perspective.”

You turn the phone over so it’s face-down. “I’m not in the habit of feeding fragile male insecurity.”

“Maybe not,” he shrugs. “But no guy – even the right guy – is gonna love that your lockscreen and all of the photos in your apartment have Miya in them.”

“I’m not looking for the right guy,” you bite out, rolling your eyes. “I’m looking for a guy that’ll stick around long enough to hook up with.”

Your friend laughs, surprised. “Oh, wow. Very direct.” When you don’t answer, he blinks. “You’re serious?”

“Unfortunately,” you sigh.

“Are you a virgin or just ovulating?”

“You wanna say it for the whole cafe to hear?”

He purses his lips, looking around. “I dunno, the barista might be down. I’m increasing your chances here.” He barely flinches when your sneaker makes contact with his shin.

“I’m a twenty-two-year-old virgin, Rin.” You shut your laptop with more force than necessary. “I graduate in three months. I’m not looking for a husband – I’m looking to get laid.”

He follows suit, his laptop closing gently. He leans back in his chair, sighing and examining you with the eye of someone who’s known you a very long time. “You always seemed decently invested in the guys you date.”

“Maybe the first few,” you admit, shrugging. “But they all had some weird hangup whenever it was time to take the next step. They skirt around the issue, but I swear they all think Miya has the final say in my sex life.” The bell above the door rings, and your eyes fly to the couple that enters, the girl giggling and clinging to the man’s arm. Your eyes roll against your will, and you gesture vaguely at them. “Clearly, that’s not the case for him.”

Suna turns to the door, watching as Atsumu orders coffee with his girl of the week. “Oh. I see what you mean.” He breathes a laugh of disbelief and cuts a glance at you. “I didn’t realize things were still bad-”

“Oh!” The voice comes from the bar, and then there’s a blond standing over your table. “I didn’t know you two’d be here.”

Suna opens his laptop, but you just smile politely up at the girl on Atsumu’s arm. She’s in your major, you think. No harm in being nice.

She doesn’t smile back.

Bitch.

“Just getting some work done,” you mumble, starting to pack up. “But I’m done, so I’m gonna head home.”

“Want me to walk you?”

You groan internally, already feeling the heat of the girl’s glare.

“No, thanks. Suna’s gonna walk me.”

The man in question blinks up at you, green eyes confused. “I am?”

“Oh, are they dating?” It comes from the girl who’s got her fresh manicure on Atsumu’s bicep, her whisper directed to his ear but her voice purposely audible. He snorts in response, pointing between you and Suna.

“These two? No way in hell.”

There’s something about it that irks you, the way he dismisses the idea of you dating. You know rationally that it’s truly absurd to think about you and Rintarou together – especially because Atsumu thinks you’re still dating that junior – but that flash of annoyance, often appearing when he does, strikes you.

“We could be, you never know,” you say, smiling pettily. And then you turn to Suna, tossing your bag over your shoulder. “Wanna hook up, Rinnie?”

“Leave me out of it, please,” he says right away, attention already back on his screen. Atsumu laughs good-naturedly, and you can’t help but be fond of it. Still, you play the game.

“How ‘bout a date? Me, you, some Netflix? Maybe some chill?”

Suna’s sharp eyes are playful and scolding at the same time – telling you to let it go, because he knows what you’re doing. “You couldn’t handle my chill, princess.”

You roll your eyes and stand, getting in one more dig that makes his smile peek out. “Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind, player.”

The moment – joking, innocent – is broken when you glance up at Atsumu.

His expression is unplaceable, eyebrows furrowed and eyes tracking your smile like its source means something to him.

You lift your eyebrows in surprise – you’ve never seen that look before – but grin innocently at him and his companion. “If you’ll excuse me – I gotta get ready for my hot date tonight.”

“Got you on speed dial, baby,” Suna mumbles. Atsumu’s nostrils flare in response, and you say nothing to calm him down, only whispering ‘nice to meet you’ to the girl you’ll never see again.

–

“Damn!” Saeko yells, kicking at some gravel on the sidewalk. “It’s always the sweet ones with the chocolatey eyes.”

You laugh, wrapping your leather jacket tighter around yourself. “It’s fine.” Your breath comes out in little puffs. “He was a good guy – I guess he just couldn’t cut it.”

“They never can.” It comes from Osamu, who’s sitting at the top of the Lambda house stairs, snuggled tight in his coat. “You come with a lot of baggage.”

You scoff and turn away from him, waiting until he finishes taking the cover charge from a group of freshman guys that walk up. One of them looks you over, eyes lingering on your thighs and chest appreciatively. You shift uncomfortably – the freshmen this year are so bold.

“Oi-” Osamu says, snapping rudely at him and then holding his hand out expectantly. “Eyes off, money out.”

The guy blinks at him, confused, and then points at his friend at the front. “He just paid it.”

“You get to pay extra,” Osamu says, smiling sweetly. “For not respecting women.” He reaches behind him and pulls out a plastic jug labeled RESPECT WOMEN JAR.

You and Saeko both laugh, and you shake your head. “Cut it out, Samu, it’s fine.”

Osamu just shakes the jug at the poor freshman. “Ten in the jar, kid.”

The boys all groan, and the target of Osamu’s sharp edge – the embarrassed one that’s pink around the ears – scowls. “Who’s your President? Phi Delt doesn’t do shit like this.”

Osamu laughs in his face, shaking the jar. The coins inside rattle louder than before. “I look like fuckin’ Google to you?”

Only when the ten dollar bill flutters into the jug does Osamu answer him.

“You can take your grievances to my brother.”

The boys are quiet as they trudge inside, finally realizing who they’re dealing with.

You give Osamu a knowing look when they’re gone. “Respect Women Jar?”

He smiles innocently. “Bettering fraternity culture or something.” He points the jar at you before setting it down. “Anyway, what I said stands. You got too much baggage.”

You roll your eyes. “Go ahead.”

“You’ve been walkin’ around with Tsumu glued to your back your whole life. No one’s gonna stick around for that shit, sorry.”

“Tsumu’s off with little-miss-sorority-girl-of-the-night,” you argue, gesturing in irritation at the door behind him. “And it’s not like I’m looking for Prince fuckin’ Charming—“

“She kinda sounds like a little gangster when she gets like this, dont’cha think?” Osamu says, completely ignoring you.

Saeko chortles. “She sounds like your brother-“

“Alright, fuck you guys,” you snap, talking over Osamu’s wholehearted laughter. Stomping up the stairs, you smack his hand away when he reaches for you in apology. “I’m going to find someone to fuck.”

“Well, ain’t you demure,” Osamu jokes.

You let the door hit him in the back on your way in.

—

It’s not working.

It never works, anyway, but for some reason, it stings particularly hard tonight.

Even when you shed your leather jacket, revealing a tiny little halter top and far too much skin, no one will stay more than five minutes in your vicinity.

Why? you wonder, watching yet another guy make yet another excuse.

‘Gotta find the bathroom, I’ll be back-‘

‘I think my friend is calling-‘

‘Aren’t you Miya’s girl?’

There’s a part of you that’s starting to think Atsumu’s doing it on purpose. It’s irrational, you know — he wouldn’t. He hasn’t before, and he never would.

He wouldn’t do that to you.

But every rejection comes with another shot thrown back carelessly, and you’re starting to feel paranoid. You’re going insane.

If it’s not him — if you can’t blame him — then it’s you.

You’re unwantable, then.

Is that what it is? Maybe it’s you-

“You’re spiraling,” a voice says behind you, close to your ear. A comforting hand on your waist, the other reaching to take the shot glass from you. “Don’t be the drunkest girl at the party. It’s a bad look.”

Suna.

You turn, glaring up at him hazily. He’s not exactly sober himself, but he does look better off than you. “Is Tsumu goin’ around tellin’ people we’re together?”

When he levels you with a knowing stare, you retrieve the shot from his hand and knock it back.

“So,” you say, wincing after the swallow. “If it’s not him, then it’s me.”

“You know it’s not that,” your friend whispers, tattooed fingers plucking the empty glass from your grip and depositing it on the bar. “It’s not him or you.”

“Why won’t anyone go home with me?” you whine carelessly. “What’do I gotta do? I’m already throwing myself at any guy that’ll give me the time of day.”

You can hear it – how desperate you sound. How pathetic you feel.

Why does this matter so much? Why do you care so much about whether or not you’re wanted for your body?

You have so much more than this to offer the world.

You’re smart, you’re sensible. You do well in school and already have a job lined up for after graduation. You have good friends – really good friends. You don’t have terrible taste in men – your exes always respected you and supported you. You have a good life and don’t cause trouble. Don’t find trouble.

Why does this feel so important?

Why does it feel like you’re getting left behind?

“Stop it,” Suna says quietly, somehow audible over the deep bass that shakes the room and the screaming and yelling of all the partygoers in his house. “It’s not gonna happen tonight. You’re too drunk.”

“I can do whatever I want, with whoever I want,” you bite. It loses its edge when your words slur together.

He leans down, looking you in the eye. “You want your first time to be some drunken, messy, fucked up five minutes that you won’t remember in the morning?”

“I don’t care!” Your eyes are starting to burn. “I just want it to be over – I’m tired of having this over my head!”

“You’re the one putting it over your head,” he reasons. “Just let it happen when it happens.”

You sniff, scrubbing at your face sloppily. “I’m gonna die a virgin at this rate-”

“What’s going on?” Another voice in your ear, much louder and much more familiar.

You glare up at its source.

Atsumu’s face is pink with intoxication, but his eyes are clear and concerned as he stares down at you. “You cryin’?”

“No,” you say, the edge in your voice sharp. “But I am going home.”

“What happened?” Atsumu’s got a hand on your elbow, tugging you close to him.

You snatch your arm away. “Don’t you have some sorority girl to take to bed?”

He blinks, taken aback. Suna just sighs, squeezing your shoulder.

“You know he’s not doing this.”

You smack him away, too. “Doesn’t matter,” you slur, swaying slightly. “‘m goin’ home.”

“What’s happening-” Atsumu says, looking between you and Suna, but the other man just shakes his head and stops you from pushing past him.

“You can’t,” he says. “He’s just gonna follow me around and pout all night if you leave like this.”

Atsumu’s already pouting, looking more and more upset the more you try to walk away from him.

You can’t leave like this.

You can’t leave him feeling this way, no matter how you might be feeling yourself.

“Ugh,” you groan, pushing past them both in the direction of the stairs to the second floor. Suna’s close behind, and you can hear Atsumu stumbling through the crowd, trying to keep up.

The freshman brother guarding the staircase rises when he sees you, letting you pass without even a hint of resistance. You just stomp past him, thanking him grumpily, and shoulder your way into Atsumu’s bedroom.

You pace the floor while you wait, pressing your hands to your eyes and trying to clear your head of the alcohol. Suna flops down onto the bed with a groan, yawning loudly.

“Go easy on him,” he says lazily. “He doesn’t know.”

“Whatever,” you mumble, wiping at your face. Your eyes are burning again, and you can feel the knot in your throat.

Atsumu crashes into the room a second later, shutting the door and locking it.

“What’s happening?” he asks, looking between you. “Why d’you look so damn mad? What’d I do?”

You point a finger at him, watching it shake. “I’m going to ask you this exactly once–”

“He’s not doin’ it, Y/n,” Suna interrupts. “You know he’s not.”

You ignore him. “Are you telling people I’m off limits?”

Atsumu blinks, processing. “No…?”

You grit your teeth. “Miya, I swear to god–”

“I’m not!” he argues, throwing his hands up defensively. “I haven’t said shit! Why?!”

You sigh, dropping your hand. You know – you know that it was never him – but hearing him say it is both a relief and a frustration.

“Nothing,” you say, your temper waning. You feel tired. Tired and sad and unsure what to do. “It’s nothing.”

Atsumu steps toward you. “It’s not nothin’.”

There’s a silence – that cursed, heavy silence that sits between you, time and time again.

Suna breaks it.

“She’s upset that she’s still a virgin,” he says easily, as though listing off the weather forecast. “And it’s definitely your fault, even though you haven’t done anything.”

You can only turn to stare down at him, mind emptying of everything all at once.

“What-” you whisper, just blinking lamely at him. “-the fuck, Rin.”

He just yawns again, lazy as ever. “Just clearin’ the air.”

Atsumu stares down at you, eyes wide. “You’re a virgin?”

You want to crawl into a hole and die.

“‘Kay. Now I’m leaving,” you say, turning on your heel toward the door. Atsumu grabs you again, harder this time in case you try to escape.

“What’s the problem with that?” he asks, shaking his head. “So what? Who cares?”

“You cared a second ago,” you point out.

He flushes. “I was surprised, that’s all. I didn’t think…” When you raise your brows, he clears his throat. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

“It matters to me,” you say, your voice coming out in a whine. You can already feel yourself pouting just a bit, that petulant side of you emerging – the way it always does with him. “It matters to me that no one else is. That no matter how hard I try, no one wants me enough to go through with it.”

He frowns, growing upset as he realizes how you’ve been seeing yourself this whole time. “But– it’ll happen eventually…” He turns to Suna, thinking. “And why is this my fault?”

Suna stares up at Atsumu, deadpan. “Isn’t it always your fault?”

You watch in real time as Atsumu puts the pieces together.

He really had nothing to do with this.

He looks too upset to have had anything to do with this.

Your arm slips from his hand while he processes. He looks down at you, swallowing. “Still? This whole time?”

You just shrug, feeling a strange sense of shame seep into your skin. “I tried dating around,” you mumble, hugging yourself. “Guess some assumptions don’t go away.”

Whatever pain you feel about it is reflected in Atsumu’s expression. “That’s not fair. We’ve never been more to each other than this.”

“I know,” you whisper. “But it doesn’t seem to matter what we are or aren’t.”

He looks torn – he recognizes that he hasn’t been held to the same standard. That this has only ever impacted you.

“Is there anything I can do?” he whispers, almost begging for you to let him fix this.

You just laugh, shaking your head. Wishing you’d never started this conversation, because you hate seeing him like this.

“What can you do to help, Tsumu?” You try to ease the way he’s feeling. “You gonna sleep with me yourself?” you joke, laughing. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

The silence that comes doesn’t feel like all the silences before this.

You stare up at him, wondering why he’s dissociating, looking right through you. Suna doesn’t look much different, as though he’s realized whatever it is that you’re still missing.

