#Cons Of Shower Screens To The Ceiling

[smallbathroomrenovationsperth]

The Truth About Floor To Ceiling Shower Screens

Clients will always ask me about floor to ceiling shower screens or a ceiling shower screen that goes to the roof. Often, they come across a Pinterest image or a reality show that has this beautiful tall shower screen and send it to me in hope. I am here to give you that hope and maybe take it away with my guide to a floor to ceiling shower screen or a to the ceiling shower screens as some…

[perlelune]

Creep | Oliver Quick

Though you can’t grasp exactly what, you know something is very off with your boyfriend’s peculiar new friend.

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, Stalking, Voyeurism, Cheating, Coercion, Blackmail, Drinking, Smoking, Unhealthy Relationship Dynamic

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Felix’s long digits drum over your back as he pouts, “You really brought me here just to study, babe?” His raspy, flirtatious tone tugs your lips skyward. Still, your attention doesn’t stray from your laptop screen. Sentences bleed from your fingertips at a quick-fire pace. A little under three thousand words on Bentham’s theory of utilitarianism, due by Monday. The topic isn’t exactly thrilling but you have to hand it over in time.

“If I don’t ace this essay, I’m going to fail this class,” you absently reply. Failure. The one thing you literally can’t afford right now, though you forbear sharing that particular bit with Felix. Best he perceives your single-minded determination as a core stare of your character rather than what it actually is…a necessity, one born of dire circumstances.

He takes a long drag off his cigarette. Grey smoke floats around you, smudging the words on your screen. You repress tears as your eyes burn. You wished he’d curb the nasty habit. You’ve dropped hints before.

But no one tells Felix Catton what to do. Many would kill to even breathe the same nicotin-infused air as him. Felix is the sun and everyone on campus craves to be in his orbit, eager for the slightest chance to bask in his warmth, shower in his light.

You’re no different. The day he asked you out, a little over a year ago, you pinched yourself twice to make sure you weren’t dreaming. Felix Catton wanted…you? It couldn’t be real. 

This was the boy you held in your heart for a decade, the only one you ever had eyes for.

And while your relationship suffered its share of hardships, namely Felix’s wandering eyes, you couldn’t picture life without him at your side.

He’s your everything.

He could hurt you a thousand times and you’d forgive him each of those times.

Felix’s bare shoulder grazes yours as he states, “They won’t fail you, not with who your dad is.”

Your stomach knots with his comment. Still, you shrug, pretending away the guilt steadily gnawing your insides.

“I don’t want to get special treatment just because of my family name, Felix,” you say, trying your best to sound nonchalant.

Though his smile never falters, his jaw ticks. “And I do?”

The ice in his tone scatters in your veins. Immediately, you discard your homework, concerned gaze finding his.

“I’m not saying that.” When Felix doesn’t respond, panic roars inside you. You touch his exposed chest to bring his attention to you. He doesn’t move. “I didn’t say that.”

A thick blanket of silence engulfs the room and your airways constrict. It feels as if your heart is on the verge of collapse as you wait for a reaction from your boyfriend, his chestnut gaze glued to the ceiling.

His head turns to you slowly. He releases a large puff of smoke in your face. Tears rush to your eyes, filling them to the brim.

Felix shrugs.

“It sounded like you did. A little. But that’s okay.” His tone is mellow in that way that oozes displeasure. “I’m just a legacy kid getting by on his trust fund and good looks, right?”

Your mouth quakes and he bursts out a chuckle. He cups your cheek, a wide grin breaking onto his face. “I’m just fucking with you, babe.”

You swallow your budding tears, wiping your eyes swiftly as Felix reaches around you to put out his cig in the ashtray.

You punch him in the chest, your own laughter bubbling out.

“You’re an arsehole.”

His grin expands. Twining your fingers with his, Felix’s tone gets softer.

“I wanted to ask…” He trails off, brown gaze clinging to yours. “Can Ollie come to the party you and Anabel are throwing tonight?”

You tilt your head in befuddlement. “Ollie?”

He traces the lines in your palm, adding absently, “Yeah, Oliver. I told you about him. Saved my arse when my bike broke.”

“Right, bike guy,” you say, remembrance hitting you. You tilt your head. “What’s he like?”

Felix sighs.

“He doesn't have too many friends.  He's also had a rough upbringing. So I thought we could help him a little, you know?” You study him. However casual your boyfriend attempts to sound, you instantly recognize what this is. Yet another try at playing knight in shining armor. Whoever this Oliver guy is, he’s now become your boyfriend’s side project. His charity case possibly.

“He’s not like us so we could try to be nice.”

Not like us. You mask your discomfort with a bright smile. 

About a year ago, your dad’s company filed for bankruptcy. Thankfully your scholarship still allows you to attend Oxford, but your lifestyle has drastically changed. No more shopping sprees. No more casual leisure trips to Europe. No more frivolous spendings with daddy’s black card.

The last straw was when your father emptied every account, including your trust, and left the country without as much as a goodbye text. Since those events, your mother has taken refuge at the bottom of a whisky bottle. You can barely get a hold of her these days.

So not only are you penniless, you might as well be an orphan. 

Felix is all you have left. You can’t risk him finding out the truth. He can never know about the part time jobs you’ve had to take to cover tuition costs or the small flat your mum had to move into after your father had to sell the family manor. He might think you’re beneath him now, working class, destitute. Or worse, he might pity you, treat you like a charity case too. 

You follow the curve of his dark brow with your thumb, sweeping over his silver stud.

“Hm, sure. I can be nice,” you promise.

“I know you can,” he teases, large hands pulling on your thighs to spread you across his lap.

You squeal before scolding him, “Felix…I really really need to finish this essay.”

His eyes darken with lust as he licks his lips. He wiggles his hips, causing the bulge in his jeans to rub against your clothed center. Your breath hitches. “And I really really need you to take care of this for me.” His hoarse, desperate inflection makes your core clench. His palms run over your thighs beneath your short dress. “Just five minutes? Come on, I’ve been hard for like an hour, babe.”

He hums, already playfully fiddling with the edge of your lace panties.

“It’s your fault for wearing this fucking pink dress. You know the way your ass looks in it drives me crazy.”

You resolve crumbles beneath Felix’s heated stare. You can never tell him no. And he knows that. Releasing a deep sigh, you relent.

“Five minutes,” you offer.

He slides one finger inside your weeping core. As you draw a sharp breath, Felix beams.

“It’s all I need,” he coos.

The party’s at his height, loud music blasting from the gigantic speakers and glow sticks waving in the pitch blackness of the underground cellar. You thread your way between tipsy students, carrying two cups of beer in your hands. 

As you reach the VIP corner, you hand Annabel her drink. The redhead mumbles her thanks as she bobs her head to the music. You peer at your surroundings, glad to see everyone having fun. 

It’s a frank success. Pride trickles inside you at that. It’s been hard collecting pockets of free time to put it together between classes and assignments. But you did it. 

Truthfully, you’re also craving some fun tonight. All you’ve done lately is studying. You miss the days when you were more carefree, unconcerned about your grades deciding the course of your future.

You glance down at your watch, scowling as you notice the time. He was supposed to be here three hours ago.

“Where’s Felix?” you ask Venetia. Your boyfriend’s sister  lazily opens her eyes, a drunken smile spreading onto her lips. She shrugs. “Don’t know. Haven’t seen him around.” 

You pivot to the rest of the group. 

“Have you guys seen him tonight?”

Annabel shakes her head apologetically while Farleigh brings his blunt to his mouth with a taunting smile.

“Desperate much?” he teases.

“Farleigh, come on,” Anabel chastises. She bumps her shoulder into yours, her expression sympathetic. “Don’t mind him, you know he’s always a jerk after a few drinks.”

Farleigh sighs. “Darling, you know I love you. It was just a joke.”

“A joke, right…” you mumble. Your cheeks heat though you try not to let your feelings show. Still, Farleigh’s words linger in your head. Maybe you’re being too clingy. It’s something you should mind.  What if you became too needy and Felix grew bored of you? It’s not like he wouldn’t find a replacement for you in a heartbeat.

You lie back on the plush couch, sipping from your beer cup as your friends continue their chat. The conversation has long since stopped making sense, fueled by drug-inspired ramblings. Your attention is halved by your straying train of thoughts, the current whereabouts of your boyfriend still at the forefront of your brain.

Another hour flies by before Felix’s towering frame finally pierces through the crowd. A smaller boy trails behind him, his expression mirroring that of a lost puppy. He adjusts his glasses, awkwardly avoiding the drunken bodies around him. The word “Sorry” doesn’t stop pouring from his mouth. 

You realize this must be Oliver. Astonishment flows through you. This isn’t the kind of company Felix traditionally keeps. But you elect to try your best to be nice and welcoming.

It’s what Felix asked of you after all. Besides, entering a new group of people cannot be easy, your tight-knit circle having known each other since kindergarten for some.

You don’t miss Anabel’s fleeting,  condescending glance as she takes in Oliver though. Getting her assent to let him come had been a hassle, as she regards him as some weird, scholarship kid who’d just bring the mood down. But you insisted and she finally caved.

You trade a meaningful look with her, silently nudging her to be nice. The redhead practically rolls her eyes but squeezes her lips shut. Annabel may be one of your best friends but even you’re aware that she can be quite snobbish at times. 

A sullen expression decorates your face as Felix enters the private booth. 

“You’re late,” you blurt out. Farleigh snickers behind you and your cheeks flare. But everything around you fades as Felix grabs your face and presses feverish lips over yours. Your irritation melts in the heat of the passionate kiss. 

When he frees your mouth, his thumb runs over your swollen bottom lip as he explains casually, “Yeah we were just hanging out and we lost track of time.”

He then introduces the shy boy.

“That’s Ollie.”

“Nice to meet you,” he stutters.

“Likewise,’ you reply smiling.

You gauge him. Beneath the large glasses, you note the slanted blue eyes and soft, round boyish features. Felix’s friend is cute. If only he weren’t so painfully awkward. 

“You should sit with us. There’s plenty of space,” you say. 

Felix draws you onto his lap as he sits. Oliver takes a nervous seat next to the two of you. His eyes keep rising to Felix, as if seeking perpetual approval from your boyfriend. You’re a little perplexed. Farleigh hands Felix a spliff and he lets his hand rest on your thigh while taking a long drag from it.

“So, where are you from exactly?” you ask Oliver.

His gaze on you and Felix is sharp, somehow constantly darting to where your boyfriend’s holding you.

“Prescott,” he answers.

You mull over his response. It’s a few hours away from Oxford. You don’t know much about it. Though, based on what Felix implied about the way he grew up, you expected him to originate from a rougher area. Prescott doesn’t seem too awful.

“Prescott? They must be proud of you back home, especially your parents.”

“Probably not, actually.”

Your curiosity is piqued. “Why are you saying that?”

Oliver shrugs. His eyes find the floor before meeting yours again.

“Just don’t talk to them much,” he mutters. “They got problems and stuff…”

You slant your head. “Problems?”

Felix’s hand tightens atop your thigh. “Babe, that’s enough prying, don’t you think?”

“I’m just making conversation, trying to get to know him.”

“You’re embarrassing him, babe.”

Oliver’s blue gaze lifts to yours, his face unreadable.

“No, it’s fine,” he says, though you detect a slight edge to his timbre that wasn’t there before. A small smile tugs his lips. “I don’t mind questions. Got nothing to hide.”

You nod. An icy tickle blooms at the base of your spine, scattering outward as Oliver’s intense focus doesn’t leave you. You turn away, shifting your attention to your boyfriend. Throughout the entire night, a strange sensation thunders through you, like the lightning before the storm. You can’t explain it. It’s like the world shifted off its axis, though you can’t pinpoint the reason.

Thankfully the strangeness is cast aside by Felix’s soft lips and heady, masculine scent. As the party goes on in the background, the two of you sneak away. You end up making out in a dark corner, Felix’s greedy hands slipping beneath your short skirt to grab a fistful of your ass. He pinches your flesh and you squeal.

A warm chuckle spills from his lips as he peppers tender kisses alongside your neck.

“Let’s go back to my dorm,” he whispers.

You readily agree. He takes your hand and the two of you hitch a ride back to campus. The two of you giggle in the backseat of the car every time the driver berates you for getting too handsy with each other. You laugh it off all the way back to his room, lips locking as you cross the threshold. You jump to wrap your legs around Felix’s tapered waist. He purrs, his hands latching around your hips, pulling you closer. He pushes you against a wall, tracing a scorching path in the valley between your breasts. Moaning, you toss your head back. 

As your eyes flutter however, you catch sight of a silhouette standing outside Felix’s window. Your heart bounces, your eyes growing saucer-wide. You gasp and leap away from Felix. 

“What the fuck?” he curses as you race to the window. Chest pulsing with your quick heartbeats, you peel the window open to peek outside. The cold night air whisks inside the room. Goosebumps break out on your skin.

Your gaze wanders, searching the darkness. Confusion swells within you as you find nothing. Nothing but greenery, the same trees and grass flanking your path whenever you stroll through campus. 

“There was someone outside, w-watching us,” you stammer.

Felix’s frustrated breath grazes the back of your neck. “Babe, there’s no one out there.”

You squint, dumbfounded when nothing but pitch blackness stares back at you. For a minute, you really believed someone stood there. In fact, whoever they were bore a peculiar resemblance to…

You catch yourself before finishing the thought.

Now that’s just crazy.

“But I saw…”

Felix shifts your body towards him. He cups your cheeks and rasps, “Hey. Hey, look at me. There’s no one but us here.” His lips collide with yours. He starts groping you again and you push him off  you, stunned that he wants to have sex at a time like this.

“No, Felix, I-I can’t.”

He stumbles back and scoffs, “Oh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you inquire, glowering at him.

His gaze flicks over you, his expression cold. “All that teasing just to leave me high and dry?”

“Felix, wait…”

He avoids your touch, collecting his jacket from the bed when your fingers stretch towards him.

“It’s fine. I’m just gonna have a smoke. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Your stomach sinks.

“O-Okay,” you say as your hand retreats to your side.

The door slams shut and you collapse on Felix’s bed. Your eyes veer to the window once more. You could have sworn you caught a glimpse of someone. Maybe all those late nights writing essays and revising for the upcoming exams are slowly catching up to you, dragging you to the brink of madness.

Felix doesn’t call you the following day. Of course he doesn’t. You broke the mood. You acted weird. What reason does he have to want to be around you again? It’s bad enough you neglected him in favor of your assignments and club activities for the last few weeks. Now you can’t even enjoy the sparse time you have together.

Still, you flip your phone open all day long, longing for a word from him, any trivial, insignificant word.

You get nothing. 

You gloomily drag your feet around campus and somehow find your way in one of the empty student lounges, save Farleigh and Venetia. Lying flat on the carpeted floor, eyes glued to the ceiling, the two of them are sharing a spliff. You wedge yourself between them, lying on your back also. You steal the roll from Venetia’s fingers and bring it to your lips. Your throat burns and you cough as you inhale a puff. Venetia’s lips curve upward as your eyes water.

“You gotta take it easy the first time,” she says, amusement lighting her olive orbs. “Tiny inhales.” She shows you how and you mimic her gestures. You go slower the second time and a pleasant numbness sets into your limbs. Your eyes shut. You kind of get it now. For the first time in several weeks, your mind’s almost at rest, your stormy thoughts quieted. 

“You don’t smoke,” Farleigh notes near you.

“I am today.”

“You guys will be fine,” Venetia assures. “You’re always fine.”

Your eyes open, settling on the pristine white ceiling. 

“I fucking hate him sometimes.” You pause, sucking a deep breath. “But I love him more.”

“Yep, that’s Felix,” they utter in unison.

You heave out a weary sigh. They grew up with him. They know better than anyone, how sweet and wonderful he can be, but also cruel and careless sometimes.

Just like the sun, Felix’s light can also burn whoever gets too close. 

For a while, the three of you hang out in silence, the spliff switching hands every once in a while. Eventually, each of them rises, leaving you to your mopey thoughts. 

Before taking his leave however, Farleigh whispers in your ear,

“Oh and darling, next time you wear a rental…make sure the price tag isn’t sticking out. It gives you away.”

You sit up immediately. A smile dances on the boy’s lips as he disappears. You grab the back of your neck, face warming as you feel the tag poking through the collar of your shirt.

You nearly forgot you’re due to return the designer piece in two days’ time. You can’t believe someone noticed. Though you suppose if anybody would, it’d be Farleigh. Nothing gets past his keen eye. You surmise it was a necessity with the way he grew up. Learning to read people, knowing what makes them tick, being able to spot a pretender from a mile away…which you are now.

Maybe it’s ludicrous, acting like you can still afford to live like this, like your life wasn’t turned upside down.

Still, you can’t fathom the alternative. The judgement, the pity, from your friends…from Felix. The thought alone makes you sick. The echo of Anabel’s voice as she disparaged Oliver’s background a few days ago never left you. 

Dunno what Felix even sees in him. He’s some weird scholarship kid who buys his clothes at Oxfam.

That was harsh…and made you wonder what your best friend would have to say about your current situation. 

So you’d rather lie, even if you sometimes look like a fool doing so.

You swallow a wide lungful, willing yourself to be calm. You repeat the mantra, again and again. You’re okay. You’re okay. You just need to keep your grades up and get through the semester.

The rest of the week is hell. Felix all but ignores you, not even sparing you a glance when he brushes past you in the university corridors. The itch to talk to him sears inside you. Unfortunately, he’s always surrounded by a swarm of people, the center of attention as usual, making approaching him near impossible. You can’t picture bringing up your relationship problems in front of so many eyes.

Besides, you don’t want to project desperation, Farleigh’s pointed gibe still resonating in your mind. You need to play it cool, wrap yourself in a disguise of indifference…despite the way you wither away every second he’s not texting you back. 

The agonizing wait is made worse by him. He’s everywhere now. Wherever Felix goes, he goes too. Oliver Quick has essentially become your boyfriend’s shadow. Whether in class, at pub meetups, at parties, the quiet, nervous boy  never abandons Felix’s side, always peering up at him with those round baby blues of his, a strange mix of admiration, devotion and…something else you can’t pinpoint etched on his face.

It’s sort of creepy in your opinion. 

Though you’d never say it aloud. For some reason, Oliver’s his new toy. And you’re acutely aware of how Felix is with his toys. He plays with them for a while then moves on to the next fancy, shiny new one. He did it to Eddie before. Now Oliver. 

And maybe it’ll be your turn one day…if you don’t do something. 

It’s how you end up in front of his dorm one night, already tipsy from half a bottle of vodka. Liquid courage to get you to knock on his door. It’s pathetic. Of course it is, but you just can’t wait anymore. 

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and shaking off your nerves. Your knuckles are less than an inch from the door when a broken whimper reaches you from the other side of Felix’s door. 

Brows furrowing, you place your ear against the wood. You hear a moan this time. Deep, distinctive, masculine…familiar. Your heart stops. 

You plummet to your knees, peering through the keyhole. You feel wrong for doing so, for invading Felix’s privacy like this. But guilt crumbles beneath the weight of heartbreak at what you witness. 

You almost find yourself wishing you hadn’t looked. Almost.

Rivulets of anguish flow down your face as you watch your best friend and boyfriend lip-locked, practically swallowing each other’s faces. Their clothes aren’t off but the urgent way they’re grinding against each other is a dead giveaway as to what’s to come.

Legs trembling, you stumble back from the door. You shouldn’t have come. This was a mistake. You’re a fool.

You drunkenly stagger through the corridors, clinging to the walls each time you almost trip over your own feet.

You wind up slumped on some stairs, too inebriated to carry yourself much further. Your lids sag as you exhale. More hot tears spill down your cheeks. Your chest aches, a knife piercing through your heart as the memory of Annabel and Felix lost in the throes of passion fleets across your brain. Why are you even shocked? It’s not like you never caught Anabel leering at him while she thought you weren’t looking. And it’s not like Felix is some kind of saint. Still, you can’t help but feel massively betrayed. You thought you meant more to him. You thought they wouldn’t…not with each other.

When your eyes flutter open, you find a pair of intense cobalt orbs studying you.

“Oliver…” you mumble. In your drunken stupor, you don’t bother wondering how he got here, seemingly materializing from thin hair.

He hunkers in front of you. His scent tickles your nose and it twitches. The smell of his cologne is so strikingly reminiscent of the one Felix wears. A wave of emotion engulfs you. Sobs shake your frame as you shrink against the wall.

Oliver’s gaze rises to your weeping face as he questions, “Are you okay?”

“M’fine…” you slur, wiping your snotty nose. You must look a fright, a pathetic heap of tears aimlessly wandering the university corridors.

He tilts his head. “You don’t look fine.”

You consider Oliver. He is cute, which you noticed before. And in the dimly lit stairway, his blue eyes burn even brighter. You loathe that Felix is allowed to hurt you the way he did and can just…keep on. If your friends aren’t off-limits, why would his be?

You bat your lashes at Oliver.

“You got any alcohol?”

His lips curve upward as he rasps, “Would you like me to have alcohol?”

How did you end up there? The question keeps swirling in your head as Oliver’s mouth hungrily devours yours, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you closer. He trails fevered kisses down your neck and you squirm. As his teeth sink into the flesh at the crook of your neck, you let out a sharp cry. You tug on his dark locks and Oliver growls against your skin. The pain mixes with pleasure in your haze. His tongue then circles where he punctured your flesh, dragging slowly as an elated purr rises from his chest. His hard-on presses into your thigh. Alarm bells ring inside your mind.

It’s all a little too real, you realize. You got carried away. You draw back, pushing against his chest. “Oliver, wait…”

You might as well have said nothing, your words falling to unlistening ears as Oliver grabs your wrists and nudges you on the bed on your back. You peer up at him. Lust darkens his blue gaze, making him appear almost inhuman in the darkness.

Your mouth wobbles.

Pinning your wrists at your sides, Oliver kisses you senseless. Soon his lips are tracing a scorching path down your body, his hands moving to peel off your short skirt and panties.

His attentive gaze doesn’t leave yours as he sluggishly drags the tiny layer of lace down your legs.

His throat bobs when your bare cunt is exposed to him.

Biting his bottom lip, Oliver crawls his way to your core. Your legs quake. There is a strange glow in his eyes that sends chills down your back. 

“Oli-” you start, but the protest dwindles in a helpless whimper when Oiver buries his head between your thighs and flicks his tongue against your bundle of nerves. Oliver’s firm hands clasp around your thighs, keeping you in place when you attempt to close your legs. He greedily eats you out, fingers digging into your soft flesh. He suckles your tender button in his mouth and your eyes roll back. Your fingers get lost in his dark mane as your back arches against the sheets. Oliver’s feverish tongue sweeps around your folds and you grow weaker, slumping against the pillow. 

Quickly, stars dangle in your vision. Your fists tighten around the sheets while your legs turn to jelly. A long breath flows from your lips. 

You don’t remember ever coming that hard before, not even with Felix.

Tingles are still dancing over your legs as a sliver of clarity returns to you.

Oliver’s tongue slowly moves, collecting the remnants of your essence off his lips as a look of sheer bliss decorates his face. You shiver.

You try to move off the bed. “I think that’s enough,” you say, folding your knees.

Oliver’s mouth quirks lopsidedly. “Oh, we’re nowhere near done, luv.”

Much quicker than you, Oliver slithers his way up your body and cages you beneath his frame. He steals your lips in a hungry kiss, trapping your wrists above your head. His fingers are tight enough that you just know it’ll bruise. You taste your own bittersweet flavor on his tongue. His hand creeps under your shirt, groping your tits. He plants urgent pecks on your face, dragging his teeth along your jaw.

“Oliver, please…”  you beseech, shock making your voice shake.

He sinks a finger between your slick walls. Your stomach tightens.

Oliver releases your swollen lips and twists his finger inside your core. Your breath hitches.

He smiles down at you.

“But you’re gushing down there, luv. This is what you want.”

Your face warms. You hate that he’s right, that your body clings to him, making space you wish it didn’t…almost inviting his actions.

But Oliver’s mouth and hands are far too good at knowing which buttons to press to turn you into a whimpering mess. Shame pools in your gut as sharp keens leave your lips.

He pumps inside you at a steady pace, his thumb teasing your heap of sensitive nerves every once in a while, pressing until you cry out. He adds another finger and the air in your lungs falters. His hands feel everywhere at once, his teeth and mouth scattering marks all over your body.

He doesn’t stop until you clench around him, soaking his hand with your juices when you shatter with a high-pitched wail.

You crash over the pillows. Your body is still coming off the high. Half-lidded eyes blindly rise to the ceiling. Oliver yanking off his shirt and discarding his pants doesn’t register, not fully, the entire bottle of vodka you emptied before making your mind slow.

He’s suddenly inside you, his thick length splitting you apart as he places his forearms besides your head.

Your lips part in a quiet shout. It feels like if you might break, your walls aching as they stretch around him.

He begins to rail into you, each of his thrusts blunt and animalistic. As if he were possessed by some beast. You know it’s ludicrous. But as the lewd clapping of your damp skin against his rises each time he buries himself balls-deep inside you…it’s how you feel. Like a wild animal somehow broke free and started rutting into you.

Your head lolls against the pillows, your thoughts going blank every time he grazes your sweet spots. Your fingernails rake down his back. 

“Does Felix fuck you like this?” he rasps. He presses his chest against yours, his cock hitting an angle that draws a lengthy moan from you. A crooked smile ghosts over Oliver’s lips. “Or maybe more like this…” 

His warm breath fans over your earshell.

“Tell me luv… How do our cocks compare?”

When you don’t respond, he roughly shoves inside you, his fingers cinching around your windpipe. You gasp in horror, gaping at him through tear-filled eyes.

“Answer me,” he instructs, his voice deeper than before.

“Y-You’re bigger than he is,” you sputter, struggling to get the words out with his hand squeezing your throat. 

A peculiar blend of excitement and disappointment swims in his gaze when you answer.

You weakly claw at his chest, squirming beneath him. He doesn’t let you go, bending to shove his tongue in your mouth. He drags his tongue over your face, licking your hot tears. Sobs jostle your frame.

“Oliver, please,” you repeat.

He shushes you, framing your chin. His thumb follows the outline of your bottom lip, bleeding and swollen from all his rough kisses. 

“Stop fighting it. Be a good girl.” He showers tender pecks across your collarbone before softly whispering against your temple, “Or I’ll tell Felix everything. That you came onto me, begging me to fuck you.” His devilish smile sears into your skin. “I’ll tell him what a good little slut you were for me.”

Your stomach drops. Oliver collects your tears with his fingertips. He shoves his fingers in his mouth, emitting a throaty moan at the taste of your despair. He then dips those same fingers in your mouth, his pelvis snapping into yours.

“It’s beautiful, how much you love him,” Oliver mumbles, growing harder inside you as a fresh wave of tears brim beneath your lashes. “You’re beautiful. I can see why he always comes back.” He rests his forehead against yours, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips. 

“Maybe I’ll keep you for myself when this is all done.”

The awakening in the early morning is rude, the wicked headache and ache in your limbs reminding you of last night’s events right away. Strips of sunlight sneak between the curtains, caressing your face. The usually pleasant warmth does nothing to soothe your frayed nerves. Your stomach clenches as you peer at your side. Oliver’s completely naked, only wearing the silver chain always around his neck. His arm is lazily spread over your belly. You don’t dare move, fearing he’ll wake up. 

What would you even say?

This is a disaster. You somehow ended up in Oliver’s room and…had sex with him. 

You swallow a shaky sob as your gaze travels low. Your panties are torn, which you didn’t notice last night. At least your clothes can still be worn, lying in a messy heap at the bottom of the bed. Carefully, you writhe your way out of Oliver’s hold and grab your clothes. 

You hastily put your skirt and shirt back on, trying not to cry when you realize you’re going to have to walk back to your dorm without your knickers. Heat rushes to your cheeks. 

You toss a glance behind you, relieved when you find him still sleeping soundly. 

You climb off the bed. Your heart leaps when the mattress squeaks as you rise. 

Pulse quickening, you head for the door. 

Pain radiates through your lower body when you move. You stagger the rest of the way, constantly tugging on your short skirt as you pray not to encounter any strong gust of wind on the way back.

Before leaving,  you look back. 

Oliver’s still sprawled on his side on the bed but his eyes are wide open now. 

No word leaves his mouth as he studies you in silence.

A wide, lazy smile slowly unfans on his lips. 

Your blood turns to ice. Fumbling with the doorknob, you scurry outside the door.

