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shurisneakers · 4 years ago

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shut in [4]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, threats

Word count: 3.7k

A/N: greetings everyone!! how are we all doing? i have nothing to say here tbh so anyway stan sam wilson being a lil shit whenever possible.

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! also if you want to be on the taglist, it’s mentioned at the bottom of the chapter.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Alright, thank you.”

You hung up the call, trudging back to the house, discarding the battery along the way.

The air had a chill to it and there was an occasional breeze that went past, rustling leaves providing an eerily comforting background score. The temperature tended to rise as the day went on but nights were especially cold due to the abundance of trees.

Even though the stress of the situation you were in constantly consumed all your waking thoughts, you still found the time to appreciate how beautiful your surroundings were.

The last few days were barely memorable. Sam and you tended to stay out of each other's way unless your meal time coincided or you watched the local news together. The schedule had worked out favourably.

He wasn’t very hard to live with.

Most of the time.

His commentary and small jokes were never-ending but were not as unwelcome as you initially thought. It brought some much needed light into your otherwise dreary day. When it came to figuring out how to do laundry due to your now extended stay or whose turn it was to do it, things got a bit messy but were resolved quickly.

He used to disappear often for hours on end. You never concerned yourself with going after him to find out where he went, figuring that unless he was hatching a plot that led to your demise, he was entitled to his own privacy. He’d return a while later, calmer than when he left.

It was fine. Nothing to write home about. Neither of you were dead yet.

“What are you doing on the bed?” You were reconsidering your last thought when you walked into the bedroom to resume your self-interrupted sleep, only to find him face down on the sheets. “It’s my day today.”

“Just give me some time. I’ll be out of here soon enough.” His voice was muffled as he spoke into the sheets.

“You can take all the time you need tomorrow when it’s your turn.” You swatted at his legs, earning a grunt of chagrin from him.

“Go eat some soup and maybe you’ll calm down,” he fired back, unmoving.

“Today’s not soup day. Which you would know if you paid attention to our schedule. That we made. Together. The same schedule which says it’s my turn today.”

He groaned, shoving his face deeper into the pillow. “My back’s killing me. Just give me a few.”

“Why, what’d you do?” you asked curiously, letting go of his leg.

“Combat training. Took a few beatings, fucked up my spine.”

“Does it hurt a lot?”

“It comes and goes.” Sam finally rolled onto his back, giving you a view of his face. His bone structure was amazing, even from quite possibly the ugliest angle you could have over him. “You should’ve seen the other guy.”

You just stared at him as he linked his arms behind his neck, elevating his head to look at you. He had a small stubble that was starting to grow longer. You wondered if he would shave it. He looked good regardless.

“How’s your beloved?”

“Huh?”

“The person you keep sneaking around to talk to on the phone. I’m not your dad, y’know. You can talk to them inside the house, ‘m not gonna ground you,” he quipped, a small, teasing smile on his face.

“He’s not my lover. Just... an acquaintance.” You felt the awkwardness starting to set in after you trailed off. “Anyway since you’re awake, we need to talk.”

“‘Bout what?”

“What happened that day. We’ve been avoiding it but we need to figure out what went wrong. Or at least a clue.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed, wincing as he sat up straight. “How do you want to do it?”

“Just talk me through how you got put on this mission and what exactly happened that day, I guess.” You took a place on the bed, leaning backward on your hand for support.

He nodded, delaying for a second to collect his thoughts before beginning.

“So basically-”

The sun was particularly relentless that day.

The ringing bell above the door of his favourite coffee shop was a welcoming sound. The barista smiled at him in greeting, asking if he wanted his usual to go.

His park bench was empty as it always was. Sam liked to think of it as a small gift from the universe; the fact that it was perpetually unoccupied.

He liked to sit there and watch people’s day go by. His iced coffee-

“I don’t really require that much detail.”

“Patience. I’m getting there.”

It was arguably one of the most peaceful days he had had in awhile, and he was hoping to keep the streak going. Nothing seemed like it would phase him, not even the phone ringing, drawing his attention away from the scene in front of him. Caller ID didn’t trace who it was.

“Hello?”

“Wilson.”

Sam gripped the cup so hard he thought it might spill over onto his jeans.

“I told you not to call me, Ransone.”

“But honey we had such a good time last night,” he faux cooed, “You know I have needs-”

“I’m not getting involved in your stupid organisation, Vincent. I told you I’m done,” Sam broke in, not wanting to waste time listening to his stupid dramatics.