“I mean,” Atsumu starts, swallowing hard. Still not looking at you. “I could…?”

You don’t process what he’s saying. “What?”

He flicks his gaze to Suna, who looks like he’s starting to agree. “I could… sleep… with you…?”

You just blink. It finally clicks.

“Fuck you,” is all you say.

Atsumu scrambles to stop you from walking out. “I’m serious!”

“Yeah, me too,” you say, leaning up into his face. “I’m not some fucking charity case. Fuck you.”

“Y/n, please,” he says, holding your arms tight. “It makes sense-”

“It makes no fucking sense at all!” you yell, tearing out of his grip. “I’m trying to get away from this whole impression that we’re together! And I want someone to want to sleep with me – I don’t need a pity fuck!”

Atsumu approaches, hands out to try to calm you. “You want to get laid. I’m the thing keeping you from that, right? Friends sleep together all the time–”

“Yeah, and that never works,” you argue, seething.

He just points at Suna. “It works for him and Saeko!”

Suna’s mouth drops open. “Dude, what the fuck?”

You feel like you don’t have it in you to process more news tonight. “You-” You point stupidly at Suna. “-and Saeko are fuck buddies?”

Suna smiles sheepishly up at you. “I prefer the term ‘friends-with-benefits’...” And then he glares at Atsumu. “Thanks for outing us, you stupid fuck.”

You throw your hands up. “You outed me, you stupid fuck!”

He just smiles. “And now we’re seeing progress!”

“What progress?” you laugh, pointing at Atsumu. “All he did was come up with a stupid idea!”

Suna nods, looking sympathetically at Atsumu. “It is a stupid idea.”

Atsumu scoffs, affronted, and points back at you. “I’m offering her a solution!”

Suna nods, looking sympathetically at you. “It is a solution.”

Both of you glare down at him. “Fuck off,” you say.

“Please fuck off,” Atsumu repeats.

Suna just shrugs, standing and stretching like a cat. “Well, now that I’ve been outed, I’m off to find Saeko.”

Things spoken and unspoken sit between you and Atsumu after Suna is gone.

You try to leave before Atsumu can speak anything else into existence.

His fingers wrap around your bicep with ease. “Y/n, please.”

You stare up at him, incredulous. “Tsumu, this is a terrible idea. You can’t be serious.”

“There’s nothing else I can do,” he pleads. “I can’t say anythin’ to anyone, because that makes it worse. And not doin’ anythin’ is how we ended up here – you’re still upset, you’re still left hanging, you’re still frustrated.” He looks nervous – nervous and drunk, his voice dropping to a whisper, like this is something he’d never say sober. “I can do something about that. You know I can.”

You swallow, shoving down all the feelings that conflict with one another, and get in his face. “I’m better than a pity fuck, Atsumu,” you whisper back. “I might be desperate and frustrated and angry, but I’m still me.”

He just looks at you hollowly. “I never offered you a pity fuck.”

Your lips part in a quiet gasp. Your ears fill with the painful thudding of your heart.

“What?”

You can barely hear yourself over the rush of your heartbeat.

Atsumu looks to be in a similar situation. His chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyelashes fluttering.

“Just consider it,” he whispers. “Please.”

His grip on your arm loosens, and you’re gone from the room before you can even realize you’d pulled away from him.

[taglist]

@onlytendoguesses @nectardaddy @hhoneyhan @bookskeepers @choerry-picking @siheez @introvertsince2003 @eggyrocks @atrashsith

@beckixwsm @kakeru-eem @bakingcuriosity @dondoncool @corvid007 @asthmaticcchoeee @softpia @dailyakira @sephglowspink @shortcakebaby @kuroosfavkitten @moucheslove @sarahspam12 @dreamgardener @yoshit-he-dinosaur @miliondollagirl

@wordskeeper @kattiscrying @winniethepooh-lover @lmornly @alexithemiyatic @rntrsuna @whenanafallsinlove @punkhazardlaw @minyoungieee @makki0s @hoe4sunarin @nobodybutnnoorr @dambxtch @kittycasie @kameyyy @1uvicide @general-dumbass @deadfish714 @rory-cakes @crypt-0rchid @hanniesdegree @reyyy000001 @snail-squasher

#haikyuu #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu smut

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kcsplace · 5 months ago

Text

Ice and Mav get together shortly after the events of the first film, teaching together at Top Gun and then going home together. They're insanely, crazily, never-getting-over-this in love with each other.

But always in the back of Mav's mind is Ice's ambition for his career, knows those shoulders should bear stars, and that being tied to Mav, or worse, anyone finding out about them, hell even gossiping, will turn Mav from albatross to anchor and Ice would be lucky to stay in the Navy at all, let alone advance and climb the ladder the way he wants, the way he deserves.

The way, in Mav's opinion, the Navy needs.

So, despite it tearing his heart from his chest, despite it nearly killing him, he breaks up with Ice, leaving behind the man he loves and the secret vows they whispered to each other when nobody else could hear.

Time passes. Deployments come and go. Suicide missions are survived. Orders are generally followed.

And Ice advances, promotion after promotion filling his file, the man becoming a part of the Brass as though born to it, a natural leader, a man those under his command want to follow, want to impress, want to emulate.

Nobody has ever met Kazansky's wife but he's worn a wedding ring for years, decades even, but he always attends events alone. His staff begin to wonder if he's a widower but they sure as shit aren't asking about it. Fair he might be, but the Admiral is also firm about one rule: personal life is private.

Nor do they ask about why he always steps in for a Captain Mitchell, winkling him out of whatever trouble he'd gotten himself into this time, the man a menace as much as a hero.

They chalk it up to the mural that graces the halls of every command that the Admiral has ever led, the Layton Rescue, a feat so heroic it's whispered about in the halls even to this day.

But never is it mentioned to the Admiral.

Not until The Mission.

Not until said Captain ends up on their doorstep, not until he walks into the Admiral's office like he belongs there despite his lack of appointment. Not until ice's aide, scurrying after the man, the myth, the menace, almost crashed into the Captain's back at how he stops short in the doorway.

The aide's blustering attempt to apologize to the Admiral stop short as he hears the Captain speak, the man gaping at the ring that encircles the Admiral's finger and asks "you still wear it? You kept my ring?"

When the aide tries to recount the story later to an agog staff meeting, he can't for the life of him capture the depth and rawness of emotion in the Admiral's voice, the distraught yet fond expression on his face as he spoke.

"I kept everything."

Casey's Top Gun FicletsCasey's IceMav Ficlets

#top gun fic #icemav #top gun silliness #iceman/maverick #maverick/iceman #maverick x iceman #iceman x maverick #ICE IS HEALTHY AND FINE #HE IS FINE #don't look at me like that denial is all i have #icemav fic #caseys icemav fic #caseys tg fic

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apartmentsmoke · 7 months ago

Text

Probationary firefighter Evan Buckley, trying everything he can to get his Captain's attention - but even his best rescues get him nowhere, no clap on the back, not even a damn compliment.

And it's not like Captain Kinard is incapable of them. Buck's seen him shoot the shit with DeLuca, play Chimney in basketball, praise Hen for her quick thinking. He only dislikes Buck.

Buck starts acting out more. He's taking risks in the field he hadn't been previously, and the first time Kinard rounds on him, after a dangerous rope rescue that left Buck bruised and bloody, he's happy.

He keeps it up until Kinard has no choice to pull him into his office. Kinard keeps it professional, says he's concerned, Buck's fellow firefighters are concerned, and if Buck keeps this up he might not have a job soon.

Buck promises to do better and god, he tries. He does everything by the book. And Kinard goes right back to ignoring him. The slaps on the back from DeLuca, Chim and Hen's quiet support - they're not enough. He needs Kinard to notice him. He hooks up while he's working through his feelings, asks her to tell him he's doing good while he's eating her out. It helps. It's still not enough.

Next shift, he pulls his riskiest move yet. It gets him pulled into Kinard's office, and Kinard is standing this time, and he looks pissed. Buck is thrilled.

"Do you get off on this?" Kinard asks him. "Is this your current stop in your adrenaline seeking adventures?

Then, quieter, like he's admitting something to himself - "Maybe I'm not the right Captain for you. Maybe you'd do better at a different house."

Buck panics. He's come to really like working here. "No - I think you're a good Captain, I like working at this house. I want to stay."

Kinard breaks eye contact. "I don't know what you need, Buckley. But you can't keep doing this. You're going to get yourself killed and I -" Kinard looks upward, and Buck is fascinated. He's never seen the Captain like this before. "I don't know if I could watch that. If you want to stay here, we need to work out a strategy."

Pay attention to me, Buck wants to say. I need you to pay attention to me.

He takes a step towards Kinard and notices Kinard's breath hitch.

"Buckley," Kinard starts, and Buck kisses him. In the split-second before Kinard pushes him off, Kinard kisses him back.

"Buckley, I can't." It's a weak protest, and Buck steps back up to him again, holds Kinard like he'd hold a lover. Kisses his jawline.

"Buckley -," Kinard says again, then "Evan," and that's when Buck knows.

Kinard bullies him back against the wall, crashing his lips against Buck's. Kinard gets both of their dicks out, and his hand is huge and hot around them both. Buck buries his head into Kinard's shoulder, breathes out his name into his ear, and he's thrilled when he feels Kinard shudder. He doesn't expect the next words.

"Tommy," Kinard says. "My name is Tommy."

Buck comes straight into the curve of Tommy's hand. Tommy covers Buck's mouth with his free hand. Buck puts his tongue to good use, swirling it around Tommy's fingers, until he feels Tommy's hips stutter and then stop as he spills.

They're breathing heavily against each other for a moment until Tommy shifts away. He tucks himself back in, and Buck does the same. Buck's happy and satisfied; Tommy noticed him and he got a great orgasm out of it.

Tommy's wiping down his hands with one of the rags they use for cleaning engines. He looks up at Buck again. "I'll see you next shift, Buckley," he says. "You're dismissed."

Buck leaves Tommy's office with a spring in his step and plans to suck Tommy's dick the next time he gets the chance.

Three days later, Buck comes in to his next shift to find a new Captain, Bobby Nash, and the news that Tommy has stepped down.

#bucktommy #smoke.txt #captain Tommy / probie Buck you're so dear to me #age gap. power imbalance. Tommy internally torturing himself. this premise has everything

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cloudyluun · 5 months ago

Text

Serendipity & Stumbles

Summary: Based on this request. You never expected to keep bumping into Harry Styles, single dad and bookstore owner, but fate—and your kids—had other plans. From coffee shop disasters to rainy-night rescues, your lives keep tangling together, no matter how much you try to resist. But when two very determined little matchmakers step in, running might not be an option anymore.

Slow-burn, single-parent chaos, meddling kids, and Harry in full-on dad mode? Yeah, you’re in trouble.

A/N: I dragged this slow burn out on purpose. I made you suffer. And honestly? I’d do it again. Thanks for sticking around, even when you wanted to scream at them to just kiss already. This isn't proofread, sorryyy

Word Count: 8,4k

Warnings:

Single parent struggles (exhaustion, self-doubt, balancing work & motherhood)

Mentions of past unhealthy relationships (nothing graphic, but allusions to emotional difficulty & fear of attachment)

Slow-burn romance (painfully slow at times, because I like to make you suffer before the payoff 😌)

Lots of angst, mutual pining, and missed opportunities before they actually get their shit together

Fluff so sweet it might rot your teeth

Smut!!

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around you the moment you stepped inside the bookstore café, the warmth of it a stark contrast to the biting chill outside. You shifted your bag higher on your shoulder, guiding Lily toward an empty table near the window, where golden afternoon light streamed in.

She clutched her book to her chest, her small fingers curling around the edges of the worn cover like it was something precious. “Can I get a hot chocolate, Mummy?” she asked, peering up at you with wide eyes.

You smiled, smoothing down the flyaway curls at her temple. “Of course, love. Let’s get settled first, yeah?”

Balancing motherhood and work had turned you into an expert multitasker—or at least someone who tried very hard to be. You pulled out your laptop as Lily slid into the chair opposite you, already flipping through the pages of her book. The café was busy but cozy, the low hum of conversations blending with the clinking of mugs and the occasional flutter of a turned page.

This bookstore had quickly become your sanctuary—somewhere Lily could sink into stories while you answered emails or proofread articles. It was one of the few places where you could steal a moment of peace.

At least, until peace became a fleeting thing.

One second, Lily was happily stirring her hot chocolate, her lips moving as she silently read. The next, her elbow knocked against the cup, and the dark liquid sloshed over the rim, spilling onto her dress.

She froze.

You saw the panic flicker across her face before the wobble in her lip began.

“Oh, baby, it’s okay,” you soothed, immediately reaching for the napkins. “We’ll clean it up.”

But her breath hitched, and her eyes grew glassy, the embarrassment of it all outweighing any comfort you could offer. You could see it coming—the slow build to a meltdown in the middle of a crowded café.

And then, a voice—warm, steady.

“Need some help?”

You looked up.

The man standing beside your table held out a stack of napkins, his green eyes bright with amusement but softened by something kinder. His dark curls were pushed back from his face, a few strands stubbornly falling forward. There was a quiet confidence in the way he carried himself, dressed in a sweater that hugged his frame just right, sleeves pushed up to reveal inked skin.

Lily sniffled, her tiny hands twisting in the fabric of her stained dress.

Harry Styles.

You knew of him, in the way that people who lived in the same neighborhood knew of each other. The bookstore café was his, after all. You’d seen him before, in passing—restocking shelves, chatting with customers, sometimes with a little boy by his side. But you’d never spoken beyond polite nods and murmured thank-yous.

You hesitated before taking the napkins, flashing a quick, grateful smile. “Thank you. She’s just—”

“Having a rough go of it,” he finished, nodding. “Understandable. Hot chocolate tragedies are serious business.”

Lily blinked up at him, her lip still wobbling but her sniffles slowing.

Harry crouched beside her, a small smile playing at his lips. “I’ve got a spare jumper in the back—belongs to my son. I can grab it for you, if you’d like.”

Lily glanced at you for reassurance. You squeezed her small hand before nodding. “That’s very kind of you.”

“No trouble at all,” he said before disappearing into the back of the shop.

Lily fidgeted in her chair, picking at the hem of her dress. “I didn’t mean to spill,” she murmured.

“I know, sweetheart,” you said softly. “It was just an accident.”

