#Eyeing that smoke detector with growing worry | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crackedpumpkin · 2 years ago

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𝟏𝟎𝟏 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐞 - 𝟎𝟏

[ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ] | [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ]

- Chapter 1: Everyone Dies, Except You...And A Few Others, Apparently -

The sirens were just the start.

You share a confused look with Margaret, wincing at the ear-splitting alarm that resounds through the mall’s speakers. You cover your ears, hoping to muffle the sound as best you can.

“Citizens of New York, this is a Level Three Alert. All citizens, please seek the nearest shelter and barricade the doors. Do not exit until the authorities have given explicit orders to.”

It’s hard to think through all the noise. A Level Three Alert was something you’d been briefed on in school (something about it being nationwide, you recall), but it only ever meant the equivalent of a terrorist attack or maybe even a bombing was about to happen. It’s rarely ever used, so it became something most forget about.

People around you are equally as lost, murmuring softly. You look around, your hands held flat against your ears as you try to muffle the blaring siren that continues to repeat its warning every few seconds.

You turn your head when Margaret taps your shoulder. “What’s a Level Three Alert?” She shouts. You can barely make out what she’s saying.

“I don’t know, but maybe we should follow it?” You reply back loudly, her eyes squinting as she tries to read your lips. You mouth your words again, and she nods in understanding.

You spot a middle-aged lady a few feet behind Margaret, stiffening in her garish fur coat, tilting their head slightly to the left. You think nothing of it; it’s probably nothing to worry about anyway. Your main priority right now is to get inside a store and barricade the doors, just as the alarm instructed you to do.

Then came the smoke.

Your stomach turns at the smell of ash in the air. You glance around and spot a clothing store that’s caught on fire, the high-pitched beeping of the smoke detectors going off once it’s been triggered. The sprinklers turn on automatically, soaking everyone in the mall, including you.

The amber flames lick the air, hissing back as droplets rapidly extinguish them. You glance down when you register someone tugging your sleeve. You look at Margaret questioningly, but she’s staring straight ahead, eyes wide with terror. Her hand continues to grab at your sleeve, only going limp once you place your hand over hers.

You follow her gaze to the lady you noticed earlier, stiffening when you notice that her head is tilted a little too far to the left. Her arms hang from her sides loosely. You crane your head slightly to take a look at her face, but it’s obstructed by messy blonde waves that prevent you from getting a clear view.

Something’s wrong. You can’t place your finger on it, but your own alarm bells are ringing violently in your head. You shift slightly, growing uncomfortable with the lack of urgency everyone seems to be displaying.

“We should go,” You tug on Margaret’s arm slightly, trying to get her to move. She looks back at you, taking a step forward.

A sudden scream draws your attention, and you look over to a girl whose long black hair is being gripped tightly by the woman from earlier. She tries to yank her hair away, but the woman refuses to budge.

You’re stunned into silence once the woman pulls her forward harshly, leaning down and biting down into her shoulder in one swift movement. You watch in horror as a huge chunk of flesh is ripped off, a scream of pain ripping itself from the girl’s throat as she sobs.

Everyone around has already moved a few steps back, but those closest to the two stumble and drop to the ground, immobilized by fear. Crimson red drips to the ground from the girl’s shoulder, yet no one steps forward to help.

You hear an almost inhumane growl from the blonde woman, her head jerking up in an unnatural motion. Her hair finally shifts to the side, and a chill instantly shoots down your spine.

Her eyes are dark and lifeless, a sickly yellow shadowing the skin around them. Bright red stains her lips that’re twisted into a snarl. You can still see small chunks of pink flesh stuck between her teeth.

A singular scream pierces the air, snapping everyone out of their horrified stares. The crowd scrambles to get away from the two, the girl that got bitten earlier now lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood.

You take a scared step back, getting pushed and shoved by those around you. The woman looks around with a dead gaze, seemingly trying to find her next target. You tear your gaze away once you feel yourself getting pulled, turning to see Margaret, who’s already started running with the crowd.

Your feet move step by step, fear seizing your chest with an icy grip as you try to regain control over your brain’s currently frozen state of shock. You run without a true sense of where you’re trying to flee to, blindly stumbling after Margaret, whose narrowed eyes seem to focus on a particular store up ahead.

You run into a cafe, gasping for breath as you slow to a stop. Sweat trickles down your brow, dripping down onto the floor. You finally look back up. Cafe workers and strangers all fill the store, pushing and shoving to get in.

“What’s going on?” The barista behind the counter asks with worry.

“Look for yourself.” A tall, lean male in a blue suit points at the windows with cold eyes. The light that reflects off his glasses makes you flinch, blinking rapidly to get the spots out of your vision.

The calm voice of Ed Sheeran that’s playing on the speakers is ironic in your current situation. The large television behind the counter pulls your attention. The news reporter looks frazzled, gathering a stack of papers on her desk in a hurry.

“We interrupt this segment to bring you news of the current Level Three Alert in New York City.”

“Hey,” Your voice is shaky. Everyone else is too caught up in their own panicked conversations to hear you. You raise your voice a little, trying to compose yourself. “Hey,” You repeat, louder this time. You catch the barista’s attention, gesturing to the television with a trembling hand. “Turn up the volume.”

She obliges, grabbing the remote behind the counter and rapidly pressing a button.

“Currently, a Level Three Alert has been issued by the government. We strongly encourage everyone to remain where they are, in a secure facility. We have Vinnie on the scene. Vinnie, what’s the current situation like?”

The camera switches to a male reporter. You squint at the screen, recognizing the fountain behind him as the one you were at moments ago. He clears his throat, holding up the microphone with a wary glance around.

“Vinnie here, reporting on behalf of NGTV News. I’m here at the Celeste Mall, where hundreds of people are in a state of confusion which is understandable, as a Level Three Alert has never been sounded before. However, it seems that there are certain people behaving abnormally. For viewers sensitive to blood, please avert your gazes.”

The camera pans to the woman you saw earlier biting down on her newest victim's shoulder a short distance away from the reporter. The shrill scream makes him flinch, taking a step back with fear-filled eyes.

“I-I can’t do this,” He stutters, his shaky breaths heard through the microphone held close to his chest. He’s paralyzed with fear, the cameraman stumbling back when Vinnie is grabbed by a pale hand, yellowed nails digging into his sleeved arm.

“Get off me!”

You watch in horror as another pale hand grabs Vinnie’s shoulders, two heads coming into the frame and biting down onto his arms with vicious ferocity. The cameraman begins to run away, barely capturing the gruesome sight of pale pink flesh being torn off of the reporter’s body.

The live feed gets cut off, replaced by a single error message on the white screen.

‘This broadcast has been ended due to technical difficulties.’

You flinch at the sound of banging on the door, a pale man dressed in a gaudy shirt and white shorts hitting his fists against the doors urgently. “Please, let me in! Let me in!!” He cries out.

No one dares to make a move, all stunned by the earlier sight of the live feed from outside. The barista is the first to step forward, opening the glass door and shutting it behind the man, who falls to the floor, breathing heavily. She locks it behind her, tucking the key away into her pocket.

“Are you okay?” She holds out her hand to help him up. His arm glistens with sweat, grabbing her hand to stand up. He gets to his feet shakily, eyes a bloodshot red. In one swift move, he brings her arm up and bites into it, teeth sinking into the smooth skin. Beads of crimson start to gush from the wound, a strangled cry leaving the barista’s lips.

“What the fuck-”

“Oh my god, he’s one of them!”

“Get away!”

Screams start to fill the cafe, overpowering the earlier calm and confusion. You grab Margaret’s arm, tugging her back and away from the two. The both of you hide in a small corner, gripping onto each other’s hands like you’re the other’s lifeline.

“This is insane.”

“I know, it's almost like they’re zombies or something.” Margaret breathes out in reply, her entire body trembling as her eyes watch the barista and the stranger she helped start to attack others in the cafe.

“I can’t- This is just a dream, right?”

Screams interrupt your hushed whispers, and your eyes land on the door a distance away. You nudge her side, gesturing toward your potential escape. She catches on quickly, nodding her head in agreement.

You hesitate, standing up and running away from the zombies that start to multiply with each new victim. You narrowly avoid one, using your elbow to jam it into its neck and push it away with all your strength.

You reach the handle, hands slippery with nervous sweat as you grab the handle, looking around for Margaret. She’s a short distance behind you, but yellowed hands close around her arm. She grunts, trying to pry it away from their strong grip, hungry eyes trained on her arm.

No. Nononono.

You take a step away from the door toward her, only to stop when you hear her cry out a warning.

“Go!”

You start to protest, a sob tearing itself from your throat when Margaret tries to smile reassuringly. “I’ll be right behind you,” She promises with a shaky exhale, urging you to leave first.

You nod tearfully, clammy hands searching for the handle and pressing down. The door swings open, and you turn, searching for her. “Margaret-”

You stop, your entire body freezing, when you see her getting dragged into the crowd of gnashing teeth. You spot a bite mark on her side, blood already seeping through the pale, ripped skin.

You meet her eyes that’re filled with apology and fear. In that split second, you can tell. She doesn’t want to die.

But she tries her best to smile, even as they start to eat away at her. Her lips part, a tear trailing down her cheek as she tries to warn you one last time.

“Run.”

So you turn and flee.

The streets are filled with carnage and smoke, your breathing laboured and heavy as you navigate the once calm and peaceful streets filled with bustling crowds on their way to work.

It’s a stark difference, the screams that fill the air a huge contrast to mere hours ago. You can’t register anything around you. A faint buzzing in your mind is all you can focus on.

Margaret’s dead.

Your feet hit the pavement in a steady rhythm, running back to your apartment.

This can’t be real.

You reach your apartment in a matter of minutes, taking a moment to breathe. Your hands are on your hips, leaning forward as you try to catch your breath. Someone bumps into you roughly, and you lose your balance from the impact.

You land on the cold concrete, looking up only to stiffen when you see various zombies around the entrance to your apartment building. You scramble to your feet, running into the alleyway to avoid them.

You cover your mouth with your hand, trying to calm your ragged breathing, when you spot one looking around the entrance of the alleyway. You sink down to your knees, a hot sting pricking the corners of your eyes as the realization sinks in that everything around you is all too real.

You were never a devout believer in religion or in God, but in this very moment, you prayed fervently to every single divine being you’ve ever heard of. You watch the zombie sniff the air hungrily, scanning the alleyway with bloodshot eyes.

You don’t want to die. Youdon’twanttodieyoudon’twanttodie-

It walks away.

You don’t dare to move, much less breathe. It’s only until your lungs are burning and your body cries desperately for air that you finally inhale deeply, your hand still covering your mouth as if it’d keep it from returning.

You take another moment, your eyes focused on the ground. White noises fades in and out, the ground below blurred every few seconds. Your stomach turns at the pungent scent of iron in the air, practically tasting the metallic tint on your tongue.

Your breaths come out in short pants, saliva coating your teeth as you promptly bend over, part your lips and retch. The contents of your now empty stomach stain the ground in a disgusting green, the putrid smell only encouraging more gags.

Your eyes water, trying to compose yourself by taking slow and steady breaths through your nose. Your throat burns from the acid, and you wipe your eyes roughly with the back of your hand. You look around, trying to sort out your thoughts.

Right. Safety first.

Your thoughts automatically turn to your apartment. If you could just get up there without being caught. You catch something in the corner of your eyes, turning back to see the fire escape.

It’s one of the unsafest things you’ve ever seen, with its rusted metal and creaky stairs, but that’s what you get for paying only eight hundred dollars a month to live here.

You have to make this quick, or you’d attract even more attention. And this time, you have a feeling that you wouldn’t get away safely if you get caught. You grab the railing, practically vaulting yourself over and onto the stairs that make a noisy creak.

Crap.

You run up the rest of the stairs, regretting renting the apartment on the fifth floor. You had chosen it for the view, but right now, it’s nothing more than a stupid purchase in your mind. You hear growls from the alleyway beneath, breath hitching in your chest as you finally reach the fifth floor. Your fingers scrabble for the loose bolt in a panic, letting it fall to the apartment floor with a clatter before sliding open the window and practically jumping inside.

You shut the window swiftly, trying to make as little noise as possible. You exhale shakily, back slumping against the wall of your small rented apartment. Falling to the floor, your shivering state does nothing to combat the heightened fear that overwhelms every single one of your senses. Your arms wrap around your knees, drawing them close as you try to stifle the stuttering hiccups that slip past your lips.

You flinch when you hear a loud thud against your door, a soft growl making you freeze. You instinctively hold your breath, squeezing your eyes shut when you hear more growling outside your door. Your arms tense around your knees, silently pleading desperately for them to just go away please go away pleasepleaseplease-

The growling stops. You’re still shivering, but you peek one eye open. The door remains solidly in place, the sounds fading away. Slow, draggy footsteps make their way past your apartment door, and you use the soles of your feet to move away.

You tilt your head back against the wall, a shaky breath falling past your lips. The beige ceiling mocks you as if you hadn’t just repainted your apartment a week ago with your best friend.

Right. Margaret’s dead.

The reminder sobers you, gritting your teeth as you try to swallow down the pained cry in your throat. Hot tears stream down your cheeks, dripping down your chin with the snot that dribbles down from your nose.

This can’t be real. It can’t be. It’s as if you’d been plopped right in the middle of a science fiction movie.

And yet, here you are.

— — —

You grab your backpack, ready to sprint away from the zombies that occupy the desolate convenience store. The exit is mere steps away. An easy getaway, if not for one annoying zombie that keeps lingering around the door.

You hold your breath, feeling the cans jostle around in your bag. You grab an empty bottle, taking a quick peek around the aisle before moving your arm back and throwing it. The bottle clatters to a stop at the far end of the store, alerting the zombies. They immediately stumble towards it, giving you the chance to escape.

You crawl on all fours, on constant alert in case one decides to turn around and bump into you.

One more step.

Another loud clatter echoes through the empty store. You freeze, looking down at the can of tuna that had dropped out of the slightly open zip of your bag. It rolls to a stop, and you look up to see lifeless eyes and bared teeth headed your way.

You snatch up the backpack and push past the door, zombies stumbling after once they get ahold of your scent. Tears prick the corner of your eyes, the large group of zombies crashing through the door and chasing after you.

Why had you been so careless?

You run down an alleyway, heart pounding in your chest. You avoid the areas littered with other zombies, trying to lose the crowd behind you. Navigating the streets is almost second nature, muscle memory playing a part in staying away from most of the danger around.

It's been a while since the first outbreak. ‘The First Wave’, as the government called it. Well, whatever’s left of the government anyway. It’s difficult to keep track of whoever’s in power now, with almost everyone having succumbed to the virus.

It took time, but you’ve finally managed to create a routine bearing semblance of your life before the outbreak started. What was once days of guitar practice and clothes shopping is now spent on supply runs and reinforcing weapons.

The police station was the first to be ransacked by both criminals and citizens, fighting for whatever firearms remained. There was a riot, you heard, where many killed each other purely in their quest for self-survival.

It’s every man for themselves now.

It’s easier for you though, you’re not exactly burdened by any others trying to leech off of you. You’ve kept to the shadows, away from other survivors that attempted to take advantage of you. You had to learn how to fight. Because if you don’t, you’ll be eaten alive instead.

After many twists and turns, you reach an abandoned park with little to no zombies around. You use a penknife you kept in your pocket to cut off a piece of your tattered scarf, wiping away all the sweat that had collected on your collarbone and neck.

The scent of sweat was what attracted them, the annoying corpses. Along with blood, but you had learned that the hard way. Three years since the First Wave had taught you that much, at least.

You stuff the now damp cloth in your pocket, starting the walk back to your hideout. You reach the small apartment building, but instead of entering through the entrance, you reroute to the side of the building where the fire escape is located.

The smooth, cold metal provides relief from the humid atmosphere, and although you were bundled in a hoodie with cropped sleeves and knee-length shorts, sweating is inevitable. You pause once you reach the topmost floor, noticing that the latch is undone. Your eyes narrow, taking out the kitchen knife from your backpack.

Intruders.

You open the window and sneak inside, hoping to catch them off guard. You land silently on the carpeted floor, holding the knife next to your left arm in a defensive position.

You scan the living room before hearing a small clatter from the kitchen. You approach the source silently, watching a figure clothed in a blue hoodie and long pants take the rations in your cupboard and stuff them in a bag of their own.

You slowly inch closer until you're only a foot apart. Your brows knit, holding out your knife so it presses against the back of the intruder. They stiffen at the sudden feeling of the sharp tip pressing into their back. Even if they were taller than you, probably stronger, and maybe smarter, this is still your food they’re stealing.

This is probably a bad idea.

"Drop my food, thief!" You demand, irritated by the sheer audacity of this stranger. Sure, not everyone was fit enough to survive the apocalypse, but they could've at least asked! They let go of their bag, which lands on the counter with a thump, raising their hands in a sign of surrender.

"Turn around." You order firmly, wanting to see who the bastard that’s trying to steal your food is.

They slowly turn, but before you can get a clear glimpse of their face, your knife is knocked out of your hand. Your arm is grabbed by the intruder, and they twist it, using their leg to kick your knee at the same time. You lose your balance, landing on the floor face down with a pained cry.

"Hey!" You choke out, watching the intruder grab their bag and make a hasty exit to the windowsill in the living room. You struggle to get to your feet, the breath knocked out of you by the devious maneuver from before.

"See you around, sweetheart."

You pause, the unexpectedly deep voice catching you off guard. So he’s a male. The hood of his shirt covers his entire face in shadow, and you catch a glimpse of a black cloth covering his face. You glare at him, finally regaining enough feeling in your feet to get to your feet.

Before you can get close enough, though, he makes a clean exit through the open window, jumping off the fire escape. You poke your head out to see him land safely on the ground from five floors up, your jaw dropping in disbelief at the sight.

"Get your own food next time!" You angrily yell at him in a hushed whisper with a fierce scowl, not wanting to attract unwanted attention from the next street over. He looks up at you, a slender green finger having tugged his mask down. You catch a glimpse of a cocksure grin, brows furrowing into an irritated frown, and automatically hold up your middle finger for him to see, spotting his shoulders shake with laughter.

You move back into your apartment with a huff, shutting the window and bolting it shut. You check the cupboards, noting the items that have gone missing. Upon quickly locking all other entrances and exits to your apartment, a nagging thought makes you double-check the windows just in case.

Something told you he'd come by again.

#rottmnt #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt x you #rottmnt x y/n #rottmnt leo #rottmnt leo x reader #rottmnt leo x you #rottmnt leo x y/n #rottmnt leonardo #leonardo x reader #leonardo x you #leonardo x y/n #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles x reader #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #x reader #101WTL

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suicidalslasher · 3 years ago

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𝙞𝙛 𝙬𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙖 𝙢𝙤𝙫𝙞𝙚 - 𝙬𝙚𝙨 𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙨

(Warnings: emotional and physical abuse, neglect, mentions of smoking / weed, cussing, yandere themed Wes Hicks. This is basically the same as this story I wrote but with a different... ending.

It's also a lot more detailed and goes into more depth. If you like this fic and can donate a $1, tips are appreciated but not to be expected! My ko-fi is: here. Thank you and I hope you enjoy!! If you have any other ideas or requests, don't hesitate to send them my way!

(Y/N) didn't need to see his face to know that he had a wild stare of a piranha. Those blue eyes which once brought her a sense of comfort and warmth now froze her veins and made her body go as cold as ice. She remembers as if it were yesterday when they had stolen a few bottles of liquor along with a pack of beer from her father's garage and sat outside on the roof of her house, allowing the summer wind to kiss their skin gently with its' breath as they gazed up at what little stars shined in the sky. "You have the most prettiest eyes," she admitted with a sheepish grin, the alcohol completely taking over whether she liked it or not.

She tried her hardest not to show her true feelings towards her best friend but tonight, she guessed the alcohol had other ideas store in for her. (Y/N) had always been such a lightweight, too, which was so unfortunate. It was one of the reasons she didn't drink, really. Expect that night, her and her best friend, Wes, were growing bored of watching the same horror movies, again and again on repeat. They had also ran out of weed to smoke and her parents were home therefore even if they had a blunt to pass back and forth with each other, there wouldn't be a way to fully enjoy the affect and the feeling that the weed had to offer because they couldn't smoke in the house or else her parents would smell it. (Y/N) swore her mother and father had dog DNA swimming through their veins or something with how easily they could recognize scents.

They almost caught her once with the odor of weed sticking to her clothes but luckily, thanks to her mother being a rather shitty cook, the smoke alarm had gone off in the kitchen thus cutting off the conversation midway. Luckily, they never brought it up again, either. They also couldn't smoke in the garage because her father had been paranoid ever since the first Woodsboro massacre happened and his prized possessions were his tools and so help whoever even thought of touching and stealing part of his property therefore he had hidden cameras put up.

But... you know, the man had no worry about his wife or his daughter, though.... ironically enough. Only did the garage and backyard have security cameras. "Why isn't there cameras in the rest of the house?" Wes had asked one day while they were eating lunch in the backyard. The sun was bright and there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

The weather was warm but not too warm where sweat was dripping or sticking to their skin. It was the perfect way to say goodbye to summer. The smell of the grill was still strong in the air and (Y/N), after having smoked before eating (best way to eat was when you're high as a kite and have the munchies) was still starving even though she had two cheeseburgers and three hotdogs, the smell not helping her craving whatsoever. (Y/N) luckily held back because her mom had been giving her questioning looks and had even pointed out why she was eating so much which (Y/N) just replied with a simple shrug of her shoulders and lied through her teeth, saying it was that time of month and she's hungrier than usual. (Which technically was not a lie.) "Too much money," her mother had said with a roll of her eyes. "He had just enough for his mancave and that was it," She shrugged.

"At least we have a motion detector in the backyard, I suppose that's better than nothing." Wes nodded thoughtfully before he smiled and stood to his feet, "I'm going to go to the garage and get another soda from the fridge. Miss (L/N), want one? (Y/N)?" They both said 'yes' and watched him leave and as soon as he was out of view, (Y/M) turned to look at (Y/N) with a smile so wide and big it practically looked as if it were painted on. "You like him, don't you?" "Mom! Stop, oh my God... No, No I don't-" "Oh, honey... I'm sure he likes you too," She answered in a matter of fact tone. "Who wouldn't like you? You are MY daughter after all. You know, before I met your father, I had guys lined up, waiting for me to date them and-" (Y/N) had to hold back her food at that statement and an eyeroll, too. Narcissistic, much? Is what (Y/N) wanted to say but for obvious reasons decided against it.

Her mother continued to babble on and on and all (Y/N) did was shrug in reply before she waited for Wes to return so they could finish their food and go to her room and have their usual movie marathon. This was the main reason she didn't spend so much time with her mother, all she could do was talk about herself and embarrass her in front of her friends. It took him a few minutes and she wondered if it was possible that the fridge had fell on top of him and before she could get up to her feet and go check what was taking him so long, Wes returns with two cans of soda. "Sorry, these were the last two and I didn't want to be rude so I went ahead and put more drinks in the fridge." He explained as he came back and sat down. "Where's yours at, sweetheart?" (Y/N)'s mom asked as she reached over and grabbed her drink, flipping the tab open and taking a swig, humming in delight as the flavor rests on her tongue. "You know... it completely slipped my mind. I was more focused on trying to find the drinks and putting them back in the fridge I forgot to go and get my own. Let me go do that and I'll also take your trash if you two are done?" "Isn't he such a doll!?" (Y/N)'s mom repeated with a coo, smiling even more wider than she had before as he had gone and left once again. "I'm full. If I eat another bite, I think I'm going to barf. We're going to go to my room," (Y/N) said, plastering on a fake smile as she got to her feet.