“Listen here, Wilson.” The swift change in his tone was looming, threatening. “You’re done when I say you’re done-”

“Wanna bet?” Sam took a sip of his coffee. “I thought we made it clear in Detroit that we’re done. Honey.”

He added the last part out of pure spite just to get a rise out of him. Much to his glee it seemed to work as Ransone let out a deep exhale before continuing.

“That was before we found out there’s a mole in my gang. I want you to kill him.”

“This is way below my pay grade. Have one of your interns do it. Your shitty murder warehouse hasn’t seen much action in a while.”

“This is Pierce we’re talking about. If he’s working for another organisation, his ass is going to be so guarded, these kids couldn’t wouldn’t even get past the gate. Besides, you know my murder warehouse is for special guests only-”

“Man, it must suck real hard to be you right now,” Sam didn’t wait for him to complete his sentence. He finished the last bit of the drink he had left, gathering his things before standing up. “Find someone else. I’m out.”

“You might want to reconsider that. We found him.”

He stopped in his tracks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam said steadily, grip on the phone tightening.

“I think you do, though. Had us fooled for a while there, thinking he’s dead. A little more research, some cash into the right pockets and boom! There he is, clear as day.”

Sam felt a chill go up his spine.

“He doesn’t know we know. We’re just keeping an eye on him for now.”

“If you even fucking think of touching him-” his fists were balled up, struggling to keep his anger from rising.

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t.” Ransone laughed. “I’ll just have one of my interns do it.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Ransone. It’s not somethi-”

“Do this hit and I’ll leave him alone,” Ransone interjected. “You’ve worked so hard to pull him from our radar, Sammy. It would be a shame if it all went to waste.”

Sam’s jaw clenched. Suddenly the day didn’t seem as bright as it was a few minutes ago.

“I’ll text you the details. You tend to leave me on read so I thought I’d make it more fun. Do you want the confetti with the message or the lasers-”

Sam just hung up the call, feet firmly rooted in his spot. He had no idea what he was going to do.

The notification of a new text alerted him. Pierce’s address along with the exact timeline of when he’d be home.

It was across the country. If he botched the mission on purpose, Ransone wouldn't be able to find him for a few days at least, much less reach him. He could go on the run-

‘Do it or he dies.’

His train of thought was interrupted by a picture that made his blood boil.

Especially when it exploded with the stupid confetti effect.

“Okay, basically he threatened you with something to go do the hit.” You didn’t ask him what exactly he was threatening him with and Sam didn’t really elaborate.

“Yeah. Didn’t leave me with much of a choice. He’s batshit fuckin’ crazy anyway, I knew he’d do whatever he felt like.”

“So you ended up going.”

Pierce didn’t seem to get many visitors. Not that anyone could be blamed, this guy was one of the biggest pieces of shit Sam had had the misfortune of meeting.

Over the two days he had staked out in front of the mansion to find out if this guy had as much security as Ransone had boasted of, Sam had come to the conclusive truth that no, he very much did not. He had a standard home security system which was lacklustre compared to the rest of the house.

Maybe he just assumed that being a senior member of the mob would garner some fear to his name. Dumbass.

He found the tall shrubbery surrounding the property to be out of the line of sight of the camera, and climbing it wasn't very hard. He landed softly on the manicured lawn, adjusting his gloves and checking his surroundings before pulling his gun that was secured in the waistband of his pants.

He removed the safety, keeping it close to him as he stalked through the front yard.

The red car parked at the side earned an eye roll from him. If he had one, there was no doubt there’d be more. He just had to find a basement or garage.

Walking around the house, he kept close to the wall, searching for any opening to the basement.

It didn’t take long before he found a set of stairs to the exterior entrance of the basement. He checked to see if anyone was around before making his way down them. The lock was unsurprisingly easy to pick.

The basement was mostly dark save for a few strategic lights placed to highlight the magnificence of his several race cars. The man was moved slower than the second coming of Jesus. The cars just seemed like an overcompensation.

The switchboard was not difficult to find. He pulled open the cover, glancing at the switches before turning all of them off, plunging the whole basement into darkness. If his security system was as outdated as Pierce was, it would have turned off along with the rest of the house.

“Oh, that’s why the cameras weren't working when I showed up.” Bits that seemed amiss were beginning to place itself together the more his story progressed. “I assume you entered the house through the window on the side?”