Before you could say more, Harry returned, holding out a navy-blue sweater. It was slightly oversized, well-loved, the sleeves a little worn at the cuffs.

“Here we go,” he said, handing it to Lily. “Theo—my son—outgrows things faster than I can keep up with, so we always have extras.”

Lily took it, her small fingers brushing against the soft fabric. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Harry smiled, standing back up to his full height. His eyes flicked to you, something unreadable in his gaze. “No need to give it back. Consider it a gift from one hot chocolate lover to another.”

A beat of quiet passed between you, something unspoken lingering in the air.

You cleared your throat, breaking the moment. “That’s really thoughtful of you.”

He shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Part of the job.”

Lily tugged the sweater over her dress, the sleeves hanging past her fingers. You expected her to protest, but instead, she let out a small giggle, wiggling her arms. “It’s soft.”

Harry grinned. “Glad you approve.”

You exhaled, finally allowing the tension in your shoulders to ease. “Well, thank you again. We really appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” he said, giving a small nod before turning back toward the counter.

You watched him go, your fingers absently tapping against your coffee cup.

You weren’t sure why, but something about the moment stuck with you longer than it should have.

Maybe it was the ease of it, the way Harry had stepped in without hesitation, like it was second nature for him to help. Maybe it was the way he spoke to Lily—not as if she were just a child, but like her feelings mattered. Or maybe it was the simple fact that for the first time in a long while, someone had made your chaotic day feel just a little bit lighter.

You thought about it again a few days later as you sat on a bench at the park, the cool afternoon air crisp against your skin. Lily was somewhere nearby, her laughter carrying on the breeze, but your eyes were glued to the screen of your laptop, fingers tapping against the keyboard as you proofread an article on deadline.

“Just five more minutes, baby,” you murmured absently, knowing she probably wasn’t even listening.

It was one of those afternoons where time felt both endless and fleeting. The playground was buzzing with energy—kids climbing, running, the occasional squeal of excitement cutting through the air. You weren’t really paying attention, though, too caught up in work, too focused on making sure the words in front of you made sense.

A few benches away, Harry was doing much of the same.

Phone in hand, he paced a few steps back and forth, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the mobile to his ear. His brows were slightly furrowed, lips pressed together in that concentrated way people had when they were trying to remain patient on a frustrating call.

Neither of you noticed at first.

Neither of you saw them.

Lily and Theo.

Two tiny forces of nature, colliding without you even realizing it.

It wasn’t until a burst of laughter pulled your focus that you finally looked up.

Your gaze landed on Lily first, standing in the middle of the grass, her hands on her hips, head tilted back in giggles. Across from her, a little boy—a year or so older, dark curls peeking out from beneath a beanie—was laughing just as hard.

They were playing together.

You blinked, momentarily thrown, scanning the area for whoever the child belonged to.

Harry’s voice was still a low murmur as he spoke into the phone, but his eyes had landed on the same scene. His expression softened instantly, the stress from his call momentarily forgotten.

Theo.

You recognized the sweater immediately—the sweater. The same one Harry had given Lily after the hot chocolate incident. It was still too big on her, the sleeves hanging past her fingers, but that wasn’t stopping her from flapping her arms dramatically while Theo doubled over laughing.

It was oddly fascinating, watching them.

Lily, typically so shy around new kids, was standing toe-to-toe with Theo, chattering animatedly, completely unbothered by the fact that they’d only just met. Theo, for his part, looked just as amused, his eyes bright with mischief, like he’d already decided they were going to be best friends.

Your lips twitched into an involuntary smile.

It was… sweet.

Something in your periphery shifted, and you realized Harry was looking at you now.

There was a moment—an unspoken, quiet kind of moment—where neither of you said anything. Just sat there, watching your kids become friends without effort, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Harry’s phone was still at his ear, but whatever conversation he was having was clearly secondary now. He shook his head slightly, amused, before rubbing a hand along his jaw, his own smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Without thinking, you spoke.

“Well, this is convenient.”

Harry huffed a laugh, finally ending his call before slipping the phone into his pocket. “Guess they’re making the decisions for us now.”

You nodded toward them. “I take it Theo is the mastermind behind this plan?”

He smirked. “Oh, definitely. He’s got a talent for roping people into whatever ridiculous scheme he’s come up with.”

Lily’s laughter rang out again as Theo dramatically flopped onto the grass, pretending to faint over something she’d said.

You shook your head fondly. “I think Lily might have just met her match.”

“Looks that way,” Harry agreed, leaning back against the bench, his posture relaxed but his gaze still lingering on his son.

You let the silence stretch between you, comfortable in a way you didn’t expect.

It was a strange thing, this… whatever this was.

Before the café, Harry had been nothing more than a familiar face. A neighbor, a bookstore owner, someone you exchanged brief smiles with but never really knew.

Now, though—now, he was sitting next to you, watching your kids become fast friends, and somehow it didn’t feel like a coincidence at all.

Just as you were about to say something else, Lily ran up to you, breathless and grinning. “Mummy! Theo says he has a dog!”

Harry chuckled, clearly predicting where this was going.

“Not just a dog,” Theo corrected, running up beside her. “A really big dog.”

Lily’s eyes went wide. “Can I meet him?”

Harry shot you a look, brows raised in amusement. “You alright with that?”

You hesitated, caught between the natural urge to say no to anything spontaneous—and the realization that, maybe, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to say yes.

After all… maybe there were worse things than a little serendipity.

That thought lingered in your mind long after the park playdate, long after Lily had chattered endlessly about Theo’s “really big dog” and how she was convinced they needed one just like him.

It was still there a week later, tugging at the edges of your thoughts as you walked into the parents' meeting at Lily’s school.

You weren’t particularly looking forward to it—these things were always a mix of too much small talk and too many emails you’d later forget to reply to—but you showed up, because that’s what you did. You juggled deadlines and grocery lists and bedtime routines, and you showed up.

Sliding into one of the chairs near the back of the classroom, you pulled out your notebook, half-listening as the teacher welcomed everyone and started discussing upcoming class activities. The words blurred a little, your mind already jumping to your to-do list for the rest of the day—until a familiar voice cut through the hum of conversation beside you.

“Didn’t peg you for the back-row type.”

Your head turned sharply.

Harry.

Seated next to you, clad in a well-fitted jacket over a soft-looking jumper, casually sprawled in his chair like he wasn’t completely throwing off your focus. His green eyes flickered with amusement as he drummed his fingers lightly against the desk.

You blinked, momentarily thrown. “I—what?”

His lips twitched. “Back row. Feels like the kind of seat you pick if you’re planning to sneak out early.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Right, because I’m clearly a rebel parent.”

Harry smirked, but before he could respond, the teacher started explaining the logistics of an upcoming field trip, and the room quieted.

You tried to focus—you really did—but awareness prickled at you, your body attuned to the fact that Harry was right next to you.

It didn’t help that every now and then, you’d catch him glancing your way when the teacher said something mildly ridiculous, his expression just amused enough to make it harder to keep a straight face.

Or that when the topic of chaperones came up, Theo’s name was read out right before Lily’s, the realization settling between you with an unspoken of course they’re in the same class.

And maybe—just maybe—you didn’t miss the way Harry muttered a quiet figures under his breath, a slight shake of his head that made you bite back a smile.

By the time the meeting wrapped up, the teacher dismissing everyone with a reminder to sign up for volunteer slots, you were already gathering your things, ready to slip out—when Harry turned to you.

“Fancy a coffee?”

You froze for half a second.

It was a simple question. Harmless. A casual offer between two parents who, apparently, kept running into each other.

But something about the way he said it—the way his voice dipped just slightly, the way his eyes stayed steady on yours—made it feel less casual.

You hesitated.

And Harry, ever perceptive, caught it immediately. His posture shifted, something careful settling into his expression, like he wasn’t quite sure whether to push or back off.

“I mean,” he added, lightening his tone, “it’s just down the road. No pressure. Could be a good excuse to talk about how we’ve accidentally ended up with kids who seem hell-bent on becoming best friends.”

You swallowed, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter.

It was tempting. So tempting.

And maybe, once upon a time, you wouldn’t have thought twice about saying yes.

But you weren’t that person anymore. You’d learned to be cautious. To tread carefully when it came to things that had the potential to turn into more than just casual conversation.

And Harry—whether he realized it or not—felt like exactly that kind of thing.

So you smiled, polite but firm. “I appreciate the offer, but I should really get back to work.”

Harry didn’t miss a beat. Didn’t let disappointment show, though something unreadable flickered in his gaze before he nodded, easy and unbothered. “Fair enough. Another time, maybe.”

You hummed, noncommittal.

But as you turned to leave, your heart did this stupid, traitorous thing—this little lurch in your chest—because something in you already knew that this wouldn’t be the last time.

And, of course, you were right.

Because one week later, you were standing on the pavement, clutching Lily’s small hand, rain drenching through your coat as you tried—and failed—not to look as exhausted as you felt.

It had been a long day.

A really long day.

Your babysitter had canceled last minute, leaving you with no choice but to bring Lily along to your late-afternoon client meeting. She’d been good—so good—sitting quietly at the café table, coloring in the pages of her book while you discussed article revisions and deadline extensions. But by the time you stepped out into the dimly lit street, the sky had split open, rain coming down in relentless sheets, and you were both soaked before you even had the chance to open your umbrella.

You exhaled, pressing your palm against your forehead as you attempted to flag down a taxi. No luck.

“Mummy,” Lily whined, shivering beside you. “I’m cold.”

Your heart clenched. “I know, baby. I’m trying—”

A honk cut through the downpour.

You turned toward the sound just as a familiar black Range Rover slowed beside you, the driver’s window rolling down.

Harry.

His curls were a little messy, his face dimly lit by the dashboard lights, one hand gripping the steering wheel as he leaned slightly toward the open window. His brows knitted together the second he took you in.

“Are you seriously walking home in this?”

You blinked against the rain. “I don’t exactly have a choice, Harry.”

He scoffed, already reaching for the unlock button. “Get in.”

You hesitated.

Not because you didn’t want to—you were cold and exhausted, and Lily was on the verge of full-body shivers—but because the last thing you needed was to owe someone anything. To let someone in, even if only for a car ride home.

Harry must have noticed the reluctance on your face because his tone softened. “Come on. No agenda. Just two parents helping each other out.”

Before you could argue, the back door swung open.

“Mummy! Theo’s in here!” Lily’s delighted voice rang out, already scrambling into the seat beside him.

You turned sharply—traitor!—but Lily was grinning, the excitement of seeing her new best friend completely overriding any of your hesitation.

You sighed, defeated. “Guess we’re getting in the car.”

Harry smirked. “Guess you are.”

You climbed into the passenger seat, the warmth of the car immediately soothing your frozen limbs. Your coat dripped against the leather as you fastened your seatbelt, and when Harry reached into the back and wordlessly handed you a hoodie—probably Theo’s again—you swallowed past the tightness in your throat before accepting it.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” He shifted the car into drive, glancing in the rearview mirror where the kids were already chatting excitedly. “Where to?”

You gave him your address, and he repeated it under his breath like he was committing it to memory.

The hum of the car filled the space between you for a moment, the rain drumming against the windshield. You were suddenly aware of how quiet it was in the front seat—how the easy banter you’d shared before wasn’t there now, replaced by something heavier.

“Long day?” Harry finally asked, his voice softer than before.

You exhaled. “You could say that.”

“I get it,” he murmured. “Some days just feel impossible.”

You turned to look at him, but his eyes stayed on the road, his fingers flexing against the steering wheel.

It would have been easy to nod and leave it at that.

But something about the way he said it—like he really did get it—made the words slip out before you could stop them.

“My babysitter bailed last minute,” you admitted. “Had to bring Lily to work with me. I know she didn’t mind, but it’s just… a lot, sometimes.”

Harry’s fingers tapped lightly against the wheel. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“It’s just you and Lily, then?”

You hesitated. Not because it was a secret, but because it was one of those questions that carried weight, even if it was asked casually.

“Yeah,” you said finally. “Just us.”

Another pause. Then, quietly—

“Same. Just me and Theo.”

You glanced at him.

There was something different in his voice now, something laced with memory, something personal.

“What happened?” you asked gently.

He inhaled, long and slow. When he spoke, his voice was even, but you could hear the emotion beneath it.

“My wife—Theo’s mum—passed away a few years ago.”

Your chest tightened. “Harry, I—”

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry.” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “It was… unexpected. One day we were planning holidays, the next, I was trying to figure out how to be a single dad.”

Your fingers curled into the sleeves of the hoodie.

You weren’t sure why, but something about hearing him say it—acknowledging it so openly, without dramatics, without self-pity—hit you harder than you expected.

“I left,” you admitted softly.

Harry turned, brow furrowing. “Left?”

You swallowed. “Lily’s dad. I left him.”

Understanding flickered in his gaze, but he didn’t say anything. Just waited.

You let out a slow breath, focusing on the rain streaking against the glass. “It wasn’t… good. I knew if I stayed, it would only get worse. So I left.” A pause. “For her. For Lily.”

Harry didn’t ask for details. Didn’t push.

He just nodded, like that was enough. Like he understood more than he was saying.

The air in the car was heavier now, but not uncomfortable. It wasn’t pity, wasn’t awkward sympathy. It was just two people, two parents, who had both lost something. Who were still finding their way forward.

When the car finally pulled up in front of your building, you turned to him, fingers hovering over the door handle.

“Thank you,” you said, meaning it more than you expected.

Harry met your gaze, something steady and unreadable in his expression. “Anytime.”

And as you climbed out, leading Lily inside, you realized that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the last time, either.

And again, you were right.

Because the universe—or fate, or whatever force kept weaving Harry into your life—wasn’t quite done with you yet.

It started as a normal evening. A school event—one of those midwinter, PTA-sponsored gatherings where the kids were running on pure sugar-fueled excitement, and the parents were running on nothing but caffeine and obligation.

You had barely stepped inside the decorated gymnasium when Lily had spotted Theo, the two of them taking off toward the craft station without so much as a backward glance.

“Yeah, sure, don’t say goodbye,” you muttered, exhaling as you peeled off your coat and shoved your gloves into your bag.

“You get used to it.”

Your stomach dipped at the sound of his voice.

You turned to find Harry standing beside you, shaking snow out of his curls, his jacket dusted with white. He looked unfairly good for someone who had just come in from the cold—cheeks flushed, green eyes bright with amusement as he nodded toward the kids.