"Thanks for dinner," She said because if she hadn't acknowledged the fact her mom 'cooked' dinner, she'd get hell for it later on.

Her mom didn't care if her friend was here or not to cause a scene. Wes had seen the few arguments break out before between the two of them. And at the end of those nights when (Y/N) was crying out of frustration and anger, Wes reassured her karma will come back on her mother eventually, one day. And she'd be out of this house before she knew it. Her and Wes would run away, escape the hellhole that is Woodsboro and go and travel the world together. "Hey, let's go and get drunk. You down for that?" And with a sniffle and a weak nod, (Y/N) mumbled a soft little, 'yeah, let's get fucking plastered.' It was a usual occurrence that happened after that day. Any time one or the other or both got angry or were feeling any type of negative emotion creeping up on them, they'd call each other up or call the other one and ask if they wanted to go and sit on the roof and drink until they're sick.

Out of all the times they had been drinking, though, (Y/N) never showed how she truly felt towards Wes. Until that very moment. "I have what?" He asked, completely taken aback on what just left her mouth. (Y/N) giggled again and threw her hands over her face, embarrassment washing over her completely. "Your eyes," She repeated. "They're so pretty. They remind me of the ocean. My favorite place to be at is by the shoreline." She admitted. "I can get lost, swimming in the color of your eyes." And oh my God, she wished she could stop talking but the liquor wouldn't give up and the words kept coming out. "Be careful," Wes had said as he took the bottle of beer he had and placed it to his lips, taking the last sip of what was in the glass before he turned to her, flashing her a smile that caused butterflies to erupt in the pit of her stomach and caused her heart to flutter.

"I reckon that if you stay in the water for too long, you'll drown." "Oh, but my dearest Wesley, to die in those pretty blue eyes of yours sounds heavenly and I'd be thankful to have gone out that way." "Be careful with what you wish for, (Y/N)." And they grew quiet before erupted into a fit of laughter. And it wasn't until right fucking now did she realize he hadn't been joking that night on the roof. He wasn't joking either when he had said he'd kill for her.... Working at the local diner in Woodsboro wasn't terrible, believe it or not. That is, unless you worked night shift. And as luck would have it, (Y/N) agreed to switch shifts with her co-worker and closest friend, Mindy.

She needed the money desperately because it seemed as if her mother was losing more and more of her mind each day and (Y/N) was becoming her personal punching bag.

Her father was no help, he locked himself up in the garage to try and get away from it all.

When she asked why he never stuck up for himself or for her, all her dad did was shrug in reply and run a hand through his hair, mumbling an apology. "It'll get better, sweetie. I promise. It's just one of those days she's having. You know how it is." Expect it had always been like this. 'One of those days' meant every day. The exact same conversations, too.. Everything was the same.

(Y/N) found no use in having the same conversation, over and over again, she was growing tired of the same shit every day. With this being said, she was quick to jump on the offer of getting more hours.

A longer shift meant more money in her pocket and more cash in her wallet meant she'd be able to leave her house. The sooner, the better. (Y/N) never realized how fucking awful working nightshift would be, however. As soon as it struck midnight, the creeps began to roll in. One after another, they piled up until half of the booths and tables were taken by men (some women, too) who looked like they should be part of a true crime documentary.

(Y/N) shuddered as she remembers a few weeks ago, there had actually been another kill in Woodsboro.

No such luck in finding the killer, or any trace of what was left behind, either. Whoever was the killer was surely good at hiding their tracks. The police station at Woodsboro, followed by the cops that worked for them, were a total shitshow. And (Y/N) still stands by that statement because after she had gotten orders for the odd bunch that sat out in the dining room and gave them their meals with a fake smile and told them to have a great night, she had received a text from an unknown number. At first, (Y/N) didn't answer it. Why should she? She wasn't the dumb bitch in a horror movie. Never answer the phone to a number you don't know. (Sorry Sidney.... and every other person that answered the phone before getting butchered by the killer that went by Ghostface. May they rest in peace.

(Y/N) was built different, though. She knew better. She actually had a brain. One that properly worked. She could survive a horror movie. Wes even agreed and said she could. He even told her she'd be the final girl.) Therefore, she didn't answer the text. She ignored it and went on to check her social media accounts. She ignored it until the number spammed her with multiple messages. Followed by images. Several photos, in fact. And.... okay... Fine. Curiosity got the best of her. What can she say? She clicked on the notification and the pictures she saw made her wish she had never clicked on the open file.

Curiosity did, in fact, kill the cat. Whoever was behind the phone and sent her the messages, too.... killed her parents, apparently.

There was a photo of her father with multiple stab wounds in his chest followed by a long, jagged cut across his neck.

The next picture was of her lifeless mother's body.

The only difference between her father and her mother's body was that her father's head remained attached. Her severed head was placed in her lap, a blood-splattered smile drawn across her tore apart lips. Yet, it wasn't that visual that made (Y/N) sick with nausea.

It was what was written underneath her feet. Written in blood, there remained a sentence that only one person had ever told to (Y/N).

"I told you I'd kill for you." Then (Y/N) connected the dots. She put two and two together almost instantly.

Wes. Her phone slips between her fingers and crashes beneath her feet, the screen shattering. She doesn't care. She doesn't care about anything expect going home. (Y/N) grabs her jacket and her keys and runs out the door, ignoring how her boss calls out for her, venom striking his words as he hollered out for her, "Where the fuck do you think you're going!?" 'Going to go get the Woodsboro killer myself because apparently the police here don't know how to do it. And I know who it is. And I have a better chance of survival.'

Of course, she doesn't say this.

She just gets up and exits out the diner, the small bell announcing her leave. She had always been terrified of coming home due to her mother's actions and her behavior.

Usually, any time she'd enter through the door, her greeting was a slap to the face or harsh words that cut into her heart like a knife.

Sometimes, (Y/N) preferred the physical pain rather than the emotional damage her mother had given to her. The scars and bruises would heal, but those words she'd say would always haunt her.

It was odd now, though, to enter through the door and be met with silence.

Quietness.

Nothingness. The only sounds visible to ear were the creaking of the hardwood floors as she stepped inside, her heart hammering in her chest as she took a deep, shaky breath.

The portraits on the wall were shattered, pieces of broken glass scattered everywhere.

(Y/N) could've laughed because it wasn't the first time the photographs had been broken.

Expect, the laugh died down in her throat as she noticed a trail of blood that lead into the garage.

Oh, God... she really was going to throw up. As she entered the garage, she wasn't met with Wes but the rotting aroma of corpses; her parents lifeless flesh.

Her eyes watered and she choked on a sob, pinching the bridge of her nose to try and block out the horrendous scent as she turned sideways, her eyes stinging as her vision blurred with tears. This time, she let her lunch from earlier show up.

Once she was done puking her guts up, she wipes her mouth on the collar of her shirt and inhales a shaky, jagged breath. She wipes her eyes with her free hand, the one that doesn't have vomit coated on her fingers, and looks around at the damage that has been done. The pavement which was usually stone cold grey now appeared as if someone had spilt an entire can of paint over the cement. She knew better than to believe it to be paint. The bodies proved that much.

Before she entered the house, she grabbed her emergency flashlight from the backseat of her cat and a crowbar her father had given her just in case something happened with her vehicle. Never did she think she'd have to use it to beat the living shit out of her best friend. Never, in a million years, did she think Wes Hicks would be Ghostface. Or, one of the infamous killers, anyways. (Y/N) scanned the area with her vision still blurred with tears, taking in the sight of old soup cans, boxed up Christmas and other holiday decorations, old, worn out tires and bike parts.

Suddenly, there was a loud, thumping noise that nearly made (Y/N) piss her pants and as she twisted her body around, half expecting to be met with Wes, she was met with nothing but an antique doll with only one eye. In the faintest of light given by the object she held in her grasp, the doll's sewn up smile seemed to widen, like she knew something (Y/N) didn't.

Her stomach dropped and her heart seemed to stop beating. She walked towards the doll, only to pick up the fragile item and throw it across the wall, the head of the toy collapsing into millions of pieces. Right before she could register what was happening, there was a loud CRACK! and (Y/N) is falling down, down, down, right in her parent's blood, the crimson liquid seeping into her clothes, drenching her in red.

Her mind is whirling, going a thousand miles per hour, and her vision is now not only blurry with tears but hazy and cloudy. "Oh, sweetheart... You should've known the doll was a distraction." a voice all too familiar said. She couldn't say anything, though, because as she tried to open her mouth, there was another sharp pain across her face and against her head, instantly knocking her out cold. "Shhh.... you're safe now... With me. Only me."

(Y/N) woke up to below freezing water being thrown against her. She gasped, her breaths short and hard as she blinked several times, trying to comprehend what was going on and where she was at exactly.

Once her vision was somewhat normal and she could kind of-sort-of see, she notices she's in a cellar. There was one bare bulb above her, sputtering to life, though it was far too dim to reach the corners of the room for her to take in what was around her.

Or, most importantly, who was around her. It appeared as if she was in a cellar, anyways, though she isn't quite sure. "“Did you sleep well? Don’t lie to me, I watched you.” The voice said. She grimaced, knowing all too well whose voice that belonged to.

"Wes." She gasped, feeling those tears beginning to swell up in her eyes again, fear taking over her whole body as she shook. "Wes," she repeated, voice trembling as she spoke.

"What have you done? What did you do?" "It's always the one that's unexpected, isn't it? Surprised you never figured it out sooner." He stated.

(Y/N) didn't need to see his face to know that he had a wild stare of a piranha.

He ended up stepping into the light and her heart drops even further down, knowing she was right. He gives her a mischievous grin, eyes dark and sinister. "What's the matter, (Y/N)? Looks like you've seen a ghost." He said, mocking the same exact words that the serial killer, Billy Loomis, had said to Sidney Prescott all those years ago. She couldn't believe this. Couldn't believe any of it! Before she could stop herself, she's crying.

“Oh, baby... why are you crying? I took care of the problem!” He flashed another grin.

Usually, his smile would've made her heart skip a beat but instead, this time, it made her stomach turn and twist into knots and she shook her head, bile nearly rising in her throat, the same way it had done earlier.

She swallowed the lump down before she finally spoke, "You didn't need to do this, Wes. There was no fucking reason." The grin never left his face, instead he tilted his head aside and scoffed before replying, “You might not understand now but you will thank me later. It doesn't matter though, does it, (Y/N)? I'm all you have left.

"I'm the only person who truly loves you. Your father never cared, if he had he would've taken you away from that worthless piece of shit you called your mother years ago. Your mother's love was putting cigarette burns out onto your skin and cutting your hair for disobeying her. I could go on and on.

"That's not love. Neither of what they did to you was love. They could care less about you, (Y/N). I care, though. Because I stopped them. I took away their lives for your happiness and now...?

"Now, you come here with tears in your eyes and tell me I'm in the wrong? No, they were, baby. They were in the wrong here. No parent ever would lay a hand on their child or ignore their cries for help if they cared. Expect me, (Y/N). I love you. I care for you. I care about you. Why is that so fucking difficult for you to understand?" "You're fucking crazy," She gasped, the tears never seeming to stop as it continues to roll down her skin, sticking to her cheeks. "Crazy for you." He said matter of fact, that darkness in his eyes only growing deeper, more wickedness and evil consuming him from the inside out. "Don't make me hurt you, (Y/N). It's the last thing I want to do. We were made for each other, you & I. I need you more than I need air to breathe. And so help me God, I'll stop anyone that tries to take you away from me. And so far, I have. Your parents, your friends..." "You.... You killed my friends?" She echoed his words, unsure if she had heard him correctly. "Oh, yeah. The Meeks... they were the last to go. While you ran to get here, leaving the diner so abrupt, so suddenly, I took a little visit to Mindy and Chad's place. They were so easy to kill. Sam and Tara were a little more... difficult, considering Sam was the daughter of Billy Loomis. Can't believe she tried using a cheesy, one liner like, 'don't fuck with a serial killer's daughter.'" Wes threw his head back, laughter leaving his lips before he shook his head. "Pathetic, she was. Her father would be ashamed of her, I know I am. He'd be disappointed to know she wasn't the final girl. But... alas, you are that girl. My final girl, (Y/N). How do you feel?" "I feel like I'm going to throw up all over again... you're a fucking monster, Wes." "I don't mind being a monster, as long as I'm your monster." Wes said, that smile never seeming to vanish or disappear from his face. "It was always going to be us in the end, (Y/N).

"No matter what. Nothing else matters, expect you and I. Neither Amber, Mindy, Chad, Liv, Sam, Tara.... whoever else, they never cared. They never mattered. At the end of the day, it was always me that loved and cared for you." "H-How'd you even manage to get away with it all?" "Easy. I'm the son of a police officer. Not much else to add or explain myself, is there? It was also rather simple and easy to kill your parents, given the fact I removed the security cameras and motion detectors the last day of summer.

"Plus, I didn't want my girl to have to see the footage of me, slaughtering her parents. That would have made me a monster - forcing you to watch your parents being brutally murdered. But I'm not a monster... No, I'm just a boy who fell in love with a girl." "This isn't a movie, Wes! People like you are the reason they give movies a bad fucking name nowadays! You're a fucking psychopath." "No, (Y/N). As the famous Billy Loomis had said, movies don't create psychos, movies make psychos more creative. And life is just one big movie, isn't it?

"Expect this time, we do get to choose the genre. And you and I are endgame. This isn't a horror movie, my love. This is just the beginning of our new romantic life together. You promised we'd be together, forever. And I'm sticking by my promise." He walked close to her, getting down on her eye level and he cocks his head aside, the same way he had done earlier and he flashes a smile, showing too much teeth as he fished out the knife out from the pocket of his pants.

Wes then dragged the blade across her cheek, not enough to draw blood but just enough to make her cheeks sting due to the sensation.

"Now, you better behave or you'll end up like your friends and family. Besides... I know you love me, too. So say it. Say those three little words. Be a good girl and behave." An endless sea of tears trail down her cheeks and (Y/N) nods weakly, muttering out those words she had always wanted to tell Wes. Expect, the situation would've been a lot different as to what it was like now.

"I love you." And those words she had always wanted to hear him say, he said it back. Expect now, she didn't want to be loved by him. Whoever this boy was, it was not Wes Hicks. It was not the one she fell in love with. But now... Now, she was stuck, being his final girl. And there was nothing she could do. That's just how the movie ends. Let the credits roll. There's no happily ever after.

The screen just fades to black.

#wes hicks x reader #wes hicks x you #wes hicks as ghostface #ghostface x reader #ghostface x you #slasher x you #slasher x reader #wes hicks x reader #slasher x y/n #ghostface imagines #wes hicks imagines #wes hicks fanfic #slasher fanfic #cierra's stories #wes hicks oneshots #ghostface one shot #slasher oneshot #horror fanfic #scream fanfic

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peasofgreeniguess · 3 years ago

Note

if your requests are open, could we get the UT US and HT brothers with a stoner y/n, going foraging together? what would thier favorite things to find be?

this one- this one had me thonkin dunno why- but I found a cute idea >:3

Cw for mentions of snake skins, bugs, weed/smoking/being high and food trauma, if you have to please skip this!! *ask box is back open*

Ut sans-

Foraging? No. Foraging with you? Only because you have him puppy eyes- your the only soul that will get his lazy butt anywhere- you are walking down the path you normally take, grabbing some wild onion and salmonberries (they are real) on the way, there’s a little creek that runs by there and sans notices a shine out of the corner of his eye, it’s a little fish scale! And next to it a whole unbroken snake shed! He immediately shows it to you and once you get home you IMMEDIATELY put it in your “dead things box”. Yes dead things box, full of only the best shells, snake and bug skins, feathers and even a fox tooth! It’s clear so all the friends can look in and see your dead things, your very proud of it.

UT papyrus

papyrus has plenty of plants growing in the back of his yard so there's no need for foraging for berries, but he knows you like it so he takes you without a fuss! he just enjoys the time with you after all, though one day he noticed you were quite giggly in the car on the way to the trail... you two walk the whole hike with papyrus thinking you lost your marbles- papyrus time was texting sans, who was NOT HELPING- he said you had rabies and papyrus believed it. leading you two to the hospital... luckily sans still was the soul provider and got stuck with the checkup bill. suck it.

US sans

blue tolerates you and his brothers,,, usage,,, but rarely is around. it makes him uncomfortable most of the time, he doesn't know the reason but you both just know that sans asks you to leave him out of it, but don't worry! he takes you on many hikes! he loves nature and will gladly take you any time you want.

US papyrus

he provides the best shit- hell he grows it! you two often get high together, one of his favorite memories is when you two got mega zooted and watched the live-action cats together- that was your best idea, he also takes you on hikes! he has a metal detector and likes to find shiny things, mostly though he likes being able to sit with you in silence. normally you drop by to visit a little sparrow nest on your hike trail, but one day you notice the bird flapping but not flying. at a closer look you can see that the bird must have used some fishing wire to like the nest but got stuck. papyrus noticed your distress and leans down signaling you to jump up on his shoulders, out of his pocket he grabs a mini medicine kit and handed you the mini scissors, you cut the bird free, and it flies off! now the birds come by and give you things every time you walk by.

HT sans

foraging? why? we have food? sans has only known foraging as a necessity not a luxury- the first time sans was anxious, all of the feelings came rushing back to him, trying to find something- anything for him and his brother, and when he did find something making sure papyrus had as much as he wanted- often leaving sans hungry... after that he left the foraging to papyrus,,, he feels bad but you two have other things you can enjoy together.

HT papyrus

papyrus knows nothing about sans and how he foraged for food, sans never told him. he gets how it can feel scary though... papyrus enjoys it on the other hand! he finds it calming! watching the birds and the bunnies run around and watching the plants change each day. and taking you with him to share that love is the best! and to add to that he really doesn't mind the stoner aspect of you either, he always makes sure there are snacks and that you are in a safe space. he's so sweet he makes your teeth rot.

#ask #cw drugs #cw weed #weed mention #tw drug mention #undertale #papyrus x reader #papyrus #sans x reader #x reader #headcannons #sans #underswap #horrortale #high mention #cw #tw #stoner #stoner y/n

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tinyboxxtink · 3 years ago

Note

How about baking for barba?

I'm guessing you didn't expect this, but I hope you like it!

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

You were just getting out of the shower when you heard the oven beeper go off. Wait, that was louder than an oven…You swung open the bathroom door to reveal your apartment quickly filling with smoke.

The smoke detector was blaring, as if it was saying “You’re an idiot, Y/N!!”

You began panicking and without even grabbing a towel you ran into the kitchen to find the culprit; the oven was burning.

“Shit!!” You yelled to yourself as you grabbed the oven mitts and opened the oven, even more massive smoke clouds billowed out into the apartment. Before you could worry about anything else, there was a banging at the front door.

“FIRE!!! WE’RE COMING IN!!”

Before you could tell them to wait half a second because you were naked and vulnerable, the front door was being chopped in. You screamed and bolted towards the bathroom, slamming it shut. After a few moments you re-emerged in Rafael’s huge blue bathrobe.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” A fireman asked you while several more came in behind him and sprayed the oven and turned on fans to blow the smoke out of the apartment.

“...Um...yes, yes I’m alright--” You nodded sheepishly, before seeing the last thing you wanted to right now. Rafael stepped through the whole where his front door had been, his face pale and his eyes wide. As soon as he saw you, he bolted over and took you in his arms.

“Y/N!! Carino, are you alright?” He searched your body for any burns.

“....Yes, I’m fine baby…” You said even softer as he continued to squeeze you into his chest.

“Boss,” A fireman came from the kitchen holding a charred baking tray. “We found the source,”

Both the fireman and Rafael now turned to you; your face was bright red. If you could have you would have driven a hole straight into the floor right there.

“....I wanted to surprise you,” You shrugged innocently, hoping he wasn’t going to kill you right there.

“....Ay dios…” Rafael shook his head and put his hands over his face. Both of the firemen did their best to not start laughing in front of the two of you.

“We’ll uh, we’ll need to talk to your apartment manager, Mr.--”

“Barba,” Rafael removed his hands and looked at one of them. “Rafael Barba,”

“Right, Mr. Barba,” The fireman nodded. “And you’ll need to sleep somewhere else tonight, obviously,” he gestured around the apartment that was now filled with both smoke and water from the hose.

“Right,” He nodded, walking towards his bedroom to pack a bag. You looked at the fireman and then towards Rafael’s bedroom. The firemen began filing out and wishing you a good night, so you finally walked down the hall to your bedroom to face Rafael.

“Baby…” You said softly as you stood in the doorway, tears lining your eyes. Rafael looked up from his drawer. As soon as he saw your face he dropped the clothes he was packing and ran over to you.

“Oh carino,” He chuckled, wiping the tears from your face with his thumbs. “Come here,” He pulled you into a tight hug and kissed the top of your forehead.

“I just wanted you to have the birthday cake your abuela used to make you when you were growing up,” You sniffled. “But apparently you married a moron,”

“Hey,” He furrowed his eyebrows. “Don’t call my wife a moron,”

“But I--”

“You tried,” He smiled.

“And I ruined the apartment!” You continued to whine as you gestured out the door.

“The apartment can be fixed,” He put both hands on your shoulders. “That’s what homeowner’s insurance is for,”

“It’s for idiot spouses?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” He teased you while pulling you into him once more. “I’m just glad you’re okay, that’s all that matters to me,”

“Yeah well--” You sighed, then finally noticed Rafael had brought a box in with him when he walked into the apartment. He had sat it down on his dresser once he realized he wasn’t going to get in the kitchen.

“What’s this?” You looked at him curiously while starting to walk over to it.

“Oh no baby--” Rafael tried to stop you, but you already removed the top of the box. There, sitting in front of you as if it was mocking you, was Rafael’s abuela’s ‘magic’ cake.

“....She dropped it off at my office,” He gave you an apologetic look.

“Oh my god,” You muttered. “So all of this was for nothing!”

“No!” He shook his head and gave you a sly smile. “...Now we have cake to eat at the hotel,”

“Yeah yeah yeah…” You rolled your eyes, taking your finger and swiping it across the top before sticking it in your mouth. It was delicious.

“Oh my god,” You licked your lips. “This is so good,”

“I’m sure yours is better,” He smirked.

“Oh you wanna go try it, Birthday boy?” You gestured outside with a roll of your eyes as you dipped your finger back into the cake.

“Hey that’s mine!” He protested like a four year old.

“Oh I’m sorry,” You smeared your fingers across his face with a huge grin on your face as you saw the shock and awe on his own face.

“...You’re gonna regret that,” He said with an evil grin before going to chase you through the bedroom.

Before you knew it, abuela’s “magic” cake was all over the both of you, and the bed, and...everywhere else. 😉

Tag List

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@shittanyy

@mrsrafaelbarba

@word-scribbless

@storiesofsvu

@believinghurts

#rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba fluff #rafael barba imagines #rafael barba drabble request #rafael barba drabble requests #rafael barba one shot #rafael barba #rafael barba fanfiction #anon ask

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jamiemackenziefraser · 4 years ago

Text

All That Was Fair

Chapter 19: Merry of Soul

Summary: Claire and Jamie begin to settle in with each other, and Claire continues to experience human oddities.