“Sure did.”

Your guess was right. He’s the reason why it was ajar by the time you arrived.

As soon as he entered he had his gun raised. Scanning the room as he went past, his senses were dialed up to eleven. If he was really under the protection of Serpentine, they were doing a terrible job. He had gotten in completely unscathed.

As he made his way deeper into the house, the sound of some movie playing became louder. But he had cut off the power supply to the house.

His eyebrows pulled together tightly into a frown, he made his way down the hall towards the sound. No one was in the dining or living room he canvassed.

Finally, Pierce’s silhouette became clearer. He appeared to just be sitting there idly while a smaller screen played in front of him. It wasn’t a TV, just an iPad.

If Pierce was asleep it would just make the job easier. Gun raised, Sam made his way into the room silently.

Pierce was still. Sam raised the gun, taking a step closer.

A floorboard creaked.

He immediately cringed, shoulders tensed as he came to an immediate stop. It seemed like forever as he waited for Pierce to wake up, to brandish a gun and try and defend himself.

He didn’t.

Taking a step to the side, Sam moved diagonally. Each one was slow. Ready for any sudden movements from his end.

He finally stopped in front of Pierce.

A bullet hole in his forehead. Eyes open. Chest still.

He was dead.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Sam breathed out, lowering his gun. Pierce’s glassy eyes stared blankly ahead. He didn’t look like had been dead for too long.

A soft thud in another room made his head snap up. It was in the same direction from where he came.

He silently moved backwards to the corner of the room, hoping that the darkness was enough of a disguise as he saw someone stalking down the hallway.

“And that’s when you come in. Thought you were comin’ back to make sure he was dead.”

“I had just got there. Saw that everything was off, and just assumed it was a power outage.”

“What about you? How’d you end up there?” Sam had his legs crossed, leaning forward to listen to you.

“Ransone told me that there was a spy who was sending information out for nearly two years. Needed him gone and he wasn’t sure if his other agent would show up-” you mentioned to him- “I guess that’s you. Told me I had an opening at 8pm. When I got there, the CCTV was off. Found the window open so I just used that.”

You were replaying your memory, step by step to remember what exactly you had seen.

“Heard the movie playing, found no one when I went down the hall. I saw the car keys on the island, which came in handy later. Entered the room, pushed his head with the gun and he just slumped over like a damn rag doll. That’s when you made your grand entrance.”

“Got one chance to make an impression. Had to make sure I looked cool, emergin’ from the shadows and whatnot.”

“It doesn’t make sense though.”

“Ouch. Thought it was pretty legit, actu-”

“No, no-” you waved him off. “Not your entrance. The henchmen thing.”

He paused, mulling over what you said. “If he was working for Serpentine, he would have been more careful. Why did they show up after he’s dead?”

“I don’t think they work for Serpentine. If Pierce was giving them information, they wouldn’t kill him.” You had good reason to be confident about that. You thought you did, from previous assessments.

“Unless they were scared that he’d switch again,” Sam suggested. You looked up from your fidgeting fingers to him. “Didn’t want any of their secrets going back to Ransone. They got to him before we did.”

“Why’d they shoot at us then? If they killed him and left, why’d they wait for us to show up? Why did they try to kill us?”

“I think we’re ignoring the important thing here,” he paused. You looked at him expectantly, prodding him on. “How did they know we were coming? They should have killed him and disappeared but they expected us.”

You tilted your head. “Are you saying-”

“There might be more.”

“Pierce might not have been the only one,” you finished. “There are more spies.”

“Tipped ‘em off. Told them we were going to be there.”

“And killing us was just to poke Ransone with a stick,” you murmured, eyes downcast, fidgeting with your fingers again. “But that just seems random. It doesn’t make sense.”

“None of this makes sense, sweetheart.” Sam scoffed, leaning back again.

“We’re missing something. There’s something wrong.” You looked at him. “If it’s just a random attack, why did they release our face to the whole fuckin’ country? Why are they specifically targeting us?”

“Finishing what they started. Covering all their tracks from that day. If we’re not dead, we’re a liability.”

“What if it’s not Serpentine at all? What if it’s another gang?”

“Serpentine has the most motive.”

“We don’t know that.”

He looked at you incredulously. “I think there’s substantial evidence to suggest they fuckin’ hate us. Besides, they’d want me dead specifically.”

“Why?” you inquired, eyes narrowing.

He opened his mouth like he was going to explain but closed it a second later, leaving you guessing.