“First time they ditch you, it stings,” he continued, smirking. “By the hundredth time, you stop taking it personally.”

You huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes. “Good to know.”

For a while, the event played out exactly as expected—parents milling around making polite small talk, kids crafting messy holiday decorations that would inevitably end up forgotten at the bottom of their backpacks.

You kept an eye on Lily, but she and Theo were perfectly entertained, alternating between cookie decorating and attempting to build a fort out of the chairs in the corner of the room.

And then, just as you were considering sneaking off to the refreshment table for a refill on your coffee, the first announcement crackled through the speaker system.

A snowstorm.

A bad one.

Roads already piling up, traffic at a standstill. Everyone advised to stay put until further notice.

A slow, collective groan moved through the crowd.

You exhaled sharply, rubbing your fingers over your temples.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Beside you, Harry let out a low whistle. “Guess we’re stuck here for a while.”

You turned to him, narrowing your eyes. “You sound entirely too relaxed about this.”

He smirked. “Because I’ve accepted my fate.” He nodded toward Theo and Lily, who were thriving in the chaos, currently attempting to organize some kind of group game. “They, on the other hand, are living their best lives.”

You sighed, watching as Lily excitedly gestured for Theo to follow her to the makeshift play area.

“Traitor,” you muttered under your breath.

Harry chuckled. “Come on,” he said, nodding toward an empty classroom that had been opened up as an extra seating area. “Might as well find somewhere to sit before we’re reduced to standing in the hallway.”

You followed him, grateful for the momentary escape from the crowded gym.

The classroom was small, with a handful of desks pushed against the walls. Harry dropped into one of the chairs, stretching his legs out in front of him, while you settled into the seat beside him, cradling your coffee cup between your palms.

For a moment, there was nothing but the muffled sound of voices from the hallway, the occasional scrape of a chair from another room.

And then—

“So,” Harry mused, glancing sideways at you. “On a scale from mild to intervention-level dependency, how bad is your caffeine addiction?”

You blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

He nodded toward your cup, smirking. “That’s, what, your third coffee tonight?”

You scoffed. “Second, actually. And I’ll have you know that my caffeine intake is perfectly normal.”

He hummed, unconvinced. “Sure.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I bet you have a thing too, don’t you?”

His brows raised. “A thing?”

“Yes. Some habit or vice you’re embarrassingly reliant on.” You smirked. “Let me guess—you’re a late-night snacker.”

Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “Not even close.”

You tapped your chin, pretending to consider. “Okay. Chronic over-user of pet names?”

His lips twitched. “I mean, love, I do have a tendency—”

You groaned. “Oh, that checks out.”

Harry grinned, his dimples deepening. “You got me.”

For a moment, the conversation settled into something easy, the banter light, playful. And you—despite the exhaustion, despite the long night ahead—felt…

Good.

Harry shifted slightly, watching you. “You’re smiling.”

Your brows furrowed. “I am?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “It’s nice.”

And that—that small, simple sentence—made something tighten in your chest.

Because Harry wasn’t flirting. He wasn’t teasing.

He was just… noticing.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt truly seen.

You cleared your throat, looking away, focusing on the rim of your cup. “Don’t get used to it.”

Harry chuckled, but didn’t press.

You sat there for a little while longer, the room quieter than the ones beyond it, but filled with something else.

Something unspoken.

Something that felt an awful lot like anticipation.

That’s what had been simmering under the surface ever since that snowed-in night at the school.

You told yourself it was nothing—that it was just the circumstances, the way you’d both been forced into conversation, the way time had slowed just enough for you to forget that Harry Styles was not supposed to be part of your life in any meaningful way.

But then came Saturday.

And Saturday ruined everything.

It had been Lily’s idea to go to the bookstore café, but you didn’t exactly fight her on it.

You could pretend all you wanted, but the truth was, you liked it there. The smell of coffee, the cozy chairs tucked between shelves, the soft murmur of people flipping through books—it was one of the few places in the city where your brain actually slowed down for a moment.

So, you’d packed up your laptop, bundled Lily in her coat, and headed down the familiar street, telling yourself that Harry might not even be working today. That it wouldn’t mean anything if you ran into him.

And then you walked inside, and he was right there.

Behind the counter, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, laughing at something one of his employees had said before turning at just the right moment—seeing you.

His eyes brightened. “Look who it is.”

Your stomach flipped. Stupid. Completely ridiculous.

“Hi, Harry.” You cleared your throat, pushing past the way his smile made your chest feel tight. “Busy today?”

“Not too bad.” He leaned against the counter. “Here for your fix?”

You scoffed, already setting your bag down on the edge. “I’ll have you know I went an entire day without coffee yesterday.”

Harry placed a hand over his heart, mock-surprised. “I don’t believe you.”

You rolled your eyes, but Lily was less focused on your caffeine consumption and more on the glass case filled with pastries.

Harry caught her staring, smirking. “Hungry, love?”

She nodded enthusiastically.

“Well, lucky for you, I’ve got some fresh croissants that need a home.” He grabbed a plate and slid two onto it before adding, “On the house.”

You immediately shook your head. “Harry, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said simply, then met your gaze. “Stay. Sit down for a bit.”

It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t loaded with anything, wasn’t flirtatious or heavy.

It was just… easy.

So you stayed.

You found a table near the window, sipping your coffee while Lily and Theo—who had conveniently appeared out of nowhere—settled on the floor nearby with a pile of books between them.

And somehow, Harry ended up in the chair across from you.

It wasn’t intentional. At least, you told yourself it wasn’t.

It was just conversation—banter, sarcasm, Lily’s constant interruptions to tell you random facts about the book she was reading.

And then… it wasn’t.

Because at some point, the edges of the conversation softened.

At some point, you started talking about things that weren’t just surface-level.

At some point, he told you about the bookstore—how it had started as a risk, how he wasn’t sure if it would work, but he’d wanted Theo to have a place to grow up around stories.

And at some point, you found yourself telling him about your writing, about the way you’d stumbled into freelancing after leaving your old life behind, about how sometimes, you missed the structure of an office, but mostly, you liked this. The freedom. The control over your own world.

Harry had listened.

Really listened.

And then he’d said something—something about how he admired that, about how he could see how much you’d built for yourself.

And that’s when it happened.

That’s when you realized.

This feels like a date.

The realization hit like a punch to the ribs.

Because it wasn’t a date. It couldn’t be.

You weren’t dating. You weren’t even thinking about dating. That wasn’t part of your life anymore, wasn’t something you could afford to let yourself want.

And yet—

You were sitting across from a man who made you feel like maybe it was.

A man who made it easy. Who made you laugh, who made you forget to keep your guard up, who looked at you in a way that made you feel like more than just a tired mother balancing a thousand things at once.

And that—that—was terrifying.

So, before he could say anything else, before you could let yourself sit in the moment for even a second longer, you panicked.

You shot up from your chair so fast Harry’s brows furrowed.

“I should go,” you blurted, already reaching for your bag.

Harry blinked. “What?”

You forced a smile. “I just—Lily has a lot of homework, and I need to—”

Harry wasn’t stupid.

You could see the confusion in his expression, the way his body tensed just slightly, the way his fingers curled around his mug like he was trying to figure out where the shift had happened.

But he didn’t push.

He just nodded, slow and careful, like he was trying to let you run if you needed to.

Lily pouted as you grabbed her hand, but she didn’t argue.

Harry said goodbye to her, ruffled Theo’s hair, then glanced back at you just once before you pushed open the door and stepped out into the cold.

And as you walked away—your heart pounding, your hands trembling—you told yourself you’d done the right thing.

You told yourself that leaving was better.

That letting him get too close would only make things harder.

You told yourself all of that.

And yet—

It didn’t stop you from feeling like you’d just made a mistake.

In fact, it only made it worse.

The whole way home, Lily kept glancing up at you, brows furrowed in confusion, like she knew something had happened but couldn’t quite figure out what. And the next morning, when she asked if you were going back to the bookstore soon, you’d mumbled something noncommittal, changed the subject, and buried yourself in work.

For days, you convinced yourself you’d done the right thing. That putting space between you and Harry was necessary. That whatever this strange, unexpected thing was between you—it wasn’t real.

But while you were busy trying to ignore it, two small, scheming masterminds were doing the exact opposite.

“I think my dad likes your mum.”

Theo’s voice was quiet, but not that quiet.

Lily, crouched beside him under the slide at the park, frowned. “I know.”

Theo blinked. “You do?”

Lily gave him a look, as if obviously. “He always smiles when she’s around. And he looks at her like my teacher looks at her coffee.”

Theo squinted. “Like he needs her?”

“Exactly.”

Theo leaned back, lips pursed in thought. “Well, that’s a problem.”

Lily nodded gravely. “Because my mum likes your dad, too.”

Theo’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Lily huffed, crossing her arms. “But she’s scared.”

Theo considered this, chewing on his lip. Then, slowly, a smirk stretched across his face.

“Well, that just means we have to fix it.”

Lily narrowed her eyes. “How?”

Theo grinned. “Leave that to me.”

You should have known something was up when Lily had asked—too sweetly—if you wanted to take her to the park that weekend.

You should have been suspicious when she mentioned, offhandedly, that Theo had told her he and Harry were going to be there at the same time.

But you—naive, unsuspecting, and still drowning in your own avoidance—had just gone along with it.

Which was exactly how you ended up here.

Standing at the edge of the field, watching as Theo and Lily cackled like tiny villains, while Harry—completely unaware of their plot—ran around playing soccer with them.

And you?

You were helpless.

Because, despite everything, despite every wall you had thrown up, despite every reason you had to keep your distance—you couldn’t look away.

Harry looked happy.

Really, truly happy.

His dimples were deep, his laughter loud and unrestrained. His curls were a mess from the wind, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes crinkling at the corners as he dodged Theo’s attempt to steal the ball.

And Lily?

She looked just as free.

She wasn’t shy, wasn’t hesitating—she was grinning, giggling so hard that she tripped, falling right into Harry’s arms as he caught her mid-stumble.

And that—that moment—was what did it.

Because when Harry steadied her, ruffling her hair before sending her off again, you felt something click.

Something shift.

And suddenly, the thought you had been pushing away for weeks broke through like a crack in the dam, relentless and impossible to ignore.

This could be something.

Something good. Something real. Something you weren’t sure you were ready for—but something you didn’t want to run from anymore.

Because, maybe…

Maybe it wasn’t just serendipity.

Maybe it was something that was supposed to happen all along.

That thought followed you home. It followed you through dinner, through Lily’s animated retelling of her very official soccer victory, through the quiet moments when she was curled up in bed, her breathing slow and even.

And it followed you long after that, settling in your chest, stubborn and impossible to ignore.

Because you knew what you had to do.

So, the next afternoon, after too much pacing and too much overthinking, you found yourself standing outside the bookstore café, heart hammering as you pushed open the door.

Harry was behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, a pencil tucked behind his ear as he scanned the inventory list in front of him. He looked focused, but the second he glanced up and saw you, something flickered across his face—something cautious.

You swallowed. Right. You did that.

Taking a breath, you stepped forward. “Can we talk?”

He set the clipboard down, wiping his hands on a cloth before nodding toward the back. “Come on.”

You followed him past the bookshelves, through a small hallway that led to a quieter seating area. It was dimly lit, quieter than the front of the shop, and suddenly, this felt very real.

Harry turned to you, arms crossed, waiting.

You exhaled. “I—I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

His brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze. “For running. For… whatever that was.” You sighed, rubbing your hands over your jeans. “I got scared.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted. A quiet understanding settling between you.

“I get it,” he said finally. “But I need to know where your head is at, Y/N.” His voice was even, steady. “Because I don’t do games. I don’t do halfway.”

You swallowed, throat tight.

“I know.”

He stepped closer, eyes never leaving yours. “So, what do you want?”

You hesitated, heart pounding.

But then, you thought about Lily—your Lily. Thought about how effortlessly she had let Theo in, how much brighter she had been since meeting him.

And then, you thought about yourself.

About the way Harry made you laugh. About the way he looked at you—like you weren’t just a mother, just a woman who had learned how to live cautiously, but someone he saw.

And suddenly, the answer wasn’t scary anymore.

“I want to try,” you whispered.

Harry’s shoulders relaxed. His jaw unclenched. And then, slowly, carefully, he stepped forward.

His fingers reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “Yeah?”

You nodded, exhaling shakily. “Yeah.”

His lips quirked, but he didn’t say anything.

He just leaned in.

The kiss was soft.

Lingering.

Like it was meant to happen.

And maybe…

Maybe it was.

Maybe it had always been leading to this. To a quiet evening, to wine and laughter and the slow, inevitable pull of something neither of you could ignore any longer.

You weren’t supposed to end up at Harry’s place that night. It had started with dinner—just a casual thing, an unspoken agreement that whatever was growing between you should have space to exist outside of fleeting moments and bookstore conversations.

The kids had been there, of course. It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t something you had planned.

But it had felt easy.

Effortless, even.

Like the four of you were already slipping into place, like Theo rolling his eyes at Lily’s terrible knock-knock jokes was as natural as Harry stealing a bite of food off your plate, smirking when you swatted at him.

And then, somehow, it had stretched later than expected.

The kids had curled up on the couch, movie playing softly in the background, their laughter slowly fading into soft, steady breaths.

And then—

Then it was just you and Harry.

Alone.

A glass of wine, the fire crackling softly in the background.

Your legs tucked under you as you sat on the couch, warmth settling in your limbs—not just from the wine, but from this. From him.

Harry leaned back, fingers tapping against his glass. “So.”

You raised a brow. “So?”

He smirked. “Are we still pretending this isn’t happening?”

Your breath hitched.

Because this.

This was happening.

The easy way he watched you. The way your body tilted toward him without thinking. The way you felt calm here, in his space, in this moment.

You exhaled, heart hammering as you set your wine down.

“I don’t want to pretend,” you admitted.

Harry studied you for a long moment. Then, slowly, he set his glass aside, shifting closer.

And when he leaned in—when he brushed his lips against yours, just barely, just enough to give you a chance to stop this—you didn’t.

You pressed closer.

And finally, finally, you let yourself fall.

Right into him. Right into the warmth of his hands, the steady press of his mouth, the way he didn’t hesitate when you kissed him back.

It was slow at first, unhurried and exploratory, like you were both learning something new—even though this had been building for months. Even though the tension between you had been simmering, bubbling over in every stolen glance, every playful smirk, every time he looked at you like he knew exactly what you were trying to hide.