Once you’re outside, you slam the door closed.

You dart panicked glances around the corridor. Relief fills you when you note that it’s empty. For now. It won’t be long before students start milling about.

You shamefully return to your dorm. The entire walk back, paranoia lurks at the edge of your mind. You keep wondering if every stranger you come across can tell what you did.

And you keep hoping not to run across anyone you know.

When you reach your bedroom, you lock the door. You make a beeline for the bathroom. You need a shower, expeditiously. Oliver’s smell still lingers on you. When you catch your disheveled reflection in the bathroom mirror, you’re shocked. You approach the mirror on unsteady legs. You crane your neck, your fingertips skimming over the two puncture wounds on your neck. A cool wave ripples down your back. It’s twisted. You feel like a character in a Polidori’s tale. Except this is reality somehow.

The one where you have to face the fact that you shagged your boyfriend’s new friend…and you’re not even entirely sure that you wanted it. Your mind throbs as you search through your memories. You changed your mind midway through. Oliver did not care.

Oliver did not care…

The ghastly realization has you keel over the toilet bowl to empty the meagre contents of your stomach. You slump to the floor and start quivering over the bathroom floor.

A sudden knock on your door has you rising from the floor.

Your heart skips a beat when you glance through the peephole.

“F-Felix?” you stutter, panic hitting a peak inside you.

His deep voice penetrates through the door.

“Hey, can we talk?” he asks. 

He sounds heartbroken, desperate. You almost unleash a sigh. You recognize this. You’ve been there before. This is a rollercoaster you can never get off of, the thrill when you’re high up entirely too intoxicating.

“Right now is not the best time.”

He heaves out a deep sigh. You can literally picture his kicked puppy expression, even with the door between you two. Your heartstrings flutter as you lean against the door. The craving to toss yourself in his arms wars with the sizzling betrayal still sitting in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck. Are you still mad at me?”

Swallowing the surge of tears, you reply, “No. Just feeling a bit rough. Had a tad too much to drink last night.”

“I could take care of you…”

You nibble your lip. It’s tempting. He’s done it before. Bought you pastries and showered you with kisses and cuddles until you got better. When he wants, Felix can be the perfect boyfriend. When he wants.

“No,” you say firmly. “What do you want, Felix?”

“Can’t you just let me in, just for a minute, babe?” His pleading inflection shatters your meek fences.

“The park. In two hours,” you concede. “I got microeconomics right now, can’t miss it.”

“Thank you. Thank you.”

He’s overjoyed. You can’t bear it anymore. You race back to the bathroom as another wave of queasiness engulfs your insides.

Jittery steps lead you through the park as you rejoin him under an oak tree. You spent the last hour in class totally unfocused, your chest tight as you dreaded how this conversation would go.

“Felix,” you greet.

He wraps his arms around you. You remain still in his embrace, the distinctive scent of his cologne floating around you. You feel sick. Now it doesn’t remind you of Felix anymore.

“I really missed you.”

“Didn’t seem like it,” you mumble coolly.

His long exhale tickles your shoulder. “I know. I’m a wanker.”

“More like a selfish arsehole.”

His hold on you slackens as he draws back a little.

A look of hurt and shock covers his face. He isn’t used to you speaking to him so harshly. To him, you’ve only ever been sweet and forgiving. His brows crumple.

“I deserve that.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Listen I… I almost did something awful last night.”

“What thing?” You fiddle with the scarf around your neck. It’s the sole last minute resort you found to conceal the mark decorating your throat.

Of course you know exactly what thing Felix is referring to. You saw it with your own eyes, that thing. If it weren’t for that, you may not be a complete wreck today.

“Doesn’t matter, cause I stopped. It’s not who I want to be anymore.” He cups your face, warm brown gaze diving into yours. “You make me better.”

Words leave your mouth without forethought.

“Who was it this time?”

He hesitates, his jaw tensing. But beneath your heavy stare, he finally caves in.

“It was Annabel.”

“Oh.”

The knife inside your chest twists. It’s one thing to know, to have seen. It’s another to hear it confirmed from your boyfriend’s own mouth. Last night wasn’t some dragged out nightmare; it was reality. When you turn your head, Felix pivots it back to him. 

Sincerity vibrates in his tone. 

“I ended up kicking her out though.” He wipes the single tear that spills down your cheek. “All I could think about was you, the entire time.” He strokes your face. “You’re the only one for me, babe. This is the last time. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Fuck…” 

You spot something you never heard in Felix’s voice before. Fear. And instantly, you break. 

He leans his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he states.

You’re dumbstruck. Those words have crossed Felix’s lips at least a thousand times. He’s said them to so many, even strangers…but never to you. 

He came close a few times, but never has he been this clear, firm, his meaning unmistakable. Butterflies swarm your stomach. 

“I love you,” he repeats.

Felix plants a feverish kiss on your lips, leaving them tingling when he releases you. 

“I love you too,” you whisper as your hot breaths mingle.

A sunny smile breaks out on his face.

“No more lies from now on.”

A sinking feeling spreads through you, but you ignore it, returning his smile.

“No more lies,” you echo. Guilt eats at you the second you utter the words.

Felix’s attention veers from you as he waves at someone behind you.

“Hey, Ollie,” he shouts.

The air around you plummets to a few degrees. You go still against Felix, nudging a shaky smile onto your lips.

“I need to go to class,” you chime. 

You don’t even turn around, his presence alone sending your senses into alert.

Confusion scrunches Felix’s features.

“Your next class isn’t for another hour.”

You pat his chest, willing yourself to sound more cheerful than you feel.

“Just got some studying to catch up on beforehand.”

Felix’s fingers cling to yours as you try to leave. 

“I’ll see you tonight at the pub?”

“Sure.”

He doesn’t let you go until you give him another lengthy kiss. You’re uncomfortable, the weight of a certain somebody’s stare drilling holes into your back.

Things recede to relative normalcy, in some ways better than before, and in others worse. Better because of your relationship with Felix. It improves tremendously. He dotes on you more than he ever has, showering you with gifts and small attentions.

Worse because he’s still there, his unsettling presence the dark cloud over your rekindled romance. Each time you’re forced to be around him, there’s a knowing, smug glint dancing in his eyes, a subtle smile tugging his lips skywards. Perpetual fright eclipses your happiness, all because of Oliver Quick.

What if he told Felix everything? This was a mistake and you’re fairly sure you tried to stop it. You still have nightmares about that night, the way he held you down and wrapped his hand around your neck, stealing your air and ability to defend yourself.

You were helpless. Even letting Felix touch you is hard now, the memory of what Oliver did to you seeping through the cracks whenever you expect it least.

He branded you. And while the marks on your body may have faded, the ones engraved on your soul won’t vanish so easily.

It’s a blessing when Felix finally grows bored with him. You have no idea how it occurred. You simply know that they seem stitched at the hip for months then, suddenly, Oliver is gone. Felix shows up at group meetups without him and stops mentioning him altogether.

As if he took an eraser and wiped him from existence. Just like he did to Eddie back in the day.

You’re relieved…for an ephemeral while alas.

Oliver’s dad's abrupt passing changes everything overnight. 

Once more, Felix feels the need to be Oliver’s knight in shining armor. 

And once more the two of them are inseparable. Two peas in a pod.

You elect to take some distance. While you understand that Felix wants to help him, it doesn’t mean you have to. Thankfully, with summer fastly approaching, you won’t have to bear with Oliver Quick for much longer.

As usual, James and Elspeth urged you to come spend the summer at Saltburn, particularly Elspeth who couldn’t stop gushing about what a gorgeous couple you and Felix are. And while you may have tried to decline every other year, finding his family to be an awful lot, this year is different. This year, more than ever before, you long for an escape. 

Even the pits of hell would be a suitable vacation spot if it meant not having to run across Oliver Quick for two whole months. 

It’s a thrilling prospect. These days you can’t be around Felix as much because being around him means being around Oliver, and you just can’t do it. You look forward to having your boyfriend all to yourself. All day long, you dream about lazy afternoons by the pool and cloud-gazing in the grassy fields.

These are the balmy thoughts floating through your mind as you return to your dorm that day after classes end. A carefree smile decorates your face. You can’t wait to finish packing your suitcase. You saved every penny from your part-time job to buy a new swimsuit. And while it made a small dent in your savings, imagining Felix’s face the first time he’ll see you in it makes the tiny sacrifice worth it. 

But the smile on your lips dies when you cross the door to your bedroom. Your jaw drops, the stack of books in your hands crashing to the floor with a loud thud.

“What are you doing here?” you whisper. You shrink against the door, maintaining as wide a distance as the small room allows.

Oliver doesn’t even spare you a glance, casually lying on your bed with one knee bent like it’s his.

“Your taste in books. A bit of a letdown I gotta say, luv,” he says, flipping the yellowed pages of one of your favourite novels.

You lick your lips. “Look, I’m sorry about your dad…but you can’t be here.” He doesn’t leave your bed, engulfed in his reading. Your brows knit. “Get out of my room, Oliver,” you repeat, folding your arms as you approach the bed.

His cobalt gaze finally settles on you. He places the book on the night table, slow and unhurried as he gets to his feet.

Your pulse soars as he inches closer.

“Or what? You’ll scream?” he challenges. He circles you, gauging you in a way that summons a picture of a lion stalking its prey in your head. Your blood curdles when Oliver’s breath caresses your nape. “Then you’ll have to explain what I’m doing in your room and make a scene.” His voice lowers to a taunting rasp. “Do you want to make a scene?”

Your voice comes out shaky. “What do you want?”

Oliver takes a deep breath while placing his hands on your shoulders. His thumbs trace a slow path along the column of your neck. His lips graze your earshell.

“I want you to come over here, lie on this bed and spread your legs like a good girl for me.” You suck in a sharp breath. His fingers drag down your arm as he adds, “I’m feeling…peckish.”

When you don’t move, he releases a deep sigh. 

“...Or I can tell Felix everything.”

Your heart starts hammering in your chest. “What?” you exhale, spinning to face him. 

Oliver smiles. 

“You guys are great right now. He says you’re the best you’ve ever been. No more lies. No more secrets.” Oliver bends close to you, his smile expanding. “How do you think he’ll react when I tell him that we fucked…” He pauses and you hold your breath. “And that you’ve lied to him about your family this entire year.” 

Goosebumps spread across your flesh. You stumble back, your eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. “H-How do you know about that?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, Oliver takes small steps forward, causing you to retreat until the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. He places his hands on each side of you. His  gaze traces the motion of your neck as you swallow the lump in your throat.

“I…It’s not the right time of the month right now,” you lamely offer. 

Oliver’s blue eyes rise as he sinks to his knees in front of you. Tingles bounce over your skin as he rolls your plaid skirt up your thighs.

“And you think it’s something I’m worried about?”

A moan tears from your throat when he buries two fingers inside your core without a warning.

“From now on when I tell you to spread your legs for me, you do as I say,” Oliver informs, his fingers curving inside you. You choke on your breath. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Do you understand?” The threat laced in his tone scatters ice in your veins.

“Y-Yes.”

“Yes, Oliver,” he corrects.

“Yes…Oliver,” you sputter, legs tensing as his digits reach deeper inside you.

“I’m sure it’ll be a summer to remember.”

Between uneven breaths, you stammer, “W-What do you mean?”

He strokes under your thigh absently.

“Oh didn’t Felix tell you?” He bends over you to whisper in your ear. “I’ve been invited to Saltburn, as a guest.”

When Oliver leans away, he’s smiling from ear to ear. Excitement sways in his cobalt orbs as he studies your crestfallen expression. 

“I know. I’m looking forward to it too.” 

[lewisyellowhelmet]

freefall (pt 2)

lewis hamilton x mercedes engineer!reader

read part 1 here !!

summary: You and Lewis have let this go on too far, and for too long. (You are an engineer for Mercedes on Lewis’ side of the garage).

content: 18+!!!! general m/f sex acts. coworker relationship. let me know if u want anything else flagged!

You wake cold. The hotel air conditioning has kicked on during the night, a familiar whir in the ceiling, and in your sleep you’ve pulled the covers up around your chin in an attempt to keep your body warmth in. It takes a few circulations of the room for you to find the off switch for the air-con. 

After, you stand against the big window until your alarm goes off, warm breath making a condensation cloud against the glass. You’re in Baku. No. Budapest. Budapest. You’ve been in this hotel before, you’ve seen this view. You have to close your eyes when the surge of memories come. The sound of Lewis singing to himself in the shower. His warm arm over your belly while you slept. Leaning over graphs together to try and figure out how to be faster, how to be better. Your iPhone is ringing, vibrating, morning alarm. The room is still cold. 

You get to the engineers room before Lewis does. It’s rained overnight, the track wet, the air brisk. Endless emails await you. The cars not right. Nothing is right. A headache is pulsing at your temples. Your coffee is cold before you remember to drink it. Others work around you. Recently, you’ve begun having this urge, strong and gripping, to stand up and be wild, to yell and scream. We were in love. We were in love and no one knew. I sacrificed that to give us another go at a championship and now you can’t even get the fucking car to work? 

  You have to close your eyes and practice box breathing until it passes. When you lift your head again, Lewis is moving around your desk to go into Toto’s office. He doesn’t look at you.

—

It has been a year. A hard year. You’d left the hotel room, left him, feeling on the verge of insanity. Lewis had let you go without much of a fight. It felt like his confession, his acceptance, had drained all his energy. Somewhere silent and hidden behind your heart, you wish he’d fought harder. Having to pretend nothing had happened in front of your co-workers was gut wrenching. Sleeping alone was worse. The break between seasons had helped, a forced separation, different cities, but now, in the thick of a new calendar, a new year, you were constantly turning corners and bumping into him. You couldn’t go back to the friendship you’d had before. And you couldn’t go forward into a new, adjusted working relationship. There was only a sense of coldness, of formality. No way forward, no way back. Only this compounding sense of dread, anticipating the next interaction. 

  Toto’s assistant sticks her head out of the office while you’re gazing unseeing at the screens in front of you, calling for you. Your bones feel stiff and unwilling as you unfold yourself, follow her into the small room. Lewis is sitting in front of the desk, one knee pulled up, gives you a polite smile upon your entrance. Toto is leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled, deep thinking. There are no chairs for you. You hover behind Lewis, and refuse to think about reaching out, touching the back of his neck, smoothing your fingers into his hair. 

  Generic meeting. A summary of free practice, and then qualifying from the day before. Plans for the day. Any new ideas? Any solutions? Your headache is getting stronger. No solutions. 

  Lewis holds the door open for you when the meeting is over, and you can smell him as you move past. Familiar cologne. He used to laugh when you buried his face in his neck, sniffed over-dramatically, pretending to be a curious dog. He’d wriggled from the sensation, your tickling mouth, pressing nose. Pretended he didn’t like it, but always made sure to wear your favourite smell everyday anyway. 

  You need paracetamol. Too late you realise he’s following you to hospitality, where the first aid kit is stored. He is a step behind, lagging, despite easily being able to match your pace. You feel the gap keenly, an open wound. 

—

The over-ear headphones drown out the noise of the garage. This, at least, you can do. Go through the motions of race day, a familiar rhythm. Positioned on your stool in front of your screens, the microphone against your mouth, the final, tenuous connection between you and Lewis. A direct line between you and him. You go through the regular checks together, safety, engine, ensuring the connection is clear. The cars roar. The adrenaline pounds. 

  “Ready?” You ask. 

  “Ready.” 

You chew on the inside of your mouth so you don’t say, be safe, be careful. The lights flash down. The engines rev. The job begins. 

—

The air conditioning is on again in the hotel room. They’ve been in to change the sheets, the towels, vacuumed. You feel stupid with fatigue, with loneliness, with missing him. The after-race meetings had dragged. Lewis was tired. The atmosphere was tense. You want to sleep for ten years, but there is a plane to catch first thing tomorrow morning. There are spirits in the mini-fridge, ice clear and beckoning. You drink two in the shower, and another in front of BBC World News on the television. Are you dreaming? Is this real life? The gin gives everything a foggy haze. Your steps are unsteady. You sit in bed and scroll through yours and Lewis’ text threads. Room numbers. Memes. Inside jokes texted under the table during long meetings. You manage to convince yourself its a mistake when you tap through to his contact number, watch it dial, ring through. Listen to the connecting sound, hear him say, “hello?” before you realise what’s happened, what you’ve done, what rule you’ve broken. You hang up. Hot panic. The newsreader is talking about weather. Lewis is calling back, already, and you watch it ring out. You feel frozen by horror. The room is so cold, and the fridge is worse as you reach in, tiny bottles clinking together. Vodka this time. Forget, forget, forget. 

There’s someone knocking on the door. You manage to get yourself into a hotel issued robe, pull it tight, before you get into the small hallway, fumble with the handle, get the door open. You swear, and Lewis has to reach out to stop you closing the door again. 

  “Are you alright?” He asks. 

  “Yes,” you insist. 

  “You called me.” 

  “Did I? It must have been a mistake.”

Your voice sounds fake, even to you, the laugh reedy and broken. 

  “Are you drunk?” Lewis asks. 

  “No,” you lie. 

He drops his arm from where it was holding open the door. He’s wearing pyjama pants and a worn grey hoodie. One you used to wear to go make the coffee in the morning. You can tell from the softness of his expression he’s been recently asleep. You should shut the door now. Block him out again. Go to bed. Instead, you feel yourself start to cry, building in your chest, the tightness in your throat, burning in your eyes. 

  “Babe,” he says, so sad, so concerned, and the sob you emit is embarrassing and loud. You have to let go of the door to cover your face, feeling your back curve over. Lewis is gentle about coming inside, guiding you to the bed, tucking you in. He brings you a glass of water, makes you have three big sips. You’re still crying, childlike, red faced and snotty. He passes you tissues, strokes your hair. 

  “I’m sorry,” you start to say, even as he shushes you, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he murmurs, “Everything’s okay.” 

You feel as if the world is ending. Crying like this in front of him. Drunk and messy. And the room is so fucking cold. 

  “Can you,” you stumble, wriggling over in the bed, throwing open the covers, “I’m really cold.” 

He says your name the way he used to say it, warm and intimate, a nickname. Like a lover. Like a partner. 

  “Are you sure?” He asks, even as you’re reaching out for him, dragging him in. 

  “Please,” you say, “I’m cold.” 

He tastes salty when you kiss him, your own tears on his mouth. He makes a wounded sound, but then he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you to his chest, his leg over yours. You feel held, sheltered. He lets you kiss him again, deeper, better. 

  “I’m sorry,” you say again, when you need to breathe, and he’s smiling, warm eyes, smoothing you hair off your face. 

  “It’s okay,” he repeats, “Whatever you need.” 

Your hands are fists in his hoodie, “I need you.” 

  “How do you need me?”

  “Like this,” you whisper, lips brushing his, taking his hand to slip into your robe, over your breast. He sighs out a breath as his fingers touch your nipple, swipe over it again so you make a small, wanting noise. 

  It feels dreamlike, a long awaited thing. A rush, almost, to get out of your robe, Lewis out of his own clothes so you can sling a leg over his waist, face hidden in the crook of his neck as he pushes into you, his big hand tangled in your hair, holding you to him. Rasping breaths, the sudden heat of two bodies working together, the length of him inside you, pushing deep. It feels instinctual, animalistic, breathing him in, trying to remember everything, compartmentalise every second, every touch, every groan. Lewis rolls you onto your back, but stays close, his mouth finding yours, sharing breath as he grinds into you. You come quickly, nothing controlled, grasping at him and panting, shaking through it. Lewis holds himself there, lets you shudder and cry out, pulsing around him. His eyes are dark and liquid, but he keeps watching you, like he’s trying to remember as well, be present for everything. You don’t want this to ever end. When you can breathe again, he returns to his rythym, steady knocks of his hips into yours, the rush of his breath, of his body. His face drops into your neck when he finishes, hands gripping you like he will never let go again. You feel new, hot tears leak down your face as you hold him. 

—

You wake warm, this time. You’re curled around yourself, a child, with Lewis aligned to your back, his face against your spine, his arm over you, protecting you. You’re facing the window, curtains left open, blinking at an apartment building, holding hundreds of different lives, different bedrooms, different people. Lewis is still asleep, you can tell from the steadiness of his breath, the sleep-weight of his body over yours. You place your hand over his, interlinking knuckles. The more you wake up, the more you feel embarrassed, shame curdling in your belly. He’s done this out of pity. How gross, to call him, drunk, drag him into bed with you, to beg. You feel overheated, suddenly, untangle yourself from him, slip out of the covers and into the bathroom, pulling the sliding door to encase yourself in the marble and glass. Your eyes are swollen from crying. You mouth is bruised pink from him. There are fingertip bruises on your waist from where he’s held you. You have to sit on the lip of the built in tub so you don’t throw up, or start crying again. You haven’t washed your hair in a few days, and it hangs limp around your fingers, head in your hands, again. Hiding. Wanting to disappear. Your hangover makes you tremble. You’ve failed. You failed years ago, when you looped your arms around his neck and kissed him for the first time. You failed again when you turned your back on him. And now, to be so weak, to force him to do this again, to look after you. 

  The bathroom door slides open. Lewis is in your robe, tight around his shoulders. You try to smile at him, but even without seeing you know it’s more of a grimace. 

  “I don’t know what to say,” you tell him, raking your hands through your hair, “I’m just so, so sorry.” 

  “You said that a lot last night.” 

Lewis doesn’t move any further into the room. Stays in the doorway. Watches. Witnesses. 

  “I can’t believe I. I’m so embarrassed.”

He shakes his head, “Don’t be.” 

  “Lewis,” you’re speechless. What is there to say? How to apologise? To take back? 

  “Look,” he spreads his hands, surrender, “We don’t have to talk about it. It never happened.” 

  “Never happened,” you echo. Vomit threatens. Never happened. 

  “If that’s what you want,” Lewis says. 

You’re nodding, looking down at your bare feet on the tiles, “Yeah, that sounds good.” 

  The silence makes you want to scream. Just to break it. You can hear your heartbeat in your head. A constant pound. You stay there, on the edge of the bathtub, while he gets dressed. He doesn’t look in on his way out. The door shuts with a finality. 

—

You fly to Oxford. He flies to Monaco. You don’t speak. 

—

It happens in the middle of the night. The off season. When you check your phone for the first time the next morning, waiting for the kettle to boil, you have so many missed calls your phone has stopped counting them. The photos are blurry, but it’s obvious if you know what you’re looking for. Through a small window in the door of your office. In the first one, you’re just laughing together, the second you are reaching for his hand, the final one you are in his lap, your mouth hidden by his, Lewis’ big hands in your hair. You’re still staring at them when he calls. He does’t say anything when you pick you. You just breathe, together, for a long moment. 

  “So it happened,” you finally say. 

  “It happened,” he agrees. 

  “I haven’t spoken to anyone else yet. I just woke up,” you say. 

  “Don’t,” he says, “I’m going to fly in this afternoon. We’ll have a meeting with the publicists. Toto wants HR there, as well.” 

  “Fuck.” 

You hesitate, and then, “Was Toto mad?”

  “He wasn’t happy. He reckons Susie knew and didn’t tell him.” 

  “Where did the photos come from?”

  “Ex-employee, they think. Was waiting for the right time.” 

  “And now is the right time?” You can hear the edge of hysteria in your voice. 

  “I’m really sorry,” Lewis says. 

  “It’s not your fault.” 

  “I’m still sorry.”

You need to boil the kettle again, tea forgotten. You realise you're gripping the kitchen bench so hard your knuckles have gone white. You let go. You look out over the garden, crisp with morning frost. Christmas soon. You’ll have to explain to your family. 

  “Did Toto say anything about my job?” You ask, feeling sick at the thought. 

  “No. I said if he fired you, I would quit.” 

  “Don’t be stupid.” 

  “I’m not.” 

There’s quiet again. You flick the kettle on.

  “I think it’s good if we come in together. We can plan what we want to say. I can pick you up from your house,” he says. 

  “Alright.” 

  “Don’t answer any numbers you don’t know, okay? Media might call.”

  “Really? I was just gonna pick up strange numbers all day,” you say, a bite in your tone. Lewis laughs though, an amused huff. 

  “You’re right, sorry. I’m control-freaking.” 

You hum an agreement. 

  "I’ll see you soon, then,” he says. 

  You suddenly have a fierce urge not to let him end the call, to let his voice anchor you. 

  “Alright,” you say, and hang up first. 

—

The meeting is awful, of course. People are panicking. Toto scolds. You go silent. Lewis rages. In the end, the core group sits silent around a meeting table. The most promising solution is to paint it as star-crossed lovers, meant to be, soulmates. Refusing to be kept apart by jobs and contracts. This would be perfect, perhaps, if you were still together. 

  “Could you pretend? Until it died down,” Toto had said. 

  “No,” you’d snapped, speaking over Lewis’, “It depends what she wants.” 

Now, the silence is stale, nothing left to say, but no agreement reached. Your eyes prick with fatigue. 

—

Lewis drives you home. When he pulls into the driveway, you’re too tired to get out of the car. There is a light on inside. Your mum must be here, checking in on you. Has heard somehow, which must mean it's on the internet.

  “How are you feeling?” Lewis asks, when you make no move to open the door. 

  “Tired,” you say, “You?”

  “Sad.” 

It’s unconscious, reaching to to touch his leg, an urge to comfort. He sighs. The muscle of him is warm through his jeans. 

  “If this had happened a year ago,” he starts, and stops, shaking his head, “Doesn’t matter.” 

  “If it happened a year ago, what?” You say. He shrugs. 

  “Everything might have turned out okay.” 

You turn your face from him, look out the window into the dark street. It makes your heart throb painfully to see him. You can’t speak through a thick, swollen throat. 

  “I’m sorry I didn’t say it,” you finally manage to whisper. Your hand is still on his thigh. 

  “Didn’t say what?" 

You close your eyes, lean to rest your forehead on the car window with a thunk. 

  “Didn’t say that I loved you back.”

  “Did you?” 

 You laugh, exhausted from carrying it for so long, “Lewis. Of course. Of course I do. So much.” 

  “You do?”

Your eyes fly open, realising your mistake. You snatch your hand from his leg, turn to face him, “I did. I did then.” 

  “You don’t love me anymore,” he clarifies. He’s frowning, forehead creased. The night is pressing in on the car, dark and claustrophobic. You can’t speak. 

  “Because nothing has changed for me. I feel the same as I did then,” Lewis says, and you can see how he’s working to speak, jaw twitching, forcing the words out. Something private, and hidden, being pushed into the open. You’re pressing your hands together in your lap, painfully tight. 

  “Alright,” you say, hate yourself for it. He looks away. His eyes are gleaming. 

  “Alright.”

You get out of the car. Stiff and awkward. You get your key in the front door, hear him turn the engine back on. Fear is clawing at your chest. You turn around anyway, back down the steps, jump in front of the car so he has to slam on the breaks, a screech breaking the night air. He’s opening the drivers door at the same time you’re trying to open it, get to him. He’s half out of the car and you’re half in when you kiss him, cold air, warm mouths. He’s grasping your head, holding you steady. 

  "I’m sorry,” you’re panting, “I’m sorry.” 

  “Stop apologising,” Lewis says, “What’s done is done.” 

You keep kissing him, his face, his nose, his jaw. 

  “I love you,” you press into his skin, you kiss into his mouth, “I love you.” 

Lewis is pulling you into his lap, back into the car, pulling the door shut again, crammed in. Your hands under his shirt, feeling his skin, feeling him breathe. 

  “Do you?” He asks, holding your face in front of him. You feel your face hurt with how wide you are grinning, a release of something held inside for so long. Your hands mirror his on his face, precious in your fingers. 

  “I do. I do. I love you.” 

Lewis half laughs, half sobs. His eyes are shining. The car horn beeps from a stray elbow. You keep kissing him anyway. 

[gauloiseblue]

[TW: implied non-con, somno, stalking, horror]

There's something strange going on in your apartment.

It had been going on for a while, but you've only noticed it recently.

Your sleeping schedule wasn't healthy per se, but there'd be the time when you felt so sleepy, you almost passed out on your way to the bed.

At first you suspected it was the calming tea you bought, but the drowsiness still came, even when you drank something else.

It happened at the same hour, too. Because the moment you hit the bed, you saw the same exact numbers on your clock.

8:00 PM

You rarely had a dreamless night, but somehow you always did when it happened. It's almost like you're sleeping like a rock, only to wake up, feeling groggy, and strangely sore.