Read on AO3

Read chp 19 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, master list, next

Chapter 19: Merry of Soul

***

If Jamie thought Claire had been touchy before, nothing compared to the amount of contact they had now that they were together. Her hands— or lips— were all over him at the most unexpected moments (and the expected moments as well, to be fair). Not that Jamie was complaining. Though every bit of contact still brought a blush to his cheeks and made his heart race so fast it could have torn out of his chest, he never wanted her to stop.

It had been two days since the fateful trip to Craigh na Dun and the following declarations of love. Two days since she’d decided to stay with him— bloody fool that he was. Two days of bliss with the love of his life.

He’d left her that morning still asleep in their (their!) room. Her limbs had been strewn all over the place, making her look like a starfish sprawled on the bed. After disentangling himself from underneath her wee but aggressive arm, he’d placed a kiss to her temple, smiling with contentment that she was his to wake up to and kiss every morning.

Standing then in front of the stove, flipping his pancakes absently, he thanked God for the blessing of her. He breathed in a long sigh and tried to fully appreciate the perfection of his life.

The quiet was interrupted by a pair of arms snaking around his waist, making him jump.

“Did you forget about me?” A silky voice asked, lips brushing the back of his ear and sending a shiver down his spine. Claire must have been standing on her tiptoes to reach him.

He placed his own hands over top of hers, hugging her arms, and swayed slightly back and forth to take her with him where she was pressed against his back. Affection welled up inside him, so strong that he was nearly overcome.

“I couldna forget ye, mo chridhe. I only didna want tae wake ye up. Ye looked sae bonny and peaceful.”

“You should have. I don’t like being in the… what is it called again?—”

“Bed,” Jamie answered automatically.

“Bed. I don’t like being in bed without you. Besides, I quite like how you wake me.”

A blush rose in Jamie’s cheeks as he thought about how he’d kissed her awake the past two mornings. He loved seeing her sleepy eyes open and her smile as she met the day with the sight of him. How her lips would grow more eager as she regained consciousness…

“I’m verra sorry for leavin’ ye,” he apologized, turning around in her arms so he could loop his own around her waist, “whatever can I do tae make it up tae ye?”

Claire hummed, looking exaggeratedly thoughtful, and then tapped a finger on her cheek expectantly.

Happy to oblige, Jamie leaned down and placed a kiss at the indicated spot. Claire smiled in response, looking like a cat that got the cream. She then tapped the other cheek, and Jamie was quick to give it the same treatment, this time letting his lips linger for a long moment. Her smile widening, she pointed to her forehead.

“Awfully demanding, are ye no’?” Jamie accused warmly before pressing an obedient kiss there.

Claire just murmured an assent— apparently completely willing to own it— before her wee finger was placed over her lips.

It took Jamie only the length of a heartbeat to cover her mouth with his own, uncaring of trivial things like morning breath or whether or not Claire would be able to taste the residual pancake batter on his lips. If she could, she didn’t mind, because she spent the next minute withdrawing half a centimeter only to kiss him again, her tongue less than timid as she indulged herself. He found it unreasonably enjoyable, and his hand wandered up to cup the back of her head to keep her mouth on his.

Her appreciative murmur vibrated his lips, and that only served to encourage him all the more.

But he was interrupted from his task by Claire drawing back enough to gasp, “do you smell that?”

Tearing his eyes away from her puffy lips, he turned around toward the stove to see that his pancakes— really now more black lumps— had smoke rising from them in active billows.

“Christ!” he swore, at the same time as the smoke detector began to go off.

At the shrill noise, Claire let out a startled cry and smacked her hands over her ears. Jamie didn't have time to reassure her as he lunged toward the burning pancakes and tore them off the heat. He juggled them with one hand and turned on the fan with the other before shutting off the stove. With everything going wrong, of course it was that very moment when the handle of his old pan decided to snap, and the bowl of the pan (smoking pancakes included), started to fall. On instinct, Jamie grabbed for it with his free hand. Pain shot through him on contact, and he hissed as he jerked his hand away, allowing the damn thing to tumble to the ground. He jumped out of the way, smashing into Claire, who still was holding her hands over her ears and looking terrified.

Exclaiming some rather colorful words, Jamie reached out his not burnt hand to steady Claire.

“Sorry, lass. It’s okay, dinna fash,” he said with a raised voice over the obnoxious beeping of the fire alarm directly over their head.

“What’s that sound?” Claire yelled out, looked very distressed with her wide eyes and hunched shoulders.

“It’ll stop in a second,” he shouted.

Sure enough, as the smoking mess on the floor subsided, the smoke detector went quiet. Jamie breathed a sigh of relief.

Claire, the poor thing, looked nearly ready to cry.

“It was jes’ the smoke alarm, mo nighean donn,” he tried to reassure, “the sound makes sure that I ken there’s a fire so I can put it out.”

“I did not like that,” she said with a shake of her head, shuddering.

“I’m sorry, a leannan, come here.”

Drawing her close, Jamie gave his faerie a cuddle. She melted into him, and the tension flowed from her muscles as soon as he enveloped her. It made Jamie swell with a certain satisfaction to comfort her over something so trivial, as if he were some knight in shining armor who’d rescued the fair maiden from the beastly alarm— only he’d actually been the one to cause it in the first place and he hadn’t done anything but make a mess while trying to solve it.

As if suddenly remembering, or perhaps she could sense the slight sting in his fingers, Claire drew back and exclaimed, “give me your hand!”

Smiling but a bit nervous, Jamie held out his hand for her. He watched with anticipation as the soft golden light emanated from her hands as they formed a cup around his. This time, instead of watching the light, he turned his head up to look at Claire’s face. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, lines etched in her face as she focused all her energy. She blinked hard once, shook her head, and went back to staring down at their joined hands. Jamie felt the tingling warmth flow through him, making his hand buzz with energy. The pain began to subside, and the determined expression on her bonny features eased. After half a second more, the light faded from her palms. She didn’t let go, but stroked his now perfect fingers between her hands.

To add the finishing touch, she brought his hand to her lips and began to kiss each finger one by one. Her lips were soft; her kisses more healing than even her energy.

“Ye make a good nurse,” Jamie said in a gravely tone, enraptured by her gentle touches.

“Hmmm?” she murmured, still focused on her task. Finishing with his pinky, she curled his fingers down and pressed one last feather-light kiss to his knuckles.

“Ye’re a fine healer, Sassenach,” Jamie amended. He brought his newly healed finger tips up under her chin and tilted her face up toward him. “And I’m verra grateful ye’re mine.”

He leaned in to give her a proper kiss. She didn’t respond as enthusiastically as usual, but her lips molded to his and in a passive sort of way. He chalked it up to her nerves over the alarm and concern over his injury, but it still disturbed him because she had never responded in this way.

Following his resolution to communicate better, he pulled back and asked while cupping her face with a tender hand, “are ye alright, mo chridhe?”

The smile she mustered seemed forced, which didn’t do much to ease his worries. “I’m fine,” she said, “just felt strange for a second, it’s nothing.”

He kept studying her for another long second, but she remained firm in her statement without adding anything else. With a dip of his shoulders, he decided to let it go.

“I’m sorry about that, my sweet one,” he said with a self-deprecating shake of his head, “I didna mean for all this chaos this morning.”

“It’s not your fault, Jamie,” she countered. The newly growing smile seemed much more genuine again as she added, “I probably shouldn’t have distracted you while you were making…”

“Pancakes,” Jamie filled in.

“Pancakes,” she echoed, looking thoughtful.

She was trying to learn words as much as she could, and Jamie found that he quite liked his role as tutor. At least he quite liked rewarding her for her learning of new vocabulary.

“And the word for the first meal of the day, do ye recall?” he quizzed.

Looking up at him with a triumphant expression, she exclaimed, “breakfast.”

“Mmmm,” he hummed approvingly, “that’s verra good.”

He leaned down and gave her a soft, gentle peck on the lips, and as he drew back, he found she was smiling.

“You’re a very good teacher, you know,” she said, “maybe soon I’ll start teaching you another language and see if you’re as good of a student. Which one would you prefer?”

Jamie laughed, “maybe we take it one step at a time. I can barely keep up wi’ things as it is. Maybe we start wi’ fair folk culture and go on from there.”

“Deal,” she agreed.

“Anyway,” he said, marveling a little at her ability to get him sidetracked, “it seems my breakfast has been ruined. Perhaps ye’ll give me a wee moment tae grab somethin’ else?”

“Hmmm,” Claire looked gravely ponderous as she considered his request, “I suppose I’ll allow it just this once.”

Jamie rolled his eyes with a smile that betrayed how happy moments like these made him. He took a step away from her, already mourning the loss, and headed over to the pantry.

As he stood debating between the merits of cereal or a granola bar (both required no cooking, thank you very much), hands suddenly snaked their way under his shirt. He stiffened in surprise at first, and then relaxed as the hands started to stroke up and down the length of his back.

He shot a glance over his shoulder to see Claire behind him looking innocently up at him. He raised a brow.

“What are ye doin’, lass?” he asked.

She gave a little shrug but did not remove her hands. “Touching you.”

There’s his faerie.

“Is that no’ what got us in trouble in the first place?”

She gave a little hum that said I can’t argue with that, but then countered, “I don’t think I care.”

Forgetting all about breakfast, Jamie whirled around. He grabbed the backs of her legs and hoisted her up into his arms. She let out a squeal but quickly got with the program, wrapping her legs around Jamie’s middle and her arms around his neck.

As he held her tightly against him, their fronts smashed together, he turned his face to catch her mouth and kiss her fervently. Those perfect lips against his seemed almost victorious as she pressed them to his just as passionately. A hum of satisfaction rose from her, making Jamie nearly drop her with how watery it made his legs.

After a long moment of enjoying her mouth against his, he finally drew back.

“I dinna ken how every time I kiss ye it feels like the first time,” he breathed.

“And I don’t understand how the first time I kissed you it felt like the hundredth time,” she agreed.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, smiling so hard his face felt like it would split and tightening his grip on her thighs, “I love you, you know that?”

“I love you, James Fraser,” she replied, her gaze soft with adoration.

Jamie went to put her down then, releasing his grip on her legs and expecting her weight to drop off of him. Only instead of her legs unwrapping from his waist and her hopping down, she clung to him stubbornly.

As he brought his hands far out to the each side to marvel at the barnacle that seemed to be glued to him, Claire tightened her hold.

“A leannan,” he chuckled, “are ye no’ getting down, then?”

“Don’t think so,” she said from where her face was pressed into his neck.

He let out a very Scottish noise from deep in his throat. With one hand, he held her against him just to keep her steady, and with the other, he turned back to the pantry and began rooting through the items.

He withdrew victorious with a granola bar from the package, and he held it up behind him to the wee faerie.

“Care tae help me wi’ this seein’ as I only have one hand at the moment?”

“Of course, darling,” she obliged.

One of her hands reached out to grab it. Still keeping both arms around his neck, she somehow managed to tear open the package (much like a child would— she still hadn’t gotten that human task down) and then handed it back to him.

It was beginning to get real to Jamie just how little personal space he would ever have again.

And he loved it.

“Thank ye, wee one,” he said before taking a bite. Curious fingers began to thread into his hair as he did, making it extremely hard to concentrate on the simple task of breakfast. Fingertips pressed delightfully into the nape of his neck and tangled into the soft curls there.

His throat felt tight as she caressed him, making it hard for him to swallow. It wasn’t his fault that her every brazen touch turned him into a besotted sap…

“Are ye going tae go through my whole mornin’ routine wi’ me?” he asked, shoving the last of the granola bar into his mouth, still rooted in the same spot by the pantry.

Christ, this lass made it impossible for him to eat a meal slowly and in peace. Impatient thing.

The fingers paused their exploration. “Most certainly.”

“Well, we might as well have some fun wi’ it then. I ken ye dinna need it because ye dinna eat, but would ye care tae learn how tae brush yer teeth?”

She drew back so she could look at him with eyes alight with curiosity. “What’s that?”

“Ye’ll see.”

Upstairs in the bathroom, Jamie somehow managed to detach his clingy faerie. She let go reluctantly, dangling her feet down and allowing Jamie to deposit her onto the ground. Once he was free, he stooped down to find a new toothbrush from the cabinet. Finding one from the dentist a few months ago, he let out an aha and held it triumphantly up to Claire.

“And you use that on your teeth?” she asked warily.

“Aye. It’s called a toothbrush. Watch.”

Demonstrating with his own toothbrush, Jamie wet it before applying toothpaste and sticking it in his mouth. In what was likely a comical expression, he bared his teeth and exaggeratedly brushed the bristles over it.

Claire was giving him a look of distaste and near horror that made his wame twitch with hilarity.

He switched his brushing to go further back into his mouth, making her eyes go even wider.

“Are you sure this is nothing like eating?” she asked, apparently still a bit traumatized from the incident with the spaghetti that first night.

“No,” Jamie laughed through the toothpaste in his mouth, “it jes’ cleans yer teeth after ye’ve eaten. Ye dinna actually swallow the toothbrush.”

He rinsed and spit before straightening up to face a still dubious Claire.

“Ready tae try, lass?”

She wrinkled her nose a little but gave a nod.

Jamie prepared her toothbrush for her. As he approached her, she eyed him with a wide eyed look of apprehension mixed with curious excitement. She opened her mouth tentatively like a nervous child at the dentist.

He cupped his free hand around the back of her head, his thumb making soothing circles. Then, slowly, so as not to startle her, he placed the bristles onto her teeth.

It was his expectation that she’d jerk away in disgust the moment it touched her, but she stayed still. He gently moved the bristles back and forth, very lightly over her front teeth, and she blinked rapidly and sucked a sharp breath in through her nose.

“Alright, lass?” he asked with a smile as she froze underneath his hand.

She gave a nod, and he continued, rubbing the toothbrush just over the front of her teeth. He felt it as she relaxed, the buzzing tension easing as she came to the realization that this was, in fact, not torture— nor anything like eating.

She made a “huh” sound from deep in her throat, and Jamie withdrew the toothbrush so she could speak.

“It feels… kind of nice,” she said slowly.

“Aye. I ken ye dinna really need tae clean yer teeth since ye dinna eat to dirty them in the first place, but…” he eyed her with a gleam in his eye and a smirk, “if ye’re gonna be puttin’ that mouth on me all day long, ye might as well taste minty fresh.”

To his great enjoyment, Claire flushed, looking at the same time like she felt embarrassed and also wanted to kiss him some more.

“Here, lass,” he said, “wash yer mouth out.”

He handed her a cup of water, and she mimicked what he had done earlier and rinsed.

Once she was done, she straightened up and looked at him expectantly, as if there was some last step to be completed.

“Now,” Jamie said, the corners of his mouth pulling up, “I’ll find out how ye taste, aye?”

***

#noaprilfools #really it’s just a chapter #I had to check like 3 times that it really was chapter 19 #wow #all that was fair #update #claire x jamie #outlander fanfiction

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gallickingun · 5 years ago

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welded hearts || b.k.

SUMMARY: You and Bakugou have to try and pick up the pieces after the incident with Awase, but neither of you are doing a very good job. It leads to distance and lies, and you’re not sure if there’s any way to save the fragments that remain of your shattered relationship. Especially when you find out that Bakugou has been tracking your every move.

Follows the events of Ensnare, an Awase x Reader x Bakugou fic written by @lady-bakuhoe.

PAIRING: Pro Hero!Bakugou x Fem!Reader RATINGS: M/E+ WARNINGS: language, smut, slight violence, etc. WORD COUNT: 11.7k+

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

AUTHOR’S NOTE: after reading Jo’s fic, I immediately rushed to her inbox to foam at the mouth about what kind of angst would follow when Bakugou and Reader attempt to put back together what is left of their relationship, with Bakugou really not feeling like a man, and reader feeling absolutely suffocated, and this little fic was born. Also, this is my first time not tagging any blogs, I just need to start fresh. I hope everyone understands!

if you like this, feel free to request more HERE!

　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　

The strange combination of distance and suffocation make your head spin.

Nightmares plague your mind at night, leaving the opportunity for visions to run rampant through your sleep-deprived brain during the day. You spend the daylight hours looking over your shoulder, your forehead broken out into a constant sweat, and you spend the evenings wondering if you might have imagined the whole thing.

You wake up alone most of the time, no matter what phase of the night you are suffering through. The first few times you would go searching the house for him, wondering where his overactive body could have taken him this time. Most nights you found him at the kitchen table going over suit designs and contracts for more hero patrols and brand deals.

You’d ask him when he was coming back to bed only for those familiar vermilion eyes to pass you a blank stare and his dry voice to echo out, “Don’t worry about me. Go back to bed.”

And each night you’d listen.

You curl up beneath the covers, tugging the fabric to your chin, and stare at the wall. You attempt breathing exercises and grounding techniques, but that does not stop the shadowy figures you see in the hallway or the closet. Your imagination gets the better of you as it hallucinates the image of the culprit himself stood in your bathroom doorway, a smirk on his lips and a glint in his eyes.

“So fucking pretty,” his mouth snarls around the words, dark hair shining despite the dark. His teeth are pearlescent even in the dim moonlight filtering through your window, “Whose going to stop me? You?”

A shudder shakes your shoulders and when you blink, he’s gone, like a phantom escaped in the night. You rip your hands through your hair and tears drip down from your lids into your lap, staining the fabric of your pajama pants. Your hands shake in front of you, fingertips showing double the harder you try to concentrate.

His presence is akin to smoke billowing within your belly. The tendrils of his black cloud wrap around your spine, traveling up your torso until it sits in the base of your throat, suffocating you endlessly. Every day you spend breathing is another day fighting for relief from this monstrous thing in your chest.

Bakugou turns to much different means of coping.

At first it was sweet – him checking in on you. He would offer to come pick you up from work if you’d ever decided to leave anytime after seven, and if he was stuck on patrol or in meetings, he’d arrange a car to bring you home. When you go on your afternoon runs, he’d volunteer to go with you even though he’d done rigorous amounts of training at work.

The simplest ways he would show his sense of pride in protecting you would be to hover closely, his body within an arm’s length so he could snag you out of any bad situation if there ever were one. Still, even with his insatiable hovering tendencies, he would keep his own personal touch at bay.

At times when he would usually hold your hand or brush up against you, he stays at least three feet away. It’s as if he’s chosen to self-quarantine himself from you, deeming your affections as either insufficient or insufferable, which neither are good options to choose from.

Once it becomes overwhelming, you find yourself in too deep, too bitter. You try to reach out to him in the form of affection – brushing your palm over his hips as you pass him in the kitchen, trying to grab his hand when you’re walking together, and reaching out to touch his shoulders when he faces away from you the few nights he does end up in bed.

To shout out now would be hypocritical, as you have had a part in pushing him further from you, isolating his affectionate touches even further. Yet, the longer he keeps himself from brushing even his clothed thigh against you when he passes you by in the kitchen or at the grocery store, you wonder who is actually suffering from the lack of physical affection and who is merely existing.

Eventually he grows more suffocating.

Bakugou will not let you be out of his sight for longer than a few minutes at a time despite sitting opposite from you on every surface he can find. You have started to hide in the bathroom, proclaiming cramps or bad pork before skittering off to the bathroom with your phone clutched in the grasp of your fingers, if only to find some peace from his prying eyes for a few moments at a time.

He has never been so clingy before, and you know that it is laced with the trauma as a result of the Awase situation. However, this doesn’t make it any easier to stomach his lurking. On the other hand, it adds a stinging sensation at the irony of it all.

Bakugou wants to be completely involved in every facet of your life without even kissing you good morning when he hands you your coffee.

You knew that what had happened with Awase all those weeks ago had to have affected him, coloring his outlook on life no matter how bleak it had been before. With each passing day he grows closer to you, hands metaphorically wrapped around your throat, squeezing every last pound of air from your tongue. But still, you never imagined that he would take t his far.

And so, you lie through your teeth.

Yaoyorozu was invited to the grand opening of a bar in the plaza sector of the city, and she invites you and the other girls for a night out. You know that if Bakugou heard about you going on about visiting a bar and intending to drink, he’d say some new form of the word ‘no’ and persuade you with his big, round, crimson eyes to stay home.

There were too many safety hazards, after all. Especially if you are going to be drinking. Your senses would be impaired, and you would be much easier to take advantage of once you are two shows into the wind. And then Bakugou would casually remind you that Momo normally finds a guy and ditches you, thus forcing you into taking a cab ride home, which creates an entirely new set of problems.

Which is why, when you tell him why you won’t be home tonight, you lie, “It’s just a sleepover, like back in high school! Momo and Ochako wanted to get back together and I think Mina might even be coming too!”

Bakugou nods, looking over the top of his combat training manual, “Just let me know if you need me to come pick you up, alright?”

You nod, not daring to reach forward and try to brush your hand against his forearm, afraid he might recoil or redirect you. Instead you force a smile, nodding your head as you open the door, “Momo is picking me up, and she said she’d be fine with driving me back tomorrow, but I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

His posture visibly relaxes at the sentiment. It is maddening how one simple shift of his composure makes you want to barrel into him, to forget your entire night and attempt to curl up with him on the couch. It has been so long since you last felt his touch, even in a casual sense. The bar counter top acts like a prison, barring him from you as he isolates himself.

“Have fun,” he manages, eyes falling away from you.

And you’re glad, too. At least when he’s not looking at you, he can’t read your face for lies. Bakugou is like a human lie detector, able to sense any unease in your usually relaxed posture.

Of course he has no reason to disbelieve you – why would you lie to him in the first place? You have preyed on that trust, a thing you feel so despicable for even considering, the fib scraping against your teeth like nails on a chalkboard. You wince at his tone, unbelievably naïve, but the door stays open regardless of your conviction.

The lie rolls around in your belly like a parasite, preying on the poor decisions and leeching on your inhibitions. You feel it suffocating your throat as you blow a kiss his direction, telling him not to wait up as you readjust your backpack full of overnight accessories and a change of clothes that is slung over your right shoulder.

Bakugou smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which only further feeds the parasitic being taken up a home in your stomach. It sits heavy on your tongue when you tell him goodnight, threatening to chew right through your cheek until it’s been bared to the whole world.

He nods, licking his lips as he watches you leave. You wave one last time as you shut the door, guilt eating you alive until you feel tears press against the backs of your eyelids. You swallow your conscience and head towards the car you recognize as Momo’s, the weight of your club clothes sitting heavy in your backpack. You cinch it closer to you, praying that Bakugou hasn’t somehow developed x-ray vision to be able to see through your bag.

And yet, a part of you wants him to come barreling down the stairwell to beg you to come back inside, back home. You want him to whisper your name like a prayer, his hands outstretched so you can reach forward to slot your knuckles between his.

At least in your hallucinations he still wants you.

Once you’re at the club bar, it doesn’t take long for you to find yourself in a drunken stupor.

“Listen,” you slur, pointing a finger into Momo’s ample chest, “I-I’m not sayin’ he’s gotta dick me down every night, b-but like-once?!”

You take a long drag of beer, swallowing the acidic liquid until it’s burning your throat. You slam your cup back down on the table top, pursing your lips as you take in a deep breath, “I mean it’s been months, guys. Months.”

“A-Are you serious?” Uraraka leans in closer to you, eyes widened, “N-Not since-”

“Nope,” you huff, slumping down in the booth seat. “I-I know that since the incident that things have been different, but it’s like he doesn’t even want me anymore.”

Momo reaches her arm around your shoulder, tucking you into her side, “I’m sure he just doesn’t know how to handle all of it, and he’s just trying to do his best.”