And now, you weren’t hiding anymore.

His hands found your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater, dragging you in until you were flush against him. He was so warm, the solid weight of his chest pressing into yours, his scent intoxicating—something woody, something clean, something completely Harry.

You let out a soft gasp when he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue brushing over yours in a slow, teasing stroke.

That sound—it did something to him.

Because suddenly, his grip tightened.

And then, you were moving.

He guided you backward until your lower back hit the edge of the kitchen counter. You barely had time to process the cool surface against your skin before his hands were everywhere—sliding beneath your sweater, mapping the curves of your waist, the dip of your spine, his fingers pressing just firmly enough to make you arch into him.

“Harry—”

He groaned at the way you said his name, his lips never leaving yours as he lifted you onto the counter, spreading your thighs as he stepped between them.

And that was it.

That was the moment everything tipped over the edge.

Because then, Harry was everywhere.

His mouth was hot and insistent against your neck, dragging down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone, nipping at your skin just enough to make you whimper.

“Been thinking about this for so long,” he murmured against your throat, his voice thick, husky, wrecked.

Your breath hitched. “Me too.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were dark, blown-out, his chest rising and falling as he scanned your face. Checking. Waiting.

You exhaled, chest tight, lips swollen from his kisses.

“I want this, Harry.” Your voice was quiet but firm. “I want you.”

Something in him snapped.

And then, he gave you exactly what you asked for.

But not in the way you expected.

Because for all the urgency—the heat, the months of unresolved tension stretching between you—Harry didn’t rush.

He kissed you slowly, deliberately, his hands steady as they traced the outline of your body, as if he were memorizing you. Like he wanted to savor every second.

And when he finally lifted you into his arms, carrying you effortlessly through the dimly lit hallway, you didn’t protest. Didn’t question it.

You just let yourself be his.

The bedroom was dark, moonlight pooling in through the window, the sheets cool against your back when he laid you down.

And for a moment—just a moment—Harry didn’t move.

He just looked at you.

His green eyes flickered over your face, your parted lips, the way your chest rose and fell beneath him. His fingers skimmed up your thigh, teasing, light enough to make you shiver, before he leaned down, his lips hovering just over yours.

"You’re beautiful," he murmured. "You know that, right?"

Your breath caught.

Because it wasn’t a line.

He wasn’t trying to seduce you. He wasn’t saying it just to say it.

He meant it.

And you could feel yourself unraveling beneath him.

"Harry—"

But your words cut off when he kissed you again, deeper this time, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your sweater, tugging it up, peeling it off with aching slowness.

His hands traced over your bare skin, up your ribcage, over the dip of your waist. His touch was reverent, patient—like he wanted to learn every inch of you, every soft sound you made when he touched you just right.

Your hands were just as desperate, fingers threading into his curls, tugging lightly as you pressed up into him.

He groaned, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank off his own shirt, tossing it aside before meeting your gaze again.

You exhaled sharply, taking him in.

The tattoos you had only glimpsed before, now completely on display—the swallows over his chest, the butterfly below his ribs, the intricate designs that inked his arms, his stomach, his strong, solid frame.

And then, he kissed you again.

Slower this time. Deeper.

His mouth trailed lower, over your collarbone, down the valley between your breasts, his fingers working at the button of your jeans, slipping them down, kissing along every inch of newly exposed skin.

When his lips met the inside of your thigh, you gasped—gasped, because he was so close to where you needed him, but still taking his damn time.

"Harry—"

"Shh," he murmured, pressing a kiss higher, his stubble scratching deliciously against your sensitive skin. "Let me take my time with you, love."

And then, he did.

He kissed his way up your thighs, parting them further, his hands gripping your hips as his mouth finally—finally—pressed against you.

You gasped, back arching, fingers tangling into the sheets as he licked into you, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every reaction, every sound that spilled from your lips.

"Fuck," you choked out, hips jerking involuntarily.

He hummed, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you as his tongue flicked exactly where you needed it, his hands holding you open, steadying you, grounding you.

And when he slipped a finger inside you—just one, at first, then another, curling them perfectly— you nearly came undone.

Your body tightened, the pleasure mounting too fast, too intense, and you could feel it—feel yourself teetering on the edge.

"That’s it," Harry murmured against you, his voice thick with lust and admiration. "Let go for me, love."

And you did.

Your orgasm ripped through you, waves of pleasure rolling through every inch of your body as your hips jerked against his mouth, his tongue not relenting—**not even for a second—**as he worked you through it, letting you fall apart completely.

By the time he finally pulled back, his lips were wet, his pupils blown, his expression completely wrecked.

"You taste fucking perfect," he rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning over you again, caging you in beneath him.

You were still shaking, still catching your breath, but you wanted more.

You needed more.

"Harry—"

He kissed you before you could finish, swallowing your words as he kicked off his jeans, rolling his hips against yours, letting you feel how hard he was for you.

And then, finally, he lined himself up, pausing—just for a second.

His forehead pressed against yours, his breathing uneven.

"You okay?" he murmured, voice ragged.

"Yes," you breathed. "I want you."

That was all he needed.

And then, he pushed inside you.

A broken sound tore from his throat the second he was buried in you—deep, slow, perfect.

And you—fuck, you felt everything.

The stretch, the fullness, the delicious ache of him sinking into you, inch by inch, until he was completely inside you.

"Fuck," he groaned, his jaw clenching, his hands gripping your hips so tightly.

He didn’t move at first. Just stayed there, letting you adjust, letting you feel him.

And then—

Then he pulled out, just enough before thrusting back in, deeper this time.

You gasped, fingers digging into his back, clinging to him.

It was slow at first. Deep and unhurried. Like he wanted to memorize you, like he wanted you to feel all of him.

But then—

Then you moaned his name.

And everything changed.

Harry growled, his grip tightening, his pace picking up, thrusting harder, faster, deeper.

"Fuck, Y/N—" His voice was wrecked, his body pressing you into the mattress, claiming you, ruining you.

And you—you didn’t care.

You wanted to be ruined.

You wanted all of him.

His hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that sent shockwaves through you.

"You gonna come again for me, love?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Yes—Harry—fuck—"

"That’s it," he groaned. "Come for me."

And you did.

You shattered around him, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, your entire body trembling as he followed right after, burying himself deep, spilling inside you, groaning your name like a prayer.

For a long moment, the room was filled with nothing but harsh breathing, racing heartbeats, the aftermath of something that felt inevitable.

And then, Harry moved.

He didn’t pull away. Didn’t let you go.

He just wrapped himself around you, holding you close, pressing a kiss to your damp temple.

"Stay," he murmured, voice soft, tender.

And this time—

You didn’t run.

The smell of coffee woke you before the sunlight did.

Your body was aching in the best way, muscles deliciously sore, the sheets warm and soft against your skin. For a moment, you just laid there, blinking slowly, listening to the faint sounds of movement coming from beyond the bedroom door.

And then you realized.

You weren’t alone.

Not in the way you used to be.

Not in the way that had felt permanent for so long.

You exhaled, stretching slightly before sitting up, pulling the duvet tighter around you.

Harry’s shirt—which you had shamelessly stolen off the floor at some point during the night—hung loosely around your shoulders, smelling like him, feeling like him.

You pushed the bedroom door open quietly, stepping into the hall, and followed the sound of voices into the kitchen.

And the sight that greeted you?

It nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.

Harry stood at the stove, clad in nothing but a pair of low-hanging sweatpants, a spatula in one hand, a coffee cup in the other.

And he wasn’t alone.

Theo and Lily sat at the kitchen island, chattering away, their legs swinging as they watched him flip pancakes.

Theo snickered. “That one’s burnt.”

Harry scoffed, dramatically flipping it onto a plate. “It’s golden brown, thank you very much.”

Lily giggled. “Theo says you always burn the first one.”

Harry smirked. “Well, your mum distracted me.”

At that, you cleared your throat.

Three heads turned toward you in unison.

Theo and Lily grinned.

Harry’s eyes flickered over you—his shirt swallowing your frame, your bare legs peeking out from underneath.

And then, slowly, he smirked.

“What?” you asked, fighting back a smile.

His dimples deepened. “You like seeing me in dad mode?”

You rolled your eyes, stepping forward to grab a mug from the counter. “I think I just like seeing you.”

Harry stilled for half a second.

And then, with zero warning, he was behind you—wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the side of your neck.

Your breath hitched. “Harry—”

“Get used to it, love,” he murmured against your skin.

Your heart stumbled.

And suddenly, you knew.

This was real.

This was yours.

And for the first time in a long, long time…

You weren’t afraid.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

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pure-smut · 11 months ago

Text

and they were roommates.

featuring: Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader

contains: roommate!Sukuna, only one bed, best friends to lovers, spooning s*x, unprotected s*x, slightly possessive!Sukuna, teeny mention of a fight/blood at the start

note: all characters are aged up to 21+!

MDNI | 18+ content

word count: 2.7k

masterlist

Ryomen Sukuna is, against all odds, your best friend. Yeah, he’s abrasive and antagonistic and - oh my god - so arrogant but the truth is, you’ve always felt safe with him.

The first day you met, a group of boys were bullying you on the playground, taunting you and pushing you to the ground. Sukuna stepped in, scaring them off, but told you he’s only going to rescue you once.

“You need to learn how to punch,” he said.

When you told him you didn’t know how, he taught you. True to his word, the next time the boys showed up, he watched from a distance. When your little fist connected with one of their noses, spraying a shock of blood across your hand, Sukuna clapped you on the back and declared you “cool”.

Years later, you went to college while Sukuna started working in a tattoo studio. Two broke twenty-somethings, you made the only sensible choice and moved in together as roommates.

At first, he was a barely-present roommate. He’d head out to the club and not return for days, dishevelled and hungover. You got used to finding him passed out on the sofa, chicken nuggets still in his hand, or stumbling in at 6am, trying and failing to be quiet.

It was never a problem – not until you started seeing someone.

You had warned him about your roommate but he still wasn’t prepared when you took him home to see Sukuna in his boxers, his tattoos on show, standing in the kitchen eating cheese straight out of the bag. It was a source of endless frustration for you that he can eat like a raccoon and still look like he’s chiseled from marble.

Your not-quite-boyfriend isn’t pleased.

“Why is he walking around in his underwear?” he asks gruffly once you manage to get him into your room.

“Because he lives here?” you sigh.

To tell the truth, you don’t want to talk about Sukuna. You’re horny, you haven’t been laid in months, and you just want to get to the point. So you pull him on top of you, pressing your mouth against his to shut him up.

Luckily, your distraction tactics work. His fingers don’t quite find your clit but he’s pretty keen so you lick your hand and rub it along your lips, wetting yourself for him. He might not be perfect but it still feels good when he pushes himself inside you.

The bed creaks as you fuck, rattling against the wall. You wish it was a sign of how good he is but, in reality, you just have a cheap, shitty bed frame. Which is why, after five minutes and just as he cums, you hear the crack of wood. You both freeze and a second later, the frame collapses against the floor.

“Holy shit,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “I must be good.”

You laugh nervously and push him off you. He’s already pulling on his pants, making it clear he’s finished even though you clearly aren’t. But you don’t have time to be annoyed – your fucking bed is broken.

Once you’ve shooed him out of the house, your return to your room to inspect the damage. The frame has completely snapped on two of the legs while the other two are bent awkwardly, half-broken. You thump a fist off the ground, groaning, before lying back on the floor in defeat. You press the palms of your hands into your eyes.

This is great, you think. Just fucking great.

You know you don’t have the money to replace it but you’re desperately doing the mental math anyway, checking and double checking how much you really need to eat in a week to survive.

You’re interrupted from your spiralling by a low whistle. You open your eyes to see Sukuna leaning against your door frame.

“That’s impressive.” He nods at the broken bed.

“No,” you sigh, pulling yourself up to sitting. “The frame just sucks. He wasn’t that good.”

“Oh, I know.” Sukuna shrugs and you narrow your eyes at him.

“How would you know that?”

“Dude, these are pretty thin walls.” Sukuna raps his knuckles off the wall as if to demonstrate. “I know what you sound like when you get yourself off. That guy didn’t even come close.”

Your mouth drops open and your cheeks burn.

“Sukuna, what the fuck?” You pick up a pillow and throw it at him. He bats it away with a laugh. “You’ve been listening?”

He rolls his eyes.

“It’s hardly listening when it’s right next to my head.”

“Oh my god…” You bury your face in your hands. “This night could not get any worse.”

Sukuna crosses the room and squats down next to you.

“Listen, forget that guy and forget the bed. I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

You chance a peek from behind your hands.

“Really? You’ll fix it?”

“Yeah, shouldn’t be hard.” He shrugs and you’re not sure if he does actually know how to fix it or if it’s his arrogance shining through.

“But-”

“You can sleep in my bed tonight.”

You blink at him. Sukuna can be generous when he wants to be, usually when he’s in a good mood, but this is out of the blue. He must see how stressed you are. You beam at him.

“You’re offering your bed?” You ask and he nods. “Where are you gonna sleep?”

He scoffs.

“In the bed, obviously.”

Your face drops and you give him a flat look. You should have known he wasn’t that much of a gentleman.

“I thought you were giving me your bed.”

“I am.”

“Without you in it.”

“Hell no.” Sukuna stands and stretches. “It’s my bed.”

“We can’t share it!” you protest, rising to your feet as well.

“Why not?”

“It’s a single bed and you’re…” You gesture at him. “Huge. I won’t fit.”

Sukuna scoffs again.

“Stop being ridiculous. Just come on.”

Sukuna stalks out of your room and you trail behind him, giving one last mournful look at your broken bed. Damn you, you think before following Sukuna to his room.

Sukuna is surprisingly clean, despite eating like a garbage bin. His room is gaudy, overloaded with trophies from the sports he played in school, but at least it’s neat. You’ve definitely seen worse bedrooms from guys.

Sukuna strips off his t-shirt, leaving him down to his boxer briefs, and climbs into bed. You dither for a minute, tugging down the hem of your night shirt, knowing you’re naked underneath. It’s actually an old t-shirt of Sukuna’s that you borrowed and never gave back. It never bothered you before but now it feels weirdly intimate.

“Hurry up,” Sukuna calls, yawning.

“Ugh.”