Your neck was hurt, your shoulders were tense, and your hips felt like they'd been bruised.

Sometimes you found some strange bruises on your body. When you took a shower, you saw one in your inner arm. And later one, you discovered more on your inner thighs. You weren't that reckless to get a bruise in such places, so it was very confusing at that time.

Of course you've checked yourself to the doctor, but the result was nothing out of the ordinary, so there's nothing you should be afraid of. Though the doctor said it's possible that you've been sleepwalking, which would explain most of the odd things that's been happening.

After a night of heavy sleep, you woke up to find something that's out of place. You swore you didn't use that much tissues, but somehow they filled up your bin. You vaguely recalled putting your phone beside the pillow, but you found it on the nightstand the next morning.

One time, you felt so sleepy after a bath, that you didn't pay attention to your clothes. But you knew you had your shirt right, so why did you find it backward the next day?

There was a lingering smell that was foreign to you. It's almost like a musk, but not strong enough to be distinct. So you shrugged it off and thought of it as the remnant of your sweat. Which, you didn't know why you did, but you sweat a lot that night.

One or a few times, you stirred from your sleep and found yourself unable to move. All your limbs were heavy, as if something was weighing you down. And when you slept on your stomach, you often felt restrained, as if a large snake had wrapped itself around you.

It should've been obvious to you that something was wrong. Something was off about your apartment.

The first time you had a hunch was the moment you saw the CCTV of your floor. It was when you lost your spare key for the second time, and the security asked you to fill the form at the office. There were multiple screens in that place, which monitored each floor of the building. You glanced at the section of your floor, and saw your neighbor entering his room. The blond man has a room right across you, on the right side from the lift.

When you came to your floor, you noticed the security camera at the end of the hall was pointing at the lift. You looked back to the closing door, before your eyes went back to the small black dome on the ceiling, staring at the red dot.

It didn't click in your mind that something's off. Which you blissfully ignored as you stepped into your nightmare.

That night, you fell on the bed with your top only. Because you didn't have the energy to put on the rest of your clothes. And when you rose up from sleep the next day, you felt a cramp in your stomach. Your hip was so sore that you had trouble walking.

That's when you began to suspect something.

You had no idea what it was, but there was something in your apartment.

You tried to stake out for the night—once or twice every week, but nothing happened. Nothing was off about your room. You did doze off on one of the nights, but you didn't wake up sore the next morning. You're just… a little cold.

That was three days ago, and now you're preparing for another night.

You're drinking a glass of water when you glance at the clock. It's 7:58 PM, and it shouldn't be long before the lethargy seeps in. You finish the drink before you put the glass down on the table.

Yet it slips out of your hand before you could place it.

The glass rolls away under your bed, and you try to search with your hand, before you kneel down by the bed.

The sleepiness has taken effect on you, and you almost fall on your face when you try to peek into the darkness.

It's hard to get your eyes to focus, as you squint your eyes to locate the glass. It's near the hand of a mannequin, and you reach out to get it from under your bed.

But the hand is warm to touch when your knuckles brush against it. It was… too warm… too veiny for a mannequin.

It's not until its finger twitches, that you're hit with a delayed warning.

You don't own a mannequin.

Your body stumbles backward, as your mouth hangs open with a silent scream. In your mind, you were shrieking, it should be loud enough to alert the neighbors. Yet what comes from your mouth is a whimper.

You scramble to get on your feet, but the floor feels like sinking sand whenever you take a step.

The door is heavy when you pull it, before your knees give up, and force you to crawl into the small gap. The skid sound of your skin is drowned by the ringing of your ears, further disorienting you from getting to the front door.

Yet the moment you're close to the exit, your body collapses under its own weight. You fall flat on your stomach, with your eyes threatening to close at any time, pulling you down to your slumber.

You stretch your hand towards the door, which is a useless attempt since you can't reach the handle. The world seems to grow bigger, while you just turn smaller and smaller.

A heavy footstep awakens you from your daze, and you muster your energy to drag yourself away. Though it's no avail, since you can no longer feel your limbs.

And right before you succumb to your sleep, a pair of hands slip under your arms, before pulling you up with ease. You whine as his arms find their way around you, caging you with his strong embrace.

As your consciousness slips away, you hear him murmur something before everything goes dark.

[toyybox]

Spiderwebs #42: Callaghan

Masterlist

content: hallucinations, psychiatry, past non-con drugging, dehumanization, general themes of abuse

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

The laboratory was silent, save for the hum of the deep freezer. The cursor flashed a thin black line on the computer screen. Her notes were all sprawled on the desk, journals and scrap papers arranged in proper chronological order. A cup of coffee sat on a coaster and waited to go cold.

Heather leaned back in her chair. The first word was always the hardest. If she could start with that, the paper would just about write itself, and she—

The door slammed open. “Do you have bug spray?”

She glanced up, not bothering to wipe the irritation off her face. “I beg your pardon?”

Jackie stood in the open doorway, taking a second to catch his breath, his bangs haphazard in front of his eyes, shirt somewhat ruffled. “There’s spiders all over the basement.”

“Spiders?” That was always a problem as the weather got warmer. Spring had almost arrived. It was a bit early, yes, but spiders tended to ignore most calendars. “I… How many are there?”

“I don’t know. A whole lot. Must be a nest or something.”

“A nest?” She stood up from the chair. “I’ll take a look."

They came to the basement door, open to the chasm of its stair steps. They just fixed the shower a couple days ago, and she wasn’t looking forward to another afternoon sorting this out. The basement was where Jackie’s bed stood, after all, and all his furniture. He still slept there sometimes, so an infestation would be inconvenient.

She followed him down the stairs. He turned the light switch on. They waited on the staircase.

If Heather actually saw any spiders, she would have been much less worried. At least pests could be disposed of with some time and effort.

Unfortunately, she saw nothing. Not even any other sort of insect, not even ants or cockroaches. The basement was as empty as it always was, which meant Jackie was seeing things. 

“I guess they’re gone. Weird.” He gave her concerned expression an equally concerned glance. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“So, you’re saying that there were spiders here? Right here? On the basement floor?”

“...Yes?” 

“You’re not feeling ill, are you? Do you have a fever?” She placed the back of her hand against his forehead. His temperature was normal, however.

He swatted her hand away. “No, I’m fine. What are you going on about? Spit it out already.”

“Jackie. You’re hallucinating again.”

“Again.” He glared at the featureless concrete floor. "I don't know why it's happening now."

That was the problem: she didn’t know either. Why this was happening, or how to stop it. She knew this wasn’t normal, but that was about as far as her expertise went. She could sedate him, maybe, perhaps administer fever medication, even add in a few antihistamines, but she had nothing for hallucinations. She didn't know where to start. 

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” she replied firmly. “This is serious.”

He sat sprawled on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling as he spoke. “But there’s nothing we can do, right? So… we’ll do nothing. It has to go away eventually. Honestly, they don’t even bother me.”

“They don’t bother you yet, but waiting around will only make the problem worse. We should go to a psychiatrist.”

He shrugged. “I guess."

“The only problem would be finding a psychiatrist who won’t call the police.”

“Ask around. I’m sure you’ll find someone.”

“Ask around where?”

“Oh, you know.” He waved his hand in a vague arc. “There’s probably someone shady you talked to once or twice. Don’t you guys have connections?”

This was such a terrible suggestion that she was at a loss on how to reply. But it did get her thinking. She didn’t know many criminals, but she had met a rather eccentric professor back at Oxford. Professor Callaghan was somewhat prolific with the student body, often going on rants about the limitations of organized academia instead of teaching anything. He quickly became her favorite. Their shared interests and, dare she say it, sense of camaraderie quickly spiraled into an apprenticeship of sorts, where she helped him dig up graves and the like.

This meant he was—luckily for her—a graverobber. Not an ill-mannered graverobber, of course. Not some petty thief. He was actually quite a nice person. Those corpses had been exhumed for scientific reasons, and the occasional gold ring. The bodies looked a little too fresh, sometimes, but what he did in his spare hours was none of her concern. More importantly, this meant he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. Ergo, Callaghan wouldn’t complain about a bit of blood on hers.

He taught psychology, but he also had a medical degree, and later moved back to America to open up a psychiatry practice. Americans paid more, he told her, and most of his family lived there. It had been five years since she left school, but she was sure that he wouldn’t mind doing her a favor. If it was money he wanted, so be it. She would pay any amount to ensure her subject’s health.

So she called the professor to set up an appointment. He didn’t live too far from her. Jackie wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about the idea, but he didn’t complain about tagging along.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

They arrived without any trouble, about a week later.

“Are you sure this is his house?” he asked.

Heather glanced behind her shoulder, where Jackie stood at the entrance steps. “Yes, I’m absolutely certain. I checked three times. Also, it says his name there.” She gestured towards the plaque bearing a carving, which read DR. LUKAS CALLAGHAN. 

“Okay, but it just looks so…”

It did have a jarring appearance. Great big arches at the windows, dark mahogany and ashen brick, dramatic sprays of briar rose and blackwoods here and there. But it was a nice place, otherwise. Her old psychology professor was doing well for himself. 

“Hurry up.” She ushered Jackie up the steps with an impatient wave. “We need to be punctual. Professor Callaghan is very particular about these sorts of things, and I want to be polite. He’s doing us a significant favor.”

He followed after her, while she let the big brass knocker hit the door. Once, twice, it echoed against the heavy wood. They waited.

And they waited. It was not so cold anymore, and her breath no longer crystallized in the air. She couldn’t distract herself with that. So she occupied herself with the flora, the thorny bushes and wild roses, the jagged-edged bark against the early evening light. 

The door pushed open. “Miss Rodriguez. What a pleasure to see you again.”

His appearance was exactly as she remembered it: combed black hair, brown skin, and a neat beard and mustache. Pale blue eyes. Formal clothing, or close to formal, neat and clean-pressed in any case. Gray overcoat, polished shoes. Though she was surprised to see a smooth, simple wood cane in the firm grasp of his gnarled hand. Five years had taken a toll.

“Professor Callaghan.” Her smile was genuine. “I hope you’re well.”

“As well as always.” His gaze shifted to Jackie, who looked a bit tense in the eyes and shoulders. “I assume this is Jackson?”

“Yes, that’s Jack.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” But he barely paid Jackie any mind. Instead, the professor opened the door wider, stepped aside. “Please, come in. Have some tea. We can begin our discussion once we’re settled.”

She entered, and so did Jackie, though his gait was rather nervous through the empty hallways and dusty floors, which creaked unreasonably with each and every step. The smell of mildew was faint enough to come off as esoteric. 

Jackie adjusted his shirt collar, then leaned in to mutter to Heather. “Does he know about the… you know…”

“He’s aware of the kidnapping,” she muttered back. Callaghan had not noticed their conversation at all; he was walking straight forward, direct as an arrow, cane clacking against the floorboards at rhythmic intervals. “I told him over the phone.”

“And he didn’t care?” Jackie flicked an irritated glance towards the professor. “Is he not worried… at all?”

“I wouldn’t have brought you here if he was.”

“What about the immortality?”

“You try convincing someone that immortality exists. I didn’t mention it.” She ended the conversation there, leaned away before he could mutter anything back. 

Just in time, too. The professor slowed down as they rounded into what was likely a living room. Or a guest room, judging by the collection of fine china arranged on the coffee table. Feathered blue on white patterns, teacups on small saucers, and a teapot lined with gold on the lid. 

Callaghan placed his cane against a table leg. He then gestured towards the seats. Victorian-looking. Not quite sofas, not quite chairs. Single seaters. “Please, sit.”

Heather settled into the nearest seat. So did Jackie, to her right.

The professor lifted the teapot and poured its contents into a teacup, the one nearest to Heather. It was a deep amber, steaming slightly once it pooled, while its surface was disturbed by tiny ripples. “We may as well begin our examination. Now, what was it that led to your... particular set of circumstances?"

"What do you mean, professor?”

Jackie raised his hand. “Can I have some tea?”

Callaghan poured him a cup, then settled into the seat opposite them. “I apologize for speaking so bluntly, but I assume you didn’t intend to watch him drink tea all day. If I remember correctly, you took an interest in pharmaceutical research…?”

“Oh, yes, I did. I do. I still do.” She brought the cup to her lips, if only to hide her stammering. Heather had never talked about these things before, not about Jackie’s existence or her experiments, and certainly never in such a blithe manner.

But Callaghan didn’t seem to be bothered at all. Not on the phone and not in person. Nothing could ever shake him. She glanced behind his shoulders. There was a familiar copy of Macbeth placed on the mantle. Heather had given it to him as a gift, so many years ago.

Callaghan spoke again. “I recall that you were interested in developing… ah, the name slips my mind. I know you studied nerve tissue for some time.”

“Yes, I developed a selective paralytic.” She drew her attention away from the mantle. “My experiments were successful, although I doubt it’s safe enough for general use yet. The perils of a small control group, as you might know.” She risked a small smile. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I simply want a good grasp on all the variables. Jackson has been experiencing hallucinations, yes?”

She nodded. 

“Spiders,” Jackie said. “The hallucinations, I mean. Are spiders. Sir.” He ended this interjection with a stilted cough. 

“Indeed,” said Callaghan. “There could be any number of causes, and I simply wish to lay them all out on the table, so to speak. How often do these hallucinations occur?”

“They stopped for a few months,” she said. “They started again this week. I’m not sure why. I’ve tried everything, professor, but none of it is working. What should I do?”

Jackie gave her a bewildered glance, but Callaghan answered with comforting curtness. “We’ll put together a treatment in due time. There’s no need to panic. Now, has he been given any medication in the last week?”

“A few doses of sedatives.” Not that she wanted to start drugging his food without his knowledge again, but she was concerned for his safety. “He’s been irritable, recently.”

“What?” Jackie cut in. “I wasn’t being—“

She stepped on his shoe from under the table, keeping her expression on Callaghan all the while. Jackie stopped talking. Though his grip on the teacup was turning his knuckles pale, and the corners of his mouth were tense again.

The professor picked up a notepad from the table, then procured a fountain pen from his coat. He wrote in precise motions of his rough hand. “Was any Percocet administered? Oxycodone? Benzodiazepines?”

“No Percocet or oxycodone. I administered four milligrams of benzodiazepines for a week. Pentazocine, as well, fifty milligrams for two weeks. Some aspirin, occasionally, and some experimental drugs I developed."

“I see.” He nodded to himself and wrote something down. Then he gestured to Jackie. "How have you been feeling?"

“I'm fine,” Jackie said.

“You can be honest, Jackson. Such a situation can be stressful, I’m sure. I doubt Miss Rodriguez will harm you for speaking the truth in a medical setting.”

“Yes, I won’t. Go ahead, Jackie. Speak your mind.” She stared at him, waited, widening her eyes just enough that he would notice.

“I guess, I—“ He seemed to be profoundly uncomfortable. Stock-still as a rabbit on its hind legs, fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve. “I guess I’ve been kind of… I don't know. I'm being honest, everything's okay."

This, too, was written down. Now Heather understood why Jackie disliked her tape recorders. “Is that true? You used some strong wording on the phone, Miss Rodriguez. I assumed it wasn't his choice to assist you."

She hesitated for as long as polite manners would allow. “It wasn't.”

Jackie had taken to staring, not just daggers, but bullet holes into the table.

“Well, we don’t need to get into details.” The pen scratched upon paper. “Just so that we cover all our bases—has he suffered a concussion, or any cranial injury of that sort?"

Removing his frontal lobe might have been detrimental. Heather decided to leave that topic alone. "No."

"I thought so. I've always known you to be careful. I do wonder, what became of you after leaving Oxford? It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

“Five years. Or, I suppose it’s been six, from your perspective.” Callaghan left in her last year of study. His replacement was much less interesting, so Heather stopped taking psychology shortly after. “I continued researching on my own. If I worked under someone else's supervision, I would be wasting my time. You of all people should understand that, professor."

“Indeed. I understand why you might wish to keep this private. I think a change would be good for you, in fact. Especially after that loss in your family. Still, you were quite the student. If it means anything, I’m certain you’ll find success in your study.”

It did actually mean something. It meant quite a lot to her, in fact. She swallowed, tried not to show it on her face. Heather did not receive much support in her scientific endeavors, lately. She had been half-afraid that Callaghan wouldn’t entertain her at all, that he would dial the authorities right after hanging up. On the contrary, however. He had been nothing but pleasant during their reunion.

Jackie was starting to look bored.

Callaghan cleared his throat. “You, Jackson, what is your relationship with her?”

His head lifted. “It’s good.”

The professor glanced at Heather. “Would you agree with this statement?”

“Yes,” she replied slowly. “I would.”

“Interesting.” Callaghan was studying her expression intently. “There is no animosity between you two?”

“Not… particularly,” she said. “We have arguments, sometimes, but that's all.”

Jackie offered nothing on this subject. He resumed staring, into his tea this time.

“Interesting,” Callaghan repeated. “Miss Rodriguez, you informed me that he doesn’t have a family history of illness, correct? As far as you know.”

“Yes.”

“And the hallucinations are the main symptoms.” He nodded. He capped his pen but didn’t put the notepad down. “Jackson, I will need you to follow me. I have a soundproof room.”

Jackie hesitated, and so did she. “What do you need him for?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing invasive. I simply would like to ask a few questions in private.” Callaghan stood up. His cane resumed its place in his hand, tapping against the floor as he stepped away from the seat. “I find it helps patients to speak more freely. I wish you no harm, Jackson, so there’s no need to look so tense.”

“Sorry, sir.” He stood up as well, then followed Callaghan to a hallway around the corner.

Heather watched them leave. Once she was sure they were gone, she sighed and slumped in her chair. This was all for Jackie, she reminded herself. Also, partly to see Callaghan again, though it pained her to admit it. In Oxford, she was always surrounded by people. It was impossible to find a quiet place. Her father had died while she was abroad, so she came back to an empty house, and she hadn't gotten used to it. She didn't know anyone from work. It bored her. Or was it apathy? The days seemed to stagnate sometimes.

Well, that didn't matter anymore. There was nothing to worry about. Jackie would be cooperative. He had said so, practically promised it, swore it up and down, and she believed him.

A soundproof room. How quaint. Heather could get one of those. She and the professor had many shared interests, clearly. Though that shouldn’t have been reassuring, it was. She had never felt nervous around Callaghan, even as a baby-faced and vulnerable first year. She probably should have felt nervous. Nobody knew where she went during those 'night classes', and Callaghan carried a heavy shovel when they visited the graveyard. She had been alone with him for hours. Still, she never thought his intentions would sour.

It was a little unnerving that he could convince her so easily. It was the way he spoke. So calm all the time. And he was a trustworthy man. A solid pillar of the scientific community, of academia in general. Five long years. Six years, actually. She had missed him.

The clock up on the wall ticked, a higher-pitched sound than the clock in her own home. She tapped her hand against the seat’s arm while she waited.

A door creaked open in the hallway. She sat up straighter. There, in the far shadows of the room—only one person, Callaghan returning alone. She stood to greet him.

“Professor? Do you know what’s wrong?”

“There’s no need to fret, Miss Rodriguez.” He approached her. “I believe I have my diagnosis.”

“You do? Is it permanent? Is it—“ She frowned. “Professor, was my treatment of him too… harsh?”

“No, no.” He paused. “Well, yes, but that can’t be helped. A hostage situation always involves some level of stress, after all. But I don’t think the damage is excessive.”

“Then… what is it? What’s your diagnosis?” She gazed up at him with wide, hopeful eyes, though she was aware in the back of her mind that she probably looked ridiculous. Like a child. Callaghan was so much older than her, though. Taller than her, by half a foot at least. She couldn't compare.

“He certainly has a… strange relationship with you. There’s nothing to be done about that, I suppose. It must make your work easier, so…” He trailed off. “Well, aside from that, Jackson has experienced a great deal of strain. The hallucinations must originate from a combination of stress and heavy drug use. It’s not too uncommon. I’ve seen it in other patients before.”

“You have? Can he be cured?”

Callaghan shook his head. “I’m not sure about a cure, necessarily. It’s hard to say. He’s always going to be affected by it. But the symptoms can be managed. With some time and rest, the hallucinations could go away completely.”

“But, professor, why is he seeing spiders?”

“Ah, it’s a mystery.” He chuckled quietly. “But it’s not something to work yourself up about. Certainly, shadowy black objects are what a patient usually sees.”

That made sense. She nodded.

“Now, as for his treatment.” Callaghan produced two bottles of pills. White and the size of inkwells, labeled with rectangular green stickers. “This is anxiety medication.” He handed her the first bottle. “Administer that every day for a week. Don’t give him any grapefruit.” Then, the second bottle. “This is for sleep. Use it sparingly, since we don’t want him to develop a dependence.”

Alprazolam and Eszopiclone. “Thank you, professor.”

“It was my pleasure, Miss Rodriguez.”

“Yes, professor. I appreciate this, really. I can’t express my gratitude enough. I just have one question.” A worry, more like, a quiet fear at the back of her mind. “What should I do if he doesn’t get better? What if he gets worse?”

At this, Callaghan gave her a comforting look, a gentle certainty of an answer. “You could always dispose of him. I’m sure you are well aware of how we euthanize mice. An anesthetic and a sharp blade should be sufficient. If Jackson is no longer useful, there’s not much point in wasting resources on him.”

She forced her expression not to change. Even if Jackie could die, she couldn’t bear the thought. He was… he was her… well, whatever the word for it…

“Professor,” she said quietly, “you’re talking like he’s not human.”

His comforting look only grew in weight, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Heather, you’re very attached to him. I can see that. But you can’t get too attached. You will have to make some difficult decisions eventually. Don’t let emotions interfere with that.”

“Difficult decisions… like what?”

“Who truly knows? That’s the beauty of science, isn’t it? It’s full of surprises.” He was so calm about it all, as steady as an anchor. His hand lifted from her shoulder. “Don’t overwork yourself. Oh, and do keep in touch. Call me in a week. Jackson is a terribly fascinating patient, and I’d like to see how his condition progresses. To adjust doses and such.”

“Of course. I’ll call you.”

The warmth in his eyes was unmistakable. He had always been a sentimental man. It was the rosy tint of memory over them both. 

But this pause didn’t last long. Callaghan started. “Ah, I nearly forgot.”

He held out a business card. At least, she thought it was a business card. There were flowery gold embellishments around the sides, thin leaves and such, and lines of serifed black text in the center of it all. There was a name—Mary Callaghan, she read silently—and a number. Heather took it from his hand.

“That is my sister’s contact information,” he explained. “She has dealt with this sort of situation before. She would be happy to answer any questions. I’m not terribly experienced in this field, I’ll admit. Most of the people she deals with have stopped breathing by the time I get to them. Cadavers don’t make for interesting small talk, I’m afraid.” He laughed.

Heather laughed along with him, though she was thoroughly exhausted.

Callaghan soon cleared his throat and stepped aside. “You may retrieve Jackson and return home now. I greatly hope for your success.”

“Thanks.” She pocketed the card. “Thank you, professor. For everything.”

“You’re very welcome, Rodriguez.”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

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@cozycornerkinktober's prompt #7: DIY P*rn

Documentary (Butchlander)

@xieyaohuan expressed interest in my take on DIY P*rn. The verdict: I think it's hilarious and don't know what I'm doing. They're in an established relationship here, I'm not going to even bother explaining how or why for a ficlet. Warnings: rated E, HL being HL. Maybe I don't have to censor p*rn, but I'm not taking any chances, Tumblr. AO3 link.

Butcher didn’t really know what he was getting into when he agreed to have sex in Homelander’s apartment. He should have known. The decor was creepy enough but the mirrors, the fucking panoramic mirrors, should have clued him in that his sex partner was insane. Not just in the drunk-with-power-and-fine-with-harming-people-insane sense. The let’s-sit-and-watch-a-play-by-play-of-our-previous-sex-session brand of insane.

The sick cunt can’t seem to wrap his mind around people not wanting to be filmed without consent. Or not wanting the sextape played on several large screens, with the volume cranked up, bass boosted, which is the scene Butcher walks into when he strolls out of the shower. 

“Why the hell are you watching this?!” Butcher immediately tries to snatch the remote off the big ugly leather sofa but Homelander’s hand puts it out of reach faster. The cunt gives him a brief glare.

“I want to relive it.”

Butcher slumps down on the sofa, the bath towel still wrapped around his waist, and watches in spite of himself. It’s an aerial view of them getting ready, undressing, Homelander lying back and hooking his hands around his inner knees. He clearly glances up at the camera.

“Okay, so there’s a camera behind your ceiling mirror,” Butcher says, grimacing as he distinctly hears lube being squirted into his palm although you can’t see much more than the top of his head. “But where the fuck is the sound getting recorded from?”

“What do you mean?” Homelander asks, but he doesn’t tear his eyes off the screen where Butcher has now undressed and slowly positioned himself between Homelander’s legs. “There’s a couple of microphones in my bedroom. On the nightstand and on the wall.”

“So you use surveillance equipment to record sex sessions? You didn’t think to ask me before we started?”

Homelander shrugs. “I don’t understand what your problem is. The only people who have access to this are me and you.”

“Until your cloud account is hacked.” Butcher scoffs. “And I’m sure everyone and their mother in Vought Analytics can watch this too. Probably watching it right now.”

Suddenly the camera angle shifts and it’s a side view of the proceedings.

“How many cameras are there? One behind each mirror or something? And when the fuck did you have time to edit this footage together? Were you up all night working on this?” 

Homelander scoffs and shrugs his shoulders dismissively. “This isn’t Dawn of the Seven editing here. I just took the best angles. Not like it took me hours to do it.”

It’s not clear what Homelander is getting out of watching this, because he’s fully dressed in uniform and definitely not touching himself. He might as well be watching a documentary.

Despite his disgust at the entire thing, Butcher’s eyes keep being drawn to the screen. It is interesting to see himself fuck from the side view. The Homelander onscreen makes breathy little lewd noises at every thrust, tossing his head side to side. It looked random yesterday, but now Butcher realizes he’s vamping for the cameras that only he knows are there. Butcher winces when he sees his screen self grab hold of Homelander’s neck. It’s not an action that can harm the supe but it’s plain to see that Butcher enjoys doing violent-looking things to the man underneath him.

“We look good,” Homelander says, beaming, wholly unperturbed by the fact that his partner fantasizes about throttling him, apparently just taken with the aesthetics.

Butcher’s mind is still put off by the existence of this footage, but his body is starting to respond to the sights and sounds on the screen. He considers crossing his legs, but then decides against stifling anything. If this cunt is going to provoke him with their own pornography he better be prepared to deal with the consequences. 

The Homelander onscreen arches violently, mewling.

“There, right there.” Homelander pauses the video.

“What about it?” Butcher asks. The still does look like a work of art, every muscle in Homelander’s body looking tensed, something that could be ecstasy or agony.

Homelander rewinds a few seconds back. “I came without, you know, coming. With my cock. It’s never happened to me before.”

Butcher shrugs. “I think I remember. You were shaking and seizing and then went all limp.”

“It’s never happened before. I’m trying to figure out what you did differently.”

Butcher shakes his head. “I’m sure it’s nothing I did. You’re just mentally turned on at home, staring at yourself, showing off for your Big Brother setup.”

Homelander seems annoyed. “I was trying to compliment you.”

“I mean, I’ll take it,” Butcher says. “But you were acting pretty differently on your own bed. I thought you were faking it a little. Now I know why, at least. Hamming it up.”

Butcher’s finding it hard to stand it any longer. The video is still playing, the Homelander onscreen lying limp and sweaty in the aftermath of his dry orgasm while the Butcher onscreen just keeps on keeping on. Homelander’s body is so relaxed and loose that now his head lolls with every thrust into his body. “Fuck me harder,” he says breathily, but it’s loud on the speakers. Butcher’s erection is tenting the bath towel he’s wearing. Homelander glances over and presses his hand against it, eliciting a hiss from Butcher. 

“If you’re going to touch it, take off your damn gloves and open the towel at least,” Butcher mutters.