“Bakugou?” Mina laughs, bright eyes hidden behind her lids as she screws her face up into a giggle. She takes a sip of her beer, propping her feet on the nearest unoccupied table, and sighs, “Good luck with that one, babes. I don’t see things returning back to normal anytime soon, not with how damn stubborn he can be.”

The beginning of a fresh set of tears presses like a crater into the backs of your eyes, a pulsing headache drawing out a groan from your lips. You drop your forehead to the tabletop and relish at the cool surface opposing your heated flesh, “I-I know that normal isn’t exactly an option yet, but I would like to feel like I wasn’t so fucking alone in my own house, y’know? I mean, he’s right there and yet it’s like I’m there all by myself?”

Your phone buzzes from within your purse and there is a collective grouching that echoes from everyone at the table, sour expressions making it obvious the way they feel about your ringtone. Momo crosses her arms over her chest, “You do realize this is the seventeenth time he’s called you, right?”

You reach into your purse but her hand is on your wrist before you can snatch your phone. She shakes her head and Mina huffs through her nose, “Why can’t you just put that thing on silent? When is he going to stop bugging you?”

“Yeah?” Momo brushes her thumb against your forearm, “Didn’t you tell him you were coming out with us tonight?”

A bright red tinge sits hot on your cheeks, making your skin look flushed. Your friends understand your conflict then, sitting back from you in shame. Mina is the first to speak, “You lied?”

“I-well, I couldn’t just-” You rack your brain for the right words to say to defend yourself, sweat accumulating at the base of your back in droves. You want to run away, but there’s nowhere to go. If you head home now, Bakugou will most likely have a full rant ready for you as soon as you walk in the door.

“You can’t keep lying to him like this,” Momo presses her palm to your cheek, brushing away a tear before it can slip down your face, “You’re going to have to be honest with him eventually. He needs to back off, to let you live. There’s no reason he has to be attached to you like an umbilical cord all of the time.”

“His concern is kind of nice, though,” Jirou speaks up.

Your head snaps towards her and she shrugs, “All I’m saying is at least he’s trying to protect you. He’s not completely self-absorbed after all.”

Before you can try to refute her or defend him, your phone starts ringing once more. Your hand dives into your purse, pulling it from within and looking down at it like that might keep it from ringing any longer.

“I don’t understand!” You’re whining now, fresh saltine droplets settling in your lashes. You wipe at your face, “I-I don’t get why he won’t just leave me the hell alone. I told him exactly what I was doing tonight, exactly where I was going and who I was going to be with. I just-”

“Except you lied.”

You feel all of the heat leave your body, only frozen fingertips and an icy, rigid spine left behind.

You turn your head at the familiar baritone voice that cuts into you from behind, and your heart drops into your stomach. When you breathe, the parasitic thing living there begins to swallow your stomach whole, gnawing away at your most sensitive parts first.

You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to feel anger instead of shame, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What, pray tell, the fuck are you doing here?!” Bakugou snaps, eyes a conflagration of brassy tones, pupils dilated to prove his anger, as if it weren’t so evident from his tone.

Mina goes to speak up when she sees you flinch, but you’re already being dragged out from the safety of the booth seat. Bakugou’s blunt nails are digging into your bicep and forearm like little spears, snagging you so you can’t get away. He yanks you into the hallway, your back pressed into the wall as he further infringes on your space with his closeness.

“You fuckin’ lied to me?”

His voice is held together by rage, begging to be broken apart as he lets the feelings seep through the cracks of his resolve. Bakugou’s jaw quivers as he grinds his teeth together, heaving breaths making his chest expand to brush against your own. It’s the closest thing you’ve felt to intimacy since that night in the alley – since he decided to pretend that you and your needs didn’t exist.

You want to start bubbling out another fib, foaming at the mouth with lies so smooth he’d have to believe them. Your brain is stumbling in attempt to keep up with his fast paced thinking. Every phrase you could possibly say to make this go down like honey instead of vinegar passes through your mind, but you know that this will sting no matter how long you put off trying to swallow it.

The intentions you have now, to make everything easier on him and spare his emotions, have been tainted by your conniving words from before. You weren’t preparing for a confessional in the middle of this hole-in-the-wall bar, but not every night goes exactly how you plan it.

The both of you understand that sentiment rather intimately.

Bakugou’s eyes are ablaze, vermilion bleeding to amber nearest his pupils. His jawline is flexed, nostrils flaring, and you know that laced within his anger is something akin to fright, fearfulness. Every single feature he possesses is pinched tightly, as if his body were wound like a coil, and he is going to snap at any moment.

And then, when your mouth bobs open and shut, and you can’t find the right lie to squeeze between your teeth, you begin putting the whole situational puzzle back together. Anger replaces the acrid taste in your mouth, cinders of fury settling on your tongue the more it all starts to make sense.

Your eyes meet his and he feels the shift, his grip on your arm lessening at the sight of your furious irises honing in on him. The reality that he is not as innocent as you would like to believe seeps into your skin, settling like sticky acid, and you itch religiously to get it off of you.

“How did you know that I was here?” you ask, voice eerily calm as your vision begins to blur at the edges. You gnaw on your lower lip, tilting your head to consider every falter in his expression, “I told you I was going to be at Yaoyorozu’s. You had no idea that-”

You can’t help the choking sound that comes from your throat next, gagging on your words as pure fury overwhelms your body. Your shoulders shudder under the strain of these destructive emotions as realization settles in. Even the fear in his own irises cannot stop the tumultuous build of vehemence that seeps through you like molten lava, crawling upwards through your veins until all you can see is red – blinding red.

You’re repeating your question when it appears he won’t answer you to speak the truth; eyebrows furrowed, forehead wrinkled. Your jawline pulsates with muscle tremors as you grit your teeth down fervently, a high-pitched whining sound echoing within your own skull at the action, “What did you do, Katsuki?”

It’s not a question, though, not this time.

Bakugou’s throat bobs and before he can give you some shitty, half-thought out excuse, you’re poking your finger into his chest, directly between the taut line of his pectorals, “Where is it?”

“Wh-What?” he manages to cough out, tongue bitten between his teeth.

You take a step back with each question of the location, chin wobbling in denial, “My bag? My phone? My car? Did you put it in me, Katsuki?”

The sound of his given name dripping like toxic acid from your tongue makes his heart constrict within the confines of his chest. The organ beats at a thunderous pace, so hard that he’s sure there is an outlined bruise in the shape of it if you were to peel his shirt back and look. Still, he knows better than to argue with you – knows even better than to try and deny it. You are a human lie detector when it comes to him. You know his mannerisms so well that you’re able to spot a stuttering breath from a mile off, even the smallest of hints to his dastardly secret-keeping seeming like bright white lights to you.

He has backed himself into a corner in trying to keep you safe, so he admits with his head hung low, “Your phone.”

A shuddering breath makes your chest collapse, jaw fallen slack at the confession. Your spirit was praying that he might have just found out from a friend, maybe Kirishima discovered that you were out with Momo and Mina and told him. But no, now he’s admitted to the crime and he knows that he’ll have to face the punishment.

You want to root around in your purse until you’ve found the offending object, but it’s not the time, at least not right now. He can’t take advantage of using it while you’re both still in the same location. You’ll have to handle it later.

“How long?” you ask, voice small.

Bakugou does not answer immediately. His eyes are downcast, unable to meet yours as his lower lip quivers just enough for you to make it out in the dim light of the bar. Your heart thrums at the sight of him so distraught, but you lock your knees and force your body to straighten your spine and steel your resolve.

You repeat the question, digging your fingertip into his skin until you are sure that you’ve drawn blood underneath the fabric of his black tank top.

He snaps, the blood vessels in his neck thudding against the tanned skin there, “Since Awase, when the fuck else do you think?”

And just like that, your entire body is thrown back in time. You are that helpless woman in that alleyway, your body used for the lustful gratification of someone else, thrown to the side like a plaything when he was through. You feel hands, lips, skin, all over you, torturing your body even now when you are awake. The ghost of his crooked touch makes your eyes water, thick droplets sticking to your lashes.

The sound of that villain’s name makes your ears burn and your tongue turn to sandpaper. A chill runs down your spine despite the massive blanket of heat in the room from all the bodies burning with alcohol and movement. Your head feels fuzzy, eyes unable to focus as you attempt to come back to this version of reality.

A single tear drips down your cheek, but Bakugou knows better than to try and wipe it away like he might if it were any other time.

“I-I can’t believe this,” you murmur, withdrawing your finger from him to cover your mouth with both hands. You blink slowly, turning your gaze from him to the floor, taking it all in with stride, attempting to breathe as evenly as possible while still processing everything unfolding in front of you.

Bakugou reaches up to touch your elbow, just enough contact to try and bring you back down to earth. Your eyes snap upward, meeting his vermilion gaze with an expression opposing your fiery wit from earlier. He’s never seen your body waver in such a way that would leave him to believe you to be weak, but now all he wants is to hold you between his arms, piecing you back together bone-by-bone, vessel-by-vessel.

You’re lost in the simplistic touch of him, the first you’ve felt in what you know to be weeks, but believe to be eons. He has been so distant from you that you almost forget why you are angry when he’s this close to you, suffocating your body in the best of ways. You can smell the telltale sign of his quirk, an ashen sweetness that you are sure you’ve become addicted to throughout the entirety of your relationship.

A breath bites through your lungs and you sharply cut your teeth into the inside of your cheek, trying to snap yourself out of your dazed stupor brought on by isolation. As you open your eyes again, you steel yourself, stepping up with brazen confidence to slap away his hand from your arm.

The burning flames licking at your throat turn to white-hot rage, “I don’t know what the hell your problem is, Katsuki, but this controlling me shit has got to stop.”

His eyes refocus on yours again, pupils swallowing those pretty red globes whole, fear riddling every bone in his fragile body, “Wh-What are you talking about?”

Now it is you who has backed him into a corner, his backside and shoulder pushing against the wall. He tries to reach out to stop you, to beg for your forgiveness, but the stony expression in your irises tells him that he needs to be still an listen no matter how many biting insults and wanton words sit on his tongue.

“You’re breathing down my neck, Bakugou,” you inhale a shuddering breath at the sound of his surname being forced through your teeth. Tears lick at the corner of your eyes, your fists shaking by your sides, “I can’t take a shit without you wondering why I’m gone for longer than three minutes. You’ve been so fucking controlling that I can’t even go out with my friends without you needing to make it a momentous occasion!”

“You lied to me, for fucks sake!” Bakugou presses into you, snarling around his words. “You expect me to just forget that? What else have you been lying about?”

Your teeth clatter against one another, rattling around in your head, “I had to! You’ve been this glass case of emotion lately! And you won’t even let me walk home alone! I feel like I have a damn shadow everywhere I go!”

“I’m trying to-”

A thought hits you then, mulling you over so powerfully that you stumble backward, putting distance between the two of you. Your gaze falters from him to the wall, unable to look him in the eyes as you utter the next few syllables, “You don’t trust me?”

Bakugou is quick to refute you, stepping forward to take you out of your haze, “Hell no, baby! Of course, I trust you.”

“You put a goddamn tracker on my phone!” you snap, muscles quivering beneath your skin as your entire body tenses at the statement. Tears settle in your lids, dripping down over your cheek when you force him off of you. “What the hell am I supposed to think?”

He reaches out and wraps you up in his arms forcefully, despite your thrashing and shoving. You tear into him with your words and your touch, trying to punch him even though your range of motion is rather limited. Bakugou puts his chin on the top of your head, bottling you up like liquid rage, holding you together as you try to fall apart.

Bakugou has one hand against the back of your head, hands tucked into the tresses of your hair to cradle your head into the curve of his neck. His other palm rubs up and down the length of your arm as he tries to calm you down from your frenzied state, the loud music and pulsing bodies in the background of the bar doing little to deter your heightened temper.

You gulp as you feel his mouth bury into the crown of your head, kisses sprinkled into your hair like little flowers, petals of kind words tucked against your scalp. Bakugou wants to take you by the hand and drag you home, to curl up with you for the first time since that horrible night in the alleyway, and whisper promises into your skin until he goes hoarse.

You tilt your head upward, face shining bright with tears, nose bumping into his chin, “The-Then why do you-”

Katsuki nudges his nose over yours, a shuddering breath making his lip tremble against the bow of your mouth. A snarling growl rips his throat wide open as every feral, primal instinct buried deep within him is unleashed, “Are you really that dense, dumbass?”

The insult takes you by surprise, facial expression souring as you roll your tongue against your teeth, attempting to swallow the acidic retort sitting on the tip of the muscle in your mouth. Bakugou watches you with a careful eye, making sure that you aren’t going to speak up before he tries to rephrase himself.

“Listen, I just-I…” The words are caught in his throat, raking into his esophagus like shards of glass. Bakugou hates being vulnerable, especially with you. It makes him feel raw, torn open, and uncomfortable. He wants to be the pillar of strength you believe him to be, and how can he prove that he’s worthy of your trust when he feels so weak?

And yet, with you standing in front of him with expectant eyes and shaking hands, he finds it within himself to say what has been plaguing his mind for weeks.

“This shitstorm happened to me too, y’know?”

He sounds so heartbreakingly honest that it makes your skin prickle. A chill tightens like a coil around your spine, spreading shards of ice throughout your veins until your whole body is burning from the frigid feeling, fingertips numb.

Bakugou’s mouth bobs open and shut before he tears a hand through his hair, the other never leaving your body, frustrated at the fact that he can’t think of the right things to say. He looks up at the ceiling, a breath expanding his chest so he’s flush with you.

“Every fucking time I close my eyes, I see that shit all over again.” The veins in his body are prominent as he stresses himself out by trying to speak, “I see you, helpless, because I fucked up and lost focus. I-I couldn’t do anything and you needed me an-”

He can’t force the words out, can’t muster them up from the back of his throat no matter how many times he licks at the inside of his mouth, desperately searching his own skin for the answers. The reality of what might come to fruition when he says his truth out loud is too much to bear, no matter how much he knows he has to have this conversation with you. This is not something you both can just move on from, not without addressing it in all of its ugliness first. He wills the words to come out, closing his eyes and breathing deep. And even still, his mind will not cal.

Katsuki is a raging sea and you are the rickety lifeboat caught in his violent storm.

You swirl in his vortex for a moment longer before prodding him, hand pressed flat against his chest. You brush your thumb over his collarbone, “Katsuki, come on, talk to me. Please.”

Bakugou’s hand flinches by his side and you wonder if he wants to reach out to touch you with the pads of his fingers; to use you like an anchor, weighing him down in the right in the right way to bring him back to the current version of reality.

“I’m right here,” you whisper, pushing him further, knowing what he’s trying to tell you, but needing to hear it from his own tongue.

You step into his space and crowd him into the tight expanse of the hallway, and he can’t draw his eyes away from you despite the shame he feels from the tears currently clouding his vision. Every naysayer in his life comes to him in that very moment, telling him that he’s weak and spineless, completely useless if he can’t do the simplest of tasks. They scream at him, clawing at his heart until he’s bleeding out tears, hands shuddering in pain.

All he wants is to see you smiling again; a genuine, shining smile. He wants to watch as your eyes light up when he kisses you, or when he touches you here and there, casually in passing. Bakugou misses the old kindling the two of you had before that fateful night all those weeks ago. There was a familiarity that now feels lost in translation, wafting somewhere between the space separating the both of you.

You’re begging him in his ear now, words lodged like knives into his heart, a new syllable signifying a new blade, “Why are you doing this, Katsuki? Please, tell me!”

That is the last one – the proverbial blade that shoves its way through is spine to split him in two. He can’t help the way his voice shatters when he finally breaks, falling forward on weak knees, “To fucking protect you! Goddammit!”

You take a short step backward, shuffling away from him at his sudden furious outburst, the change in volume startling you. Goosebumps pebble on your skin and you feel a wave of anxiety wash over you, settling in your stomach to eat away at your resolve, that same parasite from earlier flaring up all over again. You swallow the pent-up emotion in your throat, but Bakugou isn’t finished, not yet. Now that he’s finally been ripped open, he can’t stop the flow.

“Every night you’d get further and further away from me,” his hands are flexing at his sides, knuckles turning white, little crackling explosions lighting like a warning sign, “And I can’t fucking get over this shit, okay?!”

The familiar ashen sweetness lingers in the air at the bare minimum usage of his quirk, but it’s comforting in a way. You breathe it in and try to stave off any tears from stemming down your cheeks. It is his turn to crumble, to fall down at your feet and beg for you to help him repair the gaping wound in his chest.

As you watch him fall apart, it’s physically painful to witness the way his body quivers, every muscle coiled and ready to spring into use. His lower lip, full and pink, is wobbling while he tries to form coherent sentences. You’ve never wanted to reach out and touch him more, to calm him with a tender brush of your knuckles over his cheek, or a hand flattened onto the plane of his chest. But he is too far away from you now, distant in the worst way.

It’s like he’s a figurative bomb, building up and ready to detonate. Each passing moment only fills him with more gunpowder, stuffing his throat until he’s suffocating under the notion that he can’t save you. Has he ever been capable of keeping you from harm?

“I-I was weak,” his voice breaks and so does his façade, tears brimming in the ducts of his reddened lids, “I let that fucker get the best of me, and i-it cost you. You were hurt because I couldn’t protect you.”

Bakugou’s palms shudder at his sides, fingers curling around smoke. You want to step forward, to reassure him that he is the furthest thing from weak that you have ever seen, but he cowers from you when you get too close. He reminds you of a caged animal finally set free, unsure of where to step, how to breathe all of the fresh air at once. Almost as if he is withholding himself from you now that his confession has broken through the bars around his heart, echoed loud for you to hear.

“Throwing yourself into danger isn’t going to help,” you answer him, “and neither is suffocating me.”

The fire fueling your bones from earlier returns at the realization that he has been distancing himself from you on purpose. You assumed it had been a subconscious decision based on the trauma experienced from the encounter with Awase, but you never would have guessed he was actively choosing to ignore you, especially physically. And now, with his hands shaking at his sides, you are beginning to wonder if he feels the same pull that you do, the desire to let your palms search one another’s skin to find the answers to your innermost questions.

“The only thing I’m any good at is fighting!” Bakugou falls back against the wall, eyes downcast in defeat as his shoulders slump forward. He opens his palms in front of his body, flexing his fingers. “All I can do is work as hard as I possibly can to be the best. I have to be the best.”

He curls his fingers back to fists, fury coursing through his veins like fire, accumulating in his palms to a head, a bomb settled in the cracks and crevices of his skin. “All I can focus on right now is getting stronger, to be a hero that you can trust to keep you safe.”

When his eyes snap up to meet yours, there’s a flame burning deep in his vermilion irises that makes them look alight, the bright amber color in contrast to their usual hue. It frightens you slightly, sending a tremor down your spine until you are curling your toes.

Bakugou’s hands creak as he turns them to fists, knuckles turning white, “I’ll be the best, even if it kills me.”

The very permanent word involving mortality turns your knees to jelly, bones grinding against one another in a desperate attempt to keep yourself upright. Your throat closes, emotion billowing like smoke in your esophagus until it is pushing into every available space, effectively choking you where you stand.

“Y-You don’t have to be so, so,” you struggle to find the words, breath hard to come by as you gasp for air, “so-”

“So what?!” Bakugou’s voice is patronizing now as he grows defensive at your tone, taking a downward turn to the other side of kind. He grits his teeth and you allow yourself to see him for what he truly is in this moment – a frightened child, begging for a savior, or at least some solid ground. He grimaces, shaking his head, “I couldn’t protect you when I needed to. And if I can’t keep you safe, what else am I good for?”

Silence hangs between the two of you at the heaviness of his words, creating an even further distance as his words settle like embers on your heart.

You want to brush the cinders away, blowing the ash into the wind and along with it, the horrific memories from the past few weeks. His name sits on the tip of your tongue, scratching at the muscle and begging to be freed from the cage of your teeth. Your fingertips ache at your sides, keening towards him with the desire to find something to feel, some tactile version of reality to reaffirm that you have not lost everything. The heaviness in your feet keeps you from shuffling forward, tucking yourself into his body and promising him that you’ll never see him as anything short of incredible.

“See?” Bakugou’s voice shatters into another wave of jagged pieces with every longing look you give him, tossing his arms in the air to show his defeat, “And then you go and do shit like this, where you look at me like I put the fuckin’ sun in the sky every morning.”

He’s wheezing the words out now, manic movements jerking his arms and shoulders, praying that his palms might go off in the middle of this club so you both can get booted out and forced to go home. Maybe then he can break through the barrier of how he has been feeling to show you why he’s treated you like a child.

“How the hell am I supposed to live up to this pillar of greatness you’ve made me out to be? This perfect image of me you have in your mind is a lie,” Bakugou is begging you for an answer with his gestures. His hands reach towards you, never touching, eyebrows cocked upward as his eyes search your face for a secret message hidden beneath your skin. “You think that I can do no wrong, that I’ll always be your hero. And now that I’ve fucked that up, and you still look at me the same exact way, how am I supposed to live with that? With being a fraud?”

Bakugou blinks and two identical tear droplets seep over the corners of his lids, tracking down his cheeks as he gasps for air, “I-I can’t help it when you look at me like I have all the answers when I-I can’t even fuckin’ figure out how I-”

You cover him like sunlight, warm and safe. He feels your mouth against his, your hands on his face and chest and its like you’ve pulled him from where he was floating midair back down to the ground again. Bakugou’s body is flush between your torso and the wall, either side of him pressed into something. He is hot, too hot, like his body temperature has skyrocketed. Sweat trickles down his spine, sticking his shirt to his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur as you part from him.

Your nose brushes against his, the bow of your lips still touching when you speak, “I haven’t been very considerate of you. I was too wrapped up in the way I was feeling that I didn’t stop to consider how it has been affecting you.”

You palm at his face, fingertips fawning over his cheek bones and brows and temples. Bakugou’s jaw is quivering, hands still dormant by his sides, flexed until his palms are splotched red with effort. You run your hand up from his chest to his shoulder, kneading the heel into his muscles to try and relax his body.

“Katsuki,” you call to him. “Look at me.”

And he listens.

The trail of your fingertips on his forearm feels like gasoline, trickling down his skin slowly but surely, making its way to his palms where his skin will act like a detonator. Bakugou grinds his teeth together as he tries to stay focused in on your face, the effort from it all makes the vein on his forehead protrude, thudding profusely beneath his skin.

“Take me home.”

The walk up the stairs to your door is tense, quiet.

Bakugou turns the key into the lock, the door opening with a gentle click. The two of you step inside, your bags strewn on the countertop and your shoes kicked off near the mat. Your hands wring in front of you as he faces away, the only visible thing being his backside.

“I don’t deserve you.”

The words take you by surprise, shaking you to your core. You stumble backward, hand clutched over your heart when it starts to sting, “Wh-Why do you think-”

“Do you know what it’s like to have people’s lives put into your hands, and then to fuck it all up?” Bakugou turns to look at you, hands glowing with the threat of his quirk, “To put the one person you care about more than fucking breathing into danger?”

His jaw quivers, “You didn’t see the look in your eyes when he was putting you through that shit. You were looking to me for help and I was fucking welded to a goddamn wall!”

You reach out to press your fingertip into the center of his palm, diffusing the built-up nitroglycerin in the crevices of his skin. Bakugou’s shoulders shudder, his eyes widening at your touch. You force a smile, but it does not reach your eyes, and he notices.

“Hey,” you call to him, your other hand drifting up to cup his cheek, trying to turn him towards you. “Stop that. Look at me.”