You groan and take the plunge, slotting yourself into bed beside Sukuna. He rolls over so his chest is pressed against your back, his large hand on your hip. His body heat radiates off him like furnace and his chest feels like a slightly softer brick wall.

Annoyingly, he’s right – it’s definitely a tight fit but you can both squeeze into the single space. Admittedly, with less than an inch between you and the edge of the bed. You scoot back, pressing yourself tighter to Sukuna so you don’t fall off.

He tuts in your ear.

“Don’t get me worked up.”

“I’m not,” you huff. “I’m just trying not to fall out of this tiny bed.”

“Mhmm. A likely excuse.”

“Shut up.”

Sukuna chuckles darkly, his hand sliding up your night shirt and resting on your bare hip, making you freeze.

“I don’t blame you,” he says, his voice low. “You didn’t finish tonight. You’re all worked up yourself.”

“Shut up,” you repeat but there’s no weight behind it.

You know you could bat away Sukuna’s hand if you want to, you know he would stop as soon as you told him. But you don’t. Again, he’s irritating but he’s right – you’re still horny from before.

Sukuna lazily traces circles against the bare skin of your hip with his thumb. For some reason, even that simple touch is making you wetter than the guy from earlier did. Maybe it has something to do with Sukuna’s bulge pressing against your ass, a promise of what you can have if you choose. Maybe it’s the confident stroke of his fingers playing at the line between friends and something more.

Maybe it’s because it’s Sukuna.

“Stop me anytime,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. “If you want.”

“I know,” you whisper back.

Even with your permission, Sukuna doesn’t move straight away. His large hand slides up and down your hips, the callouses of his palms catching your skin and causing goosebumps to spring up your arms.

When Sukuna’s hand travels up under your shirt to your stomach, you suck in a breath. You’re glad you’re facing away from him so he doesn’t need to see the flush of your cheeks. He’s not even touching you anywhere sexual but each stroke of his finger feels intimate. Like he’s taking his time with you, exploring the parts of your body he’s never gotten to touch before.

Behind you, Sukuna buries his face in the nape of your neck, pressing teasingly soft kisses against your shoulder. You tilt your head back, giving him more access. Sukuna moves his hand up and up until his fingers brush against the soft underside of your breasts. Your back arches on instinct, craving more.

“I thought you’d be rougher,” you say and you surprise yourself with how breathless you are.

A puff of air escapes Sukuna’s nose.

“Oh, I will be, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your neck. “Don’t you worry.”

Sukuna palms your breast, massaging the soft flesh before rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You’ve always had sensitive nipples and the sensation makes a light moan escape your lips.

“Mmm, noted,” Sukuna says between kisses, lightly pinching your nipple to elicit another reaction.

He’s really working you up now. You push your ass back against him, grinding against the hardness you can feel through his boxer briefs. Your thighs slide off each other, slick with your arousal.

“Sukuna…” you whine and you feel his grin against your neck.

“What is it, princess?” he asks, still playing with your nipples. “What d’you need?”

“More. Please.” You’ve never begged for an orgasm before and you both love and hate how much control Sukuna has over you right now. “I need to cum.”

Sukuna hums, pretending to think it over.

“I like it when you say please,” he coos.

His hand trails down to your stomach again before stopping. He’s grinding back against you, his cock throbbing and needing some friction. You let out another needy whine – he’s so close to where you need him. Your clit is aching to be touched.

“Please, Sukuna,” you say, giving him what he wants. “Please make me cum.”

Hearing you beg him and whining his name is more than enough.

“Whatever you want, princess,” he whispers before pushing his hand lower.

Sukuna’s fingers find your clit and it’s an immediate hit of endorphins. You automatically spread your thighs slightly for him. Sukuna deftly strokes your sensitive bud, your arousal making it slippery and sweet to the touch. His other arm wraps around to continue playing with your nipples and your breathing quickly turns ragged.

Sukuna has to stop himself from moaning. Your pliant body pressed against him, his cock snug between your ass cheeks, and his name on your lips. He’s often wondered how you’d sound, how you’d feel, but nothing more than a fleeting thought. As soon as you got into his bed, something changed. You felt so right next to him. He couldn’t help himself.

Now he’s harder than he’s ever been before. Because it’s you.

You grasp at Sukuna’s thick forearm, feeling the muscles move as he plays with your pussy. You’re right at the edge and you know you’re about to cum. Your mind is clouded, too caught up to consider that you’re about to cum on your best friend’s fingers. You let yourself melt into it, into him, as he brings you to your climax.

“S-Sukuna-!”

It’s your best friend's name on your lips as your orgasm overcomes you, washing through your body and curling your toes. Sukuna works you through it, his touch softening but not letting up, not until you whimper and have to push his hand away, too sensitive to continue.

Sukuna cups your hip instead, one hand splayed on your breast, as he sucks gentle bruises on the soft skin of your neck. He waits for you patiently as your breathing slows, coming down from the high he gave you.

“Feel better?” he asks, not able to stop the smugness from leaking into his voice.

You want to say something snarky in response but your mind has gone blank, the strength of your orgasm wiping your mind clean.

“Yeah,” is all you can say, dazed.

“Ready for more?”

“I… I can barely feel my legs.” You huff out a chuckle.

“Don’t worry, princess, you don’t have to do a thing.” Sukuna smiles against your shoulder, reaching down to free his painfully hard cock. “Just lay there all beautiful for me, yeah?”

You nod, feeling his cock, solid and hard, slide between your slippery thighs.

“Yeah.”

At your permission, Sukuna slots his knee between your legs, hooking it behind his knee and pulling your legs apart. He reaches down to line his cock up with your entrance and you feel his fat tip pressing against your hole. When he’s satisfied you’re in position, his hand returns to your hip, keeping your ass flush to him.

“Ready, baby?”

“I’m ready.”

Sukuna goes slow, pushing in the first few inches, and has to clench his teeth to stop himself from moaning. Your back arches and his hand instinctively moves to your naked breast, the feel of it making his cock throb. He wasn’t lying when he said he would be rough – but not now. He needs you pliant first, needs to stretch you out for him.

Sukuna presses deeper, making you cry out. You’re wet enough for him but you didn’t realise how thick he would be. Sukuna whispers praises in your ear, his fingers teasing your nipples again. The idea of him playing with your most sensitive spots, making you as wet as possible so you can take his cock, is enough to make you dizzy with pleasure.

By the time Sukuna bottoms out, sealing you completely, your eyes have rolled back in your head. Every pinch of his fingers makes your pussy clench around him and you can hear his throaty moans. Sukuna wraps his other arm around your middle, holding you to him as he starts to pump his cock in and out of you, using his knee to keep your legs spread for him.

“Oh, god… Oh, fuck…” you gasp, each stroke tipping you closer to another orgasm.

After a few thrusts, once it’s clear you’ve stretched out to accommodate him, Sukuna stops holding himself back. He’s never felt jealous of the guys you brought home before but now he’s inside you, a wave of possessiveness overcomes him.

“This what you needed?” he growls in your ear, his grip around you almost crushing.

“Y-yes, Sukuna, “you gasp out.

He sets a brutal pace, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back inside you. You feel like a sex doll, held in place while he fucks you, using your pussy to pleasure himself. For some reason, that turns you on even more.

Sukuna buries his face in your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of you as your hot, plush walls squeeze him so deliciously.

“This pussy belongs to me now,” he moans. “Gonna - ah – gonna fuck you so good you don’t want anyone else. Understand?”

“Y-yeah,” you stammer out in between thrusts.

If you’re honest, you’d agree to anything right now. Sukuna’s cock drags against somewhere deep inside you, something that’s sending you hurtling over the edge.

“B-belongs to you, S-Sukuna,” you whine. “Only you.”

Sukuna’s never heard such sweet words. He moans, long and low, his cock throbbing as he explodes inside you. You reach your apex together, your pussy clenching like a vice grip around him as you cream on his cock, your nails digging into his forearm.

You both lie there, chests heaving. Even as Sukuna’s softening cock slips out of you, he makes no indication of moving. If anything, his arms wrap tighter around you.

“I meant it,” he eventually says, voice hoarse. “Did you?”

You manage to turn over, wriggling in his tight grip to face him. Sukuna’s pupils are blown out, sweat glazed across his brow. You press a soft kiss against his lips.

“I meant it.”

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daydreaming-nerd · 1 year ago

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The Prophecy (Lucien Vanserra x Rhys! Sister)/(Azriel x Rhys! Sister)?

Part 2,

Part 3 (Lucien's Version)

Part 3 ( Azriel's Version)

AN: I’ve had this idea for a while but after hearing “The Prophecy” on The Tortured Poets Department I was finally feeling inspired to write it. You guys have no idea how much that album is about to influence my writing. Also I have no idea how this is gonna end lol.

Summary: The only thing worse than having Azriel not know about the bond is watching him and Elain carry on like she doesn’t have a mate as well. Lucien and you have been long time friends but things change after one fateful starfall celebration. It’s not wrong if both of your mates don’t want you right?

Warnings: smut, unrequited love, situationship, fluff, Lucien is literally and angel I love him sm, did not edit (I am tired)

Word count: 3734

“Please, I've been on my knees. Change the prophecy. Don't want money just someone who wants my company…”

I had known the youngest Vanserra for a while now. I can recall the first time I met him on a lovely day in the spring court when I was visiting with my brother. The man was more than charming, his words nearly had me buckling at the knees. It was around the same time that I had found out that my brother's close friend Azriel was my mate.

I remember the bond snapping like it was yesterday. We were celebrating solstice in the Hewn City and my feet were nearly black and blue from the amount of drunk men stepping on them while dancing. I was about to ask my brother to take me home when Azriel stepped in and quite literally swept me off my feet. He let me stand on his toes and waltz around the room with him all night to ensure that he himself wouldn’t hurt my feet. At some point in the night the bond snapped and I had never been so happy.

Azriel and I had been friends for over 100 years and I had secretly harbored feelings for him for at least 75 of them. To have my brother's best friend as my mate felt like fate. I didn’t tell him that night, something I have regretted for the last 400 years.

Not long after that he rescued Mor and any sparks I thought he felt with me that night were long gone. From that day on all he did was pine for her. I couldn’t blame him, Mor was astonishingly beautiful. For a long time after he saved her I resented her, I felt like she had taken my mate from me. It wasn’t until I realized that she wanted nothing to do with the shadowsinger that my hatred for my cousin dissipated. It wasn’t her fault that Azriel was so smitten with her. It was my fault for not telling him, but now it had been so long since the bond snapped that it seemed weird to bring it up.

So I sat dutifully by his side whenever he needed someone to rant to about Mor. It practically ripped out my heart to hear him talk about how in love with her he was. I was the only person he would open up to like that. He would spend hours asking me for advice on how to woo her, and I grinned and bore it because, at the end of the day, I got to spend time with him.

I had been playing the girl best friend for hundreds of years. The moment I started to feel like he might be losing feelings for Mor in walked Elain. The beautiful sister of my brother's mate. What's worse? She seemed interested in Azriel as well.

Elain was easy to hate. Not just for her flirtations with Azriel but for the way she treated Lucien, her mate. Lucien had so much love for the Archeron, and she waved him off without another thought. I might be able to understand her reluctance to accept the bond if Lucien was a brute of a male, but he wasn’t. He was soft, kind and easy on the eyes.

I found him tossing rocks into the Sidra one day, no doubt pining over how Elain had barley even acknowledged the flowers he picked for her. That’s when I told him about Azriel and I’s bond. From that moment on we spent a great deal of time together, ranting about our unaccepted mating bonds. Even though we spent most of the time bitching, there was happiness. More than I had felt in a while.

Then starfall came…and everything changed.

“You look far too stunning not to be walking in with a date,” Lucien drawled to me from the outside of the townhouse.

I had spent all day getting ready for the annual party tonight. My dress was chosen specifically to catch Azriel’s attention, not that I felt like I would succeed.

“Well finding a date is harder than you think, especially at this hour,” I laugh as I walk through the gate he opened for me.

“Then indulge me,” he said. I turned to find him offering me an arm.

“You want to be my date?” I laugh light heartedly, admittedly smitten by the autumn court male.

“It’s a little last minute but I would be honored to walk into that room with you on my arm,” he said fondly.

I smiled and shook my head at the male before looping my arm in his and allowing him to lead me up the steps to the front door.

“You know, you clean up pretty well Lu,” I cock an eyebrow bumping into him.

“Thanks, your brother sets a pretty high standard as far as attire for this thing. Who knew he was such a fashionista?” Lucien grins before walking in the door arm and arm with me. I don’t even bother stifling the laugh I let out.

The room nearly fell silent at our entrance. Sure Lucien and I were close and everyone knew, but they had never seen us like this. Even Az and Elain stopped their oh so intriguing conversation to ogle. I swore I saw anger flit across Elain’s eyes, like she was dead set on owning both Az and Lucien.

Lucien and I spent the evening as wallflowers, doing our best to stay away from all the happy couples. We had even gotten to the point where we grabbed a bottle of wine off the table and brought it over to our couch, both of us tired of constantly getting up and down for refills.

It wasn’t until Az and Elain not so subtly got up and walked onto the balcony that we decided we had tortured ourselves enough. We promptly grabbed the bottle of wine and waltzed out of the townhouse not even bothering to say goodbye. I supposed it was that exact bottle that did us in.

I placed my hand on my apartment door, swaying slightly from the alcohol rushing to my head. Lucein’s hand found my hip, steadying me. While I assured him I would be fine to walk home alone, he insisted he came with me.

“Thanks,” I laughed unlocking the door.

“You’re welcome,” he chuckles, wobbling himself.

“I had a really good time with you tonight,” I say, placing a hand on his chest to steady myself.

“I had a good time too,” he smiled.

It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how close we were. Lucien looked down at me, the moonlight illuminating his face perfectly. The sudden tension between us was broken when he crashed his lips on mine.

One thing led to another and the next thing I knew I was lying bare beneath him as he fucked me like his life depended on it. I didn’t realize how badly I needed to get laid until he was buried inside me. Needless to say I understood why people said the Autumn Court males have fire in their blood.

That was a year ago and since then Lucien and I had decided to continue seeing each other in secret, both of us needing a way to release built up tension so to say. He often stayed the night and we would spend long hours talking about everything from the books we were reading to politics. The sex was amazing, for both of us, but it was the intimacy that came after that I think we both craved the most. An intimacy I would be seeking out shortly given the current topic of conversation between Azriel and I.