“Fine, but it doesn’t mean they’re the only ones who do.” You made a point to ask him later or at least conduct your own research into it.

“Okay,” he said, shifting to lean on his elbows, “who else could it be? If Pierce was working for Serpentine and Ransone found out, sends someone to kill him, it’s essentially an attack on one of their own members. I’d say that's a pretty good motive.”

“I don’t know. Hydra doesn’t like us either. There’s Ten Rings too. But Serpentine just doesn’t work out.”

“How are you sure?” he asked. “You a spy for them too?”

You rolled your eyes at him as he raised his eyebrow. “It doesn’t make sense. What if we’re missing something? Did we go through everything?”

“I just went through my entire story down to the most irrelevant details. Twice. Nothing’s missing on my end.” He pushed himself off the bed, taking a long stretch before looking back at you.

“I think we should do it again. Just to make sure.” You rotated your torso to look at him. “We can figure it out-”

“You’re going to lose your mind if you keep at this any longer for today. Take a break.”

“I can’t take this lightly. Everyone’s out there looking for us and there is no one we can trust-”

“And going through our stories for the third time today is going to solve that how?” He had his hands crossed over his chest like a stern parent.

“I’m sorry but our faces are probably plastered in every damn police precinct in the country,” you snapped, “And I think that us remembering something some stupid detail might actually help rather than, I don’t know, taking naps and eating sandwiches. So no, I’m not going to drop it. Because I actually want to get out of here.”

You didn’t mean to sound so angry with him. He had told you everything twice already and patiently answered questions that you had. You didn’t think he was lying. You had no way of knowing but you hoped that some sort of allegiance was being formed between you both.

There was silence for a minute, leaving enough time for the guilt to creep in when he didn’t fire back. It’s what you expected.

“I’m not asking you to drop it. I’m saying take a break,” he said calmly. “You’re thinkin’ enough for the both of us anyway.”

You let out a small exhale, forcing the edge to retreat from your voice.

“I’ll be back in a while.” With that he turned around and left the room. A few minutes later you heard the backdoor open and shut.

Great.

You massaged your throbbing temples, eyes closed. He was right. Your mind wasn’t clear and you had been at this for hours. You wouldn’t be able to think critically.

Or at all.

You dropped back on the bed, grabbing a pillow and pressing it to your face. The coolness of the fabric felt nice.

You just let out a sigh, turning to your side to hopefully get some sleep.

_____

You woke up what seemed like hours later to a dark room.

It took your eyes a while to adjust stepping out into the hallway illuminated by the light in the kitchen.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice rang out. “Made you a sandwich.”

You rubbed your eyes groggily, looking where he was pointing. Sure enough, there was a sandwich on the table. He sat at the seat adjacent to it.

“Thank you.” You contemplated sitting next to him for dinner. It would be a first.

In the end you just grabbed your plate, giving him a half smile before making your way to the couch. You settled on sitting on the floor instead, leaning your back against the foot of the sofa.

The TV was already halfway through playing Megamind so you just let it continue, mindlessly chewing on the bread. As far as peanut butter sandwiches go, it wasn’t all that bad.

“Wilson,” you called out sheepishly, eyes not leaving the movie. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. It wasn’t right.”

“It’s okay.”

How he let go of it so easily was beyond you. The sandwich was surprising too, but you took it, not wanting to change his mind. He couldn’t have poisoned it. You had checked his stuff.

You sat in silence for the rest of the movie. Your mind kept slipping in and out of thought but it was a comfortable atmosphere you found yourself in.

After the credits started rolling, you went to leave your plate in the sink. Sam brushed past you, grabbing the blanket at the foot of the couch, launching himself onto the cushions.

“What are you doing?” you asked, puzzled as he snuggled in.

“Going to sleep?” He tilted his head to look at you.

“Use the bed.”

“It’s your turn today.”

“Your back’s fucked up. I’ll take the couch.”

He didn’t budge.

“Go on.” You mentioned to the room with a shrug of your shoulder.

“You’re not going to let me argue, are you?”

You pressed your lips into a straight line to hide a smile, shaking your head lightly.

“Well, okay.” He let out a small noise as he got up. “Guess I’m sleeping business class tonight.”

Sam walked past you, careful not to bump into you. You swapped places with him, making your way to the couch, readjusting the blanket that was haphazardly left there.

“Y/N.” You peered at him from the corner of your eye, only to fully turn when you caught his gaze. “I appreciate it.”