Homelander blinks and sits still for a moment, before doing just that, bare hands reaching down and stroking his length. Butcher groans when Homelander leans over and his mouth descends over his cock, that supernaturally strong suction making Butcher see actual stars in front of his eyes. He leans his head back on the couch, breathing hard, trying not to thrust, not because he doesn’t want to hurt the cunt’s throat but because…. Well… Butcher is having trouble keeping his train of thought. He keeps watching the porn onscreen, although his vision is hazy. The camera angle has switched to the other side view. The Homelander onscreen seems to have recovered from his little death, wrapped his legs tightly around Butcher’s hips and is pushing back to meet the thrusts. The Homelander offscreen has started humming in time with the lewd moans he’s making on the tape, and Butcher can’t help it, can’t keep himself from grabbing the cunt’s head by the golden hair and pushing his head down to take his cock to the hilt, even as his hips jerk upward. Homelander makes a choking sound but doesn’t stop sucking, swallowing down every drop even as Butcher’s body comes down and he sits on the couch bonelessly.

Butcher slowly gets his wits back, and his onscreen counterpart has also finished and slumped down on Homelander’s body (aerial view camera only showing Homelander’s face mostly hidden behind Butcher’s shoulder, only blue eyes peeking out).

“So you just record everyone you sleep with in that room?” he finally asks, his voice still strange and husky. How many of these sextapes does this cunt have?

“I guess,” Homelander says, then mumbles something quietly while turning away.

“Come again?”

“I said, you’re the first person who agreed to sleep in that bed.” Homelander’s still looking away, down at the floor. “Cause apparently it’s a ‘weird setup’,” he airquotes and Butcher has to wonder who said those exact words. Maybe Maeve? But this supe cunt actually sounds hurt about it.

Butcher suddenly gets up and grabs Homelander by the hand, still bare, which always causes a startle in him.

“Come on. Let’s go to your ‘weird setup’ and peel you back out of that uniform.” 

“You just came…” Homelander protests, as if Butcher needed the reminder.

“You don’t think I can improvise?” Butcher chuckles. 

When he’s got Homelander toppled over on the bed, and undoing the buttons holding the hard shell of his suit together he adds, quietly in the cunt’s ear. “But if you make those little slutty sounds like you did last night, I’m sure I’ll be ready to go again soon.”

Homelander makes a small whimper at those words, as if on cue.

[metalbuckaroo]

💋Soldat107💋

🍒 SUMMARY// At 3am, every Sunday, Bucky locks his bedroom door to watch his favorite camgirl. What's to happen when he finds out he's much closer to her than leaving generous tips on her videos?

💋 WARNINGS// m masturbation, implied f masturbation, cursing, mentions of alcohol, lil bit of fluff

🍒 AU// Roommate!Bucky x Camgirl!Reader

💋 NOTE// This is tame compared to what's coming next. Requests and asks are always open, 18+ ONLY Minors DNI

🍒Ronly Friends Masterlist🍒

💋Main Masterlist💋

Moodboard by// @commonintrest

"C'mon, big boy! Nat is gonna be here soon." You called down the hall, Bucky walking out of his bedroom as he pulled his shirt on. "I'm coming, calm down." He sighed. "Well, don't you look handsome." You smiled, smoothing your hands over his shoulders, feeling the muscles tense a little under your touch. "Oh, stop flirting."

"Nevermind, you look horrible." You teased, Bucky rolling his eyes at you as he got in the fridge for a water. "If I was to set you up with one of my friends- would you go?"

"Nope."

Though a small wave of relief washed over him, he couldn't stop himself from asking- "why not?"

"I have plenty of fun- by myself." You winked, a low chuckle pulling from Bucky's chest as he took a quick drink from the bottle. "Well, any guy who gets to date you is lucky, dollface."

You jutted your bottom lip out, reaching your hands out to hold his jaw. "Awe, Bucky. So sweet, gimme some sugar." You giggled, planting a kiss on his stubbled cheek.

Bucky looked at the tinted gloss painted on your lips and groaned. "Oh, c'mon, get it off. Sam teases me enough." He frowned. "Ok, ok. Lemme see." You laughed, pulling him down closer by the back of his neck.

"Hey!" He whined when you left another one on the opposite cheek. "Now, you match. Want some more?" You teased, Bucky trying to wiggle away as you wrapped your arms around his sturdy waist. "No, no more sugar."

"Oh, all of the sugar. C'mere, big boy." You giggled, making kissy noises at him as his face went beet red, laughter bubbling from his chest. "Stop! We gotta- we gotta go."

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Bucky tried to keep his eyes from staring a hole into you the entire time you were at the club not far from the apartment. Occasionally glancing over Steve's shoulder to where you were enjoying yourself with Natasha, the hem of your dress lifting every so often to give a peek at the lacy underwear underneath.

"You listenin', Buck?" The blonde chuckled, snapping his fingers in front of Bucky to get his attention again. "Hmm? Yeah, I heard ya'." Bucky lied.

"Obviously not. You're staring so hard that it's getting creepy." Steve teased. "Is that drool?" Sam quipped, making Bucky mock laughter and roll his eyes as he lifted the glass bottle to his lips.

He had been waiting for a half an hour for a reason to ditch, seeing you shaking your head at a man who just stepped closer when Natasha walked away was the perfect reason.

"There goes Bucky, swooping in to save the day." He shot a look to Sam over his shoulder, snaking his arms around your waist and leaning to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck.

Your face heated up at the sudden action, but the look on the strangers face as he backed away made you give a soft smile and place your hands on the metal forearm that was around your waist.

"Ready to leave? I'm bored." He muttered as he pulled you away from the crowd and the lingering man, facial hair scratching at your skin as he talked. "My hero." You laughed, pulling out of his grip and waving to the group of friends who sat at the bar.

"Unspoken rule number three, it is my job as your roommate to save you from unwanted situations." Bucky smiled, pushing open the door to hold it for you. "What a gentleman."

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3am hit while Bucky was scrolling his phone. The weekly notification dropping down at the top of his screen.

This time, there were two new videos; Bucky's eyes going wide when he saw the title on the second one.

For the best tipper- Soldat107

He hesitated at first to click it, his hand slipping into the waistband of his briefs to grip himself when the video loaded.

The swirling in the pit of his stomach started quicker than he had expected. Bucky rutting his hips into his hand as his top teeth bit down into his lip to make sure you didn't hear him this time and eyes fluttering shut as he spilled over the edge.

Once he was done, his phone and headphones were thrown to the side. Being quick to clean the mess on his hand and stomach before leaving his room to go shower.

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The next morning, Bucky went on his run with Sam and Steve after breakfast. The main topic being how he hadn't asked you on a date yet.

"Just ask her and stop being a whimp about it." Sam said, nudging his shoulder as they walked up the stairs of the apartment building. "She's my roommate, that's what makes it more difficult."

"That should make it easier, Buck. You already know almost everything about each other, there wouldn't be any awkward silences if you took her out." Steve pointed, as if Bucky hadn't already weighed the pros and cons.

"It's also very convenient that her room is across the hall from yours." Sam nodded, making Bucky roll his eyes as he opened the door to his apartment.

You looked over your shoulder from washing the dishes to where he was walking in, athletic shorts low on his hips and hair tied up messily. "It was my turn to do those." Bucky said with a pointed look. "I got bored." You shrugged, feeling the heat from his form when he stood behind you.

"When most people get bored, they watch tv." He turned the water off and you turned to face him. "How was your run?" You asked, leaning back against the counter. "Annoying and sweaty."

You nodded, letting your eyes wander down to his sweat slicked chest. The shine making his muscular torso seem even more defined. "I can tell."

Bucky hummed in response and went to pull you in for a hug, your hands pressing to his chest to keep him away as a mischievous smile tugged his lips. "Get off, Bucky. I don't want a sweaty hug." You warned with a laugh. "You know you like seeing me sweaty."

Your face warmed and you curled your fingers under his to try to pry them from your waist. "Go- take a shower." You giggled, Bucky pouting as he backed away to go down the hall.

You could hear Bucky rustling around in his room as you put the dishes away, a call of your name making you walk into his view as he walked back into the hall.

"Have you seen my sweats?" He sighed. "Which ones?"

"Dark grey." You didn't let yourself look down as he adjusted the waistband of his briefs. "Check my closet if they're not in yours."

Bucky nodded and opened your bedroom door, going to looked through the folded clothes on the top shelf of your closet.

Not finding them there, he went to the trunk that was at the foot of your bed, thinking you kept more clothes in it as he opened it.

He choked on air when he saw the familiar sight of a masquerade mask along with the same backdrop the camgirl he watched and different sets of lingerie neatly placed inside.

"Did you find it?" Bucky heard your voice say as you got closer. "I fuckin' found something, cherry." He huffed, everything in him wanting him to just shut the trunk and forget he ever saw it.

You rolled your eyes and waved his hand away to shut it, folding your arms across your chest. "That's an invasion of privacy, Buck."

"I'm canceling my subscription." Bucky said, looking up at the ceiling. "You're what now?" You said, cocking your head to the side. Everything not clicking in place for you yet.

"I'm canceling." He repeated, looking down at you. The fact that Bucky had seen your videos settling in. "You- oh, god." You bit back a laugh, covering your mouth with your hand.

"Yep. Remember the best tipper? Me. Now, I'm gonna go take a very cold shower. Don't look at me for awhile, I'm embarrassed." Bucky turned to leave the room, you following right behind him.

"Bucky, please, don't make this weird." You whined, reaching to grab the metal of his wrist in your hand.

He stopped and let out a long breath through his nose, running a hand down his face. "Four months. You've lived here four months and I didn't know I watched your videos every weekend? I feel-" A visible shudder passed through him, a guilty feeling settling deep in his stomach along with a little bit of curiosity. "Lemme see it."

"See what?" You asked, letting go of his wrist. "The cherry. I wanna see it." He shrugged.

You rolled your eyes and turned so your back was to him before lifting the hem of your dress, pulling the waistband of your underwear down enough for him to see the tattoo.

Bucky swallowed thickly and moved his hands to cover himself, tearing his gaze away from your backside. "Yeah. That made it worse. I'm gonna go shower now."

🍒 🍒 🍒 🍒 🍒 🍒

A few days passed, Bucky hadn't mentioned anything else about what he had found in your room. Everything stayed normal, except the increase in lingering looks you'd catch.

And the curiosity of what it was like to film yourself doing such personal things.

"I wanna do it." Bucky blurted out as you handed him a beer and the bowl of popcorn. "Do what?" You asked, taking your spot next to him on the couch and grabbing the remote from the coffee table. "The thing you do."

You looked over at him with an amused smile. "You'd make good money doing it." You said, Bucky's eyebrows raising. "You think?"

"Well, obviously. Look at you." You breathed a laugh, gesturing a hand towards him. His tongue swiped across his bottom lip, thinking over what he was about to say. "Do you ever think about... having a guest?"

You cocked an eyebrow at him, silently debating what he had said. Bucky had the build something like what you would see on a statue in a museum, a handsome face and delightful personality to match. You'd be lying if you said you didn't have some type of attraction towards him.

"You offering, Buck?"

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@mrsbarnesinmyimagination @rachellovesloki @teenagedreams-bucky

[sweettodo]

best friends dad.

levi ackerman x freader.

includes : dub con - [ age gap ] , smut, swearing, daddy kink, squirting. pretty much porn with no plot.

wc : 2,7k

a/n, thank you for 600 followers !!! <33 i love every single one of you.

••

She's your best friend, your closest ally, your soul sister.

She has been there with you through thick and thin, since youth, you two took showers together as children, ate off the same plate, went on countless vacations, share the same clothes. What would your life be without her?

Your behavior prevails to be horrendous.

It catches you when you're alone, or when there's nothing to distract you. Creeping up, lingering around your soul- guilt- quite the foe.

You lay on your bed, shame depleting you the more you remained in silence, left alone with your thoughts. Staring at the soft white ceiling, the sun scarcely pouring through the cracks of the shades, rendering it impossible to fall back asleep.

It was eating you alive, it was driving you nuts, you were so selfish. It was too late to go back on this.

And this isn't even the worst part of it all...

Your fathers are best friends, also close since childhood. Being neighbors, your mothers were close too, you all were practically family.

Hence, it boils down to one thing- one simple, and easy question.

That being, why was your 'second father' mere inches away from you, naked, barely covered by a sheet, and sleeping in your bed?

Yet, as disgusted as you are with yourself, you're turning to face the sleeping man, placing a small kiss below his ear, his arms instantaneously fastening around your frame, pulling you closer to his body, he loves when you wake him up like this, you're both accustomed to this routine.

After all, you did sleep in the same bed more often than you'd like the admit.

Living alone in your apartment made it easier for the both of you to be with each other, though your best friend resided here, she was at college, living in a dorm out of state for extended periods.

He told his wife and other children the ridiculous excuse, 'I'll be back in a week or so, on business' and he'd come straight to you. Always. With take-out dinner, a duffle over his shoulder, and a plethora of condoms in his pocket.

Call it disturbing, but it's almost perverse to give his wife kudos, 'no wonder you tied the knot.' because shit, you wish you could.

No one knows about the infidelity, so it was fun to sneak around; since becoming an adult, that's when family dinners with the neighbors took a turn, your body filled with a mix of excitement and angst almost every Friday.

He always sits next to you, to your right, hand secretly placed on your thigh under the tablecloth. He finds himself unable to resist your body.

The second you turned eighteen he was ready to pounce, he couldn't take his eyes off you.

He's so good at what he does, he knows how to sneak around, he always plays his cards right, he knew you couldn't resist the temptation; the temptation of your best friend's father.

•

How it started was almost too cliché.

•

"Hey, is y/f/n home? We're supposed to be getting ready to go out, she's not answering my texts."

"She's not home, likely caught up at work."

You nod, "how about you come in and wait?" he allows you in, "what's the occasion?" he laughs, plopping down on the couch, you sit on the other side, placing your dress, makeup bag, and shoes on the floor beside your feet.

"A friend's birthday dinner, she just turned eighteen." He smiles, looking back at the television, "she's always making us late." You chuckle, your phone going off at the same time, Levi watching your thumbs frantically respond to the disappointing message.

"She won't be off for another few hours." Levi sighs, "I'll just hang out in her room until then."

"You can stay down here, you're not in my way." He quickly replies, you accept his offer and slip off your shoes.

"How's your mom?" he changes the topic, standing and walking out of the room towards the direction of the kitchen, "and your dad."

"Both good, how about you and-"

"Good." he interrupts, returning with a glass in his hands, likely a glass of whiskey, that was his go-to.

Oddly enough, you felt unsettled being alone with him, something inside of you remained nervous, but not necessarily a bad sentiment.

You didn't spend much time with Levi alone, most of the time it was with your father and y/f/n, so you sat quietly, both watching the screen mounted on the wall in front of you.

Little did you know, he was feeling the same way, awkward and nervy.

"Do you need to get ready at any particular time?" he cuts the silence.

"Uhm, I didn't expect to wait, because I have to shower."

He hums in agreement, "you can shower here if you want." You didn't even bat an eye, standing and saying 'okay', trotting upstairs towards your best friend's room, dropping all your belongings on the floor.

Leaving the room, you're opening the linen closet to retrieve a towel and head straight for the bathroom.

This was your second home, why leave the bathroom door locked while you showered?

His leg tapped in anticipation, he knew now was such a perfect time, he had to do something about how he was feeling.

Levi told himself that this feeling would pass, he was disgusted in himself.

The first time he found himself with his hand wrapped around his cock, making himself cum to the thought of his daughter's best friend.

He had never thought about you sexually, it was almost like a switch was flipped when you came home, stumbling drunk with his daughter the night of your birthday to avoid your own parents, you were now an adult, and that's when things changed.

He thought about you in so many twisted ways, and the fetish only grew- it grew day by day, month by month.

Now, you were only a few months shy of nineteen, in college, in your own living space, independent, he loved it; and every day, he prayed to God he'd stop feeling so guilty about his vices.

But he was trapped, stewing on his thoughts before he went to bed at night, on the way to work, waking up in the morning- he only thought about you. He needed to do something.

He found his feet quickly moving up the stairs, entering his bedroom, and pacing, this was sure as hell a tough dilemma, but he knew he could get you to see it too.

"Levi, I- uh, need some help."

Like it was a blessing, a foot in the door, he's now knocking before you allow him in, you stand there only in a towel, hair wet and your body dripping with water, "the thing won't turn off, I'm sorry."

He could barely swallow, "I'll fix it."

The hot steam made him overwhelmed, the fresh smell of the strawberry-scented body wash that you had after your shower was sending him into a frenzy.

You stood there, watching him turn the hot water off, you acknowledged how close you were to him, naked except for the towel, he was so close to your legs, your wet body.

He stood straight after fixing the faucet, wiping his hands on his shirt, "thanks."

You step around him, down the hall, and towards your friend's room, "y/n," turning, Levi's there, in the hallway, a few feet behind you, "I need to talk to you."

He knew now was the only time he could fix this disgusting fixation he has on you.

You pursued him, you followed him straight to his bedroom, you allowed him to close the door behind you; you felt his hands grab your own, pinning them above your head against the wall.

You allowed him to kiss you, you kissed him back, and you savored the taste of him. It was almost like you didn't allow your mind to register what you were doing.

"I've been meaning to do this." He breathes, catching up on his lack of oxygen.

You didn't say anything, your towel was coming loose, his free hand encircling around the small of your back, pulling you against him, "Levi." You uttered, his head dips down, kissing your lips as he's whisking you off your feet and onto his shared bed with his wife.

Your legs wrap around his waist, his elbows propped up beside your head, his tongue swiping across your lip, you do the same, what the fuck were you doing?

You pull away from him, "Levi- this is bad." Hand pressing against his shoulder, pushing him off of you gently, "this is so bad."

He moves his hand through his hair, "no one has to know."

"I gotta' go get dressed," yet your legs don't move, "fuck- fuck this is bad, she's gonna hate me."

"No, no she won't," he objects, pushing you onto your back, "you want it, don't you?"

Your stomach was doing backflips, nauseated almost. You saw his tight body, you've always loved it- like a father.

You felt his cock between your legs instants earlier, you didn't comprehend just how willing you were; how wet you were between your legs.

"Let me show you," throwing off his shirt, "don't worry, no ones gonna know,"

He sees the look on your face, stunned.

"Don't you trust me?" your head was spinning.

"I do."

Your head is pushed onto his pillow, making sure he doesn't strip you of your towel just yet.

The feeling of performing something so bad, so disturbing, so sinful, it was driving you nuts, your stomach twisted, filled with butterflies as you saw the man strip in front of you. This was really happening.

"Open."

Your legs open, but you hold your towel down, feeling his eyes bore into you, "you can show me."

His hands open your legs, gasping, he's kissing you again, laying between your legs with just his boxers severing the direct touch.

"God, this fucking body."

The towel slipping down your chest, his hands instantly cupping your tits, the now, cold droplets of water from your shower making your nipples twice as hard, he smiles, "you've always been so beautiful- so innocent too, you know that?" his hands trail down your sides, feeling your flesh in his palms, up to your thighs.

You felt so dirty, you wanted more, you wanted him to touch every inch of your body, you wanted to feel secure and full, "you want me to touch you don't you. You want it?" he sees your pleading eyes, he sees how hungry you looked, he brings his hand to your beck, squeezing your jugular, "say it, use your words.”

“I do, but y/f/n, Levi.” Your words meant one thing, but your actions were proving another. You didn't know how much you needed this- how much you longed to be touched by a man who helped raise you.

It made you sick, but fuck, it felt so good, “you want it, just as I do,” he pulls back, taking his hand and forcing open your mouth, “here.”

He wet his fingers with your saliva, ripping the towel that barely covered your lower half. “Look at how pretty, so wet too.”

You hiss, his finger pressing down against your clit, your thigh spasming from the harsh pressure against your nerves, “I’m gonna make you cum, you want that, right?”

“Yes, please make me cum.” You plead, his thumb still pressing hard against your bud, “f-fuck!” your legs slamming around his arm.

“Open those legs, I didn't say you could close them.” He commands, getting a better look at your pussy, his hand moving down the threads of his boxers with his free hand, cock springing from his constraints.

“Spit.” He steals more alive from your tongue, using it to lubricate his cock; he was thick, girthy with few veins decorating up the bottom to right below the tip. His chest heaving, hands pinning up your thighs, your legs wide open for him to see.

You whined, his throbbing tip teasing you by soaking up your slick, he was so painfully hard- the way he knocked against the tight hole in front of him.

“You want my cock? You want your other daddy to fuck you, huh?” You nod, eyes begging with every ounce of your entity.

You nod desperately, “please- fuck me.”

He obeys, gripping your thighs, pressing them upwards as he’s leaning down towards you, slowly sliding past your entrance.

Splitting you open, immense pressure brings you to screams, your eyes screwed shut as you spit out the man's name.

“Can barely fit- fuck.” His shoulders lax, cock seeping deeper into your pussy.

He pushes back and forth into you, the sound of your pussy juicing around his cock filled the room as you two take in the feeling of each other's touch.

“S’big- so big, Levi.” Your tongue lols out, he takes it as a welcome to capture your lips, sucking on your tongue as you mewl against his mouth.

He pulls away from you, “say my name,” he groans, “say it, what's my name?” his cock filling you so well, you could say many things; tears brimming your eyes as he's stabbing your cervix with his tip.

You wail, gasping for air, “daddy- please harder!”

His hips piston into you, slamming against yours as he's speeding up, cock ramming into you senselessly, harder thrusts when he hears you call him by his name, fucking you stupid.

“Go on and cum all over my cock, you're so close- fuck- you keep squeezing me-” he can barely contain himself.

But he keeps pace, the sweet spot in the depths of your pussy being abused, pussy squelching with every rut of his wide hips.

You're so close, inching closer towards release, a mantra of his name rolling out of your mouth, you feel so full, packed to the fucking brim.

The weight of his body on top of yours, cock reaching impossible lengths inside of you, sweat dripping down his forehead, chest glistening with sweat, “so good, creaming all over my dick, yeah? You love it.” He boasts, you whined, mouth agape.

“So close- daddy- so close.”

“Do it, you're so tight- fuck, can't get over it.”

The coil in your stomach tightening, your body going numb as he rips an incredible orgasm out of your weak body, “that's right, squirt all over my cock, God this pussy s’ fuckin’ amazing.”

He slowed down, bearing his high, watching as your cum drips down your pussy, his thighs and stomach soaked with your essence as it drips down his thighs. Amazed at the sight, he continues to steadily fuck into your convulsing walls, you're body shaking from the debilitating orgasm.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your eyes surrounded by a starry white, wet noises driving Levi closer to climax, the sheets below the both of you soaked, “open those eyes.” He commands.

You open your eyes, legs squeezing tighter around his sides, “you’re gonna swallow my cum, right baby?” he sees you nod your head, needy to taste him down your throat.

He provides you with a few strong thrusts, before slowly pulling out of you, your hand quickly wrapping around the base of his cock, rolling out your tongue like a whore.

You take his tip on the pad of your tongue, swirling around, his eyebrows scrunching from the sensitive touch, “fuck, so fuckin’ perfect,” hand coming down to caress your head before dipping his fingers between the- still wet hair from your shower.

He twitches, releasing his load in your mouth, the salty taste tainting your tastebuds, he watches it coat your tongue, catching his breath as he's seeing you swallow every drop of cum, his thumb strokes across your bottom lip, smirking.

“Look at the mess you made, now I have to clean these sheets.” Gripping your hair between his digits, he's pushing your head down to look at the damp sheets, you gnaw on your bottom lip.

He pushes you back down on the bed, sloppily kissing your red and swollen lips once more.

“That cunt is just as good as I thought it was.”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Architect/Designer Tom’s fabulous Harbour Island guest cottage in the Bahamas, that he lovingly overhauled. The 1800 guest house is situated across from an old convent that he revived and turned into his main house. It’s dubbed the Cash Box–because it previously belonged to Mary Cash, one of the matriarchs of Harbour Island.

The Cash Box entry has “a junky white painted table with a convenient drawer,” says Tom. Hats hang on hooks and beach towels and mats are at the ready.

The Cash Box’s original kitchen is housed in its own outbuilding.  The kitchen had been modernized in the 1940s,” says Tom. ” I revealed the coral stone hearth and restored the structure, keeping the mod cons–stove and fridge–out of sight.”

Tom added cement Cuban tiles over the kitchen’s cement floor. “Cuban tiles are very at home in the Bahamas; they’re found in most of the oldest houses,” he says.

Tom has a weakness for old bentwood chairs: “I collect them whenever I can; I find them useful in rustic and in urbane interiors.”

The Cash Box attic is now the master suite. It had a rough pine floor that Tom painted with “many, many coats of shiny white: the white floor bounces a lot of light into the room and off the ceiling.” The seafoam green walls are a nod to a Harbour Island old wives’ tale about the wasp-repellent properties of the color green.

A peacock wicker chair stands next to the bed and one of the attic’s shuttered windows: “There were no windows in the dormer and gable-end openings, only shutters. I added louvered interior shutters for privacy (with a breeze). No screens. No glass.”

One of the great luxuries is a new bathroom with a claw-footed tub that Tom went to great lengths to get to the island. As in the Cash Box attic, the windows have shutters only.

Tom built a simple outdoor dining area “proximate to the kitchen and porch.” The table is shaded by a Balinese parasol.

Love those plates. Not sure, but I think they’re Martha Stewart.

One of the final–and best–additions made to the Cash Box: a bamboo-fenced outdoor shower. Tom has since renamed the Cash Box to the Salt Box. 

https://www.remodelista.com/posts/interior-designer-tom-scheerer-houses-harbour-island-bahamas/

[naoyas90dayfiance]

+18 | Helping a friend | Naoya x Reader

Author's note: this is porn with a plot. hope you like it!

Warning: female reader, blackmail. Naoya receives: handcuffing, ball-gagging, blindfolding, non-con picture taking and sharing. You receive: a friendship badge

Summary: You make Naoya fall into your trap in order to help a friend.

Word count: 3.1k

Reader discretion is advised

"I can shut him up," your friend chuckled at your comment. She got up off the bed, went to her closet, and threw you a pair of metal handcuffs and a black ball gag.

"You'll need that," you eyed the toys up and furrowed your brows.

"What? You can touch them. They're clean."

"How clean?"

"Very clean. Wash them again if you want to or something," she rose her tone.

"Ok, but don't get upset."

"So..." she stretched up the last sound.

"Yes, I'm going to shut his pretty face." You both started laughing, as you took the toys and put them in your purse.

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

You blinked in the dark, your head tried to process the cheerful sound coming from your nightstand. Recognizing it was your phone, you opened your eyes and picked it up to see the name "Naoya Zen'in" lighting up the screen. Before deciding where to swipe, you looked at the time on the top. It was 1.30 AM.

You irked an eyebrow and bit your lip: the game was up. You swiped up, taking his call in, and listened to the other side of the line.

"Hey, sweetheart," his tone was seductive. You could hear the smile on his face.

You remained silent, looking at the ceiling of your room, thinking about how you could possibly put the toys your friend gave you on the future leader of the Zen'in clan.

"Hello?" Naoya asked.

"Hi, baby," you said softly.

"Were you asleep?"

"I was about to, but I saw your call."

"Good girl. What are you wearing?"

"Remember the lace set you gave me for my birthday?" You heard him chuckle.

"Of course I do. Send me a picture."

"I have a better idea," you said

"You do?"

"Why don't you come over here to see what I'm wearing? You know, I've been thinking about you," he didn't respond.

"About what you did to me the other night," you continued. "I get shivers just from remembering it," still no answer. At the silence, you checked the screen: he was still on the line.

"Baby, are you going to make me say..."

"Say it," he interrupted you.

"I want to be your slut again, Naoya."

"What a whore," you heard the sound of keys in the background. "Don't you dare leave me waiting outside your house."

"I'm already at the door, baby," he hung up.

You turned up on your nightstand's lamp, got up from the bed, and beelined to your purse. There they were: a pair of metal handcuffs and a black ball gag. However, there was something missing.

Making your way to your closet, you started to search for a piece of thick fabric. After not too much shuffling, you took out a black tie and a red silk robe you found on the process. You made your way to the nightstand to put the toys and the tie inside the first drawer.

The Zen'in household was far from your home, being a 20 minutes car ride to be exact. It gave you time to make your bed, light up a sandalwood candle and give yourself a short shower to put on some scented lotion all over your body.

When you finished caressing your figure, you slipped into the tiny lace set he gave you. It was a bralette and a thong.

"This guy has no imagination, at least he has a pretty face," you said looking at yourself in the mirror, adjusting the lingering to your body.

As a finishing touch, you decided to put the robe you chose earlier on top. Next, you checked your phone again, making sure to mute the camera app; then you placed it near your lamp.

Giving one final look to your room, you hummed to yourself in satisfaction and made your downstairs to wait for him in the living room.