“Gods the other day she was weaning a light blue dress in the garden and I nearly fell to my knees before her,” Azriel ranted to me.

He had been going on and on about whether or not he wanted to finally make a move on Elain or not. And as his best friend I had to hear about every word of it.

“I saw it, it was a very pretty dress,” I acknowledge, turning the page of the book I was reading.

“I swear she blushed when I complimented it too, I think I’m making progress with her,” he went on to say.

“Maybe you should just put yourself out of your misery and talk to her Az,” I suggested for probably the tenth time.

“You know I can’t just barrel in there. She’s scared and I’m not going to freak her out even more. She will come to me when she’s ready. If she’s ready. Gods that’s assuming she even likes me,” he rambled.

I roll my eyes and shut my book so loudly it pulls the shadow singers attention. I give him a pointed look that has him startling back just a bit.

“I know that she likes you Az,” I deadpan.

“How can you be sure though?” he asks, throwing his head back on the arm of the couch.

“Because she would be an idiot not to,” I say with a hint of sadness.

Azriel looked to be at a loss for words, and I realized my words were much bolder than I had wanted them to be.

Clearing my throat I set my book down on the side table, knowing it will be waiting for me when I come back to my brother’s tomorrow. I stand and subtly adjust my dress.

“I have to go, but seriously Az, just tell her,” I say walking over to press a kiss to his forehead.

As I got to walk away I feel him grab my hand, placing a kiss to my open palm, “Thank you for listening y/n, really.” he says earnestly .

“Don’t worry about it Az, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say with a fake smile before setting off towards my modest home.

When Feyre moved into the townhouse I took it as my queue to move out, knowing my brother and his new mate would want privacy. Of course Rhysand offered me mansions and villas but I was content with a townhouse of my own in the middle of town. Big enough to have my own home library, and small enough to not feel so lonely.

I make my way down the cobblestone streets, the faelights casting a warm glow on the ground before me. It was late, and many couples were turning in for the night. I could see some cuddled up on their sofa’s through their windows, others were having a nightcap together outside Rita’s. I saw a couple rocking their newborn baby to sleep on the second floor of their home, and for some reason, that was the one that hurt the most to me.

I sighed as I walked up a few steps to my townhouse door. I unlocked the door and was greeted to the smell of jasmine and vanilla and the sound of a cracking fire. I walk up my steps to find Lucien sitting shirtless on my large bed, his hair in a bun at the nape of his neck. The male was the image of relaxation.

I had given him a key months ago. With the males many jobs, emissary to the night court, ally to Jurian and Vassa, and liaison to Tamlin, he needed a place to truly call home. For the past 9 months that had been here, with me. I never once objected to his subtle moving in, it was nice to come home to someone waiting for me, sometimes even a homemade meal. For him it was nice to have a place where he didn’t always have to put on a front. It was a win for both of us.

“When did you get in?” I ask kicking off my shoes.

“Just a couple hours ago. How was Azriel duty?” he asked, setting his book down as I began to strip off my cloak and dress leaving me only in my lingerie. It wasn’t uncommon for us to be so casual with one another.

“Exhausting, did you know that Elain wore a pretty blue dress the other day?” I mocked tossing my clothes into a dirty clothes bin, I noticed his missing shirt was there too.

“Unfortunately yes I did,” he chuckled. “You know what always makes me feel better though?” he smirks.

“I crawl up the bed towards him, “What?” I smile knowing what the answer will be.

“You,” he smirks, grabbing my hips and pinning me to the mattress beneath him, his lips pressing to mine.

“How funny I was about to say the same thing,” I laugh, feeling his lips tickle my neck as he makes his way further down my body.

His mouth trails the inside of my thighs before sliding my panties down my legs, each brush of his fingers from my hips to my ankles feeling like heaven. The male had been gone for a week, and I was desperate for release. He licks a long stripe up my center, flicking his tongue over the bundle of nerves at the top. My back arches off the bed and his hands find my waist to pin me down. I feel his tongue begin to lap at my clit as his fingers slide into me, no doubt finding the pool of wetness waiting there.

This is what me and Lu had always been good at, reading each other. When he had a stressful day I always made sure to make him feel good, and when I came back to the house upset he never hesitated to get on his knees for me. There was this unsaid rule that we would always take care of eachother.

Lucien’s tongue continues lapping my clit as his fingers curl to hit that spot inside of me that had me gasping for air. As I started to feel myself getting closer and closer he removed his mouth from me, drawing his fingers out slowly. One thing about hooking up for a year? You learn to read each other's bodies, and lord did the seventh son of Autumn know how to read mine.

“Lu!” I cry out frustrated.

“Shhh my darling,” he coos crawling up my body. “I simply want to cum with you tonight.” he smirked, seething himself inside of me.

“Oh gods!” I cry feeling him fill me thoroughly.

He pulls out and thrusts back in causing me to whimper once more. Mor was right about one thing, the autumn court males have fire in their blood and they fuck like it too.

“I missed you, missed this,” Lucien groans, his face contorted in pleasure as he builds a steady pace.

“I missed you too Lu,” I say through ragged breaths as he fucks into me like his life depends on it. Apparently the time apart made him needy as well.

I could hardly speak as he thrust deeper into me, his hands on my waist holding me steady so tha he could hit me as deep as possible. When I felt myself start to clench around him he doubled over, burying his head in my neck as his hips continued to snap into me.

My hands found his back clinging to the flesh there for an anchor, my walls fluttering around him one last time before I fell apart.The sudden sensation had Lucien biting my neck as he came with a low groan.

We spent a few moments catching our breaths, he pushed up on his arms and moved a stray hair from my face, assessing to see if he had hurt me, just like he always did. When he found no traces of pain in my face he rolled over, taking me with him so that I was lying on his chest.

This was always the part I think we both craved the most. The sex was great, amazing even. But I longed for a pair of arms to fall asleep in, and he longed for someone to hold. Meaningless pillowtalk just for fun.

“I mean it, I did miss you,” I sigh circling my arms around his waist.

“I missed you too, I hate sleeping in the spring court, it’s so cold and dark there now.” Lucien said, staring at the ceiling.

“How is Tamlin?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Terrible,” he muttered. “I had to talk him into letting me stay.” He continues playing with the ends of my hair.

“You’re a good friend for checking in on him though,” I say matter of factly.

“I still wish I could do more,” he sighs, pulling the covers up on the two of us.

“I understand,” I mutter keeping my head on his chest, staring at the fire that roars next to us.

A long beat of comfortable silence passes, normally I would fall asleep like this. I would sometimes wake to him being gone, sometimes he would wake to me being gone. Only on weekends would both be able to wake up and go to breakfast together. This was one of those weekends, but instead of falling asleep, Lucien spoke up.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked, not taking his gaze from the ceiling.

“Sure,” I reply, waiting for a nonchalant inquiry. It wasn’t the first time he and I had played 20 questions to get to know each other more, though I thought that after a year of it we knew just about everything there was to know about the other.

“Would you agree that Azriel and Elain are never going to give us a chance?” he asked.

My heart twinges hearing his name, “Well Az doesn’t know, but even if he did I don’t think he would care. I’m not damsel in distress enough for him.” I snort recalling the unconscious type he has.

“I feel the same about Elain, and there’s something I’ve been thinking about, especially this past week,” he continues still facing the ceiling.

I prop my head up on his chest wanting to read his face and his eyes flit to me, “Cryptic Vanserra, but go on,” I laugh trying to break the tension.

“I’ve always been fond of you y/n ever since you visited the spring court all those years ago. Now that I’ve gotten to know you, that admiration has only grown, not to mention you’re a very beautiful female y/n,” he laughs at his own words, a tint of pink dusting his cheek and I can’t help but blush as well. “From the amount of time we’ve been spending together it seems you like me enough, and well…I don’t want to be alone anymore,” he says seemingly avoiding his main point.

I sit up more, intrigued by his words, “What do you mean Lu?” I inquire.

“I was wondering if you would like to be Mrs. Lucien Vanserra?” he finally says and my heart nearly stops at the shocking words. “I know I’m not Azriel, but consider me an alternative. I think we could make eachother genuinely happy, maybe help each other enjoy whatever we have left of this miserable life?” he asks, his voice laced with uncertainty.

I let his words sink in as I stare at the bit of wall behind him. As I consider all that he’s said I realize that he’s right, we do get along. I had spent years trying to find a male to fill the hole Azriel put in my life, but it always felt wrong. It was as if I was taking someone else’s mate, even when the males didn’t have mates. It didn’t feel wrong being with Lucien because I knew that his mate also didn’t want anything to do with him.

I was tired of not always having someone to come home to. Not having someone to go to events with. Not having someone to spend holidays with. Not having someone to call my own. I was tired of being alone, especially since I had been alone for about 400 years, but no longer.

I smile down at Lucien’s nervous face, “I would be honored to be your wife,” I say.

“You would?” he beams.

“I would,” I repeated back to him. “You’re right, we do get along, and I’m tired of being alone too.”

He presses his lips to mine, both of us smiling into the kiss. We would never fill the sadness of a rejected mating bond, but we would be there for one another. I lay my head down on his chest again, feeling the sleep come into my eyes.

“How should we do it?” he asked, tracing shapes on my bare back.

“Hmm,” I thought for a moment. A big wedding seemed odd considering we weren’t mates or anything close to it. Eloping seemed more proper. “I think we should keep it small.”

“Do we tell them?” He ponders the most awkward question.

“We can tell them, but we don’t need to invite them. It can be a modified elopement, they will all know but we can just invite my brother and Feyre, that way we both have family there.” I answer snuggling into his warmth more.

“By the Cauldron I have to tell your brother I’ve been sleeping with you for over a year,” Lucien said anxiously, running a hand down his face.

I can’t help but laugh at his stress, “He might be a little mad, but I’m sure Feyre will be so excited about it that he won’t care.” I giggle.

I feel his body relax under my cheek, no doubt realizing that whatever the High Lady says will be law. He slides a red and gold ring off his pinky finger and slips it onto my left hand.

“Here, it’s a family ring,” he explains looking at the gaudy ring on my hand. While it fits on my finger well the jewel on it takes up my whole hand and looks unnatural. “I know I’m not part of the Autumn Court anymore but it’s all I have.” he continues.

“It’s perfect,” I laugh, inspecting the ill-fitting thing, “it’s an outcast just like us.”

Lucien's soft chuckle escapes him as he plants a gentle kiss atop my head. Tomorrow promises its usual dose of chaos, but that's a concern for another day. Tonight, here in bed with my fiancé, though this isn't the life I envisioned, I find myself flooded with a happiness I haven't felt in ages.

Part 2,

Part 3 (Lucien's Version)

Part 3 ( Azriel's Version)

Permanent Taglist: @fides25, @dissociated-always @crystalferret202

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mrs-elsie-barnes · 1 year ago

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Give Me Shelter, For My Heart | Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader | One Shot? 3k

Things are missing around the Avengers' compound and a newly returned Bucky is acting weirder than normal...Steve and Sam go to investigate and discover more than they bargained for.

Warnings: 18+ for language and suggestion of Hydra violence/torture/experimentation, omegaverse themes including alpha & omega, suggestion of pregnancy/pups, wolf shifting Rated F for Fluff and G for good friends

Challenges & Prompts: @buckybarnesevents Alpha Bucky April with extra prompts - word count, nesting, purring, beta characters, (I'll let mods decide if this hits the breeding/baby fever prompt). And @fandom-free-bingo 'forehead kisses'

Graphic by me and Canva, dividers by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

“Hmm,” Steve looked around the supply room, surveying the gaps and empty shelves, normally well stocked with blankets and provisions. It was the third time this week he’d found himself at a loss, not just for words but his things too. Everything seemed to be going missing.

First it was a few plates and mugs from the galley kitchen by his office, then it’d been the lunch he’d left for him and Bucky in the fridge. Last night he’d gone into Bucky’s room to make sure he was okay and found the man sleeping on a bare mattress, all the sheets, pillows and blankets were gone and the newly revived Bucky refused to explain what had happened to them or even acknowledge that there was anything wrong at all. He hadn’t even addressed that fact that the window was wide open and it looked as if he was sleeping in his shoes.

Which brought Steve’s thoughts to the man himself. Bucky had been so odd since he’d returned. For a day or two, he’d been something like his old self, despite the awful situation they found themselves in, he’d joked with Steve and reminisced with the few memories he had. They’d enjoyed a beer together and he’d even met with Tony during their mediation and patched things up.

Then, they’d all climbed onto the jet and he’d become distant, pacing like a caged animal until they’d landed. As soon as the doors were open he’d vanished for forty-eight hours and sent the entire compound into mayhem before strolling back in as if nothing had happened, bruised and covered in blood. Judging by the bandages he sported later that day, his cuts and bruises spread under his shirt and trousers too.

Steve knew that he’d changed during his time with Hyrda, back in the 30s they’d both been betas, happy to plod along ignoring the madness of the few alpha’s in Brooklyn. It had been a rare thing then, to be an alpha, now they were considered a dying breed, so when Bruce’s tests had revealed that Bucky was an alpha now, they’d tried to take it in their stride that he might go off on his own sometimes, especially since omegas were even rarer. But there was still so much they didn’t know, so much to unpack and discover about the Bucky they’d rescued, and Steve was so desperate to spend time getting to know this new man that all the time apart was making him worry.

“You okay?” Sam asked from the doorway, leaning in to hand Steve a hot cup of coffee.

“Just doing a stock check.”

“He take something else?” Sam stepped into the small room, lined with shelves and shelves of tents, camping stoves, parachutes, it seemed to go on and on. The bare grey shelves where stock was missing was stark against the white washed walls.

“He?”

“Barnes,” Sam sipped his coffee, matter of fact, and Steve confronted the worry that had been plaguing him.

“It’s Bucky, isn’t it?” Steve dropped his head heavily and Sam patted him on the back, still sipping his drink.

“Sorry man, told you, he’s not right yet. He’s not hurting anyone though, if he hates his bedding, who cares, if he hates your lunches, who could blame him.”

Sam sidestepped Steve’s halfhearted swipe with a grin on his face.

“But what’s he doing with it, Sam? Where’s it all going?”

“Hell, I don’t know, have you asked him?” Sam raised his eyebrows.

Had Steve asked his best friend, who flinched at his touch and shied away from any conversations? Bucky who vanished for hours at a time and came back looking as if he’d been dragged through a hedge? No, he hadn’t. He’d been too scared to confront what might be going on, what latent part of his programming might be at play.