Bakugou’s eyes stop flitting around and focus on you, connecting your gazes. He looks frightened again, like a scared child. All you want is to hold him tight and put him back together again until he feels whole.

You push yourself up onto your toes, nudging your nose over his cheek slowly. You’re taken aback when you feel his hesitant touch dredge over your hip, thumb just beneath your top. It’s the most intimate feeling you’ve received from him in weeks, and it sends every atom of you on high alert. Your spine tingles as you stutter-step forward until you’re pressed into him.

Your breath hitches at his closeness, fanning out over him in a wave of heat that makes him shiver. You feel your heart ready to explode from within the confines of your chest, begging to be let free as it tries to claw its way out of your ribcage. You can’t look away from him, it’s like he’s turned into a magnet for your body.

As you graze over his chest with your other hand, the one against his cheek brushes up into his hair to card through the blonde strands. Your thumb catches against the stubble of his undercut just behind his pierced ears and it makes you smile, remembering the conversation where you coerced him into getting the new haircut in the first place. And now he can’t go a couple weeks without getting it shaped back up.

“Kiss me,” you plead, your touch like that of a siren, calling him deeper into the water, “please, Katsuki.”

In spite of him suffocating you mentally and situationally, you know that he’s been distant physically. It wasn’t hard to realize the shift in affections, especially since you’ve grown accustomed to his wayward glances and casual touches. Once he started to withdraw from you, you began to worry but your own anxiety wound so tightly around your body that it drowned out any other inhibitions that might have drawn you closer to asking questions. Bakugou has never been one to bare his emotions anyway.

Every morsel of him wants to dive headfirst into your waters, to drink you in through his nose and mouth until it is only the essence of you that remains. And yet there is something holding him back, like strings attached to his shoulders, forcing him to stay still.

It is that very look in your eyes right now that keeps him at bay. The reality that you’ve not tainted your view of him makes his stomach churn. You should hate him for letting Awase take advantage of you. You should want to slap him across the face and punch him in the gut. You should want to rip your fingers into his chest and slay him where he stands, cutting a gaping hole where his heart once was, filling it with a black ooze that might represent your disdain and disappointment.

Anything other than this overwhelming prideful look gleaming in your eyes that tells him he could do no wrong.

The sight of it brings tears to his eyes and he has to look away, the weight of it all too stifling as he attempts to breathe again. Bakugou struggles with oxygen, feeling lightheaded as you stand so near to him.

“Look at me,” you beg of him, your own voice sounding raw. You swallow every possible reticence you might have in this moment and focus all of your energy on him, “I love you, okay? There’s nothing you could do to change that, Katsuki. Nothing, so-”

You’re cut off mid-sentence by the familiar feel of his lips, warm and full against your mouth. He has captured you entirely, his hands on your face as he steps in closer to you. You shudder with tears at the sensation of him kissing you for the first time in weeks. A wash of warmth seeps through your body, starting at your head and curling around your spin until it has reached your toes. You feel lightheaded at it all, so wrapped up in him that you can’t focus on anything else.

Bakugou’s arms wrap around your shoulders, his body squatted in front of you to push himself closer into every crevice of available skin. You dip your hands beneath his top, the pads of your fingers mapping out the contours of his muscular frame.

“Fuck,” he murmurs between your teeth, your tongue catching the word by lapping against his gums.

His hands find your backside, squeezing the supple skin like his life depends on it. You moan, rolling your hips forward. Your mind is foggy, your entire being in a haze, at the passionate way his hands obsess over your body.

When he taps your hips with his thumbs, you know what it means. You leap upward, his forearms catching your thighs to wrap you around his waistline. You don’t break away from kissing him. You’re not sure after this if he might retreat back into himself, so you full well intend on milking him for all that he’s worth in every aspect of the word.

The next thing you feel is the cool sheets beneath your steaming backside, sweat making your shirt cling to your body. Your hand sifts through Bakugou’s hair and he nips at your lower lip, relishing in the way the moans fall freely from your tongue.

He sits back on his thighs, tugging his shirt over his head, when he mumbles, “Shirt. Off. Now.”

The momentary burst of authority makes your cunt clench beneath the lace of your underwear. Your eyes go wide, but you do not hesitate to pull the offending fabric from your upper half. Bakugou has settled between your thighs when you can finally see him again. He makes quick work of your bra, flinging the garment across the room carelessly before swooping in to begin sucking at your chest.

He tweaks one piqued nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the other side of you preoccupied with his mouth. You whine, bucking your hips upward. Even through the thick fabric of his jeans, you can make out the impression of his bulging erection. The thought of getting to feel his dick again makes you keen, reaching up to thread your hand into his hair, the other palm digging fingernails into the thick, corded muscle of his shoulders.

“Damn, Princess,” he murmurs as he releases your nipple with a pop. “Such a good girl for me.”

Your breath shudders out of your lungs, fanning over his hair to make the strands shake in the darkness of your bedroom. You wrap your legs around his midsection to try and grind yourself up into his clothed length.

Bakugou slips his hand beneath your shorts, unbuttoning them swiftly as his middle finger finds your clit immediately. You can’t help it when your whole body goes rigid, the once lost sensation of his hands on your lower half returning in a blinding wave of white-hot pleasure.

“Please, Katsuki,” you force yourself to look him in the eyes even though you think you’re seeing stars, “I just want you, please. I want you in me.”

He’s hesitant when he looks down at you, eyes stuttering over which of your features to focus on first. The tip of his middle finger is brushed up against your slick folds, not delving in just yet. Your chest is heaving, eyes clouded with the threat of tears while you palm at him, desperate for every inch of his skin to be mapped out beneath your fingerprints.

“You have me,” he whispers, cracking voice barely audible. He nods, slipping his finger slowly between the walls of your cunt, “You have me, baby.”

As he starts to coil his finger within you, the squelching sound of his digit and your pussy echoing off the walls, he looks you directly in the eyes. His free hand is near your head but you wish he’d touch you with it, your body insatiably itching for his next pass. You lick your lips and go to beg for him again, unwilling to sit through the torture of his fingers, but he stops you with a kiss.

“Let me do this, let me make you feel good.”

You are speechless, left only with a gaping mouth that is claimed by his tongue. He licks at your teeth and cheeks, whining for you to reciprocate while his finger still pumps in and out of you, knuckle dragging in a tantalizing way against your smooth walls. You hold him as tightly as you can by the neck, keeping him anchored to you, the fear of him running away from you again settling like a lead anchor in your belly.

It doesn’t take long for him to push you to the edge of your first orgasm. You’ve been denied of him for so long that you’re sure you could come undone under any circumstance at this point. But still, his thick digits curled up in the heat of you, coaxing forth the first white-hot wave of pleasure makes your body shudder.

“Katsuki,” you pant, rolling your hips in time with his finger’s thrusts.

The coil within your stomach starts to bunch up, so you clench around his finger. You whine, throwing your head back, jaw hung slack. Bakugou kisses up the column of your neck, “C’mon, baby, I know you can do it for me, yeah? You’re so pretty when you come apart.”

His encouragement is what throws you over the edge. You’ve missed the sound of his timbre coaching you into orgasm after orgasm. You cry out, your voice breaking, and your hips fall slack against the mattress as the pleasure digs into you. The silvery strands of your slick coat his fingers, but he doesn’t part from you until he’s sure that he’s lured every last whimper from your lips, every last wash of arousal from your hips.

You have him by the neck, digging your fingers in to pull him back towards your mouth for another drawn out kiss. Your nose and teeth clash, but it doesn’t matter because he’s here and he’s got his hands on you. The way your body sings at his caress does not go unnoticed by him, or rather he relishes in it, basking in the sound of your wanton moans and the reaction of your begging limbs.

“Please, Katsuki,” you’re grabbing for him as he pulls away. Your fingers desperately cling to his skin, digging in and forcing half-moon prints into the tanned flesh, “I need you, please.”

The words throw him back to those moments in the alleyway when your eyes screamed the phrase you’re speaking now. He was powerless to help you then, but he can be the one to save you now.

Bakugou stands to his feet and shuffles out of his pants, his cock throbbing between his thighs when he pulls away his briefs. You try to tug down your shorts but your body is so weak and you can’t force your brain to communicate with your extremities, so you end up pouting, hot tears clouding your eyes in frustration.

“Hey,” he nudges his nose over your cheek before kissing you long enough for you to forget about your predicament. Your body molds to his intentions, hands finding his undercut to sift through the short hair there, his skin providing you with some sense of calm despite the raging emotions thudding like thunder in your brain.

He gently tugs down your shorts, peeling them from your ankles before depositing them on the floor. Bakugou runs his hand down his cock, using his bead of pre-come and what remains of your arousal on his hand to lubricate the skin. You’re salivating at the sight of him, inflamed red cockhead ready to split your cunt wide open. You’ve missed the familiarity of him inside of you, and your body notices because despite just having a spectacular orgasm that should have put you to bed for some time, your pussy flutters as a new wave of slick trickles down to the sheets.

The tip of his cock opens your pussy up enough that you’re keening forward, pleading to take more of him with the canting of your hips. You whimper out beseeching words, eyes searching his face as your hands try to find purchase on his shoulders. He shakes his head, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “Hush, baby. I promise I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

The duality of his words is not lost on you.

Your jaw hangs open slightly, eyes wide as you look up at him. Bakugou grips the headboard with one hand, the other guiding his cock into your heat. If you look close enough, you can see the threat of glassy tears washing over his pretty red irises, making them look like little jewels in the moonlight filtering through your bedroom windows.

“Katsuki,” you whimper his name like a prayer as he slowly sheaths himself between your folds. He grunts when the base of his cock meets the lips of your pussy, eyelids fluttering somewhere between open and shut at the sensation.

He drops his head, gritting his teeth, “Fuck, I missed you.”

A relieved, broken laugh shakes your throat, the smile left behind making Bakugou see stars. You palm at his chest, “I missed you too, so much.”

The two of you have still been together every day, even sleeping in the same bed, and yet you’ve been so distant it was heartbreaking. You feel the shards of your shattered heart slowly piecing back together with each thrust he throttles into you, his hips slamming into your thighs.

It’s intense, but somehow graceful. Bakugou is not just ramming his cock into you for the sake of doing it, but he’s proving to you with every stroke of him that he’s never leaving your side again. He’s gripping the headboard so hard that his nails are leaving scratches, but you’re more focused with the tantalizing snap of his hips, the drag of his cock and those prominent veins as they stimulate your pussy even further.

His jaw quivers, hands white knuckling as he clutches the headboard even harder, picking up his pace to start building that starburst in your belly. He’s unwilling to let his hands go near you now that he’s got himself sheathed completely.

He doesn’t deserve every part of you, not yet.

Bakugou’s chest twists as he realizes he hasn’t earned his honor back; he hasn’t won the prize of feeling your skin under the sensitive pads of his fingertips while he’s fucking into you with his aching cock.

His breath stutters, heart clenching within the confine of his ribs, at the sight of you, your irises focused on only him. Your pupils are blown wider with each thrust, black swallowing the color of your irises as you reach that peak subservient headspace. His hips move slow but with purpose, his cock pulsing within your walls as you clamp down on him.

Snapping his hips up into you, the heat of it all starts to overwhelm him and he can’t breathe. The mix of your warm skin and the absolute adoration held for him in your eyes is too stimulating once you tighten your cunt around him, trapping his dick in your heat.

“Fuck, baby,” he whimpers, stilling his hips as his nails screech against the headboard.

Your hands are on him in an instance, exploring his chest and shoulders. You lick your lips and force your ass to stay put on the bed, breathing heavy through your lips. You swallow and your throat bobs, only proving further to him how absolutely enamored with him you appear to be.

“Katsuki,” you whisper into the void, cheeks warming with a blush.

Bakugou shakes his head and with the ferocity that he’s gripping the headboard, he wonders if your nailbeds can bleed. He bites down harshly on his lower lip, listening to your pleading calls for a moment too long before responding, “I-I don’t-”

He can’t form coherent sentences, not when he’s buried to the hilt inside of you and you’re gazing up at him like he’s just gotten back from hanging the moon. He squints hard, eyes filling up with tears, “I can’t, fuck.”

“Hey,” your breathless voice catches him in midair, anchoring him back from the dull hallucination that he could never find his way back to you. You reach up to gently press your palm onto his cheek, the cooling touch of your hands doing enough to dispel some of the heat on his cheeks. You push away the sweaty locks of blonde hair sticking to his forehead so you can see his eyes in their full clarity.

Katsuki’s chin wobbles as he looks down at you, forcing his eyes to stay trained in on your face no matter how much he wants to look away. He still doesn’t believe he deserves that look you hold for him within your gaze; the way you tell him that he’s nothing short of a pillar of strength in your mind with a simple look is absolutely baffling.

“Hey,” you call again, tender tone striking a chord in his heart.

Your thumb brushes underneath his eyes, the height of his cheekbones, and you smile at his fragility. Bakugou’s eyes flit around to everything but you, overactive and unable to focus on you when you’re looking at him like he’s painted the stars in the night sky.

His conscience berates him as he lays with his cock buried deep into your pussy, his hips flush with yours, the doubt kicking him in the ribs to remind him that he must be nothing short of a piece of shit – how could he let you fall into someone else’s hands? How could he be so careless? How could he-

“Katsuki,” you rub your hands over his face once more, patiently pulling him from the recesses of his toiling mind, “Come back to me.”

Bakugou’s pupils dilate but somehow you manage to bring his attention back around to your face, connecting your gazes once more. You are struggling to maintain your composure between his cock pulsing within you and the lack of his hands on your skin, your body stimulated but still wanting, but you whimper the words, “Will you kiss me?”

In that simple sentence, Bakugou realizes that he could never truly run from you.

Tears drip down from his cheeks onto your neck, pooling at the little cavity created by your collarbones. You smile up at him, brushing at the droplets as they drip down from his eyelids, cradling his face as he makes the decision to start running back to you instead of sprinting away.

“I love you,” he chokes out the words before claiming your lips with his searing hot kiss.

Your hands dip into the curves of his hips, prodding him to move forward while your lips sink deeper into his. Bakugou groans at the sensation, eyes rolling behind his closed lids, and slowly his palms find your body.

It’s almost like the first time he touched you, his fingertips searching every inch of available skin as if it were new to him. He rolls his thumbs over your ribs, counting each one under his breath as he fucks into you slowly. You whimper when he bites your lower lip, your jaw slack as he starts a biting path of kisses down from your chin to your earlobe.

“Katsuki,” your toes curl when he bottoms out within you, the tip of his cock brushing that delicate, spongy spot at the back of your core. Your nails drag salaciously down his shoulders, drawing little beads of blood in their wake.

“Fuck,” he groans, biting down harshly on your neck. He chokes on a sob before licking and kissing your collarbones, “I love you.”

Bakugou is fucking into you steadily now, his hips slamming into you at just the right angle that the vein running along the underside of his dick drags against your folds. You clamp down on his cock when you feel it begin to twitch again, his cockhead brushing your cervix. He’s sniffling, breath catching at the sound, “I love you so goddamn much. I don’t fucking deserve you.”

He’s overcome with emotion but it only spurs him forward faster. His hips slam mercilessly into you, every rut telling you what he cannot coherently say with words. And you accept his wordless confessions with the tightness of your core, the openness of your eyes.

You respond in fervor, your lips singing his praises as you feel the beginnings of another orgasm curling into a hot fire in the pit of you. It’s like lava has dripped down every vein in your body, lighting your skin on fire with its proverbial heat. You whine, your back arching in the perfect way for his mouth to latch onto your pert nipple.

“Katsu’, please, fill me up,” you whimper, palming at his injured back, finding scars and wounds alike, “I want your come, won’t you come in me?”

He’s nodding around your nipple, affirming you non-verbally, but the gentle tug of his teeth makes you whine again. You are completely distraught with the pounding of his cock into your tight, wet heat, the obscene sounds reverberating off of the walls only to bounce back at you like an echo.

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he grunts, hot tears mixing with the saliva that covers your breast, “such a good girl for me. Takin’ me so well. Gonna take this load?”

You can’t help the way you nod ferociously, pleading with him through both words and actions. You whine, a shuddering of your throat making the sound much more desperate than you intended, “Please, Katsuki. I just want you to stuff me full, I want to be full of you.”

The last time your cunt was full, it was with another man’s seed.

Thinking about it makes your tongue turn heavy and your stomach sour. You grit your teeth and the scent of ashen sweetness fills your nostrils, taking over every thought you’d had previously. You can’t linger your memories on the way something made you feel before, you will destroy your mind and your pride.

All you can focus on is scrubbing yourself clean with Katsuki.

He washes over you like a soothing balm, the heat of his body burning away any trace of anything else from any time before this moment now. Every one of your senses are overwhelmed by him – his body, his breath, his scent. You want to drown in him, only fulfilled through his means for the rest of your days, to dive headfirst into his pain and break through until it is only the two of you left.

You lick at him, the familiar taste of his skin settling on your tongue as you lap over flesh and bone. You beg for his hands to touch every inch of you with wanton moans falling from your lips, scrubbing away at the nightmares and replacing them with the fiery blonde with a quipping tongue to match his superpower. If you thought you might could handle it, you’d ask him to blast you with his quirk, to burn away what is left from before until there is only the now.

“I love you,” you whisper into the dark, “It’s only you, Katsuki. Always.”

Bakugou’s mouth is licking at your neck when you feel his hips still, the telltale sign of his release begging to be set free. You palm at his face, forcing him to look you in the eyes because you can’t hold it in anymore, the words making your chest swell until you think you might burst wide open, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He thrusts forward in time with your chanting, his lower lip quivering with desire as he pumps himself forward at a much faster pace. One of his thumbs reaches down to brush against your clit, stimulating you until you can’t speak in full sentences, let alone syllables. You grit your teeth together and beg for his load, “Fill me up, Katsuki.”

Your words mixed with the tone of your voice are what push him over the edge, the cusp of his release washing over the both of you. Bakugou’s hips stutter, sloppily fucking into you as he chases that blinding pleasure only you can provide him.

“Take it, Princess,” he murmurs into your lips as he claims you by painting your walls white, the final part of you that needed to be wiped clean.

Katsuki’s hands rest on either side of your head as he holds up his quivering body, spent from effort and emotion. You brush your thumb over the tear-stained parts of his face, clearing his skin of what remains from his vulnerable confessions, no evidence left behind. He can start anew, pretend that he never bared his soul to you only mere moments ago.

His eyes never leave you, drinking you in religiously as you blink slowly, irises soaking up every inch of your precious expression. Your pupils shrink enough for him to see the color of your irises clearly, tilting one of his hands upward so he can brush his thumb over the curve of your jaw. Your lids flutter closed at the tender sensation, losing yourself in the feel of his fingerprints.

When you blink your eyes open, you reach upward to tenderly cup his cheeks between the palms of your hands, “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah?” he leans his head into your hand, nudging his nose over the swell of the heel. Your pulse thuds in his ears and he can tell that you’re nervous based on the pace.

Your voice is thick when you whisper the words that have always rang true in your heart, but you’ve never said aloud because they seemed so pointless. He hears them every day from citizens, begging him for autographs and screaming his name when they see him on patrol. You’ve been afraid that they would fall hollow on deaf ears, futile and empty. But your heart squeezes within your chest and you know that it doesn’t matter anymore. The two of you have learned how precious a few moments can be.

“You’re my hero, Katsuki.”

Your thumbs run back and forth over the skin of his cheeks, seeking out the heat and also providing him what you hope feels like comfort. His cock twitches within the walls of your aching cunt, mouth hung open slightly, just enough for you to see the pink of his tongue.

You nod, sniffling as tears press hot into the back of your eyelids, “You’ve always been my hero, no matter what. Nothing will change that.”

Bakugou kisses the inside of your palm before leaning forward to press his lips to yours. This kiss is slow, deliberate, as if he’s trying to communicate something between the volley of your tongues. You lean up and wrap your arm around his neck when he snakes his hands up the expanse of your back. He’s fully pressed into you now, your bodies flush with one another as he kisses you.

Secret words are passed back and forth from your throat to his, emotion swelling in your chest, begging to burst the longer he’s pressed into you. You curl your hand into his hair, anchoring him to you despite the growing heat billowing in the lack of space between your bodies. Bakugou licks at the seam of your lips and you let him in, you’ll always let him in, your hips rolling forward to meet him at every juncture of your bones.

And that’s how you fall asleep that night, entwined in such a way that neither of you can tell where one of you ends and the other begins.

　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　

a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed it! drop me an ask if you did!!

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki smut #bakugou smut #bnha x reader #bnha smut #morgan writes bnha #my writing

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dapandapod · 4 years ago

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Dancing on my own

Oh look! A song fic! How did this happen! Here on Ao3

You know how I talk about not writing in the middle of the night, right? And I keep doing that? So here, have a story that has been on my mind for some time but came out tonight!

Warnings; mild drinking, healing from a breakup, sad Jask with a happy/hopeful ending!

The beat of the music is loud. He can feel it reverberating in his lungs, giving him a new heartbeat. The air is hot, sticky, the music is loud. The dance floor is littered with people, the spotlights throwing colors over happy drunk faces as it pass over them.

Jaskier stands in the outer parts of the dance floor. He is drunk, just a little, but not the happy kind. His heart hurts, his eyes dry and tired, his chin that kind of wrinkly it feels when you are holding back tears.

Valdo is dancing only a few paces away. His hands are on her hips, holding her near, whispering into her ear. Someone bumps into Jaskier, an elbow to his side and he has to take a step to right himself. A girl with the sharpest stilettos he’s ever seen eyes him, gives him a pitying look and turns back to her friends.

Yeah, he feels that look into his core. He had not intended to come here tonight, not the way it turned out anyway. Valdo broke up with him a few days ago, said he met another, that this wasn’t something anyway.

It was to Jaskier. This was their place, where they met. Suppose he met her here too then. He didn’t intend to come here to torture himself. He came to reclaim this place, without Valdo, to feel like himself again. Jaskier doesn’t need anyone.

But Valdo doesn’t even see him. Doesn’t look around, just lift her chin and press a kiss to her lips. Fuck.

Jaskier turns, feeling his eyes burn, feeling empty and aching. He could as well be invisible. Fuck that. This is not why he is here.

Jaskier stays in his corner on the dancefloor, deciding to let go. Let the tears fall, let the music move him. Spinning around in circles, arms in the air, beat riding him into song after song. It's fine to dance on your own. It's more than fine. This is how they met to begin with. Jaskier dancing by himself, enjoying the rise and fall that places like this offer.

This is truly goodbye. No arms circle his waist, no lips on his neck, no sweet nothings in his ear. Those are for her now, and that is fine.

Jaskier looks up towards the ceiling. It’s dark above the lightrigg, he wishes it was the night sky. But it's not. It’s cables, wires, electricity and smoke detectors.

No magic.

His eyes find Valdo again, and he is kissing her. Kissing her like he kissed him, and it is odd how the empty is growing.

No magic indeed.

Jaskier can’t take it anymore. He needs a drink. Moving towards the bar, pressing himself between sweaty bodies, shoes sticking to the unwashed floor. It’s packed, just like he likes it. It is interesting how you can be surrounded by hundreds of people and still be utterly alone.

Someone catches his elbow.

Jaskiers heart should probably skip a beat, should probably feel hope, but there is only the empty. He turns to look, and meets the eyes of a stranger.

Of course.

The stranger, a man with white long hair in a ponytail and eyes so light brown they almost look yellow, looks at him with worry.