You sat on the couch, making yourself comfortable. Nevertheless, in a matter of seconds you heard three knocks on the door. You waited for the other knocks. A smile grew wide on your face when ten bangs sounded throughout the house. You walked to the door, put on a straight face, and greeted the person on the other side.

"Let me in," Naoya grabbed you by the shoulder, moving you aside to make his way into your house uninvited.

"Why did you take so long to answer the fucking door?" He got behind you as you were closing the entrance. Without warning, he placed his hand on your neck. "Is this a fucking game to you?" You could feel the pressure building on his grip.

"I was getting our room ready," your voice could be barely heard. He removed his hand from your throat and placed it on your waist, getting his crotch near your ass.

"You smell good," he said. You started to feel how his hot breath caressed your nape. His hands started to caress the sides of your figure, feeling every inch of them with his long fingers.

"I got ready for you," you responded. Closing your eyes, you pressed yourself against his broad and tall figure. Your arms snaked behind him, reaching for his soft hair.

He turned you around, making your hearts beat next to each other. You kept your eyes down. Naoya softly took you by the chin and lifted your face. He lowered himself to kiss your lips.

He moved hands from your waist, to the hips, and to your butt. He grabbed it roughly and started to fondle it, feeling the soft fabric of the robe against your bum. Soon enough, the wet sounds of your tongues playing with each other started to fill the living room. Your hands moved to his strong arms, noticing the flexing of each muscle as he kept kneading your behind. A strong slap on your right asscheek interrupted the kiss.

"Let's go upstairs," you said.

"What if I fuck you here?" He grinned.

"I want to make you feel good, baby."

He lifted you up with your rear in his hands. You hugged his slim and toned waist with your legs. Naoya resumed the kissing. You softly bite his chubby bottom lip while touching his thick neck, and then his well-formed chest. He squeezed your ass and pressed you harder against his now-growing bulge.

As you two got to the bedroom, he sat on the edge of the bed, breaking the kiss once again. Naoya moved his hands from your aching bum to your chest, starting to move aside the red neckline to reveal what you were wearing underneath.

He lifted both of his brows to get a good look at the delicious way the tiny fabric was trying to hide your perked nipples. However, the real show was when he looked closely and noticed how painfully small the set was, leaving deep marks around your areola, your breasts seemed squishy.

At the sight, he started to grope them roughly, getting his mouth near your left tit. He bit the mushy skin until his teeth were tattooed on it. Then, he started to lick and suck your stiff nipple over the fabric. You moaned softly, which encouraged him to go to your other boob, repeating the process and leaving you with bruises. His tongue kept drawing wet circles until he was proud of how shiny the fabric looked.

When he finished his work on your bosom, he went to your neck and started suck harshly the skin; you could feel his teeth mistreating the thin skin. To even things up, your hands went to the waistline of his sweatpants. At your action, his touching stopped abruptly. You looked at him puzzled.

"Get on your knees now," you followed his command. His face lit up.

"I've trained you well, haven't I?" He said. Your hands were lowering his pants and boxers, freeing his half-hard dick; you had to hold back a smile when you saw precum already coating the top. You took him in your hands, giving up-and-down strokes to his thick shaft.

"Yes, baby," you said. His cock twitched.

Naoya put his hand on your hair, petting it lightly, asking you through his touch to take him into your mouth, and so you did. Starting with kitty licks on the head, creating a line of saliva and precum that connects his red mushroom head with your hot mouth. The Zen'in could only hiss at the sight, his touch grew desperate.

Hearing his reaction made you put half of his blood-filled cock in your mouth, moving your head back and forth; making sure the outline of it was visible through your cheek. As the bobbing continued, you placed a hand on his balls, caressing them harshly, gaining a loud moan from him.

He took you by the back of your head, pushing your face to his green bush, getting you to take more of him into your wet hole. He left out a groan as you hummed around it. Naoya started to push your mouth even further, wanting to see how much you could take of his full-grown erection. Your senses became clouded for the salty smell of his arousal was going through your nose.

Feeling his movements getting faster and deeper, you slapped his hand away. Naoya stared at you with his eyes widened, unable to react to your sudden movements. You took his confusion to your advantage and climbed on top of him, pressing his shoulders to the bed, laying him down.

You placed his hands above his head and kissed him deeply, caressing the inside of his mouth with your precum-covered tongue. The blonde followed your pace; enjoying how you began rubbing your hips on top of him. Naoya focused on how the plushy lips of your pussy and the sticky lace felt on his cock. But his pride got in the way.

In a flash, he pinned you to the bed, looking at your face trying to get answers for your surprising behavior. What he got to see was a teary face and your half-open lips shining with both of your saliva.

"What is it baby?" You asked. Naoya removed himself from you and sat on the bed, his head was low.

"Shit," you thought to yourself. Slowly, you started to touch his toned back, seeing his muscle tense up underneath his black shirt.

"Baby, you know what we do here is private. If you're upset about what I did, I'm sorry, I just got too caught up in the moment. You're my king and the one who drives me crazy," you crawled to his lap, placing your legs first, embracing him. Your hands caressed his cheek. He looked at you. You put your lips on top of his, moved your hands to his hips and played with the blazing heat of his dick.

You moved your abused mouth to his neck, your hands now on his balls and cock. Naoya drew his head back, not believing the amount of pleasure he was feeling. You didn't hesitate to make your next move.

"Baby," your hands moved to his abdomen, scratching his six hard and defined muscles, "I want to pleasure you like never before. I want to try something new with you."

"What?" He managed to say too low for his own liking. You sensed he was coming back to his right mind, but decided to not let that happen.

"Kimi, Toji's girlfriend, shared with me a secret. She said he loved it, and I want to try it," he closed his eyes and moved his head to the side. You hear how difficult his breathing was, your hands hadn't stopped playing with his sack, making his dick pulse near your crotch.

"I want all of your cum," you said. His eyes opened in shock. This was your chance.

"Lay down, baby, I will take care of you," he followed your command.

Moving your hands quickly, you took the handcuffs out of the drawers, Naoya stared at the item without blinking.

"Trust me," you said putting the toy between your legs, his eyes moved from the object to your swelling pussy. He relaxed against the bed, but you could see how his Adam's apple gulped. In a quick but steady manner, you put the wire between the headboard's poles.

Naoya kept his eyes on your body, not remembering when the robe was discarded from your body. His thoughts were interrupted when you lowered your figure, facing him. You could feel his fiery breath on your face, almost burning you. You placed small pecks on his lips, which he returned eagerly. Your hands went to his neckline, and passed them through his shapely shoulders and arms until you got to his hands, interwinding your fingers with his.

With all the care of the world, you placed his arms above his head. Suddenly, both of you heard two click sounds: he was restrained. You fixed your position so your clothed cunt was hugging his painfully hard cock.

You grinded with back-and-forth movements against him. He started to groan, intoxicated at the velvet texture caressing his ridge. The sinful smell of sex and sandalwood clouding his mind; it was too much for the sex-deprived Zen'in clan member.

You touched his face, making him open his eyes and look at your face; but then, his eyes travelled to the place where your cunt was slowly feeling him. He could feel the tension building up in his body.

You took your bralette off, placing it right next to his face. Naoya changed his focus to your chest, being only able to see the beautiful mounts he had in front of him, making him ooze more white liquid that fell beautifully on his abdomen.

You noticed right away and took some of it with your finger, licking it seductively while looking at him directly in the eye. He could only give out quiet moans. You could see his face growing red. Naoya threw his head back and tensed his muscles, enjoying the feeling you were giving him.

He opened his eyes again when he felt your weight shifting, this time a black ball was in your hands. He looked at it closely.

"What the fuck is that?"

"It's part of the game, Naoya, baby. It's for you to not bite your tongue out of the pleasure," he narrowed his eyes.

"Trust me, if not you're not feeling good I will stop immediately, I will follow your commands," his gaze lingered in your face, but seeing you so pretty made him lay back on the pillow, closing his eyes once again.

You tied the toy behind his neck, put a hand on his cheek to get his mouth to open slightly, and then you placed the gag on him.

You lifted yourself up to untie the simple knot that kept the sides of your panties together. At the loss of friction Naoya started to struggle against his handcuff, looking at you directly in the eye, clearly upset.

You removed your panties and threw them away. You placed your left hand on his chest. He saw how your other hand aligned his swollen cock against the entrance of your dripping pussy.

He stopped his struggle after he felt the head of his cock being swallowed by your tight cunt, the erotic hug almost made him cum right away, but he started to breathe deeply to calm himself down.

A loud moan escaped your lips as you lower yourself, getting through his fat mushroom tip, moving towards the thick shaft until you were fully stuffed by his cock. Quickly, you started to hop on top of him, making sure to add waves of extra pressure by contracting your ass; his breath became erratic.

Naoya softly opened his eyes, directing them immediately at your bouncing breasts, watching how your nipples played in front of him, teasing him almost. As you moved sensually on top of his cock, you sensed him getting bigger and twitching inside you, so you decided to stop. You calmed down and looked at him.

"You deserve more than this, baby. You deserve it after all your hard work," Naoya's mouth opened when his cock left your hot pussy, the way it caressed his ridge almost had him releasing his cum on his abs.

He was too puzzled to understand what you had in your hands.

You placed the piece of fabric over his eyes, tying it behind his head. He didn't like the thought of not looking at you. However, at how events were playing, he wanted to know what you were about to do next. Little he knew that at that moment a photo was being taken.

After everything went dark for him, Naoya felt your soft lips and tongue going from his broad neck to his hard nipples, your tongue playing with them in circles while your hands started to caress his heavy sack again. He arched his back slightly. You could have sworn you sensed whimpers coming from him. Your lips moved to his belly, biting and licking each separate abdominal muscle.

"You're so sexy," you said. He tried to chuckle, but the ball gag didn't let him.

Your caresses stopped, leaving the young man waiting for your next move. He exhaled roughly when he felt your velvety insides wrapping up his dick. You started to bounce, making your ass slap loudly against his thighs. Your moans filled the room. Naoya could only curl his toes at the rushed movements.

You leaned towards his shoulders, using them as support. You changed the pace, harshly thrusting his dick into your soaked cunt, the squeaking sound of the bed amplified. His hot cock twitched against your walls, caressing your sweet spot deliciously.

After a few more thrusts, you felt your belly spamming. Naoya felt your pussy pulsing, milking him. The future leader couldn't help himself but release loads and loads of his thick cum inside you, clenching his hands and holding his breath.

Naoya’s body gave up and laid still on the bed. You took note of his behavior, so you removed the blindfold and the ball gag.

You were greeted by a sleepy man with his eyes closed, his breath returning to normal. Without losing much time, you also undid his handcuff.

Naoya put his arms down. You removed yourself from the top of him, managing to lie beside his figure. The room remained silent for a few hours.

Before the sun rose Naoya got himself off your bed, went to take a shower in your bathroom, got dressed, and left your place. You remained in bed with eyes closed, but noticing each of his movements.

When you heard the engine of his car starting, you reached out for your phone on the nightstand, opening your messaging app and sending the photo. Suddenly, a notification popped up:

"That could work as blackmail," Mai said.

"You're welcome, bestie," you replied and slept with a wide smile on your face.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Feel Lucky

Pairing: surgeon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, daddy kink, sexual coercion, non-con.

Words: 1325.

Summary: He just needed a little incentive to help you.

_____________

It will be alright. It will be alright. It will be alright.

You kept repeating these words like a mantra over and over in your head while looking at the bathroom door. You wished you’d taken some sedatives before coming here, but Natasha advised you strongly against it since it could affect your reaction. You needed to put up a good show for him. He was the only one who could save whatever family you had left.

When the sounds of shower running had died out, you quickly grabbed your glass of wine and emptied it to ease your nerves. You were about to fuck a man for a benefit in return.

Damn, why did it have to be like that? How did it turn out that your aunt’s surgery became twice more expensive because of specifics of her decease? You thought you had everything ready when you arrived at the clinic only to learn about more complications and the need to make new tests to ensure your aunt was able to handle the treatment. After the long talk with the surgeon you realized the surgery would be different from the one you anticipated in the beginning. And its cost was too high even with the money you got from selling your apartment, the one and only property in your possession. Except it, you had nothing valuable.

Then the surgeon, the man you had been in contact with the whole month when your aunt was going through all tests and screenings to get her medical documents done, offered you his help. He said he could get her into a sponsorship program organized by S.H.I.E.L.D., a huge international corporation that provided hospitals around the world with the newest medical equipment. Basically, it meant that most of your aunt’s expenses would be covered, the surgeon explained. He just needed some incentive to go through this complicated process of getting her into the program, he said. 

And there you were, sitting on a spacious bed in a hotel room with just your robe on while Mr. Barnes was coming out of the shower. You felt like a prostitute.

“Enjoying yourself, baby?”

His deep voice made you snap out of your thoughts and smile widely at him, hiding your fear. You were playing a role of a silly little girl who was happy to do what she was told, and now it meant you would bounce on his cock until he cums and falls asleep, snoring like a freight train. God, you were disgusting.

“Yes, sir!” You answered cheerfully and laughed, making the last sip of wine. “This is so good!”

“I’m glad you like it.” He came closer and took an empty glass from your hand, a smug green on his handsome face making you even more nervous. “But ‘sir’ is just too formal, don’t you think?”

“True! I’m sorry.” Your expression turned to a guilty one, but you felt nothing except anxiety. It was all a game, and you needed to play your role to perfection. “Oh, maybe it’s daddy then?”

Although the words made you want to throw up, you saw Bucky’s face becoming darker, his icy blue eyes clouded with lust when he came closer, looming above you with his hands on your face. Tracing his thumb along your cheek, he made you open your red lips and smeared your lipstick with his fingertip. Oh yes, he liked the way you called him. A baby girl like you definitely needed a daddy to take care of her. 

Enjoying the soft texture of your lips, he made you suck his thumb, and you licked it eagerly like a lollipop. The wine had finally kicked in and made everything a bit easier for you, looking at Bucky standing above you with hazy eyes, making you eager to pleasure him. After all, it was just sex. You needed to make him happy, fulfil your part of the deal, and then you’d be free – or so you hoped. Thinking of that, you sucked his thumb as a good girl you were and continued licking his fingers one by one while the man was caressing your hair, running his other hand through your lovely locks.

"I see you're a clever girl, baby." Bucky smirked, watching you with obvious arousal. "Get on the bed. Now."

You gulped, unsure whether you had to undress yourself, but the man's heavy gaze made you shiver, and you crawled back without second thoughts, Bucky on you the very next moment after you felt a puffy pillow beneath your head. A soft whimper left your throat when he roughly untied your white robe, leaving you naked. His hungry eyes made you feel like he wanted to fuck you into the mattress until your legs give out completely, and you barely smiled at him to play your role. Before you realized what was going on, the man's lips, teeth and tongue were biting and sucking the skin on your neck.

"Ah!" You moaned, surprised at his impatience and deeply ashamed of your own reaction - his touch felt damn good, and you rested your hands on his broad back involuntary.

"Never been with a real man before, little girl?" He chuckled, lifting his head to stare at your blushing face, one of his palms stroking your neck. "I see. You're gonna have fun."

"Yes, daddy." You let out a little laugh playfully, praying it would end soon.

_______________

When you stared at the high ceiling of the hotel room, you tried to think of your aunt, refusing to listen to soft breathing of a man who had just ruined you. Your core ached painfully as he was too big for you. You'd be delighted to say that you were disgusted at what he had done, but it's not true. You're spent. You enjoyed every minute of it even when Bucky brought you both pain and pleasure. You felt like a slut, remembering your own moans when he took you from behind, your hips bucking against his. God, what had you done?

You tried to think of yummy apple pies your aunt was baking for you all the time; wrinkles around her warm hazel eyes, and her work-weary hands, but the only one you saw when you closed your eyes was Bucky Barnes, the man who had torn you apart and was now sleeping soundly next to you.

Why were you still there? You had no obligation to stay. Carefully lifting your legs, you tried to move without a sound - you didn't wish to see Barnes' face again. Unfortunately, you moved too soon as he didn't have enough time to fall asleep, and the man shot his eyes open, watching you grasping your robe.

"Where are you going, little girl?" He asked softly, somewhat confused at your frightened expression. Damn, you still needed to play your role.

"Sorry, daddy." You cracked a smile, hoping he would not see how tightly you clenched the fabric in your hands. "I thought you'd want me to leave you alone. You had a tough day, hadn't you?"

"You had a tough day, too." His unexpectedly gentle voice made you bite your lips. You didn't think someone as rough as him could be so tender. "I can imagine how hard it all has been for you, baby. You said your friend was going to stay with your aunt tonight, right? Take a little break."

When you looked at him, you saw his sincere expression, the subtle twitch, concern in his light blue eyes... and felt like you couldn't hold on anymore, your mask falling finally as you started sobbing. His face turned worried once he saw you pressing your forehead into the bedsheets to hide your tears, you distress evident as your knuckles turned white from clenching the blanket. Next second he was on his knees just like you were, embracing and holding you close while you wept like a child against his chest.

_______________

Tags: @finleyjayne​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @helenaeisenhower​ @villanellevi​ @hurricanerin​ 

[hearteyes-candyskies]

Houseplant

yandere enji x reader

summary; since enji took you, you’ve only really missed one thing; your houseplants. no, wait, not the houseplants themselves. you miss the control you had over them.

a/n; for @neroesecuzioni. thank you for supporting the blm global network! read the sequel here

tw; kidnapping, dub-con, nsfw

word count; 3.4k

🌱

Before Enji took you, all you had for company were your houseplants. Some hanging from the ceiling, spilling over the terracotta pots, other taller than you were with broad, glossy leaves. Some of them were tiny little succulents, pointy and dainty and smaller than the palm of your hand. All of them healthy and fresh and most importantly, alive. Alive by your hand and love. You miss them, the products of your hard work and love.

“Enji?” He grunts out a sound of acknowledgement, though his eyes don’t leave the laptop screen in front of him. 

“What happened to my houseplants?” At your question he finally looks up, eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

“What?” You fidget with the phone in your hand, debating whether or not to drop the subject and go back to pinning ideas for house decor. Something masochistic in you urges you on.

“My houseplants. You know the ones I used to have all over my apartment? Are they still there or?” You let your question trail off, tone light and neutral, but you can see a muscle in Enji’s jaw twitch. He doesn’t like talking about your life before him. Sometimes you forget you had a life before him.

“The movers probably threw them out. Just put it on the card if you want to buy more.” His gaze is already back on the laptop screen, and while you wish he would’ve said more you can’t expect the number one pro hero to pull himself away from his work to answer your silly questions about some plants. 

You busy yourself with picking out the perfect plants to keep in a bathroom, imagining how cute they’ll look hanging from the ceiling and juxtaposed against the white tile of the shower wall. Leaves falling on the bathroom floor shouldn’t be a problem, but even if they do? Well, you do have to leave your mark in this house somehow. How else would you let Enji know that you’re living here?

🌱

You can’t stop thinking about your old houseplants. You know it’s stupid, especially when you have access to a virtually unlimited credit card and so much more space to fill in the new home, but still. As stupid as it sounds, you formed a connection with the plants you brought home. Home. This house is your home, not the cramped, slightly outdated apartment you used to live in.

You remember what it was like before Enji took you in and decided that you were going to be his wife. You lived lonely and unseen, just like your quirk, blending into corners and shadows. It was certainly convenient for your job and superiors, who were thrilled to have someone who could slip into just about anywhere. Needless to say, it didn’t work out great for your social life. 

You’re surprised that Enji even noticed you in the first place, a wallflower of a person. Maybe he has just been the first person bright enough to illuminate the depths of your personality that no one else saw. 

It’s strange. In a way, you feel more seen when you’re with him, like the light that he emits both figuratively and literally has finally allowed you to bloom. God, your life fucking sucked if you think being kidnapped did wonders for your mental health. Not to say that it hasn’t but still, it’s the thought that counts.

Enji loves you. That’s the only thought that counts.

🌱

“What made you notice me first?” You play idly with straw in your drink, trying to contain your anticipation at hearing something wonderful about yourself that you never noticed. He gives the slightest shrug of his shoulders. 

“I don’t know. You were pretty enough. Lonely. Quiet. You seemed nurturing enough to be a good mother.” Your fingers still.

“Oh.” You’re embarrassed that you can’t hide the disappointment in your voice, but even worse, you’re embarrassed that you even asked. What romantic response were you expecting from a man who kidnapped you? Enji gives no sign of noticing your crestfallen face, and you quietly excuse yourself to go and shower. 

It’s when the warm spray of the shower head hits you that you finally start to cry. What a naive foolishness to think that Enji had been the first to notice how remarkably lovely you were, to appreciate all of your hidden little quirks and oddities that made you indescribably beautiful. 

You’re a lonely, quiet, forgettable wallflower whose only gift for mothering is to do any job and be too timid to complain about it. Enji chose you because you were convenient and because he was lonely. That makes it two of you, you suppose. You clasp a hand over your mouth to try and stifle your sobs, but deep in the back of your mind you know that the sound of your cries wouldn’t be enough to draw Enji from his work. Not that he would know how to comfort you. You get the feeling he’s never had any positive interactions with his family before.

You can imagine exactly how it would go down if you confronted him right now, hair dripping wet and eyes puffy and red. He wouldn’t open his arms to embrace and soothe you, no, he would stand awkwardly with an almost comical look of alarm on his face before you approached him and only then would he gently pat your back until your crying subsided. Then he would avoid you for the next couple days. 

Enji doesn’t notice how quiet and withdrawn you are later that night, snuggled up to his side as the two of you watch the news. To be fair, even if he did notice he would still say nothing. It’s with that thought that you realize you’ve just traded one miserable, deeply lonely existence for another. Only now you have the privilege of being ignored by the one person who’s supposed to love you more than anything else. The one person that you thought you might have loved.

Except, you know that he’s never truly loved anyone before, never experienced any sort of love that would allow him to recognize the sensation and verbalize it. You don’t think that he felt anything more than neutrality towards Rei, who he put in a fucking mental hospital after she cracked under his abuse, and he sure as hell didn’t love his children, least of all Shouto, who you’ve seen interact willing with him a grand total of three times. 

When he first kidnapped you he promised never to hit you, never to raise his voice or threaten you. He just wouldn’t let you go. He told you he was trying to be a better man, a better husband, a better father. The last part had scared you in the beginning, back when you still believed you would be able to leave one day and continue your career. Hero-work has no place for kids. 

But now? That fear has grown into complacency, your original wariness of Enji into something similar to affection. You never fought him, ever, because, duh. You’re not stupid, you know exactly how it would end. This strange sort of begrudging attraction though? It’s a new annoyance, something that has you dying for his approval and only kept in check by your remaining pride. After the disastrous attempt to find out what he ‘loves’ about you though, your pride is pretty much gone. 

You...don’t know how to retrieve it, and the thought scares you. If you can’t have Enji’s love and affection, or your pride intact, what do you have? You know the answer, even if you won’t admit it.

You have nothing.

🌱

The copious amount of clothes you have astounds you; you knew that Enji had picked out quite a few basics before he took you but you forgot to factor in just how many things you had ordered since coming here. As you paw through your bin of socks and underwear you feel soft lace brush against your fingertips and out of curiosity you yank the piece of clothing from the bin. As soon as you realize what you’re holding you feel your cheeks flood with warmth and embarrassment. 

Cherry red lace and mesh stare at you, wrapped around a tangle of satin and lace in the same shade. You vividly remember buying this, a robe and underwear set that you had drooled over for months while living alone in your sad, cramped apartment. It had remained in your shopping cart for weeks; you just couldn’t justify dropping a little less than a grand on some scraps of fabric that no one would ever see. Once you remembered it and had access to Enji’s credit card, however… 

You don’t hesitate to try the set on, something you were too scared to do when you first got it. As you tie the robe closed with a pretty bow and do a little twirl you feel a girlish sense of enjoyment like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You run your hands up your thighs, finger lifting the hem of the robe seductively before you cup your breasts, cradled in concoction of satin and lace. You look good. 

Then you remember why you bought it and immediately want to rip the whole ensemble to shreds. You had bought it back when you were still under the delusion that Enji was wildly and fantastically in love with you and despite the fact that he kidnapped you with no regard for your say in the matter you were convinced that you were going to surprise and seduce him in the outfit. 

That being said… A half-baked idea forms in your head as you gently take the set off, folding it carefully before placing it in the top drawer of your dresser, easily accessible should you need it. You know Enji likes it when you sleep in the same bed as him at night, so what if you...surprised him? He would love it. He has to love it, he chose you for a reason so for him to reject you- 

You can’t even think about it, the distress in your chest building as you try and push the thought out of your mind. Yes, Enji may have ripped you from your life before him but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a life here. You know Enji likes to read to wind down before bed, so you’ll just catch him then. Yeah. You still have it in you. You can still make him love you.

🌱

Enji barely looks up from his book as you approach, head peeking around the doorframe like a child asking for a bedtime story. You suddenly feel extremely self conscious in your skimpy lingerie, seized by a desire to run back to your room and change and admit that you were wrong, you don’t have it in you to seduce him and even if you do he’ll never love you for it. 

But this is the only thing you can hold onto, the only part of yourself that you can regain control of. You steel yourself as you take slow, measured steps to the bed, heart pounding as Enji sets aside the book and takes in what you’re wearing.

“What are you doing?” His voice cuts through the air, sharp but not unappreciative, and rather than answer you crawl as seductively as possible on top of the bed.

You clamber on top of his broad chest, legs on either side of his waist. He’s paying attention now, eyes trained sharply on your face as large hands wrap around your waist, whether to hold you in place or move you off you can’t tell yet. You don't think that Enji even knows what he wants to do. Enji doesn’t know what he wants.

The silk of his boxers are thin enough that you can feel his growing arousal against your ass as you grind down, hands spread prettily across his chest. His hands tighten around you, and you take it as your cue to let out a breathy sigh. 

“Fuck me, Enji. I want you to fuck me so hard that I can feel it for days afterwards; I want you to cum inside of me so much that I can feel it dripping out of me afterwards.” Your fingers curl, nails digging into your palms as you gaze at Enji through half lidded eyes. More out of nervousness than an attempt to be sexy, you drag your teeth across your bottom lip, watching as his gaze darts straight to your mouth.

“What are you doing? Where is this coming from?” He sounds wary, guarded even, and you can’t blame him. In however long you’ve been here you’ve never tried to initiate any sort of sexual encounter, merely going along kind of lifelessly every time Enji wanted sex. It’s ironic that the very man who kidnapped you to be his wife is now being cautious about fucking you.

“I want to fuck you. I want you to fuck my pussy with your cock until I can’t take it anymore and then I want you to keep going until I can’t tell you to stop.” One hand travels downwards, toying with the waistband of his shorts. He looks unconvinced, almost like he knows that it’s not normal for a captive to want to have rough sex with their captor.

“Please, daddy.” You bend forward and whine into his ear, bucking your hips against his as you nip at his earlobe. It’s your last resort, and it works. Enji growls, honest-to-god growls against your neck before flipping you onto your back in an impressive show of power.

“You’re a fucking whore, coming onto me like that.” You’re already shrugging off your robe, flinging it across the room in an effort to salvage it. Enji burns the straps off your bra before yanking the panties so hard that they rip right off of you. Damn. There goes five hundred dollars. 

His lips are on yours before you can think of anything else, harsh and demanding as he cups the back of your head with a large, warm hand. For someone as aggressive as he is you’re surprised he doesn’t use teeth. Enji’s other hand reaches between your thighs, finding you almost embarrassingly dry. He doesn’t seem to mind, shoving two thick fingers in your mouth and groaning softly at the way your tongue swirls eagerly round them. He presses deeper, taking pleasure in the way your throat spasms around them as you gag.

“You’re so beautiful. I knew from the second that I saw you that you would be mine.” That’s the first time he’s ever called you beautiful, or even complimented anything about your physical appearance. The praise goes straight to your head in the form of blood rushing to your cheeks, and Enji laughs at the way you squirm against him, pulling his fingers from your mouth.

“You can ask me to fuck you but you can’t take a compliment?” He doesn’t let you respond, instead brushing over your clit with his thumb before working his fingers inside of you, curling and seeking out the rough little patch on your walls. You’re glad for the way Enji captures your mouth again, relieving you of the need to decide between fake moaning and laying in uncomfortable silence.