“Look, if you’re too scared to ask why don’t I?”

Now it was Steve’s turn to raise his eyebrow, it wasn’t that Sam and Bucky didn’t get along, they just didn’t get along yet. Steve was working on it.

“What if we…followed him?” He offered instead and Sam laughed again.

“Who knew Captain America was scared of his own friends,” he couldn’t contain the chuckles. “Fine, fine. Let’s keep an eye on him.” Sam turned to the ceiling, more comfortable with the AI than Steve was. “FRIDAY, if Sergeant Barnes leaves his room, please can you alert us - privately?”

“Of course,” the soft voice answered and Steve gave his friend a weak smile.

FRIDAY’S alert went off twice a day, every day, over the next week. But despite their best efforts neither Steve nor Sam managed to catch up with Bucky.

It wasn’t until the following Saturday that they managed to follow him. Bucky was supposed to be at a training session to get his official certifications but they’d both had a feeling he’d try and skip it. As predicted they’d spotted the blue of his new henley edging around the side of the compound, a full backpack strapped to his back.

Bucky ran across the grass and towards the thick forest. His still uncut hair was tied back but tendrils fell out as he sprinted into the wind.

He was surprisingly loud, as he strode quickly between the trees, snapping twigs and branches that Steve knew he could’ve dodge even before the serum and his training. Sam looked at him, both of their feet silent as they followed.

Bucky’s speed increased as he turned his face up into the breeze, his backpack jostled against the trees, bouncing when he began to run.

Steve kept up, sending Sam wide, into the breeze, in case Bucky doubled back.

Just as he was starting to feel lost in the repetition of trees and ferns, Bucky burst into a clearing and Steve slammed to a halt.

The pine trees gave way to a small patch of clear sky, shining down on an old shed. Unlike the other abandoned guard houses, this one had obviously been cleaned recently. The small porch was swept and a pair of Avengers camping chairs were arranged neatly facing into the forest. A line had been strung between the cabin and the trees where one of the missing blankets fluttered in the gentle wind.

Steve crouched down, motioning to Sam on the other side of the clearing to stay out of sight.

Bucky approached slowly, “Cățeluș, are you here?”

At first there was nothing and then a wolf nosed its way out from behind the door, it’s chestnut brown fur almost gold in the sunlight. It leaped forwards from the porch and shot across the clearing, leaping into Bucky’s arms.

Steve whipped his head up to try and find Sam and by the time his eyes found Bucky again the wolf was gone, replaced by a woman pulling on a large t-shirt from Bucky’s backpack.

“James!” Her sweet voice rang out in the otherwise quiet forest.

Swamped by Bucky’s familiar red henley, you shot from the door and into Bucky's waiting arms, the back pack dropped to the floor and forgotten.

She was swamped by Bucky’s red henley and he wrapped you in his arms, one large hand on the back of your head, tucking you into his neck. The other supported your legs, now wrapped around his waist.

In the clearing Bucky's shoulders relaxed as he sank into your embrace, kissing and nipping at your neck. In return you tipped your head, practically purring at the attention and wriggling in his arms.

“Have you been okay, baby.” Bucky asked, pulling away enough to look you over.

“I'm okay, I missed you though, James, please don't leave me again.” You begged cupping his stubbled cheeks in your hands.

Bucky turned into your palm and kissed it, “I know, I know, I’ve been making sure it’s safe for you.”

Steve's heart sank. Bucky didn't feel safe?

“You trust me, don't you, my little omega.” Bucky rubbed his nose into your cheek and you giggled, holding him even tighter, your hands in his hair.

An omega?

Sam stared over at Steve, eyes wide.

It was clear to them both that this was no chance encounter and all Bucky’s odd behaviour suddenly started to make more sense.

Steve motioned for Sam to leave, they could sneak back to the compound and perhaps bring this up tentatively. Perhaps leave some items you might like lying around in the hopes that Bucky would take them and understand that his secret was out, but it was safe.

Sam moved swiftly round the clearing as Steve continued to watch Bucky.

Bucky vanished into the cabin, leaving you on the porch alone, snuggled into his shirt and pressing the collar to your nose.

“She’s cute,” Sam whispered, squeezing up against Steve, still hiding in the overgrown ferns that lined the edge of the cabin.

“We can’t let her sleep out here. She must be hungry and cold.”

Bucky emerged from the cabin carrying two of the missing mugs, balancing them carefully on the railing before scooping you up into his lap. His hand hovered by his mouth, sipping in slow motion as his eyes scanned the tree line and Steve took a breath, sitting back quickly.

“Stay here, Cățeluș,” he was up in a flash, eyes always on the tree line even when he reached into his boot to pull out a familiar gerber knife.

Instead of flipping it into his palm, he balanced it on the arm of your camping chair. Eyes still on the trees he placed his metal hand on top of your head, “stay here and stay safe, follow the plan, do what you need to.” His voice was low, series, almost a growl. Far away from the happy, loving tones he’d been speaking to you with before.

You nodded, and as soon as he felt your head move he was up and off the porch.

Steve and Sam looked up in time to see a wolf leap towards them.

It was true then, the experiments had worked and Steve had the cold feeling that returned every time he discovered something new about his friend during a fight, but he had no time to worry about it now. Not when the wolf was closing in on them.

It was huge, its white fur dusted with fallen leaves, but its teeth gleamed in the afternoon sun as he pounced, snarling. His paws the size of dinner plates slamming into the ground in front of them, teeth bared and snarling.

Steve rolled away, pulling Sam with him and covering his body, regretting not bringing the shield.

“Bucky!” Sam shouted from under Steve’s arm

“Bucky it’s us we don’t want to hurt you!”

The wolf pulled back from the two men pinned beneath him, and something like clarity passed over Bucky’s icey blue eyes and he sat on his haunches, head cocked to one side, ears floppy. Then it stood, rounding the bushes and, in a blink, the man had reappeared still hiding before the foliage to cover his naked body.

“Steve -” Bucky looked thoroughly confused,

“Bucky, we’re so sorry we shouldn’t have followed you.”

“What are you doing here?” Bucky’s voice wavered, his body cold without his fur and with his clothes left behind in the cabin.

“We were worried about you, man, you’ve been so weird - stealing stuff, going missin’, can you blame us for getting creeped out?” Sam raised his eyebrows and Bucky’s brow furrowed.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I just had to -” he gestured back towards the cabin and, as if remembering he’d left you behind with no way of knowing he was safe he turned and ran back to the clearing.

Steve and Sam jumped up, chasing after Bucky once more.

The cabin porch was empty when Steve picked his way down the slope of mud and rocks into the clearing.

A howl rang out as he got closer to the little house, a high, pained sound and then the response came, low and level.

There were two wolves now, hidden at the side of the cabin in the shadows.

The white wolf kept itself half turned towards Steve and Sam, who kept quiet and still, barely daring to breathe, allowing its companion to approach slowly.

The brown wolf dropped in front of the white, ears flat back against its head, and then rolled over, showing a soft belly that the white wolf nuzzled gently before turning back to Steve and barking sharply.

Steve held his hands up and the wolf barked again, turning tail and returning to the cabin.

It took only moments for Bucky to show himself on the porch, pulling his henley back down over his now dirt streaked belly.

“Come in,” he gestured up the stairs and vanished again.

The cabin, though run down, was well kept. The porch was swept of leaves and there was even a little mat by the door.

“Shoes,” you whispered, pulling on Bucky’s sleeve as you entered the main living space, making an attempt to hide behind him. You’d dressed again too, also in one of Bucky’s henleys and a pair of leggings that Steve recognised as Avengers recruit issue.

“Do you mind?” Bucky asked while Steve and Sam stared between you both.

“Shoes,” you turned to look up at Bucky again, eyes pleading in one moment and then flicking to the two new men treading mud into your home.

“Your shoes, take them off.” Bucky helped them arrange their boots neatly by the door while you pottered around the fireplace. “This is her nest,” he whispered, making sure the doormat was straight and the little curtain was neat over the window. “It’s important to omegas, to her,” you turned shooting a glare over your shoulder, “to us-that it’s kept just right and she hates shoes inside.”

In the small living space a camping stove had been set up with a kettle, a portable fridge, and an assortment of mugs, both Avengers field regulation and novelty, which were set neatly on the mantel. You chose four, and placed them next to the kettle while it steamed happily away.

Bucky spoke softly to you in a mixture of English and Romanian, but you didn’t come any closer to the strange men. You’d seen them before, on the television and in Bucky’s notebooks, but now that they were here, so large and imposing, you couldn’t bring yourself to even look over.

“This is Cățeluș, well, that’s not her real name but we couldn’t find that. She - uh -” you watched Bucky struggle for words and lay a hand on his cheek, smiling warmly up at him. Your Winter, your James. “-I don’t want to say the word, it upsets her, but she was with me when I was - him - part of the experiments.”

You poured the tea quietly, watching the steam rise into the darts of sun making their way through the broken knots of wood in the wall, and you took a deep breath. With shaking hands you gave the first man, Sam, a cup. He had a gentle face, a wide smile and he didn’t look at you with pity, as you feared, only interest.

The second man held his breath as you approached, keeping his hands as close to his body as possible until you pushed the cup towards him. Steve. Bucky had lots of pictures of Steve in his notebooks and had told you more stories than you could remember, but he didn’t look sickly, he looked too big for the space, his shoulders drawn in, slouched. You appreciated that he was trying not to look scary, even though your every nerve was on edge.

Bucky took the proffered mug from your hands with a kiss to your forehead and you sighed, allowing him to steer you to the only arm chair in the room and then passing you your own tea.

“We got out, eventually and - I brought her here.” Bucky sat on the rolled arm of the chair, draping his own arm over your shoulders and fitting you into his side.

Steve and Sam could only stare.

“Why didn’t you bring her to the compound? She can stay -” Steve turned to you, “you can stay, either in Bucky’s room or you can have your own room if you’d prefer.”

It took you a moment to process the offer, but eventually you shook your head, turning into Bucky’s side.

“It was awful - in there, with them she, we both -” Bucky struggled for the words, the desire to protect you rising inside

“It’s okay,” Sam said carefully, “I know the transition’s been rough on you, Bucky, I can’t imagine what it’s been like for her, how you even got her out here. But there’s nothing to be afraid of, maybe she’ll come with you? If you suggest it?”

Sam kept looking at you, his eyes soft and encouraging but you turned away, pressed your face into Bucky’s ribs where his scent had soaked through his shirt, reassuring and primal, chanting in your head Alpha, safe, Alpha, safe. You did miss him, when he was gone, but how could he keep you safe in that place.

You’d seen it, once or twice, through the trees when you took a walk, looking for whatever you could find in the forest. Guards left lots of things behind, bottles and coats and jackets, useful things. You collected them all, skirting around the edge of that horrid white building and hoping to never see the terrifying things that flew out of it, men in suits and robots, it was too much.

“You can bring whatever you like with you, and maybe Nat and Wanda could help you with some new things, if you liked?” Steve followed Sam’s lead, keeping his voice steady and low.

“James - my nest.” You mumbled, gripping his henley in your fist.

He dropped a hand onto your head, “we can do whatever you like, baby. You want to stay here, we can stay, you want to go to the compound, we’ll go.”

You felt Bucky’s heart rate pick up, its beat hammering and your anxiety grew too, your breathing more ragged, you turned even further into him, practically climbing into his lap, the henley you’d taken from him riding up.

Instantly you knew it was a mistake, the scars of your time in Hydra were still visible, raised on your skin, yellowing patches of healing bruises and calloused skin from repeated bouts in the chair.

Sam and Steve could barely conceal their inhale of breath.

“Bucky, did you get her checked by a doctor or…” Sam trailed off, Bucky looked angry again, his arms fully surrounding you.

“And what would I have said, Sam?” He growled, “I know she looks like she’s been kept in a cage and beaten but please don’t arrest me, I promise it wasn’t me? Her social security number? Sorry, I don’t have it, we don’t even know her name. I did the best I could.” His anger tipped over into a resigned sadness. Bucky cupped your face in one hand and forced you to look up at him, “I did the best I could, baby, I really did.”

You nodded and his grip loosened so you could nuzzle into his chest again, your own tears running down your cheeks at the memory of those early days. Bucky’s shaking hands patching up your burns and cuts, the whisky you’d slugged before he pulled out a stray bullet from your arm and stitched it with floss. Every touch had been gentle though, every time he’d changed your bandages or cleaned you up, it had been gentle. It had been everything he could give you.

“We didn’t mean it like that, Buck,but we could help, get her checked over and then you can come back here.” Sam’s voice was plaintive, deliberately soothing and it made Bucky’s blood boil.

“I’m not taking her to that place.” He bit back, there was no mistaking the way he curled you into his body, tucking your head under his chin and wrapping his arms around your back.

It didn’t hurt anymore, to be touched, but then it’d never hurt to be touched by James. His hands had always been careful with you, his strength used only for protection and it was for that reason that you lay your trust in him completely.

“Don’t make me go, Alpha.” You whispered, your lips brushing the base of his neck where you’d marked him, right over his scent gland, your teeth marks an eternal brand. You nuzzled into him, your chest rumbling again.

“I won’t make you go,” he looked back at Steve and Sam, the finality of his decision sat heavily in the air.

“Can we at least bring some medical things here? Would you let Sam check you out?” Steve offered, he was increasingly concerned by the way Bucky had retreated into the chair, his own legs now curled up on the overstuffed cushion.

Above you, James nodded once, “just you and Sam, don’t tell anyone else. I’ll know if you tell anyone else.” The panic edging Bucky’s voice had Steve raising his hands in surrender.

“I promise, Buck, just Sam and I.”

Sam and Steve left the cabin at dusk while you and Bucky watched from the deck. As soon as they were beyond the trees he pulled you even tighter against his chest, his heat warm.

“Everything is going to be okay, baby, I promise, no one’s going to ever, ever, hurt you again.” His hands slid down your arms and across the slow swell of your belly. “But we should consider their offer, make sure we’re making a choice that’s good for you and me, as well as them.” His palm pushed up under your shirt, splayed on your tight skin and, deep inside, your pup pushed back.

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x female reader #alpha bucky barnes #alpha!bucky #alpha bucky x reader #alpha bucky x omega reader #omegaverse #bucky barnes events #Alpha Bucky April

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