He leans in to yell in his ear over the music. Is he a bouncer? He sure looks like it with the black tightfitting clothes and muscles like there is no tomorrow.

“Are you alright?” The stranger asks and Jaskier has to smile.

“No.” he replies, and moves to turn again. Any other night, he would have been all over this man five minutes ago. The hand around his elbow lets go, but the man follows him to the bar.

"Im Geralt.” The stranger Geralt introduces himself.

I'm invisible, Jaskier almost says. But somehow Geralt sees him, so there is something.

“Jaskier.” A bartender comes by and Jaskier orders a beer. He hates beer, but he hates the emptiness even more.

Something warm is dripping down his cheeks, and oh, seems like he is crying again. This is not how tonight was going to go.

Somehow, he finds himself talking to Geralt. Or rather, Geralt is talking to him, because tonight Jaskier doesn’t have all that many words. For once, Valdo would say.

His eyes travel the floor again, just to have that stab of pain again. But big fingers turn his chin, and he finds himself looking at Geralt.

“Hey.” Geralt says, very loud over the music. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

Jaskier smiles sadly, and then he finds himself wrapped in a hug.

Inside Geralt's arms, the beat doesn’t beat him as hard. The lights are a little softer, the air a little lighter. It’s strange, how someone he doesn’t know at all can be his shield, his comfort.

“Let's go for a walk?” Geralt asks, and if it were any other night, Jaskier would think that was a come on. Could still be, but it doesn’t feel like it.

Geralt leads him out into the night, leads him across dark pavement. They don’t talk, but Geralt is holding his hand, walking close.

They are quiet, the night breeze softer than when he went out that evening.

They meet at the club again. And again. Valdo is still there, but it doesn’t matter. Jaskier is fine dancing on his own, reclaiming a place that was never someone else's, and when the night ends he finds himself in Geralt's arms.

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speuradair · 4 years ago

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Domestic Nagito Headcanons

(Content warning- pregnancy mention, put below the ‘continue reading’ for easy avoidance)

I’ve talked about how Nagito would view the idea of having a future with his s/o before

It would take some serious convincing for him to even begin to believe that that’s a possibility

It’s not that he doesn’t want to be with you forever- that’s one of the things he wants most in life

It’s just that he can’t bring himself to believe he deserves you

He feels already feels guilty about how long he’s kept you to himself when you’re so amazing and he’s, well, self-proclaimed trash

And what if his luck hurts you?

Having you fall for him was his ultimate good luck, and now he’s just waiting for the ultimate bad luck to come crashing down on him

He’s given you so many chances and so many reasons to leave him

For your own sake

But you just won’t leave

He just doesn’t understand that

He is endlessly grateful for you though

He just isn’t convinced he deserves it

It makes him feel a bit guilty, like he’s tricked you into liking him

It took him a long time to even bring himself to talk to you in general, and it’s going to take a while for him to get comfortable enough to even really be able to genuinely consider it without feeling intense, nauseating guilt

Once Nagito does come around to the idea, I think it wouldn’t end up being a traditional proposal

He accidentally reveals that he’s been thinking about it while he’s in one of his manic, hope obsessing episodes

something to the effect of ‘and you’re just so full of hope, and I can’t get enough, I just want to marry you and be with you forever-’

He wouldn’t even realize he just said something so serious

He just keeps rambling

You’d have to physically grab his hand and interrupt him

“Nagito, what did you just say?”

“..huh?”

“You said.. You said you want to get married”

Unless you really had your heart set on a large, fancy wedding, your wedding wouldn’t be huge

You’re the most important thing to Nagito, he doesn’t need anything else

It’s probably a small event with just the people really important to the two of you

(read as: your loved ones, and Hajime)

(He only wanted to invite Hajime)

“You.. don’t want to invite any of the others?”

“Just Hajime”

A small outdoor wedding

It starts to pour in the middle of the ceremony

Leading Nagito to feel really bad about ‘his luck ruining the wedding’

But you just laugh, kiss him, and tell him that rain on your wedding day is actually said to be good luck

Living with Nagito is.. Interesting

He’s an odd mix of distant and extremely clingy

On the days he feels particularly insecure or guilty about his luck, he’ll seclude himself away, insisting that he’s busy and he’s sure you have something better to be focusing on anyway

You’d have to gauge the situation as best as possible and make a choice between letting him be and telling him you’ll be just in the other room if he needs you, or pushing him a bit and insisting on staying by his side

It can be kind of difficult to figure out which one he wants more

Sometimes he needs space, and sometimes he needs you to snap him out of it and tell him why he’s wrong

On days he’s feeling less dangerous and guilty, he tends to follow you around like a lost puppy

He doesn’t even really realize he’s doing it

He just always ends up in the same room as you, usually sitting within one or two feet of you

And on days he’s feeling abnormally good, he’s literally clinging to you every second he can

He wraps himself around you, not wanting to let you even get out of bed

Then when you do, he follows you around

He’ll come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, nuzzling his face into your shoulder

He’ll feel guilty and embarrassed about it the second he snaps out of his lovesick haze, but you would never bring it up

You just enjoy the affection and love

I have a headcanon that Nagito brings home stray cats he finds because he feels bad that they don’t have a family

So prepare for Nagito to suddenly come home with, like, at least five cats trailing behind him at any given moment

His favorite is the fluffy white kitten

They have the same hair

Also

Pro tip-

Always make sure the batteries in your smoke detector work

The poor guy can barely walk past the kitchen without starting a fire

Renter’s insurance is also a really good idea

He tried to cook dinner the second night after you moved in and you had to scrub and repaint the ceiling from the flames licking it

But he’s also really good at finding things you’ve lost in the first place he looks

So that’s a plus

Nagito is very conflicted when you tell him that you’re pregnant

On one hand, there’s going to be a mini you!! You two made a little hope-filled you!!

But on the other hand, there’s going to be a mini him-

A tiny, little, possibly very unlucky him

What if he’s unintentionally passed his luckiness, and unluckiness, onto a poor unsuspecting baby?

Just as he is with you, he’s caught in the middle of needing to protect this baby 24/7 and wanting to stay as far away as possible to keep them from getting hurt

He knows first hand how much it sucks to grow up without parents

His guilt over bringing unluckiness to everyone around him is overshadowed by the guilt he’d feel over not being there as a father for his child

Still very hesitant though

He’s there, but he’s keeping himself at an arm's length

You’d have to pull him closer yourself

Tell him that you trust him, even if he doesn’t fully trust himself

Tell him that you’re certain he’ll be a great father, just like he’s a great husband

And keep telling him that each and every time he gets scared or paranoid

Nagito is absolutely overjoyed when you two find out your baby is a girl

It serves as another reason for him to believe she won’t be very much like him

He’s really hoping that she’ll be exactly like you

She can have your talent, your hair, your eyes, your skin tone, etc, and he’d be perfectly happy

He’s very worried about passing anything bad onto her

As luck would have it, it’s a relatively easy labor and delivery, and you two have the most beautiful little girl you’ve ever seen

She has his hair and your eyes

He’s terrified honestly

She’s just so… small

So fragile

He looks like an absolute deer in the headlights when the nurse asks if he wants to hold her

He stammers, trying to say no without looking too panicked, but you give him such a gentle look and tell him he should

So he exhales shakily and nods, sitting down in the chair beside your hospital bed before taking her into his arms

He’s sitting so still, frozen in place

Is he breathing?

He isn’t breathing

Remind him to breathe

“Babe, it’s okay to breathe-”

Only holds her for a few minutes before he gets too freaked out and hands her back to you

It’s gonna take him a while to build up the confidence to hold her for very long

Before he’s fully comfortable holding her by himself, he’ll spend hours just hovering over the crib watching her

She’s just so perfect

He loves her so much, it’s kind of overwhelming

She’s such a pure source of hope

When he does feel better about holding her, he hardly ever puts her down

And when he does, he has her set safely next to him in a baby seat, and he’s explaining everything he does to her

“And this is your bottle! I’ll warm it up, carefully- and then I can give it to you!”

It’s absolutely adorable

He’s the kind of parent that films or photographs everything his kid does

Will send you pictures every two minutes when you’re out

Fawns over her 24/7

“Look at her, babe! She’s so good at that!”

“So good at… breathing and chewing on her hand?”

“Yeah!! She’s so smart, I bet she’s gonna grow up to be an ultimate-”

She’s his little hope

Each day that passes without anything insanely luck related makes him happier and happier

She may look a lot like him, but you two are almost certain that she doesn’t have his luck at this point

She’s just a normal, beautiful little girl

And you three are an almost normal, loving family

#nagito komaeda #nagito x reader #danganronpa #headcanons #self inserts #super danganronpa 2 #fanfic #imagines #pregnancy tw #pregnancy cw #rae writes #requests

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lauwrite1225 · 4 years ago

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Somebody to die for.

Finan x OC; The Old Guard inspired Alternative Universe

Summary : Victoria's life is rather simple until she has a car accident from which she ends up miraculously unscathed. A series of weird events animates her daily life, everything seemingly bringing her to a strange man. Until this very man knocks at her door.

Spotify Playlist • Masterlist

A/N : And there it is, the first chapter of this fic I have been working on for a few weeks now! I'll post every Friday! A very BIG thank you too @maggiescarborough for all her precious help and thanks to whom this is story is way better than originally ahah!

Warnings : mention of blood and death

Chapter 1 : I'm fallin' so I'm takin' my time on my ride

“Vicky you shouldn’t drive home so late.”

Victoria sighs as she climbs down the few stairs from her parents’ house down to the garden, her mother following her close. It’s dark and the motion detector activates the outdoor light, making the little path leading to where she parked her car more visible.

“Stay for the night at least, you can leave early.” Her mother insists, arms crossed upon her chest to protect herself from the cold.

“I can’t mom.” She unlocks her car, throwing her bag on the passenger seat before turning around and leaning against the door. “I have to open the shop tomorrow and I don’t want to be late if there’s too many people on the road.”

“That’s not safe, Vicky.”

“Come on, mom, it’s not the first time I’m driving during the night.” She exhales, sitting in the car and starting it. “I’ll text you when I’m home.” She smiles, ignoring her mother’s eye roll and closing the door.

She slowly drives away from her parents' house, an old house lost in the middle of Essex. Her mother wasn't wrong about the risk of driving during the night on country roads, but Vicky took this road so many times, she's not really worried. She turns on the radio and turns the sound up when she recognizes the melody of Ride by Twenty one Pilots. Her fingers tap the steering wheel in rhythm with the drum, her head nodding regularly. She knows that song by heart and can't resist singing the lyrics as she drives in the direction of London.

After half an hour of driving, a heavy rain is now falling, Vicky starts to regret not having listened to her mother. She woke up early this morning to be in time for the family lunch her parents have been harassing her about for a month. She yawns, her hand passing through her blond hair as she drives on a small quite deserted road. She tries to turn up the music louder to not fall asleep, but inevitably, her head starts to nod and her eyelids grow heavier. She closes her eyes, just one second, but when she opens them again, she’s blinded by the headlights of another car in front of her. Panicked, she hits the brake with all her strength, a slew of insults escaping her lips. The person in the vehicle in front seems to do the same and swerves. But inevitably, the two cars meet and the shock makes Vicky’s head hit the steering wheel violently.

For a long moment, it’s just darkness and silence and Victoria finds it awkwardly peaceful. She feels weak and out of her body, the strangest feeling she has ever felt. She can’t tell how long she’s been that way but suddenly it vanishes. She’s overwhelmed by all her senses who awaken at the same time. She panics, the feeling of her heart beating resounding in her whole body and the air painfully filling her lungs. She abruptly opens her eyes, straightening until the back of her head hits the car seat.

It takes her a few minutes to calm her breath and to realize where she is, morning’s light blinding her. She’s still in her car, the windshield broken in a million pieces dispersed everywhere. She quickly notices the blood on the steering wheel and her clothes and immediately she brings her fingers to her forehead and indeed she finds fresh blood, but no wound. It should have reassured her, however it horrifies her. She tries to open the door and has to force it to finally leave the car. In the process, she falls on the floor and crawls to move away from the vehicle. The sleeves of her shirt are torn and stained with blood, but again, she’s perfectly healthy. Her confusion makes her sick and she leans on a side to throw up, her whole body shaking with a long thrill.

Once her stomach is emptied she starts to look around her, now that there’s daylight she is able to see the fields that expand as far as the eye can see. She’s alone on this road, with her car with smoke coming out of the hood and absolutely no sign of the other vehicle. She stands on her feet, her legs shaking, and walks a little further to see if there’s anyone.

“They fucking left me alone.” She grumbles as she realizes she really was utterly alone.

She walks back to her car and grabs her bag and jacket before searching her phone. When she finally has a hand on it, she sighs of relief. Though it doesn’t last long as she discovers how the screen is cracked.

“New car and new phone it is, then.” Victoria speaks to herself, more to try to stay calm than anything. Fortunately, it’s still working but she realises right after that there's no signal. “Obviously.”

She looks around her one last time before facing the facts, she has to walk back home. She fills her bag with the important papers stacked in her car before walking away. After a quarter hour of walking, she starts to recognize where she is and estimates she should arrive in a village in another quarter hour. This time alone gives her the occasion to try to understand what happened last night. She obviously got into a car accident and the other person involved let her on her own, didn't even try to search for help, it is morning now, in six hours at least, if they left to find help, they should have already been back. No, they left her on her own as if she was dead.

Victoria stops, the thought troubling her. She can't explain what she felt after the accident, she has already fainted a few times in her life, and it has never been like this before. But what is even more troubling, is that she's perfectly healthy, not even a scratch despite the blood she found on her clothes and in the car. Nothing is making sense.

She covers her face with both of her hands, then rubs her eyes as waking up from a bad dream. But she's still in the middle of a road, in the middle of nowhere.

“What the hell?!” She shouts, frustrated by so much incomprehension.

She continues to walk, she wipes the blood from her face before she reaches the village and puts her jacket on to hide the state of her clothes. She has no idea of what happened and she definitely doesn't want to have to explain it to anyone. She finishes her way home with public transports, and it's past midday when she arrives in London. She gets a few messages, from her boss and even more from her mother. She sends excuses to her boss with a lie and another lie to her mother, saying she fell asleep and forgot to text her before.

Once she's in her small flat, she rushes to the shower after throwing her clothes in the washer. She stays at least an hour under the water, her mind playing the past events over and over until she's upset again. When she steps out of the shower, she’s starving. So she grabs the first thing she finds in her fridge, which happens to be the leftovers of her lunch from two days ago. She tries to remain distracted, turning on the TV and starting an episode of Game of Thrones, her best friend Rebecca has been harassing for a month to start watching the show. And for a brief hour, she’s captivated by the Battle of Bastards, and by how good looking Kit Harrington is in armor.

The rest of the day is uneventful and when Rebecca visits her later in the afternoon Victoria hesitates to talk to her about her accident. But she’s pretty sure she’d simply think her completely crazy.

“Are you alright, Vicky?” Rebecca eventually asks when she hands her a cup of tea.

Victoria smiles kindly. “Yes.” She’s not used to lying to her best friend. They have known each other since middle school and she could count the number of times she lied to her on one hand, one being for her surprise birthday for her 18th birthday. “Why are you asking?”

She sits next to her friend on the couch, bringing her own cup of tea to her lips to blow on it. “I don’t know you’re very silent. And you said you weren’t feeling good this morning.”

“Oh… Well it was nothing, just felt nauseous.”

Rebecca narrows her dark eyes but doesn't push further. “How were your parents?” She asks, changing the subject, much to Vicky's pleasure.

“They were fine.” She takes a long sip of her tea. “They wondered if you'd like to come for dinner one day.”

Rebecca grins, her parents have always been pretty fond of her, even proposing her to join family events. It never bothered Victoria who was happy to have a friend with her. “Of course, I'll come. I just need a date.”

“I'll text you.”

Rebecca leaves after dinner and as soon as the door is closed Vicky falls into her bed, exhausted. She doesn't have time to overthink as usually when she tries to find sleep, she finds Morpheus' arms the moment she closes her eyes. But her sleep is far from being peaceful, her dreams bringing her sometime in the Middle Age, judging by the clothes of the men surrounding her. She's in the middle of a fight opposing warriors with long hair and tattooed faces and others with more modest appearance, only a fire alighting the area. She looks around her, trying to understand the scene, but her vision is almost constantly brought back to one of the warriors. It's a tall man, wearing leather armor above a greenish tunic, with dark hair and beard. He is using his sword with such ability, his movements swift and precise, Vicky can't help but be impressed. From the corner of her eyes she can see men falling and how trees seem to delimit a clearing. She looks up to the sky and can see the stars shining in the sky, never before she has seen them so clearly. Then, a sound catches her attention and she's staring at the warrior again. He is not fighting anymore, frozen and his face twisting into a grimace. She looks down to his abdomen in sync with him and she gasps as she sees the sword coming out of his belly. And it's like she can feel all his pain as the sword leaves his body, her guts tearing apart. The man coughs blood, falling on his knees, his hands pressed on the gaping hole in his abdomen. He finishes his fall, head first in the mud and Victoria can feel the life leaving his body as the man takes his last breaths, his brown eyes looking into the void.

Victoria wakes up abruptly, sweating and panting. She presses a hand on her chest, desperately trying to calm her breath. Once she's calmed she pours herself a cup of water, still haunted by the sensation of her dream or maybe nightmare. She doesn't find sleep after that, so she just lies on her couch, watching TV, until morning comes and the hour she has to leave for work.

It's only the first night of a dozen as sleepless. Most of the time, she finds herself in the Middle Age, in various places, some faces regularly appearing. Sometimes she's in other periods, even in modern days. But the common point to all her dreams is this man. Each time she can see him more clearly, his thick hair is most of the time cut short around his ears, a scar slashing his forehead while two small others are ornamenting his left cheekbone. One day, she decides to draw him, she spends the afternoon on it, but she's determined to make it as realistic as possible. As the lines darken the paper, she realizes how the man reminds her of someone. She sends the drawing to Rebecca without much explanation and she immediately replies to her that he reminds her of the guy from the conspiracy theory video they watched one late night.

Victoria takes the time to search the video in her browser history, and indeed, Rebecca was right. The man is the spitting portrait of the one called the “time traveler”. She watches the video with probably much more interest than the first time, desperate to understand why he is haunting her nights. That's clearly the least credible story she has ever heard: a man, the same man, captured in pictures at different places and at different periods of time. A guy talented with photoshop could perfectly create this whole theory. She sighs, closing her laptop and just comes to the conclusion that her brain registered the man's face when she watched the video with Rebecca and simply has a fixation on it since.

Curious to know the origins of the other faces she can see in her dreams, she draws them as well and she finds herself with three other men. The younger looking is blond with a bowl cut, a long face and an endearing smile. The two others look much more like warriors, one has long hair tied and shaved on the sides, his eyes a piercing blue, the other has different colour eyes and a tattoo covering the side of his neck. Once again, she sends her drawings to Rebecca but this time she has no idea of where she could have seen them.

Days pass, the dreams don't fade but Victoria forgets about her accident and all the strange things that happened, until the police call her. Obviously, her car had to be found as she didn't call anyone to take care of it, she just wanted to forget what happened. She tries to give the best explanation to the police, telling them she's alright and shock made her forget to deal with her broken vehicle. After an hour on the phone they finally let her alone, adding that if she wanted to file a complaint there would probably not be a lot of results. She just replies that she will think of it, when in fact she won't at all.

As things couldn’t get weirder, one afternoon she meets an odd customer at the bookshop she’s been working for years now. She doesn’t notice him particularly, until she feels like he is staring at her behind his sunglasses. She tries to ignore him, but can’t resist staring back. He is wearing a grey sweatshirt, the hood covering his hair, but at the color of his beard she guesses it’s as dark. There’s something familiar to him and decided to understand what his problem with her is, she fully turns to face him.

“Can I help you?”

The man seems to freeze, his hands sinking in the pockets of his trousers. He lowers his head and reads the badge with Victoria’s name on her jacket. He looks back to her and this time she raises an eyebrow, her arms crossing over her chest.

“No that’s alright.” He mutters with an accent she doesn’t get in the moment. “Sorry for botherin’ ya.”

He steps back and leaves the bookshop without another word. She doesn’t move for a moment, frowning and still staring at the shop’s door. She has dealt with a thousand customers in five years of working here, sometimes extremely weird, even more than this one, however it’s him who remains stuck in her head even a few days after his visit.

But the culmination of this month filled by weird events happens a week after the man came to the bookshop. It’s a friday, and as usual, Vicky has her free afternoon and spends it at her flat, watching the last episode of Game of Thrones while drawing. But she’s interrupted by a knock on her door. She frowns, pretty sure she expected no one to come today. The person knocks again and she gets up from her desk chair. She unlocks the door, opens it, and before she can even say “hello”, she gasps in surprise at the sight of the man standing in front of her.

Victoria has no doubts. It’s the man from her dreams or the one theorists call the “time traveler”, standing in the corridor of her floor with a tight, uncomfortable.

A/N : A first chapter full of misteries ahah ! Don’t hesitate to comment, express your ideas regarding what could happen or whatever could happen, I’m really curious to know ahah! See you next week for some answers ;)

Tags : @maggiescarborough @geekandbooknerd @obipoelover @finansarms ; Don’t hesitate to tell me if you want to be add to the tag list of the fic!

#finan the agile #finan #Finan x OC #finan the last kingdom #The Last Kingdom #fanfiction #somebody to die for

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toplinetommy · 4 years ago

Text

You Bring the Moon and Stars to Me (Part Eight) - Tyson Jost

Synopsis: A Soulmate!AU where your soulmark only appears once you fall in love with your soulmate

Words: 6.8k

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, poorly written smut

a/n: here’s a link to the song in the second part, which is essentially the inspiration behind this love story (even tho his entire discography played a part). there’s one more part after this plus the epilogue! again, thank you for reading along :)

September 2019 - Denver, CO

You can see it on his face. Tyson’s clearly trying not to panic, and you’re kind of unsure why. He was fine the first two hours you were over at his house, helping him pack. But now, he’s folded and unfolded the same crewneck sweatshirt at least eight times and you’re about to yank it out of his hands and tell him that you’ll just do it.

His room was a mess. His large set of hard-shell suitcases open and scattered on the floor, a pile of garment bags on his bed filled with his suits, and a box collecting his random knick-knacks by his bathroom door. His alternative playlist was playing through the speakers on his laptop that sat on his bed, filling the periodic silence between you two. You were both sitting criss-cross applesauce on his floor, packing up his dresser, when you decided to finally cut in.

“Tyson,” you call out. “You doing okay there? You’ve been folding the same sweater for five minutes.”

He folds the sweater one more time before finally placing it in his suitcase, “I’m fine.”

Your heart sinks a little and your lips form a pout at his mumbling, knowing instantly it was just him not wanting to talk. Your hands stop folding the pair of jeans in your hands and you drop them to your folded legs. You sit up, bringing yourself to your knees, and crawl over to kneel behind Tyson’s sitting figure.

“Hey,” you whisper, wrapping one arm around his torso and resting your head on the back of his shoulder. You run a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp and twirling some of his curls through your fingers. Tyson leans back into you, taking in the extra weight you’re putting onto him. “Talk to me.”

“I’m just anxious. I’ve never lived by myself before,” he admits. “I’m excited, but still.”

“It’s all a part of growing up,” you sigh. He’s probably already heard that statement from his family members and even guys on the team, but you knew that when you heard that, it helped. “Besides, don’t the older guys always check in on the younger guys when they start living on their own?”