He goes until the sound of his fingers squelching in your slick is all you can hear, and your stomach starts to clench every time his hand moves. Enji hasn’t deliberately touched your clit throughout the whole process, but the pressure of the heel of his palm is enough to work you quickly to orgasm. Much like the overachiever he is in his job, Enji doesn’t stop playing with your sloppily wet pussy until your thighs are tensing around his wrist, one of your own hands reaching down to stop his. 

“Enji- Enji, oh, oh, Enji, stop-” Your moan is practically pornographic, the pleasure quickly becoming unbearable. His fingers finally stop, and he raises them to your mouth.

“Suck.” You comply without hesitation, reveling in the way that Enji can’t seem to tear his gaze from your mouth. You let go with a ‘pop’ before pressing a small, soft kiss to the calloused pads of his fingers. 

Strangely enough it’s this relatively meaningless action that brings the most emotion to Enji’s face; desire, guilt, and regret all flash across his face before he attacks your neck, sucking what you know will be dark bruises into your flesh. 

You can feel him grabbing his dick and positioning it so that the head is right above your twitching hole and-

“Enji!” You practically shriek as his hips surge forward, burying himself deep within you in one go. Your legs wrap tight around his waist and squeeze, arms coming up around his neck as you let out pathetic little gasps and moans. The sensation of what can only be his cock nudging against the opening of your cervix has your legs squeezing tighter until Enji growls and grabs both your calves in his hands before hiking them over his shoulder and pressing forward.

The new position has your legs twitching as Enji knocks against your cervix with every thrust, and you draw his head in closer as he churns up your insides. The sound is obscene; you’re the one producing it and you’re still embarrassed. 

Enji finally has the sense to reach between the two of you and rub at your clit, peeling back the hood with a surprising dexterousness before flicking gently upwards with his thumb. You feel yourself clenching down harder and harder each time he does it, until you’re finally spiraling into your second orgasm of the night. 

The feeling of your cunt clenching down on his has Enji murmuring sweet nothings in your ear as his thrusts speed up and the force behind them becomes almost punishing.

“Mine, you’re mine, mine, mine-”

“Tell me that you love me.” Your voice is breathy and whiny and you sound so desperate but Enji takes no heed, chasing his own orgasm.

“I love you, god you’re going to make a beautiful mother, you’re mine, I love you,” the rest of his words trail off into incoherent babbling as his body stiffens and you feel hot cum flood your insides. Despite your less than positive stance on having kids right now, you can’t bring yourself to care, replaying Enji’s words in your head. He loves you. He wants you. He loves you. He needs you.

He collapses on top of you, rolling onto his side to avoid crushing you but still gathering you up in his arms. You bury your face in his chest, hands trapped between your bodies, and sigh. Enji’s silent, blue eyes watch your face with something akin to warmth before reaching a hand out to brush hair away from your sweaty forehead.

“I can uh, I can get a birth control pill for you tomorrow if you want.” Part of you screams to take him up on an offer that you’ll likely never see again, but the other part of you can’t help but think how much a child would tie him to you. If you gave him a dual-quirked son? Enji would have no choice but to love and cherish you. You’d be giving him what he’s always wanted.

“Mm.” You make a non-committal noise, snuggling further into his body heat and leaving him to awkwardly tighten his embrace.

“Is that a yes?” This is the most uncertain you’ve ever heard Enji in your life, and knowing that you’re the cause for it sends an immeasurable amount of satisfaction coursing through your veins. You make him so weak. 

“Can we talk about this tomorrow? I want to cuddle.” Your voice is soft and sweet, and you glance at him through your lashes. His face is uncharacteristically open, allowing you to read every bit of uncertainty that flies across his face.

“Ok. Let me get a towel first.” You say nothing, just scooting back so that he can get off the bed. He returns with a warm, wet towel, wiping down your inner thighs with a tenderness you’ve never seen before throwing it in the laundry hamper, turning off the lights, and settling in beside you.

As you drift off to sleep, Enji holding you like you’re made of glass, you feel him press a light kiss to your forehead.

“I…” he seems to be searching for a way to express his affection, something he’s almost certainly never had to do before, “I enjoyed tonight.” You crack an eye open, observing how the iciness of his gaze has melted somewhat. A small smile creeps across your face.

“I enjoyed it too. Goodnight, Enji.” He runs a warm hand up and down your bare back.

“Goodnight.” A pause. “I love you, y/n.” You feel drunk on power at the sound of your name from his lips. 

“Love you too, Enji.” 

[threeminutesoflife]

Manifest Destiny

Pairings: Dark!Stucky x Dark!Reader Warnings:  18+, non/con, sex pollen, lab experiments, kidnapping, stucky bj, female masturbation, minor mention of death. Summary: Reader invents sex pollen, selfish relationship issues w/ her boyfriends, breaking up is hard to do Word Count: 8.2k a/n: This was written for the ever-sweet and incredibly welcoming @imanuglywombat​   The Ugliest Wombat Challenge. She’s an amazing writer- Congrats on your 1.7k! Thank you for hosting!

Prompts: Desert and Mountain Moodboards-

It’s odd, the revelations and ideas you come up with when your mouth’s filled with cock.

“Take it.”

“B-Bucky, wait-”

“Don’t whine, you’re ready,” Bucky panted above you, “you feel good enough to me.”

Bucky's hips connected painfully into yours as your back dug into the table, “Be good- take Steve in your little mouth, baby girl.”

His hands cemented around your waist while you lay haphazardly across the small kitchen table; the back of your neck hit the table’s edge with every sharp snap of Bucky’s hips.

Steve murmured your name drawing your attention to him. Looking up, Steve loomed over you stroking himself, balls knocking against his fist as he slid his hand down his shaft. Standing with his legs apart, Steve’s figure jarred in and out of your vision as Bucky used your body.

“Open.” Steve was in your vision.

“Now.” Steve was out of your vision.

Bucky pushed in and out of you greedily; vision jerking, neck snapping.

“Hurry up,” Steve tsked impatiently, annoyed you didn’t automatically know what he wanted. Guilt fell down upon you when your compliance wasn’t fast enough. “Convince me you’re not selfish. Show me how grateful you are for us, sweetheart.”

The table scrapped against the floor as Bucky ground into you deeper and harshly twisted your leg higher on his shoulder. You yelped when your neck snapped against the table’s corner.

“Good girl, keep that mouth open for me,” Steve dipped his knees and moved himself closer to your lips. “Drop your head. More. More goddammit. Now- relax that throat, sweetheart. Yeah. Just like that. Fuck- feel so good. Wanna see my dick fill up that smooth throat of yours.” He laid his large hand down along the column of your neck as Bucky’s deep thrusts caused your body to rock up and meet against Steve’s open palm. Steve tightened his hold around your expanding neck, smirking when he felt himself slide deeper in you beneath his palm, “You owe us for being ungrateful. Don’t ever keep us waiting, sweetheart.”

They left for a mission the next morning, a year later you were gone.

Twelve months ago / first day away: The flash hit your eyes before the sound erupted in your ears. Shock delayed your reaction time. Your arms shot out in front of your face but you were too late to duck away from the table top’s explosion. The ceiling extinguishers released, followed by the air duct vacuums removing any traces of smoke and fog in the lab. Pulling yourself together, you recited the chemicals and amounts mixed shortly before the mini-detonation. The corners were singed on the formula’s trial and error notebook, one notebook of many that helped track your successful and unsuccessful runs. When you shakily flipped over a sheet to write down the amounts that wouldn’t be combined again, you saw it. In the reflection of a container, you were missing an eyebrow. The boys left before dawn this morning, departing for an estimated seven-month deep mission. There would be no communication with their handler unless an extreme emergency arose, meaning death. An absolute rule of no messages or check-ins to outside parties, meaning you. At least under the forced silent conditions, you wouldn’t have to find a way to hide your missing eyebrow. You wouldn’t have to listen to them bemoan and force you to stay out of a dangerous lab. Their “reluctance” to go was felt by everyone in the building but thankfully for you, Fury said there was no other option. Their storm of distaste for leaving you unattended, and free to roam out from under their thumb, had everyone counting down the days to their departure. You were used to their anger and shortness, but this long absence would be a blessing. Your time would be yours and you’d be able to work freely on your experiments. You wouldn’t have to convince the boys that they were your number one priority, while missing an eyebrow.

Eleven months ago / first month away: You rolled over and stretched, legs twisting out and around the soft comforter- flaying your limbs across the wide bed, claiming any and all space. A giggle escaped you as you rolled your body over to the far left side of the bed, only to roll yourself back over to the opposite side. Laughing harder when you realized there were no consequences if you accidentally woke up a sleeping super soldier. You rolled over once more just because you could. You fixed the bed the night before, a small act of deviance when you tucked the corner of the newly purchased sheets under the mattress. The same set of sheets you were outnumbered on buying earlier. Grabbing a pillow, you flipped yourself over to the foot of the bed and turned on the television you put in the bedroom last month. Resting your chin on the pillow, you wiggled your toes under the throw pillows at the head of the bed. You inhaled deeply and enjoyed the pleasant detergent fragrance, you could hardly register their scent anymore. A late morning of watching tasteless shows of your own choosing; you couldn’t wait to bring in leftovers and eat them in bed between the new covers.

Ten months ago / second month away: The tower floors were quiet, peacefully so. Even the inanimate objects seemed to breathe easier without super soldiers dictating about. You came and went at all hours to the lab or outside to grab food. Sometimes you went for short walks when you needed time for your ideas to ferment. The freedom and fewer restrictions were new at first, leaving you hesitant and feeling guilty for enjoying them. But slowly, it became easier to indulge. It was a treat to only having to be concerned about yourself and your wants and desires. It wasn’t that you didn’t care about Bucky and Steve, they gave what they could. Or rather more accurately, they gave what they wanted. But it was a relationship built on their terms. Their needs and wishes- those came first. The boys provided what they thought was needed in a relationship, but it was restricted to what you felt was essential. They’d give you the shirt off their backs, but then tell you how to wear it. Bruce noticed your newfound sense of self first, the looseness in your shoulders and no more worry-filled glances at clocks. He didn’t want to say you smiled more when your boyfriends were away, but he noticed more enjoyment and excitement in you.

Nine months ago / third month away: Staring at the computer screen in disbelief, a laugh stuttered out of you. It was coming together, the formula. You were meant to create this. The idea that once formed in your head as a fleeting sarcastic notion- how to make sex more enjoyable and ready your body quicker for intercourse- lead you here. However, it became a bit more sinister with Steve and Bucky’s influence. In the beginning, the idea was only to assist you in finding more pleasure and to be ready for whenever they wanted it. Now the idea grew into something that would drive the subject into a state of painful, distracting lust until one was able to achieve an euphoric release. Something that would fully consume the users and allow another a window of opportunity in that chaotic distraction. And it was slowly coming together.

Seven months ago / fifth month away: Trials with subjects, successful: the rabbits were going at it like rabbits.

Six months ago / sixth month away: You accepted the offer. The chance at a taste of freedom and a sense of accomplishment made you agree immediately. The minor detail about temporarily relocating to the desert wasn’t a concern. You were looking forward to testing the formula further out west. SHIELD wanted more extensive experiments on your sex pollen idea, or as you called it, Dionysian. You would conduct more trails here and then proceed out to Groom Lake for more immersed testing in the SHIELD designated areas. Now you just needed to find a way to inform Bucky and Steve. But this, this was your destiny.

Five months ago / seventh month away: The boys were never a thought when you accepted the testing opportunity. But with their return approaching, you couldn't stop thinking about their reaction. You needed to rehearse your words when you’d sit them down to talk. You tried convincing yourself that they would hear you out. You tried convincing yourself that they’d understand this opportunity meant a great deal to you. They’d agree and encourage you to go, right? That’s what people offered each other in healthy relationships- encouragement, support. You, however, were not in a healthy relationship. And the thought of seeing them only made you uneasy and sick. You would be lying if you said they were missed. Depending on how you treated each other these next upcoming months, you might blaze your own trail without them. As the elevator climbed to your living quarters, your stomach twisted at the thought of telling them you’d be away; twisting at the thought of their anger. As the elevator doors opened to your floor, you decided you wouldn’t tell the boys that you already accepted the offer. Instead, you’d talk to them about a possibility of one, and then present it in a way that it’d seem as if they were giving you permission to go. Stepping into the hallway, you noticed utility bags thrown to the side. Shit. You didn’t realize they were back already. Seven months away and you were in a meeting instead of greeting them when they landed. How long have they been here? You walked into the bedroom and saw both men freshly showered, towels wrapped low around their waists. The three of you stood awkwardly in the silent bedroom. Scanning the room, you noticed the television missing and your new sheets ripped off the bed, crumpled on the floor.

Four months ago: The boys left for a three week mission and before they left again, things around the apartment were less than ideal. During an argument last month, you suggested about getting your own bedroom in the Tower. The boys didn’t appreciate that thought, edging you for a full night until you apologized for being inconsiderate. You sobbed during your climax, your body wrecked and colored with embarrassment. A lie and a promise passed your lips to them- you were sorry and you’d treat them how they deserved to be treated. Pulling out your notebook, you set up the timer and recorder and hooked up the body monitors. You nervously brought over a glass of water and pulled out the dropper for the liquid Dionysian. You’ve been trying to convince yourself to test it out, unwisely on yourself. Closing the notebook, you shook your head at your would-be actions. Don’t do this. But then glancing at your phone, the screen filled with missed texts from Steve and Bucky. Each bubble angrier than the last. “Where are you?” “Why are you keeping me waiting?” “You better answer Steve, baby girl.” “Text Bucky back right now, sweetheart.” “Do you need to learn your lesson again?” You threw your phone aside and turned on the recorder. One drop of Dionysian in the water, you drank and waited for a reaction. This was a last resort, but you needed to be prepared just in case. You decided that before taking your leave out west, you’d try your hardest to work with them and determine if it was possible to miss them. For now, you’d try to be how they wanted you to be and see if this was the future you’d actually want for yourself. You'd try to be their good girl. Maybe there was something salvageable for you three. But if nothing could be saved, you’d be prepared. Your next three weeks would be filled with testing and orgasms while the boys were away.

Three months ago: “There’s talk of an opportunity,” you started shyly across the table. “No.” A set of deep voices cut off any further discussion, silverware crashing against the plates. “But it would only be for a few months away, and I’d get to further my research. You should hear all the new breakthroughs we’re having with this formula. It’s beyond impressive. It’d really be a great tool out in the field. The fact alone that it would keep the target so incapacitated, too preoccupied to achieve relief, one could escape easily and put several hours of distance between them and other operatives,” you pleaded for them to listen. Why couldn’t they just listen? You listened to them- helped them achieve their goals. When did this relationship turn into something less for you? Why did you allow it to turn that way? “Buck said no-” “Steve said no-” Simultaneously conjoined sentences of dismissiveness sailed across the table at you. That hurt, but you weren’t about to give up easily. You excelled too far in your career, achieved too much in the lab for your boyfriends to shut you up. “With more testing, we could really extend the release time and keep the subjects immobilized, maybe up to 12 hours, hell, maybe even longer. I mean, just depending on the concentrated amounts of what would be administered. Wait, I need to write this down,” you excitedly pushed the chair away from the table with the intention to get your notepad. “You better be only getting up to bring us back a slice of the apple pie you baked earlier, sweetheart.” You shut your eyes at Steve’s warning, your shoulders tensed at his commanding tone as you tried memorizing your ideas to record later. “I’ll take an extra slice tonight, baby girl,” Bucky handed his plate over with a wink. Collecting Steve’s dish also, you reminded yourself to remain calm. They’re not selfish, they love you. They do care about you, they’re just reluctant to share you. You would try another time.

Two months ago: Sweaty bodies on either side of you, tired and loose from the orgasms given and received. Panting breaths slowed as lazy hands drew circles on your hips. “There’s a chance for a promotion…” “Keep talking and I’ll stick my dick back in your mouth,” Bucky grumbled. “Quiet, sweetheart.” Steve chided and slapped the side of you thigh, “Stop trying to ruin the moment, it’s not polite,” Another time then.

One month ago: “There’s interviews being held in the next couple days for-” “Not this again,” Steve cursed. “Why aren’t you happy? What could it possibly be that causes you to be so fucking miserable here with us?” “We thought you were happy. Are you lying to us?” questioned Bucky. You couldn’t be sure if there was menace in his words. His eyes were sharper though, you couldn’t deny the warning slowly brewing in them. You picked your next words carefully, but a part of you knew they’d never be the right ones said, “…I am happy. I care for you both, so much. But it’d be only five months at the most and only three away for certain. I mean, you both had a mission that lasted seven months with no communication. And with me there, we could still talk everyday. It’s only a temporary relocation. I’d be by area51, so it’s well-guarded. Maria said I’d be able to talk and skype when I’m away from the labs, I could call you in the evenings. Plus, SHIELD has their own designated areas there- I’d be with our people. Please. Let me do this for my research. Please, Steve. Please, Bucky. It’d mean so much to be able to test out there with more free range-” “-You care for both of us?!” Bucky cut in, cold impatience in his voice as he said your name. It was as if he never heard you say anything else after that line. “What the fuck is that suppose to mean, baby girl?” “Now, Bucky- easy,” Steve lazily placated him. Steve thought a little fear supplied by Bucky would do you good, maybe you needed help to reevaluate what was important in your life. Them. “I’m sure our girl didn’t mean it like that. I’m certain she didn’t want it to come across as awful and hurtful as it did. Am I right, sweetheart?” “Do you not fucking love us like we love you?” Bucky stepped closer with his accusation. “Of course, she loves us. Our little sweetheart wouldn’t dare hurt us like that. Would you?” Steve cupped your cheek and ran his thumb across your cheekbone. “She knows how much it’d physically hurt us, if she was away from us again. She knows how physically ill it made us- not being able to talk to her when we were gone all those months. The daily pain we were in for leaving her behind on that mission. That mission she brought up so casually, as if it was nothing.” Your lip trembled under Steve’s thumb but you kept your back straight. You created this formula from the ground up. You worked for this achievement. You needed them to be on your side, or out of your way. You were tired of being their cheerleader when they didn’t reciprocate. You wanted the chance to develop your own personal mission of success. “I remember,” you stilled your lip from trembling as Steve ran his thumb over your chin. I remember how much I do for you both, and how little you allow me to do for myself. “You better fucking prove how much you love us,” Bucky challenged as he unzipped his pants. Good cop, bad cop. You were running out of time.

---

The kitchen timer sounded, startling you as you hid the suitcases in the back of the closet. The scent of cinnamon and apples hung thickly in the air from the pie you pulled out the oven. Looking between the closest and homemade pie, spiced special for tonight, you were ready to leave for good.

---

“Would you like to know what’s going on with your bodies?” You watched the two men double over from the cramping, gripping the edge of the nearest piece of furniture. “Your bodies truly are superior, I’ve been fucked over enough times by you both to know. But still... I hope I administered enough for you, Steve. And I hope you didn’t get too much, Bucky,” you winked at them as Bucky grunted through another painful muscle contraction.

“What,” Steve panted as his stomach squeezed, “did you do?”

“Broke one of your rules, sweetest. Brought my work home with me. Gonna break a couple more, too. But at least you’ll have each other to help you through it. Because Steve... Bucky’s going to need your help.”

Bucky and Steve shot you glares between sucking in their breaths and squeezing their eyes shut through the increasing punch of stomach cramps.

A fake pout across your lips, you crossed your arms and leaned back against the chair, “What. No questions? No sharp words?”

The room filled with wheezing and coughing, the scent of their sweat started climbing in the air.

“I tell you, boy- I wasn’t expecting the silent treatment.”

Painful grunts and twisted moans echoed out of them.

“You two are boring. How’s this, blink twice if you need help,” you snickered louder when the boys growled out their anger. “Oh relax, babies,” you cooed with contempt. “The more you fight it, the more it’ll hurt. I made sure.”

“Fuck this,” Bucky rasped, “I’m burning up. Even my arm feels hot.”

Sweat beaded across Steve’s brow as he watched Bucky curl in around himself. Steve was miserable, but Bucky looked like shit.

“Let me see,” Steve put his hand on Bucky’s forehead. “Jesus, Buck. You’re on fire. What did you give him?” 

Steve tried to spin around at you, but Bucky caught Steve’s hand and pulled it back on his forehead. “Hurts less when you touch me.”

“What?” Steve questioned, looking at Bucky’s sickly complexion.

“Just keep your hands on me, Steve. It hurts less.”

Steve cupped Bucky’s face before turning to you in horror, “What did you give him, y/n?!”

“Relax. I gave him the same thing I gave you, but porker here just ate more pie than you. Which by my estimations, your next heat wave should start kicking in soon. If not, there’s a chance tonight will get more interesting- and messy.”

Steve was about to scream out more questions when a fresh wave of pain hit him. He gritted through another contraction. It helped to touch, just like Bucky said, but he could still feel the pain slowly getting stronger. He also started feeling his dick getting harder. 

Steve risked a glance away from you to see Bucky’s pants painfully tented, “Steve, touch me more. I need you.”

“Better listen to him, Steve,” you sat down in a chair that was far enough away to enjoy the show.

“You’re in so much trouble when this shit wears off,” Steve gritted out, holding onto Bucky. He was torn between helping Bucky and locking you up.

“I’m taking the job, boys. I’m leaving shortly.”

“What? You can’t leave,” Bucky whirled his slumped over body to look at you. Hair wet against his forehead, sweat stained his shirt. “Fuck. Help me out.”

“I can take it and I am. You two are better for each other. I don’t want this anymore.”

Bucky howled, a painful mixture of trying to fight the sex pollen and realizing they were losing you.

“Goddammit,” Steve ground out in anger, his hand tightened on Bucky’s shoulder. He tried keeping himself upright, still attempting to touch Bucky and ease them both through another contraction. “You’re not fucking going anywhere. You’re mad, we get that. But right now- you better fucking help us out!”

“Help yourself!” you shouted back, rising up from the seat. “Fuck each other. That’s the secret. I can already see the precum on Bucky’s pants. Give each other a hand, literally. You’ll be helping one another for most of the night while I fly out.”

Bucky took a deep breath and lunged his body in your direction. He didn’t make it far. You only shook your head at them. Steve was in too much pain to grab Bucky, but at least Bucky managed to pathetically pull himself up to sit. This wasn’t playing out as gleefully as you thought it would. Instead, you were angry. Angry at them, angry at yourself.

Both men commanded, then pleaded for you two stay with them again, “Baby girl.” “Sweetheart.”

For a moment you thought you should, but then you saw your notebook next to your bag and you knew you were leaving. A wave of resentment hit you when you thought of what led you here. “God. Must I do everything for you, little boys?”

Bucky grunted when he fell on all fours from the push you delivered between his shoulder blades.

Tangling your fist in his hair you pulled Bucky by his locks across the room. You dog walked the Winter Soldier, crawling his way like an animal in heat, before Steve’s feet. Grabbing Bucky by the nape of his neck, you forced his face closer to Steve’s cock.

With your free hand you pinched your fingers around the bottom of Bucky’s cheeks, squeezing harshly. His mouth parted and lips puckered out as you bent down to his ear, “Open and enjoy.”

Steve stood immobile, taking in Bucky’s weakness and your strength. His tip weeping with arousal at the drastic change in dynamics.

Steve quickly undid his pants eager for pleasure, “Maybe I should get you first, but this will help us quicker. Suck me dry, Bucky. Then I can help you better.”

You scoffed at Steve, even now he portrayed himself as selfless when he was actually selfish.

Your actions were harsh and voice mocking as Bucky’s lips wrapped around Steve’s dick. Both moaning in pleasure with the contact.

“No, no little bear. I know you can get the honey out better than that. Put some effort into it,” with a swift shove of your foot, you pressed your shoe into Bucky’s firm ass cheek. 

Suddenly and ungracefully, Bucky lurched forward and impaled his mouth further down on Steve’s dick.

A deep growl from Steve’s chest vibrated out down along his torso and into Bucky’s mouth. Pressing Bucky harder into Steve’s crotch with your foot, your eyes connected with Steve’s. He couldn’t look away from you. Bucky coughed and choked on Steve’s length as you pressed him harder into Steve with a devious smile. 

Steve lost it. Instead of trying to pull Bucky off him to allow him to breathe, Steve grabbed Bucky by his hair and pulled his face in closer. 

Bucky’s nose to Steve’s pelvis, you bit your lip and undid the button on your jeans. Slipping your hand under your panties, you felt your wetness as Steve kept his eyes locked on you. You licked your lips, spurring Steve on. The whimpers you let out when teasing yourself made Bucky suck harder. You found your release at the sight of Steve’s hard thrusts and Bucky slipping his hand down his own pants.

---

“Thanks again for the ride,” you said, nestling the grocery bags between your legs.

“No problem, needed a few snacks too. Seemed like a good idea when you mentioned it.”

“You’re just gonna miss me, partner. What will you do now that we’re not shadowing each other 24-7?”

“Hey! There’s only so much junk food on base. You know I need variety. Besides, a drive into town seemed like a nice way to break up the evening. How else am I supposed to keep you out of trouble?” Aaron teasingly quirked an eyebrow, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel to the beat of the song.

“Yeah, yeah- chaperon, my chaperon. Thanks again for the extra time you put in with the project. Shaved off a month from the schedule, couldn’t have done it without you staying around those extra nights.”

“I’m looking forward to us getting back to New York.”

“Hmm,” you rolled the window down halfway, trying to keep yourself busy to avoid commenting.

Aaron looked over at you, “Hey. It’ll be nice to go back home to New York, right?”

You shrugged, “It’ll be nice to leave tomorrow. With us already submitting the results the other day, all we have to do is clean and pack up. It’s quiet with only us being there in the SHIELD section now.”

“New York bound it is then!” Aaron tapped your thigh and gave your knee a friendly squeeze. “I can’t wait to get back, who’d of thought I’d miss the wife’s cooking?” Aaron mused, slowing down at the yellow light.

“I’m just happy to have some time off. Take in some sights and then venture into a new contract at my own leisure.” You flipped the radio’s volume up a few clicks higher, resting your head back against the seat.

“It’s amazing how much we accomplished in that time frame. It’s your estimates that allowed us to finish earlier than expected. Your calculations were in the zone, only needing minimal tweaking. Some days it was like you already tested the product out, especially with how close we were with each ingredient’s measurements,” Aaron shot you an amused smile but it slowly dropped when you didn’t smile back. “Oh, hey. Hey, you okay?”

Clearing your throat, you sat up straighter. “Um, yeah. I’m good,” turning your head to look out the passenger window, “now.”

Nodding his head at your words, he easily mistook your reaction, “What I’m trying to say is- if you ever need help with another project, think of me.”

“…Thanks. I will,” your mumble of gratitude seemed like modesty but it was guilt.

You shifted in the seat, putting more room between you and Aaron. Almost like you were giving your emotions more space to sit comfortably in the car also. You knew why your calculations were so close to being correct with making the sex pollen viable. You recorded and studied the muted video you made of Steve and Bucky’s reaction times to those test doses. But some nights, when you couldn’t sleep, you slipped your hand between your thighs and watched it with the sound on low.

Aaron straightened the car out of the turn, “Can’t wait till agents are able to use this in the field. There’ll definitely be some interesting stories. Get ready, I’m sure an offer will come to stay on permanently with SHIELD. You’d want that, right? It’d be nice to be back in that lab with Banner.”

You sighed at the New York reminder. These last several months had been wonderful. You enjoyed all the research tasks guilt-free instead of juggling them with two demanding Avengers. When they were away, you got to decide how to fill your days and nights. You got to immerse yourself in your own research missions of experiments and notes. You enjoyed organizing the videos and recording, typing the trial and errors, outlining notes on coffee-stained scribbled books.

But you weren’t ready to give your freedom up, you were in no rush to return to New York or Banner’s lab. It was a hard call you made to Bruce the other day. You didn’t want to burn any bridges with him, not when he was a mentor. But you weren’t ready to return. You didn’t want to be in close proximity with Steve and Bucky anymore. So when you spoke to Bruce earlier, you told him you’d be taking more time for yourself and wouldn’t be returning to New York...

“What do you mean you’re not coming back?”

“Bruce, this is essential.”

“Essential to your career or essential in avoiding your relationship status?”

That cold splash of verbal water made you pause. A heavy silence was met on both ends of the phone. A few seconds past as neither you or Bruce said anything. Finally, Bruce broke the standoff by sighing in agreement of your request to take a break before signing a new contract. But not before he gave scientific advice, “You’d feel better if you talked to them. They miss you, you know. This avoidance and stress,  it’ll just make you sick.”

“No, I’d feel better if I had more time alone. Space, lots of space to decide what I want to do. Somewhere-”

“Listen, Jailbreak,” Tony queued up your call over the speakers causing Banner to send him a sour perturbed look.

You moved your jaw back and forth, trying to tamper down the annoyance of hearing Tony’s voice cut in on your private call, “..Yes?”

“It’s time.”

“No, actually Tony, it’s not. Nor will it be.”

“Yeah super, I hear ya small fry and that’s really great you think that. But now hear what I’m saying, it’s time.”

“Stop, Tony. I’m taking time for myself.”

“Sweetheart-”

“Don’t call me that!”

Tony cringed at your tone, mildly forgetting Steve’s nickname for you. Bruce rolled his eyes at Tony’s less than accidental slip-up. “Okay, okay. What I mean is and I repeat, it’s time. You can find that inner peace bullshit back here. You need to come home.”

“That’s not my home anymore. I’m doing what I want and going to figure-”

“Then what? I have two out of control super a-holes on back to back missions because they’re pissed their girlfriend left them.”

‘In compromising positions,’ you thought. “It’s ex-girlfriend now, Tony.”

Tony’s laugh was dry and crisp, “Hardly an ex.”

“I am. I have no claim on them, they have no claim on me. Hence, the ex part.”

“They’re taking back to back missions so they can kill- legally, sweetheart.”

“Well, they’re doing it together so it’s an Avenger date night. They have each other, that’s enough.”

“Quit fooling yourself, spit out the kool-aid. There’s no getting out of this. You aren’t an ex to them and you will never be an ex to them. Realize it, quickly. For your own sake. And more importantly, for the sake of my cleaning bills. Ring your energy bell, light your candles- then come home.”

“I called to say thank you to Dr. Banner, not to get into an argument with you, Mr. Stark. My contract has been completed,” you gritted through your teeth. You were over all this, especially Tony putting his nose into everything. After this, you planned on finding something else with a different company. Another life.

Tony tapped the mute button on the screen and leaned away from the desk. A look of disbelief on his face as he waved his hand over the table to Bruce. “What kind of attitude are you teaching her in here? Am I handing out bonuses to be cashed in for disrespect? Is it not registering with her that I sign everyone’s payroll?”

Bruce looked at Tony over his glasses, mumbled an apology on your behalf and turned back to his project.

Tony flipped the mute button off, “Funny, thought I owned the company. Thought I owned a multitude of companies. Remember that, lil'miss girlfriend to Steve and Bucky.”

“Tony,” closing your eyes, you took a moment to gather yourself. The man was exhausting, “Please stop, I didn’t call to fight. I only called to say goodbye to Bruce, and now, it seems to you also.”

“Look, deserter. Bruce agrees you should have some time away,” Tony pointedly looked at him causing Bruce to nod quickly in agreement. “I’ll set you up in a cabin. It’s a nice place. Mountains, woods, big ponds, Bambi bullshit. It’s far enough away from noise and people. Town’s about an hour’s drive, so you’ll get to concentrate on what matters there. I’m sending over the location now, it’ll be stocked when you get there. Get your priorities sorted. Get this out of your system, you had your streak of rebellion. There’s new projects you’re needed on here. Reevaluate what matters and then head back. This is where your home is.” 

Tony ended the call without giving you a chance to agree or protest and smirked at Bruce.

“Oh no, no. Don’t do that to her, Tony.” Bruce frantically shook his head causing his glasses to fall further down his nose.

“They’re coming back soon anyways, a reason to head back a few day earlier will be fine. I’m not dealing with them and their fucking destruction anymore. They’re out of fucking control without her. Their missions are the only things keeping my building intact here.”

“Tony, you can’t do that to her- she wanted out. They just need more time. They’ll eventually come to terms with this,” Bruce tasted the lie as soon as it was out.

“She made her bed- sandwiched right in between a jagged tin-can and captain popsicle. They’re her problem to deal with and no time like the present,” Tony scrolled through the screen again. “Besides, you know I’d find you if you ever tried to leave me. That’s one thing I actually get where they’re coming from. You’ve learned your spot is with me. Lil'miss escapee will learn her spot is with them.”

“And if she has to learn it the hard way?”

“Well, that’s between them.”

--

The noon sun beat down on Steve as the com crackled with an incoming call, “Speak, Stark.”

“How much of a favor do you and Manchurian want to owe me?”...

--

Aaron patted your knee and called your attention back, “What do you think?”

“Sorry. What?”

“New York. When we get back, you want to start in the lab right away or take a week off?”

“Um,” you shifted in your seat, “I’m not going back, Aaron.”

“…So you’re staying out here for a bit longer but then heading back?” Aaron’s knuckles tightened around the steering wheel as his eyes darted from the empty road to you when you didn’t answer. “You’re coming back with me, right?”

“No. I spoke to Bruce earlier and said goodbye. I’m taking some time off. I’ll figure out a new place to work later.”

“You’re not serious.”

“It’ll be for the best for-”

“You can’t do that,” he spat acidly.

“What do you mean, I can’t do that?”

“I need to call the wife.” Aaron angled the car over to the side of the road. A pair of unnoticed headlights shut off in the distance as you were too preoccupied with Aaron’s outburst.

“…Can’t you call her back at base?”

“No. I definitely can’t,” he said bitterly as he whirled his body to face yours. “When the hell did you even decide this? How could you keep this from me?”

“I- what. I’m sorry, but what does that matter? I appreciate your help on this project but you don’t need me, Aaron. You’re great, you’ll get picked up for a new contract with Stark. Or, maybe even think about going to a different place like I am-”

“That’s not the fucking point! FUCK! I need my phone.”

“What’s wrong? You’re freaking me out.”

Aaron ignored you while he frantically patted himself down, “Fuck. Gonna be pissed, accuse me of doing this on purpose or some shit. Goddammit, I don’t have my phone. Give me yours.”

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Give me your phone. Now.”

“I left it at base,” you lied and pressed the back of your heel against your purse on the floor.

“Give. Me. Your. Phone.”

“I don’t have it!”

“You’re as selfish as they said. FINE,” Aaron punched the steering wheel and started the car up. “We’re going to the base. I’m calling the fucking wife. Then you and I are going back to the Tower.”

You stared at your friend who literally morphed into a complete stranger right before your eyes. Your heart sped up as he looked at you with contempt.

“I want out,” you reached down to grab your purse, but Aaron took a hold of your thigh and squeezed painfully making you yelp.

“No! You’re fucking staying rig-”

Before he could finish, Aaron’s window was violently smashed in.

The force rocked the car for a moment; glass confetti flying, little shards landing on his lap and chest. Screaming, you pressed your back into the car door as a silver arm flew through the shattered window and delivered a punch into Aaron’s chest.

Bucky. “Oh my god-”

TAP, TAP, TAP.

Your fearful whisper was cut off as you jolted away from the passenger window and the tapping by your ear.

A tear ran down your cheek when you saw Steve lean against your car door, smiling. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Aaron groaned beside you. His face bloodied from the broken glass and Bucky’s metal hand pressured against his sternum.

“Good to see you, baby girl.”

Before your brain could catch up to your fear, Aaron coughed and wheezed in his seat, “I didn’t know. I swear.”

Bucky tsked and pressed his fist into Aaron’s chest harder.

“When did you find out, Aaron?” Steve asked as he moved his hand through your open window and gently caressed your cheek. “Think he’ll lie to us, sweetheart?”

“Just now,” Aaron struggled for a full breath against Bucky’s weighted arm, “I swear.”

“You swear a lot, don’t you Aaron?” Steve tapped your nose. “We heard you swearing at our girl. We didn’t like that very much.”

“Baby girl.” Your eyes cut to Bucky’s as you pressed your back further against the seat. “Is he a liar?” Bucky slightly lifted the pressure off of Aaron’s chest.

Wetting your dry lips, your brain was muddled by the confusion of seeing them here. “Lying, about what?”

Aaron hatefully hissed your name before shouting out, “Goddammit! Fucking tell them I didn’t know you weren’t coming back.”

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Bucky warned steelily.

Your eyes darted between Steve and Bucky, your mind still whirling, “He didn’t- I didn’t-”

“Tell'em I just found out, you bitch!”

The plates in Bucky’s arm shifted as he knocked Aaron against the seat, “Mind your fucking manners.”

“Is that true, sweetheart? You just told him?”

Before you could answer, Aaron squeezed your thigh, “Tell them!”

You hissed under his grip, Bucky and Steve’s eyes zeroed in on Aaron’s hand covering your thigh.

Before you could yell no, Bucky reached in and grabbed Aaron’s hand off you.

A metal fist over flesh, he squeezed until bones crunched. “Don’t touch what isn’t yours.”

Bucky dropped Aaron’s mangled hand and looked straight at you, “Get out of the car, baby girl.”

The car door creaked open, Steve’s palm rested on the frame with his other extended for you. With shaky fingers, you unbuckled your seat belt and reached for Steve’s offered hand.

“You did this,” Aaron bit out over the pain, “you selfish, bitc-”

Bucky ripped the door open and grabbed Aaron by the back of his neck. In one swift move, Bucky drilled Aaron’s face forward into the steering wheel. You jumped at the sound of the horn blasting as Steve walked you away.

“Careful, sweetheart. Don’t worry, we got you,” Steve pulled you in closer to his side before opening his car’s backdoor.

“Steve, please he has a wife,” you pleaded, your brain now clearer on what was about to happen to Aaron. “He didn’t know I wasn’t coming back until just now. I swear. I only told Bruce and then Tony found out. But- but Aaron didn’t know.”

“Sweetheart,” Steve cupped your face, his touch deceptively tender as he reached behind his back. “There’s no wife. Aaron was calling us, keeping track of our soon-to-be wife. But his hand on your thigh, the way he spoke to you? We can’t allow that. He did this to himself. Get in the car, we have a cabin to get it to.”

The last thing you felt was a pinch on your skin. The last thing you heard was a gunshot.

---

Before you even opened your eyes, you felt the headache knock against your skull. You gingerly rolled over enjoying the feeling of a warm, comfortable bed. But who’s bed? The question shook you, making you sit up with a jeering head rush. Sandwiching your hands to your forehead, you took in your surroundings. Expensive rustic furniture lined a cabin wall, exposed logs and chinking ran the entire room. A vaulted ceiling showcased wooden beams, and a partially open door showed an attached bathroom.

Was this Tony’s cabin? Crawling up to the windowsill above the bed, you peered out to see the rich, green scenery. A thick forest and mountains in the background, if it were under different circumstances you might have enjoyed the mockingly peaceful scenery. But instead, it reminded you of a gaudy oil painting and Tony’s words of Bambi-bullshit. You continued to scan the grounds when you noticed you weren’t on the ground level.

“Glad to see you’re up. Bet you’re thirsty,” Steve casually entered the room, water bottle in hand.

You silently turned around on the bed to watch him.

“Plotting takes a lot out of a person,” he placed the water bottle on the desk and leaned against the mahogany design.

“Want to go over what’s expected of you, or would you like to test this drink first?”

“Is Aaron dead?” You were back to being a pawn on Steve and Bucky’s chessboard, but you risked the question. You knew the answer but you wanted him to confirm it. Pushing your luck further you asked again, “He is dead, Steve?”

“Guess we’ll talk about what’s expected of you first,” he gruffly replied.

“You can’t keep me here, Steve. People will be looking for me, they’ll be looking for Aaron.”

With a smirk, Steve crossed his arms over his chest, “I can and we are, sweetheart. No one’s looking for you.”

His confidence alarmed you. “They will be looking for me, Steve. My stuff’s still at the base.”

“No, baby girl,” Bucky entered the room, setting down your suitcase and a large brown paper bag. “Tony offered a little digital help. If anyone looks, there’s cameras showing you packing up and leaving much earlier. But who’d even look? Not us, you broke up with us. Not anyone at SHIELD, your contract’s fulfilled. Plus, you told Banner you weren’t coming back to the Tower.”

“…No,” the cabin’s walls were closing in on you.

Steve got up and stood with Bucky at the foot of bed, “You should’ve appreciated what you had, sweetheart. You hurt us. If you talked, we would have listened. You can always come to us.”

Your eyes narrowed at Steve’s delusion.

“You say please and thank you, but you’re not really grateful for how good you had it. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

You stared past their shoulders, finding a knot on the wooden wall behind them. Afraid a wrong word would set them off further, you didn’t trust your voice with the fear and anger swimming in you.

Steve chuckled, “Well, look who’s giving who the silent treatment now.”

“Look at us, baby girl. I said, look.”

With your lip between your teeth, you slowly made eye contact with Bucky. He grabbed the water bottle off the desk and tossed it by your feet, a soft thump sounded when it landed in the blankets. “Drink it.”

With a scratchy voice, you lied- “I’m not thirsty.”

“You’re so fucking stubborn, can’t wait to bend you over and break you,” Bucky laughed at your discomfort. “What’s wrong? Can’t trust what we give you?”

Steve nodded toward Bucky and the bag before speaking, “It’s simple, sweetheart. You’re staying in here until you can’t take it anymore. The water’s off in the bathroom, so rethink that. You get the water we give, and we’ll see how you react. ”

Beep. Bucky set his watch causing Steve to smirk at your worried expression.

Putting his hands down on the mattress, Steve leaned in, “If you get desperate enough, we’ll help you out- if you ask nice enough.”

“Better ask really fucking nicely, baby girl. Better make my dick fucking blush at how well you beg.”

“Sweetheart.”

Your watery eyes found Steve.

“If you don’t ask nicely, we can’t help.” Steve stood up and crossed his chest again, “And if you continue to be stubborn, but those fingers aren’t doing enough…” Steve trailed off as Bucky opened the brown bag.

Your chest burned with fear when Bucky pulled a gun out of the bag and dropped it down on the mattress. “Maybe you’ll find relief with this, baby girl.”

You would die here. With the tears pooling in your eyes, Steve and Bucky’s figures blurred. Finally, the dam in your throat broke. A sob of spittle and fear ran over your lips. Wiping the tears away, you saw the boys exchange looks.

“Why are you crying, sweetheart?” Steve cooed venomously, large shoulders rolling back. “Aren’t you pleased with our offer to help?”

With a tilt of his head, Bucky twisted your fear further, “Why the tears? Just offering you help to find an ultimate release, baby girl.”

“Y-you’re going to kill me because I left? You’re going to kill me like Aaron?” You’re self-preservation crumbled knowing you were always their thing to play with.

Bucky and Steve looked at each other before bursting out laughing.

“Why are you being so dramatic, baby girl?”

“Sweetheart, what gave you the idea that we’d kill you?”

Your lungs squeezed as you glanced at the weapon. Bucky picked up the gun and began wiping it, “No baby girl. The gun’s mine. This is yours.” Bucky gestured his head to Steve.

On cue, Steve reopened the bag and pulled out an apple pie. “We’re gifting you pie and water. Let’s see how long you hold out until you need to drink or eat.”

“Then we’ll see what happens next, baby girl.”

“Our own little experiment,” Steve connived. “Looking forward you see who’s hypothesis is successful.”

“I was always a fan of science, baby girl.”

You moved to your knees, the mattress soft beneath you, “I don’t want this, please. Just let me go, I’m sorry. Bucky- please. Steve?”

“Listen sweetheart, take your punishment like a good girl and give us some entertainment. It’s the least you can do for us, since we’re protecting a possible murder suspect.”

A vile taste hit the back of your throat again, “Murder suspect?”

“Baby girl.”

Before your mind registered your actions, you caught the gun Bucky tossed you. A drowning sensation hit your body when a misery-filled tsunami crashed against you. Your vision tunneled, your lungs burned- you fell for it.

“Oh baby girl, don’t worry. It’s not loaded, this time. Now, eat your pie and drink your water. We’ll come back to check on you.”

“At some point,” Steve sneered.

“If the urges get to be too much, put the gun between those nice thighs,” Bucky winked at you.

Steve shook his head in amusement, “Bucky…”

“Ah, alright,” Bucky leaned forward and took the gun from you with his left hand. “I’ll let you fuck a different gun, get that barrel nice and clean for me. Sound good, baby girl? But Steve’s right, gotta save this one- fingerprints, leverage. Silly details.” Bucky dropped the gun in the paper bag and tucked it under his arm.

“Why can’t you let me just let me go? You could have anyone else-”

“Sweetheart, we’re getting married. You’re it for us. We’re doing this for you.”

“We’re protecting you. You should be thanking us, baby girl.”

“How are you protecting me?!”

Steve sent Bucky a smile before facing you, “If we’re married, we won’t have to testify against you.”

[yanderetua]

Stucky X Reader

Req by: @marvel-fics3000

Read prompt 3, smt prompt 14, virg read, escape, punnish, imagine, dub-con

You miss your things

Your bed

Your clothes

Your soap

Now that you’re here it’s all theirs

Their bed

Their clothes

Their soap

You know they love you, They show it often, with soft touches here and there. Picking fuzz off one of their jackets that you would bundle yourself up in. Sometimes they would go further and kiss your head or press their hands against your arm. Despite the situation you still feel safe. They protect you, though they take it quite far, they haven’t let you leave the house since you got here, two and a half years. But to make up for it they made an indoor greenhouse, made of thick wire screening and glass as thick as your fist. You could feel the sun, smell the plants. It was good, but not the same. 

You stand in the greenhouse staring at the ceiling. Bucky and Steve check on you occasionally, slowly becoming more and more worried as you stand there hour after hour.

“Doll?” you barely shift your attention away from the glass dome above you “What’re you lookin at?” Bucky gently rests his hand on your shoulder “There’s a bird.” you whisper “I want to be a bird.” he steps in front of you, trying to shake you from this strange daze “Why’s that doll?” you finally look away, eyes cloudy, not fully focused “Could be free.” you mumble, turning and walking out of the room, leaving a heartbroken Bucky behind.

The next day you act like nothing happened, back to your bubbly and happy self, darting around the kitchen baking a batch of brownie cookies. Bucky had told Steve about the whole ordeal so they both follow you around for the day to keep an eye on you.

It takes a week before you slip into the daze again, this time you stand in front of the kitchen window while clutching a whisk “What do you see this time honeybun?” Steve asks, trying to stay calm. You don’t respond until he steps closer “A rabbit.” he nods silently “He has a friend, they’re playing tag.” Steve follows your gaze, scanning the empty yard “Alright, why are you watching them? You can just watch Discovery Channel.” you nod “Yeah, I’ll do that.” you turn from the window and shuffle towards the couch, staring at the blank screen.

The boy’s worry only skyrockets as you start to slip into the strange daze almost daily. They discuss a solution and the only thing that seems likely to work would be letting you go outside. So they do, on a good day, when you’re fully coherent they open the back door and lead you outside. You sob, collapsing on you knee’s and raking your fingers through the freshly mown grass. Steve has to leave, his heart shattering at the sight. Bucky leaves soon after, watching you closely from the kitchen. Until Steve walks in, tears caking his cheeks “What did we do to her? We broke her.” He shudders and covers his face, Bucky sighs and steps away from the window to hug the emotional man in front of him “It’s okay darling, We’ll fix this.” A gentle kiss is pressed against Steve’s cheek and they share watery smiles “Let’s go bring her in for supper.” Steve says and wipes his face. They turn to the window, trying to catch sight of you.

Fear breaks through your haze and you turn in a circle, trees tower over you, trapping you in a bark prison. The fear fades as you immediately slip back into a disoriented mindset, swaying back and forth slowly.

It takes the boys four hours to find you, by then the sun had long set, causing the temperature to drop and your lips to turn blue. Steve sees you first, screaming your name and running towards you, Shaking you gently to try and get you to snap out of it. You don’t. Bucky has to pick you up and sling you across his shoulder and run home. They strip you down and wrap you in a heated blanket while Steve strips down to his boxers, The serum making him run warmer than normal so he wraps his arms around you and drags another blanket over you both. They lay there for a half an hour before you move, eyes still cloudy as you drag your palm down his chest “Want you ‘n Buck.” Steve stills his heart pounding “Wh-what? Honeyb-” He inhales sharply as your hand slips below the waistband of his boxers. Bucky opens the bedroom door holding a space heater “Buck, Baby, Please help!” Steve jerks sharply as your hand wraps around his length “Stevie,” You mumble and snuggle closer “Want Buck too.” You nuzzle your face into Steve neck as you slide your hand up and down his length “Holy fuck, is she?” Bucky can’t finnish his sentence and Steve nods “Fuck!” his hips jerk as your thumb swipes his tip “Ya’know if we do this we’ll be closer, she won’t wanna leave, Right Steve? She’ll feel what we feel…” Bucky stares at the tiny girl in bed next to the blond man “But Buck, She’s all wonky, she can’t consent.” Bucky doesn’t acknowledge the blond’s words “Y/N? Kitten?” You tilt your head back and look up at him, lids half closed, eyes bleary and unfocused “Do you want me ‘n Stevie to make you feel good?” you nod slowly. He grins at Steve “See? She wants it,” Buckys eyes go wild, almost matching your unfocused gaze “She wants to be with us.” Bucky slides his shirt and pants off and crawls over the bed and settles on the other side of you “Can I touch you baby?” He whispers softly, the primal urge to finally claim you after all this time. You nod, a ditzy smile spreading across your face as Bucky’s hand trails across your body and sliding your underwear down your thighs “Gonna mark you up real pretty doll, make sure you know that your ours.” He slips a finger inside you, gently prodding at your opening as he lets out a husky moan “Fuck Stevie, our girl is soaked.” Steve gasps again as you whimper and tighten your grip on his cock “Want you inside.” Your words slur together when Bucky slides in another finger “Both of us?” You nod, eyelids fluttering closed “You sure you can handle that?” Steve asks softly, concerned. You grin and nod yet again “Gonna be real gentle.” he mumbles and eases a finger into your second hole causing you to jerk a bit “Relax doll, gonna take care of you, make you feel good.” your hand stills against Steves cock as Bucky adds another finger, trying to make it easier to enter you.

It only takes a few moments for you to loosen up enough for Bucky to feel comfortable sliding his cock inside you. “Stevie, You ready?” The brown haired male asks his second lover, the blond hesitates until you whine, needy and squirming “Please Stevie.” your head tips back as Bucky slowly slides in, Steve following suit. Your chest heaves, the fullness of having both of them inside you makes you tighten around them “Oh fuck!” Bucky yelps and immediately starts thrusting into you, making your back arch against Steve’s chest “Darling, holy…” Steve grips your waist, something snapping in him, something about being buried hilt deep inside you makes him go feral. Bucky grins, watching as Steve pounds into you, no hesitation or guilt in either of their minds. Moving in tandem, perfectly paced, as one slides in, the other out, making sure to keep at least one of them is sheathed inside of you. You fade in and out of consciousness as they rip orgasm after orgasm out of you. Steve lets out a throaty moan as he comes undone, filling you with his seed, Bucky dipping his head down to bite your throat and pumping you full as well. 

The next morning you slip out of their arms and rush to the bathroom, It wasn’t hard to figure out what happened, blood and semen caking your thighs. You vomit into the toilet, sobbing as you collapse in the shower, scrubbing your skin raw. “Doll?” you freeze, tears trickling down your face. He slides the curtain open, his eyes flickering across your body, fixating on the dried blood that you were trying to scrub off “Fuck.” He turns around, shouting for Steve. You continue grinding the loofa against your thigh, trying to ignore the angry, hushed whispers outside the bathroom.

“Darling?” Steve gently grabs your hand, ceasing your rough actions “It hurts.” you murmur, tears building up again “I’m so sorry.” Steve stares down at you “I didn’t know you were a virgin.” He whispers “But now, we’re connected,” He locks eyes with you, he looked unhinged, feral.

“Now you really belong to us baby.” He grins and presses a kiss to your forehead “And soon, you’ll get a swollen and you’ll never be able to leave,” You freeze “You’ll be such a good mother.” Bucky whispers from behind Steve, trance-like they slip into the tub with you, effectively trapping you between them. Forever.

I hope you liked it! I’m sorry it took so long to post lol!

Do not reblog without my consent. 

[ghostprincess]

Sweet Things, Ch. 5 (Mysterio x Reader)

Summary: (This is the final chapter!) Mysterio kidnaps Y/N Parker as leverage against Peter, as well as because he has taken a liking to her. But the longer she stays with him, the more twisted her reality becomes, until it’s nothing but him. Will Peter be able to save her before it’s too late? Dark!fic, Stockholm Syndrome, dub-con, etc.

Warnings: (first and foremost there are scenes that could be interpreted as self harm so trigger warning), ffh spoilers, some sexual content but nothing graphic, emotional distress, blood, violence, mysterio’s just a mess

I lay still on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as I waited for my body to recover. 

What just happened?

It all felt like a fever dream. 

Maybe it was an illusion, I thought. Or maybe it was just a dream, there’s no way he would ever do that, right? 

The shock began to wear away eventually, the pain shooting through my body confirming that it was, in fact, real. It really happened. 

I’m gonna be sick.

I got up and stumbled into the bathroom, falling down to my knees over the toilet just as I began to heave. The lack of food in my body made itself known when the only substances I threw up were bile and vodka, and when the heaving stopped, I somehow felt even worse than before. 

I flushed the toilet and pushed myself off the ground, looking up into the mirror at my naked body. My neck was mottled with red and purple, hickeys and bite marks splotched around like paint on a canvas. My chest had a few red marks and my hips had hand-shaped bruises forming on top of them. The gauze that had once covered my wrists was wrinkled and beginning to peel off from Quentin’s manhandling. 

I ripped the bandages off in anger, throwing the bloodied gauze to the ground. Looking down, I noticed the tears in my skin that had begun to scab over were now torn wide open, the once yellowing bruises now an angry hue of violet.

I heaved again when I finally noticed the dried white substance stained on my thighs and between my legs, tears gathering in my eyes. I collapsed in front of the toilet and threw up again as the weight of what I’d just done hit me. 

I did it willingly. Why didn’t I stop him? 

You love him, a voice whispered deep within my subconscious.

The memories of his hands around my throat and his lips on mine wouldn’t leave and my conflicted feelings were at war. I sobbed into my hands.

Minutes that felt like hours passed, and once I calmed down a bit, I pushed myself up and walked over to the shower. The porcelain of the bathtub was still damp from the bath Quentin had given me earlier, and I shuddered at the memory. I imagined him helping me into the shower, his arms around me under the warm water and holding me close as I cried into his shoulder—

I shook my head, snapping out of the fantasy. He was the one who made me feel this way, so why would I ever want to go to him for comfort? The knowledge that something was very wrong with me ate at the back of my mind but I ignored it in favor of getting clean.

I turned the water on and stepped into the spray, hugging myself. The cold water stung like needles piercing my skin but it grounded me. 

I grabbed the bar of soap from the ledge and began to scrub myself relentlessly. I focused particularly between my legs and on my thighs, and sobbed as I cleaned the evidence from my skin. I felt dirty and used, but even the soap couldn’t make me feel clean.

I ran the soap over my arms, nearly screaming as my wrist wounds were cleaned out. The stinging, stabbing pain was worse than anything I’d felt so far and I nearly passed out when blood began to pour from them once again. 

Too much. Too much blood.

I quickly turned the shower off and scrambled to the cold floor outside, haphazardly wrapping a towel around myself as I opened the cabinet beneath the sink. 

I rummaged around, feeling for any medical supplies, and finally found Quentin’s first aid kit, pulling it out. My head spun from a mixture of seeing my own blood and my ever-present hangover, and I nearly fell over again.

I grabbed the first thing I saw— ace bandages— and wrapped one around each of my wrists tightly. The fabric was stained with my bloody fingerprints and I knew I had not treated the wounds correctly, but I couldn’t bring myself to care as I sobbed on the cold, wet bathroom floor. 

———

The sound of the bedroom door opening pulled me out of the haze I was in and I barely had time to pull the towel over my body before Quentin walked into the bathroom, his eyes scanning the room quickly. I closed my eyes as he walked over and kneeled in front of me.

“Aw, baby, what happened?” He asked apologetically, and I shuddered. How could he sound so genuine?

“You made a mess, honey,” he continued, and I flinched.

“I— I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean to,” I squeaked, finally meeting his gaze, and he grinned. 

“Let me help you,” he said, in the same tone as before, and I broke, clinging onto him and sobbing as if he were some sort of savior. 

He made no move to reciprocate besides sliding his arms underneath me and carrying me bridal style into the bedroom. He sat me down on the bed but my trembling arms were locked around him.