“Yeah, they do.”

“You have nothing to worry about, Tys. Living on your own is refreshing, trust me. You’ll find out so many new things about yourself and it’s not like you’ll be by yourself 24/7. Especially with how social you are,” you reassure with a smile as you rub his shoulders. You could tell he was nervous prior to packing. Every time he had called you to talk about a new place he found over the summer he just rambled and nit-picked the place apart. His pros and cons list looked more like a maybe and a no list by the time he finally settled on the Cherry Creek apartment.

“Can we take a break? I think it’d ease my mind a bit.” He asks, gesturing to the mess in front of him.

“Sure.” You twist your body around Tyson’s. “Only if I can have a kiss.”

Tyson playfully scoffs and rolls his eyes before leaning in and placing a smiley kiss on your lips. The kiss is quick, and you pull away to stand, pulling him up with you.

“You want to figure out plans for dinner? I don’t know about you but this packing is making me hungry,” Tyson says, changing the subject.

You two end up deciding on getting sushi from your favorite place, a spot where you knew the owners by name at this point. You spend the time sharing your favorite stories from the Rookie House, Tyson not missing a chance to chirp JT about his Fortnite addiction. Your favorite memory being the one time you and Tyson were in the living room and Kerfy and his girlfriend had set off the smoke detectors while trying to cook.

“I think my best memory was move-in day,” Tyson swallows. He grabs another piece of sushi with his chopsticks. “I was on cloud nine knowing that I had made the team and then I crossed the street to go meet my neighbor and I just about shit my pants when you walked in.”

A strangled cough comes out of your mouth in response to Tyson’s statement. You grab your drink next to you and try to swallow down the remnants of your food that you’ve swallowed incorrectly.

“Actually,” Tyson ponders, changing his mind. “That might not be my favorite memory, but it definitely led to a fuck ton of my favorite memories.”

Your stomach churns at the thought and you turn your head to look at Tyson. He’s not even looking at you and is focused on the container of sushi in front of him. Your eyes water and you blink at the thought of all of his favorite memories in this house over the past two years all stemmed from you. More specifically, stemmed from the off-chance that the two of you even reconnected in the first place. You smile softly, blinking away the tears in your eyes, setting your chopsticks down and tugging on the sleeve of his shirt to get his attention.

He turns to look at you, and the expression on his face shows that he doesn’t even fully understand the weight those words had as he spoke them to you. Looking into his eyes, it hits you. This was fate. Tyson Jost sitting in front of you was the universe’s doing. All of the comments you got since meeting Tyson flow through your mind as you stare into his eyes silently. One sticking out more than the others.

I knew you two would somehow find each other

“What?” Tyson asks, breaking you from your thoughts. He’s chewing the last bit of his sushi roll, and you bring your thumb up to wipe at the soy sauce that gathered in his mustache.

“Nothing, nothing,” You shrug. “Just really happy is all.” You turn your attention back to your sushi, finishing the last few pieces before Tyson’s up and throwing away the containers.

Once he makes his way back over to you, he pulls you into his chest, placing a kiss on your lips.

“Your breath smells like seaweed,” you chirp against his lips.

“Are you gonna stop kissing me because of it?” He asks, pulling away slightly.

“No.”

“Didn’t think so,” He laughs, pulling your face back to his to reconnect his lips with yours. His lips move along yours softly, your hands moving against the expanse of his chest as he moves his hands along your torso until one lands on the side of your face. The hand on your waist finds its way underneath your t-shirt, squeezing the bare flesh lightly. He’s pulling you tighter against his body, crowding you around the counter behind you. As the kiss deepens, his groin brushes against your pelvis, causing a growing heat in your stomach and between your legs. You twist your hands under the cotton of his shirt to feel the warmth of his back.

“So now that we’re moving out you’re gonna start making out with people in the kitchen?”

A voice, you recognize as JT makes you pull away. You drop your forehead to Tyson’s shoulder before lifting it back up. You give JT a tight-lipped smile, heat rising to your cheeks. His jaw drops open and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead before he stutters over his next words,

“Oh. Hey, y/n.”

“Hey, JT.”

He disappeared up the stairs just as fast as he entered the house.

“Sorry, I thought he had already finished moving to his new place,” Tyson apologizes, pushing a hand through your hair.

“Does he know anything about what’s going on between us?” You ask, sheepishly.

“Uh, yeah,” he responds, scratching at the back of his head. “I might’ve called him a few days after you left Canada to tell him and get advice.”

“And what did he say?”

“That’s a secret.”

You playfully shove at his chest and he stumbles backward. “Fine. Let’s get a move on this packing. We’re almost done.”

You playfully slap at Tyson’s ass before pushing him towards the stairs, a task made difficult by the brunette due to his size and unwillingness to move. After a few more shoves and the promise of a kiss, he’s finally heading down the stairs so he can finish packing up the remainder of his clothes.

“Hey,” you shout as you walk through the front door of Tysons’ apartment, announcing your presence. Tyson’s sitting on his couch, watching something on the tv. “I texted Kacey and-“

“Wait. You texted my sister?” Tyson asks a hint of awe and confusion in his tone.

“Yes, but that’s not the point. I texted your sister for your grandma’s almond butter cookie recipe and now I’m here because I thought we could bake them together.” You had known he had already started to miss St. Albert even after only being gone for a little over a week. This was the first time you really got a taste of what an NHL off-season was like and when you were in Kelowna, you could start to fathom how hard it was for Tyson to leave home every summer. The least you could do was help make that transition a little easier for him.

Tyson joins you shortly as he watches you fill the contents of your canvas grocery bag onto his kitchen island. He picks up the jar of almond butter before setting it back down.

“You know I don’t bake.”

“There’s always time to learn, Tys,” you state. “And now’s a perfect time!”

A laugh slips out of Tyson’s mouth at your eagerness. He goes quiet after, thinking back to the comment you first made about how you texted his sister. His heart swells at the thought of it, at the thought of you and his sister possibly becoming friends. His heart swells, even more, knowing that Kacey didn’t really have an older female influence in her life that wasn’t their mom or a relative, or even her teammates at school. He wants to ask you how often you talk to her, but he decides against it, not wanting to intrude.

The last thing you pull out is a plastic mixing bowl and utensils to properly make the cookies. Tyson laughs at the extra tools, to which you reply with a scoff,

“I literally helped you move, I know you don’t have the things to bake.”

He throws his hands up in defense before poking at your side, causing you to squeal. You slap his hands away, telling him to focus. The two of you get through making the cookie dough pretty easily, as Tyson was attentive to your directions for once. It’s moreso you mixing the ingredients together as Tyson hands you what you need while he tells you about the start of training camp. You let him press the almonds on the tops of each cookie and you hop up onto the counter as he puts them into the oven.

“I have a question to ask you,” Tyson announces as he shuts the oven door.

“Shoot,” you answer.

“So every year in November we have the Mile High Dreams Gala. It’s this huge charity event all of the Denver sports teams host,” he starts, moving to stand in between your open legs. He places his hands on your thighs, rubbing his thumbs softly over the exposed skin. “And I know it’s not for another two months, but I’d love for you to come with me.”

“Like one where you wear a nice suit and I wear a fancy dress?” You ask curiously.

“Yeah one like that,” he chuckles.

You ponder the idea for a minute, puckering your lips in thought. “On one condition, you come with me to the Dermot Kennedy concert in a few weeks.”

“I thought you and Caitlyn were going?” He asked, confused.

“She was supposed to, yeah, but Jack’s brother is getting married that weekend.”

“Sounds like you’re gonna need to start shopping for a new dress then,” Tyson smiles.

A comfortable silence falls around the both of you as you scrape your finger on the side of the mixing bowl, picking up the remnants of the raw cookie dough before plopping it into your mouth.

His thumbs continue to rub small circles on your thighs before he breaks the silence, “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Okay,” you start, hesitantly. When Tyson usually wanted to talk to you about something specific, he usually just came right out and said it. The fact that he’s asking you first makes you avoid his gaze, and you look at the small, potted plant behind him that’s sitting on his tv stand in the distance. You swallow thickly, trying your best to suppress the burst of anxiety coursing through your veins.

“You asked me the other day if JT knew about what was going on between us, and he does, but -” Tyson takes a deep breath, stopping himself. His thumbs stop moving on your thighs, and you grab his hands in hopes of giving him comfort. “But, I’m not even sure what’s going on between us. You came to Canada, and I don’t know, there was just this huge shift between us and we haven’t really talked about it. I know I’ve only been back for a week and it’s always a hectic first few weeks back for me-”

“Tys, you’re rambling,” you interrupt. “Take a breath.”

“I really don’t know how to talk about it because it’s so new and intense. You’re my best friend and I don’t know how to even talk about taking it further or even how, really.”

“I don’t really know either,” you admit, playing with his fingers where they’re joined with yours. “But I really like this and it doesn’t even feel that different than before.”

“I do know that this is what I want. I want to sit here and talk about the universe with you. I want you to help me prank my friends and for you to tell me when I’m being immature. And at the same time, I want to be there to tell you when you need to let loose and be the one you go to about work even though I don’t understand a thing that comes out of your mouth when you do,” he explains. His nervousness seems to be gone as he focuses on your reaction. It was a lot for him to come out and admit these things, and you know that.

As he spoke, the feelings you felt from the last day at his old house came flooding back. The man in front of you was fate, and he clearly felt that you were put in his life for a reason as well. All of the little things with him like napping, cooking, going to his games, and the bigger things like meeting his family, and spending time with him outside of Denver really meant just as much to him as it did to you. You’re finally starting to see it and the way he’s talking to you has perfectly mirrored his previous actions.

“Tyson,” you start, your voice cracking. You take a deep breath and sniffle, holding yourself back from letting any tears out. Tyson lets go of your hands quickly, bringing his up to your face, grasping your cheeks.

“Hey,” he says leveling his head with yours to get better direct eye contact. “What we’re not gonna do is cry.”

“You can’t say things like that to me and not expect me to cry,” you sniff, a few tears escaping from the inner corners of your eyes. Tyson catches them before they can even leave mascara smudges. “Ever since you walked into that study room at school, you were all I wanted. I just wasn’t ready.”

Tyson looks at you in a questioning manner. You can see it in his eyes, he wants to ask you if you’re ready now, if you’re ready to dive head-first into being with him romantically. You lift one of your hands and place it on where his hand is still on your cheek. Looking at him, you feel the same way you think you’ve always felt about him-- a way you were too scared to admit to yourself, a way you sometimes even avoided feeling. However, in this moment,, you know you’re ready for more with him.

“I want you, in every way possible.”

Tyson leans further in, his hands still on either side of your face. The intensity combined with the softness of his gaze has your body feeling weightless, the warmth from his hands keeping you grounded. He leans in all the way, capturing your lips with his in a passionate, heated kiss. He slides his hands from where they were on your cheeks to the junction of your waist, pulling you to the edge of the counter and closer to him.

You wrap your legs around his hips, crossing your ankles and digging your heels into his ass, urging him to come impossibly closer. Your hands brush over the expanse of his chest, and up to the back of his neck, where you lightly scrape your nails. He bites at your lip, letting out a small moan when his groin brushes over your clothed center. Pushing your hands up his torso underneath his shirt, you tug on it letting him know you want him to take it off. He pulls away, just for enough time to peel his shirt off, before latching his lips right back on yours.

Your hands travel around his torso, your fingers dipping into the curves and definitions of his muscles. You’ve never felt so connected to someone with just kissing, and you’re trying to memorize where every line is on his toned torso because you never want to forget this feeling-- the feeling of pure elation and pure want deep in your bones.

His lips traveling down your jaw and to your neck pulls you from your thoughts. His lips kiss lightly against your warm skin, adding a coolness before he softly bites down when your neck meets your shoulder.

“Tys, baby,” you moan out. He hums against you, not wanting to take his lips away from your skin. “We can’t keep doing this on kitchen counters.”

Your request has Tyson pulling away from you and he picks you up, hands squeezing at your ass as he walks you to his bedroom. When he drops you onto the bed, he crawls over you, eyes dark. You lick your lips as you look down his torso once more, fully being able to appreciate his athletic build with no shame for once. He smiles widely as he leans further in, reconnecting your lips.

His hand pushes your shirt up your torso, revealing your lacy bralette. He pulls one cup aside, exposing your hardening nipple before wrapping his lips around it. Your hips buck up at the feeling and when he pulls away to switch to the other nipple, you take the opportunity to pull your shirt off over your head. You’re lost in the scent of his shampoo, a combination of sage and lemon. Once he gives your nipples ample attention, he leaves a trail of kisses down your stomach, kissing above the waistband of your running shorts. Hooking his fingers under the material and his eyes flick to look at your face, making sure he has the okay before he’s pulling them off your legs.

“You need to tell me that you’re sure you want to do this,” Tyson breathes out heavily. “This is so much more than-”

“I know. I want this, I want you,” you interrupt, reassuring him of your intentions, running your hands through his curls. He smiles up at you, before dipping his head down between your thighs. The warmth of his breath combined with your view of him has you rolling your eyes into the back of your head.

His tongue peeks out of his mouth as he licks at his lips, looking up at you. His eyes focus back onto your center, and his tongue sticks back out again, this time licking a stripe up your folds. His hands rub along your thighs, pushing your knees to the bed, leaving more room for his torso. The heavy grip on your thighs disappears and you feel his thumb find your clit. The new pressure eclipses a moan from you as he fucks his tongue into you.

His thumb continues to rub your clit, your hips grinding up against his face to get as much friction from him as possible. His other hand comes to lay flat against your lower stomach, pushing your down to keep you from moving. He lifts his face up, thumb still on your clit.

“Stay still,” he demands, looking up at your face. You lift up to rest on your elbows, giving yourself a better view of Tyson’s head between your thighs and nod in understanding. Your eyes stay focused on him, as he looks back down at your pussy and lets spit drop out of his mouth. The action has your eyes rolling to the back of your head and the cool sensation on your hot folds has you gasping and throwing your head back onto the pillow.

He spreads the wetness around, this time focusing his tongue’s movements on your clit. He pumps a finger into you, curling his finger to find your sweet spot. He adds another finger, and you focus on the wet sounds coming from your center.

“Tyson,” you whine, threading your fingers through his hair once again. Your grip tightens as you feel the familiar pressure start to build. Tyson groans against your clit and wraps his lips around the small bundle of nerves, bringing you to your high. He licks at your folds through your orgasm, only pulling away when your grip on his hair loosens. His lips are redder than normal and swollen and his beard is glistening from your juices. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand as he crawls back over you, setting some of his weight on your body as he kisses you.

As your lips move against him, a whine escapes your mouth when you feel the outline of his dick through his shorts. You reach your hand down to wrap your fingers around his clothed member, and Tyson moves one of his hands to push both his shorts and underwear off.

“Fuck,” he curses against your mouth as he feels your thumb swipe against the tip of his cock. His hips buck into your hand, and you start to push at his chest to make him flip over onto his back. He’s hesitant to follow your movements, and you pull away from his lips,

“I wanna blow you,” you mumble against his lips.

“You can do it another time,” he asserts. “Just wanna be inside you.”

You nod, kissing down his jaw, sucking marks across his neck and shoulders. He leans up on his elbows, pulling away to grab at his nightstand.

“No, no condom. I’m on birth control.”

“You sure?” Tyson asks, hand still on his nightstand drawer. You nod your head yes, and he groans, presumably at the thought of him being inside you, bare. Finally, he crawls back over you, pushing one of your knees up into your chest. His lips leave yours, his forehead resting on yours. Gripping his member, he spreads his tip through your folds, gathering your wetness.

“Please,” you whine, squeezing one of your hands around his bicep as his tip catches against your clit. His eyes caught yours once again as he pushed himself inside you slowly. Your mouth drops open at the feeling, a choked out moan coming out.

He picks up a slow yet steady rhythm fucking into you, one arm hooking under your thigh keeping you spread open for him. His lips move roughly against yours, your mouth silencing his moans.

His lips detach from yours and he brings his other hand to rub his fingers at your clit. His eyes focus on yours and his pace slows down slightly. He’s hitting inside you deep and you can feel every part of him against you. You bring your hand to cup his jaw, your thumb brushing against his bottom lip. If you thought the connection when the two of you were kissing was a lot, the connection you felt now, with him buried deep inside of you, was a million times that. He pauses his thrusts, his member buried deep in you.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted,” you whisper. Tyson, a man usually of many words, opts for a silent response and kisses you deeply. With one hand on his face, you hold him to you as he starts moving again. Trailing his kisses down your neck he finds your sweet spot where your shoulder meets your neck.

“You feel so good, fuck.”

He picks up his pace, fucking you slowly, yet hard, as you both try to savor this

movement between the two of you. The finger rubbing your clit picks up speed and your fingers around his bicep tighten, leaving crescent marks behind.

“I’m close,” you breathe out. Your walls tighten around his member as you tightly close your eyes. Tyson brings his mouth back up to yours, kissing you until you’re pulling away with a loud moan as your orgasm rushes over you. He fucks you through it, leaving some pressure on your clit even when your high has passed. His orgasm follows yours soon after, his cock twitching as he spills deep inside of you.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, too.” He says. You kiss him fully, whining against his lips as he pulls his member from you. He flops down next to you, pulling your body tight into his chest. Your hand falls over his heart, the skin there sticky and shining from sweat. Your breath falls in line with his, and your eyes close briefly. His fingers push through your hair, trying his best to smooth out the knots that were previously created. He tugs a little harder, tilting your head up so you’re looking at him.

He opens his mouth before his face twists. He inhales deeply, his eyebrows furrowed as he turns his focus away from you.

“What’s that smell?” Tyson asks. You waft some of the air around you towards your face and that’s when a lightbulb goes off in your head.

“The cookies!” You shriek, jumping up and detangling your limbs from Tyson’s. His booming laughter fills your ears as you run to the kitchen to inspect the damage. Turning the oven off with a beep, and taking out the burnt cookies, Tyson’s body appears behind you.

He places a kiss on your bare shoulder where the blanket started to slip, “God, I could get used to this.”

His whisper against your skin causes a shiver to run through your body. Once the burnt cookies are on top of the oven, you turn around in Tyson’s arms, leaning up to brush your nose against his.

“Me too.”

September 2019 - Red Rocks, CO

“Tyson, I don’t think you understand how excited I am!” You exclaim as you go to hug him hello at the door. “I’ve literally been looking forward to this since I got the tickets in February!”

Tyson chuckles into your neck. Letting go, you walk back into your kitchen. Tyson follows closely behind, watching you grab your water bottle and your purse.

“Hey, I didn’t know this picture was taken,” Tyson gestures to the photo of the two of you hanging on your fridge. You smile as you look at the photo he’s pointing to. It’s from a home playoff game in the second round, a few days prior to them being knocked out. The picture in question is you and him after the game outside the locker room. He’s dressed in his navy game-day suit,holding his tie, phone, and headphones in one hand, while the other arm is wrapped around your torso. Your hand is squeezing his cheeks, forcing his smile to be somewhat squished.

“Yeah, I went through the pictures on my phone after I got back from Canada to see what I wanted to get printed and saw that one.” You answer with a smile. “It was too good a memory to not put somewhere.”

Tyson’s smile slightly widens, remembering the night in question vividly. He was on a post-game high. He had scored a goal that game, helping propel the team to force a Game 7 in San Jose. You had gone to the game by yourself, sitting with some of the WAG’s and family members of the team and enjoyed every minute of playoff hockey in the Can with people you normally didn’t attend games with.

“It’s a nice picture,” he compliments quietly, dropping his hands back down to his sides. He follows you to your front door, watching you as you slip on your Doc Martens. You’re wearing a one-sleeved bodysuit, paired with a pair of patchwork jeans.

You let him know you’re all ready to go, standing up and placing your hands on his chest and placing a kiss to his lips. Your eyes are wide and bright when you pull away, emphasized by your long eyelashes, and he doesn’t think you’ve stopped smiling in the few minutes he’s been here.

“Thank you again for going to this concert with me so last minute. I know you don't really like this type of music,” You say, referring to the Dermot Kennedy concert you’re getting ready for.

“He’s your favorite artist, I’ll be fine, Y/n,” Tyson reassures. “Besides, it’s an excuse for me to dance with no judgment.”

Hopping into Tyson’s SUV, you snatch the aux cord before he can protest and play your driving playlist on Spotify. The 45-minute car ride to Red Rocks from your place is spent with all the windows down, your feet up on the dash, enjoying the cool, Denver summer, and its almost fall-like air. Your playlist is bouncing through the speakers for most of it, both of you singing at the tops of your lungs. Joyful laughter keeps interrupting both of you, too excited and infatuated with the other.

As Tyson pulls into the amphitheater parking lot, you turn the radio down, taking in the sights around you. The bright oranges and reds of the canyon rocks shock you - you had looked at plenty of photos of Red Rocks Canyon since you had moved here, but none of those did justice to the sight in front of you.

“Holy shit,” you exclaim, settling onto the ground next to the wide-open car door. “This is breathtaking.”

Tyson meets you on your side of the car, leaning on the side of the hood, “Yeah, it really is.

And you know he can’t even really see the vibrant coloring of it, but when you turn around to look back at him you notice he’s looking more at you than the canyon surrounding you. Tyson opens the trunk of his SUV, you going to sit down on the ledge once it’s fully open. The two of you sit there for a while, enjoying the view and each other's company, waiting for the doors to open for the show.

“Okay, so you can’t get mad at me for not singing any of the songs.” Tyson makes you promise, with a laugh.

“I won’t. I promise.” You assure, putting your pinky up to intertwine your pinky with his. He pinky promises you, and you kiss your thumb, him following suit. A somewhat childish tradition you made him do with you every time you made a promise to one another. As you drop your hands from in front of your faces, Tyson leans in stealing a kiss. You pull away with a shy smile, still not used to the new dynamics of your relationship.

Not too long later, you’re walking into the venue and down to your seats. Tyson leads the way, your hand in his as he leads you through the large crowd. Once you reach your seats you take in the sights around you and the ethereal atmosphere. The pre-show playlist is playing through the speakers as you tell Tyson everything he needs to know about the show that’s soon to start.

The lights go out, and the darkness of the canyon surrounds you until the show starts and Dermot Kennedy enters the stage through a cloud of smoke. As the set continues, Tyson has moved his focus from the stage to your dancing form next to him. Your eyes seem to be closed more often than not, letting yourself get lost in the environment and dance along to the beats of the heartwarming music. He’s swaying his body next to yours, not as lost in it all as you are.

The soft intro of ‘For Island Fires and Family’ starts and a small shriek leaves your mouth. You turn to Tyson, yelling to him that this is your favorite song. His smile replicates yours, eyes crinkly, as he pays more attention to this one than the ones that came before. As the chorus comes and the guitar starts to pick up, Tyson focuses more on the lyrics.

Tyson takes this chance to pull you into his side. His arm slings over your shoulder and you turn your face to him smiling, grabbing the hand draped over you.

“But she's bringin' the moon and stars to me, damn permanent reverie. And even though this life, this love is brief, I've got some people who carry me” You sing softly, swaying your head to the piano and strums of the guitar. Tyson hums next to you at a quieter volume, nodding his head to the beat. Every time the chorus passes, Tyson squeezes you a little tighter into him.

Once the show ends you make your way back to the parking lot and as you reach his car, he meets you on the passenger side with you. You thank him again for coming with you, giving him a hug and a quick, gentle kiss.

“No problem. I had a lot more fun than I thought I would.” He admits, pecking your lips once more.