“It’s okay. It’ll all be over soon,” he soothed, and I felt my stomach drop.

“W-what will?” I asked, leaning back and looking at him. He sighed.

“We’re doing an attack on London, and then I won’t have to do as much convincing to prove to the world that I’m the hero.”

“Attack? You’re not gonna k-kill anyone, right?” My teeth chattered from the cold and Quentin seemed sadistically appreciative of my discomfort, twirling a strand of my hair again.

“There’ll be lots of casualties, but more casualties means more coverage.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine, and I felt my lips responding, my eyes closing, until he pulled away with a maniacal grin. “Maybe I’ll even let you watch.” 

My stomach felt like it was doing somersaults as I stared at him, contemplating what he had just said. 

I could play along and escape, tell Fury what happened, get Beck locked up. 

But I could just stay here, where I don’t have to worry about anything.

I could rebuild some semblance of a normal life, get my job back, pursue my dreams of becoming—

I don’t want to leave him, I could never do that to him—

“When is it?” I asked. 

———

“Don’t make them too tight. I don’t need anyone seeing cuff marks on her hands after I save her,” Quentin called, his back turned to me as he fiddled with the screen mounted on his left arm. 

It had been two weeks since he had told me about the plan, and I was unbearably, unbelievably tired. My body was sore from Quentin’s affinity for manhandling me, his hands bruised into my hips and neck.

“These are just for precaution, okay?” The man with glasses said apologetically as he clicked a handcuff around my right wrist. I nodded solemnly and he attached the other handcuff to the metal railing. I was sitting on the ground, my back against the wall inside some large overpass structure, overlooking the city. We were in London, I knew that much, and Quentin was stationed in there with me, dressed in a black and grey motion-capture suit and donning a half-helmet that resembled Mysterio’s.

“William, she’s fine, get to your position,” Quentin said impatiently, and the man nodded quickly, disappearing through a door. 

“Just think about it. I’ll be a hero, Y/N. And you’ll be the tortured soul who I healed, the damsel in distress who I saved. It’s so tragic that you lost your family to the Elementals, but think about it! How much better can a story get? I saved you from your own self-destruction, avenged your family for you, and now we’re in love.” He looked at me and smirked, and my stomach twisted. I shakily smiled back.

“You’ll be the best, Quentin,” I said, and he laughed, kneeling down next to me. 

“If you’re good, when this ends, I’ll fuck you good and hard, would you like that?” He murmured, and I whimpered, nodding. I really did want him, didn’t I? Fuck. 

I tried to convince myself that I was just playing along, but it didn’t feel true. My escape plans were slowly dwindling away from my mind as I imagined the life I could have with him.

I had nothing left, what else was there to lose? Could I be selfish just this once and give in to my desire to feel some sort of love? After all, the world had caused both Quentin and I so much pain, the world had killed my family and most of the Avengers, so why should I care what destruction Mysterio would bring to it…?

Focus, Y/N. When he turns, start trying to loosen the cuff. 

Quentin stood up and walked a few feet away, turning his back to me as he began to tap at his armband again.

“Cue lightning,” he said into his earpiece, and a huge bolt struck, shaking the ground. 

I started to twist and wiggle my hand, hoping to loosen the handcuff enough to slip my hand out. He’d be too busy to bother watching me while he orchestrated the attack, and I could slip away, run to safety before he even noticed I was missing.

The handcuff slipped a bit, loosening by a notch, but luckily Quentin spoke again, drowning out the small metallic click.

“Now that is an Avengers-level threat,” he said in awe. A loud roar sounded from outside and I could only see out the tops of the windows, where a large black sky was swirling with lightning, fire, and sand.

BOOM.

Another bolt of lightning struck and I flinched, momentarily reminded of the sound of Peter being shot, falling to the ground…

I need to get out of here. 

I tugged at the handcuff a little more frantically as Quentin’s demeanor unhinged more and more.

“I have drones breaking formation,” he suddenly exclaimed, seeming worried. 

Please, please have the drones fail, or an Avenger stop him, please…

“I’m gonna take a look inside, just to be sure,” he said, then began to swipe on the screen casually, staying calm— he went rigid, staring in anger at the screen, then looking up to glare at the monster.

“Yeah. And I’m gonna kill him,” he said to whoever was on the earpiece, and I craned my neck, trying to get a good look at the screen.

“What’s wrong?” I asked tentatively as he nearly shook with rage. Quentin turned around and opened his mouth to reply, but stopped himself, looking back down to swipe at his screen.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong. I—I’m handling it,” he stammered. 

He’d never acted like that before, so what had happened that he couldn’t even tell me? Me, who would probably never see the light of day again after his public “rescue” of me, who could tell no one?

After a few minutes of pacing and tapping at his screen, he became frantic, turning to me with wild eyes and walking over to kneel in front of me.

“Change of plans. I’ll wake you up when it’s over,” he said, pulling a syringe out of a holster on his belt. Before I could protest, he stabbed the needle painfully into the left side of my neck, beginning to inject me with the same drug he had used before, and the world seemed to spin in slow motion. 

A flash of red and black caught my eye, and I heard the sound of glass shattering as I closed my eyes. The needle was ripped from my neck and I heard the syringe clatter to the ground next to me as I whimpered in pain. I opened my eyes to look down at it; he had only managed to inject half the contents into my bloodstream. 

“Show’s over, Beck!” A similar voice called out, and my heart sank. 

Peter.

Quentin had given me just enough sedative to make me hallucinate, apparently, and I closed my eyes as my heartbreak began to surface once again. 

“This certainly isn’t ideal, but I have contingencies,” Quentin said to someone snarkily. A few more crashing sounds broke through the air and I winced, trying to pull myself away from the noise, but something around my wrist was holding me back, and I couldn’t even cover my ears—

“Stop, too loud,” I slurred lazily, wincing as another crash shook my eardrums. 

“Y/N?” Peter’s voice called out, just like before, he’s gonna die, I screamed and curled into a ball, no more, no more, Quentin please stop—

“What did you do to her?” Peter’s voice cracked as he roared in anger, that was new, is this a new projection, please don’t die this time, and the sounds of fighting rang out once again. 

I drowned the noise out, closing my eyes as sleep pulled at my mind, the stupid fucking drug…

The next thing I heard was loud gunfire, right in front of me, and I jerked up, wide awake. The drones were all in a formation, projecting something as Quentin watched in anger, but the projections concealed whoever he was fighting. 

I looked up at the cuff around my wrist, then began to rip the gauze out from underneath it, exposing the scabbed and stitched wounds from previously, now’s my chance.

I shakily picked up the syringe that had fallen next to me and gritted my teeth, then started to hack painfully at the stitches with the needle.

If I bled enough, I could slip my hand out and run.

The pain was excruciating and I tried to ignore the thought of how ugly the scars would be from repeatedly injuring myself as I mutilated my own body. 

Finally, finally, blood began to drop steadily down my hand and arm; I cried in pain at the stabbing agony, but the blood was working, my hand was slipping out. 

With one final tug, I yanked my hand out of the handcuff, letting out a sob of relief. 

“FIRE ALL THE DRONES NOW!” Quentin suddenly screamed.

He looked up at me in shock and anger, walking quickly towards me, and I whimpered in fear, please don’t hurt me—

A final loud crash and the sound gunfire began again, causing me to flinch and cover my ears. Quentin suddenly screamed and I looked up just as a huge blow ripped into my stomach, slamming me back against the wall. It felt like a punch to the gut, but as I looked down, I saw the red soaking my shirt, then felt the pain. 

I’d been shot, and instead of panicking, a part of me felt relieved at the idea of not having to deal with the pain anymore.

I collapsed to the ground on my side and looked up at the scene before me. All the projections were gone from the drones, Quentin lay collapsed on the ground, and— Peter?

I didn’t realize I had spoken until his head whipped towards me and he scrambled to help me up, tears pouring down his face. 

“Y/N,” he sobbed, pulling me into a tight embrace, and I lethargically rested my head on his shoulder. Is this Heaven? Is he here to reunite with me and lead me into the afterlife?

Please be real, I thought, and closed my eyes in acceptance.

“I trusted you, Beck, and you lied to me,” Peter said, turning away. He rested me down on the ground again and I opened my eyes as he walked towards Quentin angrily.

“I- I know. That’s the most disappointing p-part,” Quentin replied. 

He was covered in blood, clutching his stomach, and I felt my heart drop as I realized what had happened to him.

Tears blurred my vision and I struggled to wipe them away, but suddenly a loud BANG sounded. 

Peter was holding Quentin by the wrist, a gun pointing up to the ceiling, and the gun clattered to the ground unceremoniously. Peter ripped the glasses off of Quentin’s face and began to speak, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Quentin. 

His face contorted in agony and we made eye contact, his eyes softening as he scanned my body and realized what had happened.

Neither of us spoke, just stared at each other in an eerie silence, punctuated by Peter’s frantic yelling as he tried to take back control of the AI. 

“Y/N? Y/N, wake up, are you with me?” Peter said, suddenly kneeling over me, tears pouring down his face. I rolled my eyes up to look at his face and smiled weakly at his attempts to put pressure on my wound.

“I’m ready now,” I said. “I missed you.”

“W-what? You’re ready for what? Y/N?” He screamed, shaking me back and forth. I closed my eyes and slipped into nothingness, and felt no pain. 

———

A bright light was shining through my eyelids and I groaned, lifting my arm to cover my eyes.

The window in Quentin’s room was directly in the path of morning sunlight, and after waking up to it for two weeks, I’d had enough. 

“Y/N?” A voice called beside me, and I jumped, my eyes shooting open. 

I wasn’t in Quentin’s dull, grey room; this room was all white, a steady beeping noise sounding from behind me, a blue curtain to my right, Peter to my left.

“P-Peter?” I whimpered, and the beeping noise began to become more frantic as my heart rate spiked. “You’re alive?” I gasped, tears pouring uncontrollably from my eyes, and I reached out for him. He immediately reached back and I pulled him into my embrace, ignoring the pain in my abdomen as I hugged him tightly and sobbed. 

I ran my fingers repeatedly through his hair, he’s real, he’s really here, I can feel him.

The rest of the day consisted of Peter catching me up on everything that had happened while I was held in captivity. He’d finally started dating MJ, May and Happy were dating, Peter was alive.

I couldn’t contain my joy until Peter told me what had happened on the bridge.

“He- he’s not dead.” I shook my head frantically, feeling panic creep up my spine.

“Y/N, don’t worry, okay? He is. I asked EDITH—“

“Y-you don’t know what he can do,” I gasped, becoming hysterical. “He faked it, Peter, he’s not dead.” 

Two nurses came running in as the heart monitor began to beep frantically, one trying to hold Peter back and talk to him while the other fiddled with my IV to sedate me. 

“Don’t believe what he makes you see,” I said, and then the drugs pulled me under.

[artificialqueens]

How Far I'll Go - Part 2 (Nina West/Monet X Change) - Meggie, Mia Ugly

A/N: We have reworked Chapter One to reflect the events of the S11 reunion, so you may want to give it a reread. Can we FIX IT? Yes we can. 

(TW: REUNION SPOILERS)

Nina is in Columbus on the day he gets the call.

It’s his last show before Drag Con. He’s already going through dog-withdrawal. His boys will be fine of course but he fucking hates leaving them; as soon as he starts packing a suitcase they know something’s up and it breaks his heart.

Anyway. He’s glad to spend his last night at home in one of his favourite places in the world, surrounded by the people he loves. It’s only been a few days since the finale and reunion, and Nina’s feeling a bit raw about everything. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t looked at Monet’s number in his phone several dozen times, contemplated what he could say to make his behaviour the morning after acceptable. The only things that come to his mind are lies (family emergency! food poisoning! traumatic brain injury after falling in the shower!) and Nina doesn’t do that. Much.

So.

It’s either own up and confess how he was feeling, or - pretend that number in his phone doesn’t exist. Maybe stare at it from time to time, sighing (before reminding himself that it was just one night and didn’t mean anything anyway). And then sigh some more and distract himself with peanut butter straight from the jar. You know - whatever results in the least amount of dignity possible.

Anyway.

The reunion is going to air tomorrow night, but Nina’s going to be on a plane as it happens. That’s fine, he knows how it all went down, and he doesn’t really need to see Brooke and Vanjie’s shy little love story unfold (and ultimately self-destruct) once again. He saw it all already, and firsthand. Picked up the pieces of Brooke’s shattered heart and whip-stitched them back together as best he could while the other chain-smoked and wallowed in denial and blame.

Nina’s sitting in the dressing room, paint mostly on but not in his dress (he’s doing “Let It Go” from Frozen with a full-on ice queen reveal because it’s been that kind of a month. Maybe he’s coming for Brooke’s gig, but maybe not.), and scrolling through Instagram when an unfamiliar number flashes white on the screen.

He’s used to this. The charity work means somehow a lot of people get his number - it’s not ideal, but it makes the work he’s doing worth it so he deals.  He’ll deal.

He slides his thumb across the screen, plasters on his best smile (it’s easier to be nice to people when you’re smiling), greets them with a cheery, “Hello!”

“Nina, this is Maya with World of Wonder. How are you this evening?”

His heart leaps to his throat. What could they want with him now? There are still two episodes of the show left to air, but publicity is almost all died down. And calling him instead of his manager?

“Good. Great!” he chokes out. “I’m… How are you?”

“Fine, thank you. I’m calling because I’d like to formally invite you to participate in season five of RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars.”

The world? Stops. His heart? Pounds. His brain? Freezes.

All Stars . Another chance. Redemption.

“Yes!” he says immediately, too quickly, too enthusiastically, as soon as he can make his mouth work again. “Yes! When?”

On the other end of the line, Maya laughs, high and clear.

“Yay, that was an easy sell. We’re excited to have you back! We’ll be filming in late July, and you’ll receive further instructions by email. But please do remember that the terms of your verbal contract start now, so no one other than your emergency contact will be allowed to know you are participating. Reach out if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you!”

“Looking forward to seeing you again, Nina. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

And with a click, she’s gone. But Nina’s entire world has shifted on its axis. He just stands there in front of the mirror, unable to move, unable to think.

All Stars.

When they’d first asked him about it, way back in January when the Season 11 girls had first started doing promos, he’d given them a tentative yes.  He knew how big the platform was and wanted to make the most of it. But he’d also… not wanted to count his chickens, or something. You never know how America (or the world) will react to you (just ask Silky).  Maybe it’s vain, but Nina had wanted to see if they liked him, really liked him - like he’d hoped they would.

He couldn’t have imagined AOC going live to protest his elimination. Or Leslie Jones being so angry (he really does hope someone sent her a box of cookies) or Rihanna (Rihanna!) coming to his defense after that controversial lip-sync. Then his Miss Congeniality win. It was almost too much all at once.

He’d also figured they meant an All Stars far, far away. Like. Season eight. Or nine. Maybe even ten (if he’s still able to stomp around in heels without a walker at that point). Right after his own season? A pipe dream.

But it’s here, and it’s happening, and he’d be foolish not to take the opportunity that was presented to him. It’s the ultimate redemption story, and look at how beloved the All Stars winners are.

He ticks through them in his head: Chad, Alaska, Trixie, Trinity, Monet…

There, he falters. He usually just tries not to think about Monet, glowing golden and dripping in sequins and body silky smooth against his own. Best not to dwell when there isn’t any peanut butter in sight.

But who needs peanut butter when you’re an All Star?

He giggles, straight up lets a gleeful laugh reverberate through his chest and up through his nose and spread like honey, coating every surface in the small dressing room. Just once though, before he falls silent again. Studies his reflection in the mirror.

He might be in shock.

“Nina, you okay?” The evening’s MC (Luz, lovely person, really involved in the trans youth movement) is looking at him curiously from the doorway of the dressing room.

Nina blinks.  The phone is still in his hand. He knew this was a possibility, of course.  Just - you don’t know until you know - you know? Part of the reason he’s gotten this far (he always tells himself) is that he never assumes anything is a certainty.  He always counts on having to fight his way those last few feet to the finish line.

“Nina?”

“I’m in All Stars,” Nina says.

“What?” Luz squeaks, and Nina stumbles forward, grabbing her arm.

“I’m in All Stars.”

The other queens in the greenroom turn their heads in unison at the statement.

“I’m in All Stars,” Nina says again.

The queens stalk over to him with their hands on their hips, heels clicking in synchronized stomps on the linoleum floor.

And then Nina can hear music. (When did he put on his gown?) A brass band, a string section.  And the queens start singing:

“Nina West you’re going places

Always knew you’d make it far

Nina West you got that phone call

You are our All Star!”

“I am!” Nina gasps as he’s lifted up by the queens and carried out into the middle of the club. The dance floor is crowded but somehow the patrons are making a circle around him, moving in perfect rhythm.

“Nina West, sent home too early

Still e-lev-en-gendary.

Time to show the world you’re more than

Miss Congeniality!”

A group of drag kings by the pool table start spinning their cues over their heads like batons (so much talent in this community!)

“Brought camp to the masses, ” they sing in baritone.

Brought pride to our town,

We can’t wait to see you

Wearing that All Stars crown!”

“Thank you!” Nina is set down on the stage. Glitter starts falling from the ceiling, catching in his wig and eyelashes.

“Love you all,” he sings alone to the enraptured crowd, “you are my family,

I’ll make you proud and do my best.

We can change the world together

Go big, be kind, go West!”

“Go West!” the crowd sings back.

“Go Wessssssst!” Nina hits a perfect falsetto high note, throwing his arms open -

“Nina.”

Nina waves at the cheering crowd -

“Nina!”

Glitter keeps falling like snowflakes, ice cold and shimmering -

“Nina.  You okay?” Luz, the evening’s MC, is staring at him in the doorway of the greenroom.

Nina looks at her. There is no glitter in his eyelashes. There is no music playing in the background. Over his shoulder, a couple of bored local queens are penciling on their eyebrows. He’s wearing an old t-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts and not the shimmering blue Elsa gown.

He’s still holding his cellphone in his hand.

“Um,” Nina says. “Yep.”

*****

Nina talks to Brooke a lot.

It makes sense; they’ve been friends for a long time, they really bonded during their season, Nina helped Brooke through his breakup with Vanjie (although Brooke insisted at the time he was fine. Still does, actually. Nina has his own theories about that, but he isn’t pushing).

So yeah. They chat. A lot.

And all Nina wants to do is tell Brooke about his All Stars call, but he can’t because of the damn NDA.

It’s frustrating.

They meet for breakfast early on the first day of Drag Con, Brooke in his customary black and white, Nina in a navy blue button up spotted with pink flamingos (it felt right).

They’ve no sooner settled into the booth and given their orders than Nina’s knee starts bouncing. Nerves. Anxiety. (Yes - both.)

“What’s with you?” Brooke asks while he sips his coffee. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this worked up.”

Nina shrugs. “Nervous about the Con, I guess.”

“And?” Brooke’s eyes narrow.

“ And?”

“And what else?” He stirs another packet of sugar into the cup. “I know you. It’s not like you to be nervous about a networking opportunity.”

Nina scoffs. “Drag Con is way more than just a networking opportunity and I -”

“You’re a bad fucking liar. Takes one to know one.” Brooke leans his elbows on the table, cool as a Canadian autumn, presses his fingertips together, stares Nina down. “What’s going on?”

Nina sighs. “I wish I could tell you, trust me, it’s not that I don’t want to; it’s that I literally can’t.” He widens his eyes, hoping maybe Brooke will get the point.

Apparently it works, because after a few moments, recognition blooms across Brooke’s face and he laughs. “Really? Like. Officially really?”

Nina nods. This is okay, right? He’s not technically breaking the contract. It’s not like he told Brooke anything verbally.

“Nina! That’s - oh my god!” Then Brooke is busily tapping away at his phone and a sense of dread overcomes Nina.

“You can’t tell anybody - “

Brooke waves him off. “I’m just telling Vanjie.”

Okay, that’s - something to come back to certainly, but - more pressing matters first. “Brooke, seriously. You can’t tell anybody. I’m not supposed to tell anybody.”

“You didn’t.” Brooke shrugs. Good to know at least they share the same sentiment about verbal contracts. That might come in handy during litigation. “I figure the House of West has a lot of prove, and you’ve never backed down from a challenge. So I know you’ll bring it and… I just kind of wanted to give the competition a heads up.” He bites his lip and waits for Nina to process.

And - look, it takes him a minute. Because it’s really a lot of information at one time.

Item 1: Brooke and Vanjie are still close. He knew that. Everybody with Twitter and Instagram knew. (Hell, for a little while, even Nina wasn’t 100% sure they weren’t still together.) Close enough for Vanessa to tell Brooke about an All Stars call when legally sworn to utmost secrecy?

Yeah, actually, that tracks. Vanjie’s shit at keeping secrets, and he’s still indescribably in love with Brooke, only an idiot (like Brooke) wouldn’t see that. So. Do the math.

Item 2: Vanjie is back back back on Drag Race. For the third season in a row. And the bitch can turn it. Nina doubts very much there will be 47 swimsuits, pasties, panties, and bras this time around. He’s a little intimidated, if he’s being quite honest.

Okay, so it’s really only two points of information, but it’s two very large points that have a big, pointy impact on his life. Which leads to:

Item 1: Nina had been relieved and happy when Brooke and Vanessa were able to start talking again after the breakup. They’d been using him as a middle man - a mediator, he preferred (far less tacky) - and although he loved them both, it was exhausting. And he could only say, “I think you should just talk to him and not me,” so many times before he got frustrated. But he had persevered and eventually, Brooke had texted Vanjie and they’d started to repair their friendship.

Go figure that. Nina’s inner saboteur is back, has been back since the night of the finale taping, the night he spent with Monet. He hates it. Wishes he could cut into himself and carve it out like a cancer. Adults talking through their issues and handling shit. Who knew it was possible?

So he should have texted Monet. Fine - it’s fine. Water under the… thing.

Item 2: Who else is on All Stars? If Nina’s being really honest, he’s been on cloud nine about the whole thing, and hasn’t given much thought to who else could be competing. He has his dream cast, of course, and a long list of Ru girls he’d love to work with. But the thought of competing against the Very Best of the Very Best is… Well, he’s shook. To say the least.

His face must convey it because Brooke reaches across the table and takes his hand. “Hey. You deserve this, Nina.”

He nods, tears hot in his eyes, and wills himself not to cry. “I bet you told Vanjie the same thing,” he says, voice catching a bit in his throat.

“I did.” Brooke laughs, unashamed of his affection, even when it’s blinding. “I also told him he was crazy for doing three seasons in a row but…” He holds out his hands, shrugs, as if to say it isn’t his responsibility anymore. Nina knows he’s probably right, but deep down he suspects that Brooke and Vanjie are far more entangled than they like to think, and Brooke’s opinion means more to Vanessa than either one of them will care to admit.

Relationships are messy.

Anyway.

“Do you think I should have said no?” Nina asks,  afraid for the answer. “Taken a break? Focused on the charity? Ridden the first-year wave a little longer?”

“Hell no!” Brooke responds immediately. “Take the opportunity. People fucking adore you, Nina. Plus, look at Monet! She won right after her season so. It can be done.”

Nina considers, briefly, telling Brooke about the whole tangled Monet thing. Decides, instead, to deflect. “So, um. That guy you took back to your room after the finale… the beardo… character.  How is… that going?”

Brooke raises an eyebrow at him. “This is really what you want to talk about right now?”

“It’s just good to see you moving on.” (Is it though? Is it really?)

Brooke rolls his eyes and smiles into his coffee. “What about you? Any romance on the horizon for Nina West?”

“No.” Nina snorts. “It’s been…” Three days, eight hours, and - he glances at his watch - one minute. Approximately. Not that he’s counting. “A while. Let’s just say a while.”

Brooke’s mouth quirks to the side and his left eye twitches the tiniest bit. “Well.” He places his mug on the table and smiles at Nina. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities on tour. We’ll get you on Tinder and Grindr! Trade in every city, Nina.”

Actually, Nina usually prefers to go back to his room and shower for about 45 minutes before collapsing into bed and sleeping until his alarm goes off the next morning. Finding someone to sleep with and then actually fucking them? That seems exhausting. Better to let Brooke take that one on himself (seems like that’s his preferred coping strategy).

And Nina is in no place to judge coping strategies, so despite any - concerns he might feel (the lines beneath Brooke’s eyes, the nicotine stains on his hands, that thing he does with his face that makes Nina want to hug him) he keeps his mouth shut.

He’s getting awfully good at the whole not-speaking-up thing. It’s not his best look. Not at all.

*****

On the air-conditioned floors of Drag Con, Nina gets to shake hands and hug people from all across the country, children to teenagers to tiny old grannies with walkers. It’s a completely surreal and humbling experience; he can’t get over the way it feels to have people know his name, people thank him for doing something that he loves.

And he gets to meet up again with so many of the queens he’s crazy about, queens he never thought would give a shit about him. It’s so nice seeing Adore again, she’s exactly the kind of person he wishes he had the guts to be when he was her age. And Peppermint is everything and Miss Fame is like an actual goddess in person as well as on television and then there’s James St. James -  it’s a lot.

It almost feels like a trip to Disneyland but gayer (a bit) and with more neuroses.

There’s a weird moment with Miz Cracker, which is unexpected –Nina’s been a stan since Season 10, watches her recaps religiously.  He didn’t think they were going to be best friends or anything (all right, maybe he thought they’d get there eventually) but when he introduces himself she basically stares right through him, says nothing, and starts to walk away. Luckily Vanjie is with her, so Nina embraces him to dissipate the awkward tension. He and Vanjie have a mini-meltdown over how in love they are with each other, and after Cracker is well out of earshot, Vanjie gives Nina a look.

“She feeling some type of way about you, hey? You steal her man or something?”

“Absolutely not.” Nina’s a bit hurt – he was legitimately excited about meeting Cracker – but she’s entitled to an off day. Or to just plain not like him (though who doesn’t like him? He’s bloody endearing, like a Labrador puppy).

Anyway, not to overdo the animal comparisons, but water off a duck’s back.

He doesn’t see Monet at the Con. Which is - probably for the best. Nina doesn’t avoid him but - he doesn’t go looking for him either. And really, he barely gets a moment to sneak away from his booth, so it isn’t like he’s a total garbage person. He doesn’t throw himself to the ground or anything at the sight of Monet coming toward him, his life hasn’t yet reached the level of pure farce.

It’s barely been a week anyway; Nina’s still figuring out how to appropriately apologize (appropriately apologize without coming across like a pathetic sad-sack who has maybe thought about that night a bit more than could be considered ‘casual’).

So. Space. Time. Possibly a time machine. All or any of them will work.

The Con ends on a high note and Nina basically goes on tour immediately after, doing a lot of PR for the season and his albums. In New York he finally meets Leslie Jones and loses his mind. He kind of floats through the next two months, lets himself be buoyed up by the love and support of his community, lets it erase the insecurities that wound like thorns around his heart after Season 11.

He travels, he makes people laugh. It’s what he’s good at. It’s how he’s survived.

When he’s not working, he’s practicing his sewing and designing and bribing his witchy seamstress friends into helping him put some new looks together. Somehow the days tick by too quickly. Spring ends, and summer breaks scalding over Ohio. Nina’s packing up his bags and hugging people goodbye and crying ( not really, but just don’t look at him for a minute) over his dogs.

And getting on a plane to L.A.

Being on set is familiar but also kind of panic inducing. Nina didn’t realize how differently he carried himself when he was getting ready to be filmed until his spine straightened helplessly and he suddenly realized he had arms. His body remembers how intense this experience was (is) even if his brain doesn’t.

He’s dressed in a (non-copyright infringing) version of Woody from Toy Story, sequined and cinched and proportionized, just like Michelle would want. Maya the P.A. hugs him, introduces him to the sound guy who hooks up his microphone, taping it just under Nina’s neckline (“At least buy me dinner first!” Nina says with a shrill, nervous laugh, and the sound guy doesn’t even flinch, clearly having heard it before. Nina may actually have said the same thing last season. It - might also have been the same sound guy).

“You ready?”

Nina is ready. He adjusts her cowboy hat, shifts her fringed leather belt and the sequined holsters for her bubble guns.

Then the lights are on him, and the cameras are rolling, and Nina pulls down the shutters on his insecurity (make ‘em laugh, it’s what he does).

“Hey y’all. I’m here to show you how the West was Won.”

Nina West struts into the werkroom, bubble guns at the ready, and the rest is herstory.