The drive back to your house is quiet, mostly because you’re too awestruck at the show you were just at. As he’s pulling into your neighborhood, you turn the music down, continuing to sing along softly. He turns to look at you, grabbing your hand and placing a kiss to the back of it. He rests your joined hands on his lap. You stick your hand out the window, feeling the wind against your skin, the streetlights bouncing off your jewelry, and creating an almost ethereal glow on your skin.

He pulls into the parking lot, parking his car next to yours. He meets you at the back of his car and stops you from walking up to your front door.

“I love you,” he blurts out. He realizes then how unromantic this moment is, with how the two of you are standing in a parking lot full of your neighbor’s cars. “I love you so, so much.”

“Tyson, I -” You stutter, pulling away from him. His admission shocks you and it all feels too early for it to be happening. You had only just talked about your feelings in the past week and were just starting to feel fully comfortable being in this new relationship with him. You hadn’t even told anyone other than Caitlyn about the new aspects of yours and Tyson’s relationship. “Do you have your soulmark, what, when -”

“I don’t - I don’t know, it just hit me,” He stutters. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. He takes a step towards you, effectively canceling out the step you had taken away from him moments prior. Your feet are stuck to the ground and you’re having trouble focusing on any of the thoughts running through your brain. What if he truly does love you, but doesn’t have a soulmark? What if he does have a soulmark, but you never get yours with him?

Tyson can see that your mind is running a mile a minute and he grabs your shoulders, pulling you into him. He runs his hand in a comforting manner over your hair before placing a kiss there. He pulls away, and gives you yet another quick kiss, in hopes that it calms both of you down.

“I have no idea about the soulmark, I just know that I love you. It came in waves throughout the night, and then it just hit during that one song and at the end. The one you were singing with your whole chest and I had you in my arms.”

“For Island Fires and Family?” You ask, thinking back to how tightly he held you to his chest during that specific song.

“Yeah,” He breathes out.

“Tyson,” you start, looking down at your shoes to avoid his gaze. “I can’t say it back.”

It breaks your heart to even say that to him, especially with the amount of love you already have for the brunette. He already had a piece of your heart, but looking back up at him you couldn’t find the words to say that you were in love with him.

“That’s fine,” Tyson assures, his tone light letting you know that it really is in fact okay.

“It’s just really early and there were so many changes so fast,” you explain further. “But, I can tell you right now that I have love for you already, and that I am falling for you. You just have to give me time.”

He nods his head in understanding, taking yet another deep breath. You stand there in his embrace a moment longer before he leads the two of you up to your door.

Tyson’s in the bathroom finishing up while you’re already in bed, under the covers. When you hear the bathroom door open, you set your phone down and look over at Tyson. He’s smiling widely as he scratches his head. He sits at the edge of your bed and pulls his t-shirt over his head, discarding it somewhere on the floor.

“Holy fucking shit,” you gasp, sitting up further in bed.

“What?” Tyson asks, twisting around to look at you.

“Your fucking arm!” You exclaim, reaching out to touch at the ink adorning his once bare arm.

Your jaw drops at the revelation, staring at Tyson, whose eyebrows are knitted in confusion. Opening your mouth to speak, nothing comes out but a choked noise. You point at his arm, not able to find your words, hoping he takes the hint and looks at his arm.

He glances between you and where you’re pointing and he sees the black ink just above his elbow. He jumps up, running to your bathroom to get a better look at it in the mirror. He examines it closely. He doesn’t notice your presence until your hands land on his bare chest, and he turns his focus from the mirror back to you. He doesn’t hesitate to grab your face and bring your lips to his in a heated, passionate kiss.

“I am so fucking in love with you,” he announces once he pulls away. Looking into his eyes you notice the glossiness in them.

“Let me see it,” you whisper, dancing your fingers along the back of his right arm.

He turns his body enough for you to get a clear look at the brand new ink. Just above his elbow is a half-sun, surrounded by the phases of the moon, adorned with various small dots and lines to make it look more complete. The lines are delicate, which is something your mind links to the way you treat one another. You place a kiss in the center of it, before wrapping your arm around Tyson’s waist turning him around.

“It’s gorgeous,” you compliment.

A blush rises to Tyson’s tan cheeks. His eyes are sparkling in the harsh lighting of your bathroom and his smile is bright as he looks down at you. Your heart is full and your hand stays wrapped around his bicep, almost like if you take your hand away the mark will disappear.

“I guess this means I’m your soulmate, huh?” You smile.

“I guess so,” He smiles back, wrapping his arms around you to fully embrace you.

The two of you make your way to bed eventually, only after pulling away from Tyson long enough to get there. The two of you don’t fall asleep for hours after getting in bed, too caught up in one another’s body, and the connection between your souls. He’s snoring above you and you smile to yourself before dozing off. You may not be in love with him yet, but you knew in your heart that you were a few steps from falling.

tag list: @reavenedges-lies @oilers2997 @quinnsbxtch (let me know if you wanted to be added!)

#tyson jost imagine #tyson jost #nhl imagine #alex writes

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tellmealovestory · 5 years ago

Text

That Summer (4/?)

Summary: You’ve spent every summer since you were a child in the idyllic beach town you call home three months out of the year. This summer should be no different except for the addition of Bucky Barnes. Sparks fly upon first meeting, but it’s only a summer fling, right? Modern AU.

Notes: Also posted on my ao3.

Warnings: A few lines of suggestiveness, angst if you squint

Series Masterlist

"How come you never cooked for us before?" Wanda asked.

"Last time she cooked she almost burned the kitchen down," Natasha added, laughing when Wanda's eyes grew wide with a mix of shock and worry.

Standing over the wooden cutting board you ignored them as you concentrated on slicing cucumbers and tomatoes for salad. "That's not completely true," you muttered under your breath. Wiping your hands on the red apron you had borrowed from Wanda you walked over to the stove checking on the potatoes.

"You never told me that."

"Because it was a long time ago," you started, opening the oven door to check on the chicken. "And I'm not going to burn down the kitchen so please stop looking so worried, Wanda."

A snort came from the other side of the room. "It was two years ago when she was dating that guy Eric."

"The musician?"

"Are we really doing this right now?" You groaned.

Ignoring you she continued, "That's the one. She tried making him a fancy dinner and when he got there how'd you say it happened again?" Smirking she snapped her fingers. "The lust overcame you and you guys went at it like rabbits."

"Okay, okay, first off," you started, raising your voice to be heard over their peals of laughter, "Natasha is lying I did not say anything like that! Although I might have gotten distracted when he came over and we might have had sex making me forget about dinner and there may have been a small fire in the kitchen, but it didn't burn down! And Wanda, please stop looking at me like that because I promise you that's not going to happen tonight!"

"Which part isn't happening tonight, Y/N?" Nat teased.

"I hate you." Untying the apron you focused on folding it into neat squares while trying to ignore Natasha's laughter and Wanda's growing nerves as she hovered around you, checking the boiling potatoes and chicken roasting in the oven. "Also, for the record it was different with Eric. Our whole relationship was about sex and with Bucky... it's deeper than that. I've never felt this way about someone else before and..." Letting your words trail off you stared down at the counter, your fingers running over the apron. "After the movie in the park and all the dates he's taken me on I wanted to do something nice for him so no, tonight is not going to be a repeat of the disaster with Eric and you guys have nothing to worry about. We're going to have a nice homemade dinner and that's it."

Greeted with silence you looked up to find Natasha scribbling down the number for the fire department and Wanda again hovering by the stove.

"You guys really have no faith in me," you sighed. "I made brownies this morning and you weren't worried."

"That was before," Wanda murmured, fingers turning down the burner of the stove.

"I promise you by the time you get home the kitchen will still be here, everything will be cleaned up and-"

"You and Bucky will be making out on the counter again?" Natasha added, deftly catching the apron you threw at her.

"Wanda!" You snapped. "You said you weren't going to tell her about that!"

"She went into some very graphic details about where she saw your hands disappearing."

"I hate both of you," you muttered. Heat burned your face and you couldn't tell if it was from the conversation, the oven being on during the heat of summer or the memories of that late night in the kitchen with Bucky kissing you until your lips were swollen, exploring his body with your fingers and hands until you swore you knew it as well as yours.

Ignoring their laughter and the way you could still feel your face burning you glanced over at the clock. "Shouldn't you guys be leaving?"

"Someone's eager for us to be gone."

"I'm not eager," you lied. "But you guys don't want to be late. You know traffic and parking and all that."

"Uh huh. I get it. I think she wants some alone time with Bucky. Come on, Wanda."

Peeking into the oven again Wanda fiddled with the knobs of the stove. "We could help you finish dinner first."

Exchanging a look with Nat across the kitchen you watched the way she went over to Wanda, slinging an arm around her shoulder and murmuring something you couldn't quite hear, but still she didn't budge.

"I promise that I'm not going to burn the kitchen down. Natasha exaggerated what happened with Eric. You guys have nothing to worry about. I've got this under control."

Twenty minutes later and you did not have it under control.

After darting upstairs to freshen up you had stepped out of the shower only to catch your first whiff of smoke. Thinking nothing of it you had taken your time in searching for something to wear. But as the minutes ticked by the ashen smell grew stronger until you couldn’t ignore it anymore and when the piercing screech of the smoke detector blared in your ears you had raced downstairs. Tugging your dress on only half aware it was on backwards you skidded to a stop at the edge of the kitchen.

The piercing screech was amplified downstairs as smoke filled the kitchen, billowing out into the living room. Acting on instinct you raced to the oven, flinging the doors open only to be met with more smoke. Coughing, eyes burning with tears you waved it away before reaching for a pair of oven mitts and pulling the pan out.

Burned beyond repair you slammed the pan onto the stove, the thunk reverberating throughout the kitchen. Hours of preparation for tonight ruined in a matter of minutes. Tossing the mitts onto the counter you ran a hand over your hair determined not to cry, but it was so hard when all you had wanted was tonight to be perfect, a small thank you for all the time and thought he had put into your dates and it was ruined.

Letting the screen door slam shut as you left behind the smoke filled house you inhaled the saltiness of the ocean and the sweetness of freshly cut grass. Sitting on the bottom step of the front porch, brain trying to come up with a plan b for tonights date, clean feet getting dirtier by the second as you ran them over small pebbles, loose piles of dirt, grass clippings from early this morning when you had cut it. In the distance you could hear the familiar rumbling of Bucky's motorcycle, the soundtrack to your summer.

Like a child eagerly waiting for the ice cream truck to drive down their block on those hot summer days you stood up, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you watched Bucky effortlessly maneuver the motorcycle to a stop in front of the house. No matter how many times you watched from the living room, peering through the curtains, or standing on the front porch watching him leave you would never get tired of the way he so easily climbed on and off as if the bike was part of him and in someways you supposed that was true. Meeting him halfway the sidewalk burned the bottoms of your feet, but you paid it little mind as you flung you arms around his shoulders, inhaling that familiar scent of exhaust and woods and him. The smells of your summer.

"Hi," you breathed, lips landing on the corner of his mouth as you struggled to break the news to him.

"What happened? Are you okay?" Eyebrows knitted together, callused hands resting on your shoulders before gliding down your arms, gaze scrutinizing your body looking for any sign of injury before briefly glancing to the house.

"I'm fin-,"

"You're not." Sliding his hands up to your face he cupped your still warm cheeks, striking eyes filling with a cloudiness, voice gruff. "Something happened, pretty girl."

Guilt pooled in the pit of your stomach for making him think the worst. "I'm fine."

"That why your dress is on backwards and you're out here waiting for me?"

"Maybe I missed you." Warmth found its way onto your face and though you wished you could blame it on the mugginess of the night you knew it had more to do with the current situation. "Okay, okay, there may have been a little accident in the kitchen, but I didn't burn anything this time. Technically I burned dinner and the kitchen is probably still filled with smoke, but other than that I'm fine."

"This time?" He laughed and like the waves washing away sand castles you could feel the guilt and the worry about trying to impress him tonight washing away.

"I tell you I burned dinner and I ruined our date and the only thing you take away is that I've done this before?" His laughter was infectious.

"You didn't ruin our date," he murmured, offended at the thought that you would ever think that. Dropping his hands from your face he rested them on your waist, tugging you closer to him. It was too hot to be held, but that didn't stop you from resting your head on the burning leather of his jacket or to let out a content sight when he kissed the top of your head.

"I did though." Voice muffled against his chest you pulled back enough to stare up into his eyes. "You've been planning all these amazing dates for us and I wanted to do something nice in return and instead I made a huge mess and dinner was gonna be good, like really good, Bucky. Better than your chocolate chip banana pancakes good."

"That so, pretty girl?"

"Mhm."

"Weren't you the one who said my pancakes were the best thing you ever ate?" Dipping his head down so his mouth was pressed against your ear he whispered, "Weren't you the one who moaned after the first bite? Said they were as good as that orgasm I gave you the night before?"

You swore the temperature rose a hundred degrees on that sidewalk and it had nothing to do with the night air. Opening and closing your mouth you were at a loss for words.

“Hm?”

“Brownies,” you blurted, a twinge of embarrassment working its way through you. “I made some brownies this morning which unlike dinner aren’t burned.”

“Brownies? You trying to distract me?”

Laughing you shrugged your shoulder. “Maybe,” you said, drawing the word out until he was laughing too, until he was leaning down and kissing you, until you momentarily forgot about dinner, until you were so happy you swore you would sink straight down into the cement. “Is it working?”

“Maybe.” Kissing you again, a little longer this time, one hand sliding to your lower back holding you close. “C’mon, I’ve got an idea.”

His idea turned out to be brownie sundaes shared on the patio, double scoops of vanilla ice cream dripping with extra whip cream and enough chocolate sauce to make your teeth ache. Watching as the sky turned from rosy pinks reminding you of the way he’d blush to deep purples that reminded you of the wildflowers that dotted the grassy fields on the drives he’d taken you on outside the city. And when the pinks and purples of the sky changed to deep blue to black, when the stars came out, when your stomach hurt from laughing too much and eating too many sweets you had grabbed his hand, leading him down the steps and onto the sandy beach.

Deserted, stars twinkling above, your bare feet sinking into the damp sand, cool ocean water running over your toes, holding hands, his rich laughter drifting outward when he teased you about Jaws getting you when you dared to wade a little further into the dark water.

Tugging you back to shore, your feet kicking up water, your own laughter joining his when you accidentally splashed him, soaking the bottoms of his jeans. Feet and legs wet, sand sticking to your skin like sugar on fried donuts you stumbled into his open arms deliriously happy.

“Careful there,” he laughed, so reminiscent of that first night you met.

“I’m always careful.”

“That why you burned dinner?”

“You’re never gonna let me live that down either are you?”

“Not a chance.” Pulling you close to his side he wrapped his arm around your waist, your feet sinking into the sand as you continued your lazy stroll along the beach.

Almost back to the house you paused your steps gaze swiveling to the patio where the light was still on illuminating the wicker furniture, the piles of fluffy blankets and oversized pillows you used during your girls nights, the same set that you used when it became too hot upstairs, the fans and open windows doing nothing to cool you off as you slinked down the stairs and settled in for a night sleeping out under the stars. The kitchen light was still off telling you that your friends weren't home yet. Except for the waves rolling against the shore it was quiet out. Down the beach you could see a bonfire, the orange flames dancing in the night as a small group of friends huddled around the warmth.

"Why were you so worried when you came over?" You hadn't meant to blurt it out, but since his arrival and the worry that had seeped from him even after you told him you were fine to the way he had been so tense in the kitchen watching those final curls of smoke float around the ceiling you could tell something had been bothering him.

"I told you," he murmured, voice a little gruff, arm tightening around your waist as he led you in the direction of the stairs.

Holding firm you dug your feet into the sand. "Come on I'm serious. You were weird. I've waited for you outside before and in the kitchen? You saw the smoke and you just shut down. I've never seen you act like that before so talk to me."

Dropping his arm from your waist he said, "'Bout two years before we moved here there was an accident." Silently climbing the stairs after him you shivered when he reached for your hand, pulling you down onto the lush pile of blankets and pillows.

"Got into some trouble with another biker group." Refusing to meet your eyes he stared out at the horizon. "Started off small with fights. Didn't take long for things to escalate. Sure you wanna hear the rest?"

"Nothing you say is going to make me think less of you, Bucky Barnes," you whispered. Lifting your hand to his face your thumb smoothing over his stubbled cheeks and jaw, tracing the plumpness of his lower lip, you smiled softly when he relaxed into your touch and met your eyes.

"They weren't good people, Y/N. It was a small town, they were ruining it by running drugs through. When we got word we tried to stop them and." A pause. A deep breath. A humorless chuckle. "We confronted them, got them to leave and thought that was the end. Couple months later our bar burned down."

Another pause. Another deep breath. Eyes turning downwards. "Nobody got hurt, but they burned it to the ground. Didn't take a genius to figure out who was behind it. After that we left town. Haven't seen 'em since, but tonight when I saw you sittin' on the porch, your dress on backwards the only thing I could think about was they were here and hurt you. Then in the kitchen when I saw the smoke, dunno, guess I went back to that night."

"Jesus," you breathed, at a loss for words. It was the deepest you had ever delved into your pasts and sitting next to him on a floral blanket, the patio light bathing him so that you could see the pain in his eyes, could see the way his shoulders were hunched as if by telling you he was still worried you'd think less of him. Seeing him so vulnerable next to you had your heart shattering. You had heard rumors around town about him and his friends, had seen the way the locals had pointed and stared, but you had never given it much thought when they had been nothing but kind and generous towards you. And when you had asked your friends about it they had simply shrugged their shoulders, murmuring offerings about how it was a small town and rumors spread like fire around here.

"Yeah."

"I meant what I said it doesn't change anything.” The thought of Bucky and his friends getting caught up in another round of fights, of their war escalating, bringing with it the possibility of casualties didn’t sit well with you. “You really think they’d come back after all this time?”

Gently removing your hand from his face he pressed a soft kiss to first your knuckles and then your palm in a gesture that was both calming and sensual. “No,” he finally said.

“But what about other groups coming after you or-“

“Hey, you got nothing to worry about, pretty girl. Haven’t been in trouble since and don’t plan on getting into more. ‘Sides, nothing interesting happens in this town anyway.”

“Really, Bucky?” You asked, trying and failing to hold back your growing smile. You didn’t understand how he could go from talking about something so serious and dangerous to making jokes, but a small part of you was thankful for the lighter conversation. “Nothing interesting has happened here? At all?”

“Well,” he smirked, “Guess one interesting thing.”

“What’s that?”

Your breath hitched when he leaned in closer, your eyes fluttering shut, heart picking up speed at the thought of feeling his lips on yours again. Warm breath against your mouth, fingertips dancing down your jaw and neck, but still, you didn’t feel his kiss. The growing impatience you felt turned to frustration.

“This patio. Most interesting one I’ve seen. Wanna tell me why you guys have so many pillows and blankets out here?”

“Seriously?”

“What?” He asked innocently with a shrug of his shoulders and an infuriating smirk. “Expecting a different answer?”

And this time when he leaned forward he gave you the answer you were looking for in a kiss that left you tasting brownies on his lips and tongue. Breathless when he pulled away you went back for seconds wanting him to kiss away your fears over his past, wanting to kiss away his worries of seeing you on the porch.

“How was that answer?”

“A lot better,” you breathed.

Stretching his body on the floral blanket he spread his arms, an invitation you accepted without hesitation as you curled into his side, feeling instantly safe and at home. Stroking his fingers down your back you let your eyes flutter shut as every beat of his heart and every roll of the ocean against the shore lulled you into a sense of peacefulness.

Your feet were still caked with sand, his jeans still a little wet and when you shivered against him he grabbed a light blanket, draping it over your body so delicately you were convinced it would take a week before your smile faded.

“Sometimes when I can’t sleep I come out here and look at the stars.”

“You ever gonna tell me what’s so special about those stars?”

“Jealous?” You teased.

“No,” he scoffed. “Already showed you I could make you feel better than the stars, pretty girl, don’t tell me you forgot already.”

There was no way you’d ever forget that night,. The way his body had pressed yours into the edge of the blanket and grass, the way he kept laughing, husky voiced reminding you to be quiet. The memories came rushing back and as you buried your head in his chest you now knew it’d take a month before your smile faded.

“I didn’t forget,” you mumbled, face burning as you left out the part about how’d you never forget. In a summer that was already filled to the brim with snapshots of your time together that one was on the top of the pile.

“I always tell people it started when we learned about them in school, but it started earlier than that. When I was a kid I always had trouble leaving at the end of summer. I used to throw tantrums and beg my parents to let me stay here year round and obviously that never worked out,” you laughed. “One year my mom told me that whenever I got lonely and missed the beach and my friends all I had to do was look at the stars and I wouldn’t be lonely because they’d be watching over everything I left behind. I know it sounds dumb, but I was a child and didn’t know any better. But as I got older it just became this sense of comfort, you know? I’d leave and even miles away from everyone I loved I took comfort knowing that no matter the distance we’d still have the stars watching over us.”

“You never thought about staying when you got older?”

“All the time. When I was a kid I used to picture myself moving here right after graduation and sharing a house with Wanda and Nat and sometimes when I’m having a bad day I dream about packing everything up and coming here, but I’ve got a life back home, a job. My mom is expecting me to take over the business one day. It’s not that simple.”

It was the closest you had come to talking about the end of summer and with a pang in your chest you realized for the first time just how hard it was going to be saying goodbye to him. Blinking back the tears you pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind, telling yourself you still had time with him even though it felt like every second was slipping through your fingers.

“That what you want?”

You wanted to tell him he was the first person who ever asked you that, wanted to tell him that before meeting him that was the plan, wanted to tell him that a part of you, a large, scary part of you that was reckless wanted to spend the rest of your life with him, wanted to tell him that even though you didn’t know each other well enough you wanted to settle down making a life with him here in this little slice of paradise. Even to your own mind you knew how ridiculous you sounded. But there was something about him, about the way he made you feel whole, the way you couldn’t get him off your mind no matter how hard you tried, the way those simple good morning texts sent your heart racing and your smile growing so large it hurt your face, the way you never slept so well as when you fell asleep next to him, the way you wanted to grow old with him by your side learning new things about him everyday, the way you were convinced you’d never feel this way about anyone else.

You couldn’t tell him that though. You hadn’t even told him that you thought you were falling in love with him. Instead you softly said, “What I want is to stay like this for a little longer.”

“He’s still here? That’s a good sign means she probably didn’t burn the kitchen down,” Wanda murmured as the headlights of Natasha’s car swept over Bucky’s motorcycle and the darkened front of the house.

“Or it could mean you’re about to walk in on them in the kitchen again,” Natasha retorted. “Or the living room.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Entering the house each of them made sure to make extra noise, stomping their feet, using their outdoor voices in a bid of warning. With each light that was flipped on to illuminate an empty room they became more confident.

“Maybe they’re upstairs,” Natasha said before getting shushed by Wanda.

Sliding the patio door open Wanda lightly stepped out being careful to avoid the creaky boards that would awaken you and Bucky. Slipping her phone out of her pocket she snapped a few pictures of you on your side fast asleep with Bucky holding you to his chest, arm wrapped protectively around your middle quietly snoring.

“Because that’s not creepy at all,” Natasha smirked.

“She’ll thank us for these later.”

Tags;

@nacho-bucky

@redhairedfeistynerd

@19mrs-rogers18

@ceeellewrites

@shawnie--jo

@breakfast-at-kelseys

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #my writing

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