You just nodded, tossing the blanket over yourself as he switched off the light.

Next part

226 notes · View notes

darkorderaf · 3 years ago

Note

Prompts 125 & 141 with Alex Reynolds:)

Glad that your requests are open!

Oh hell yeah. I went a little enemies to lovers on this one and it admittedly took on a whole life of its own. Thank you so much for your request and please enjoy!!! <3

Pairing: Alex Reynolds x OFC. Prompts: “Quit moving, I’m trying to sleep. Wait…are you…what?!” “Use your words.” Rating: M. Warnings/Content: Smut. It gets spicy. Word Count: 2,118.

(I don’t own gif; credit to allelitewrestlings!)

“Is this a joke?”

“Am I in hell? Am I in actual hell?”

They spoke in a furious tandem. She tore the paper out of Alex’s hands and checked it again. The poor hotel receptionist wasn’t prepared for two seething wrestlers at midnight but there they were, completely upended by what the booking confirmation said. The room was indeed assigned to her and one Alex Reynolds. She ran her hand over her face and sighed in agitation. The hotel receptionist awkwardly slid their keys across the countertop. They took them begrudgingly, then looked at each other with all the warmth of dueling street cats.

Was this punishment for arriving last to the hotel? Had she unknowingly upset the Khan man himself? Similar questions ran through his mind.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath. She kept a white-knuckle grip on her suitcase as they walked. “We’re not even in the same faction!”

Just last week, she and the rest of The Pinnacle had been feuding with Dark Order! And now her and her worst enemy with the great hair were supposed to share a room? This was all a bad joke. Alex rolled his eyes and checked the room number again.

“How about this? You pretend that I don’t exist,” he said, tone helpful and light but just as biting. He swiped his key and shoved the door open. He shot her a look. “And I’ll pretend that you don’t exist. That’s easy, right? We pretty much do that alre--”

Neither of them checked what kind of room it was. What kind of accommodations they would have. They were too focused on the fact that someone had the audacity to put them together. One queen bed sat in the middle of the small room, daring them to make a fuss. No couch or chair to be seen.

“I’ll sleep in the bathtub,” she said quickly. She didn’t want to cross the threshold because then that would make the situation all too real. “Yup, that’s where I’ll be.”

“Uh, no, that’s a negative,” Alex said as his head swiveled to stare at her. With how close they were, whatever he used to wash his hair rolled over her. It smelled...good. She frowned and he continued. “You’re not going to hold the one bathroom hostage.”

“I’m not going to hold it hostage!”

Alex arched a brow at her in challenge as he crossed the threshold of the room first. Nose crinkled, she followed in after him and tried to assess the floor space available. He seemed to be doing the same thing and that sat strange in her belly. He could just take the bed, claim it for himself and leave her on the floor, but he didn’t seem to be doing that. She eyed him suspiciously as he grabbed a pillow and tossed it to the ground.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, I don’t want you to murder me in my sleep, so…”

He gestured to the floor with an exasperated look.

“Oh come on,” she sighed, a hand on her hip and her head tilted. “I wouldn’t kill you, Reynolds.”

“Oh yeah? Really?”

“Think of all the legal trouble that would be. And over you of all people? Please.”

Their eyes locked from opposite sides of the bed and if there was a rumble of thunder, she wouldn’t question it. The rest of the night was, by all standards, boring. They gave each other a wide berth, barely exchanged words. He was already on the floor with his eyes closed when she came out of her shower. His travel blanket settled low across his bare chest and his arm settled on his belly.

As she towel dried her hair, she tried to think of when it started. Their animosity towards each other. They were part of rival factions so part of it was a given, the nature of the gig, but where did the rest come from? Every time they crossed paths, they jeered at each other. Nothing that dug too far under the skin but enough to rile each other up. It felt like it was almost immediate, as soon as they locked eyes for the first time.

Schoolyard. That’s what it was.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to murder me?”

His voice snapped her out of it. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice that his eyes opened or that he laid back with his hands behind his head. Or that he was looking at her with slow, languid blinks. Or that she had been intensely staring at him. The lighting in the room wasn’t the best but it shadowed and defined the muscles of his chest, his arms. Accentuated the sharp line of his jaw and his perfect brows. Her eyes narrowed at him and that brow of his arched again. Like he knew something.

Who gave him the right to look like the cover to a romance novel? And why was she thinking about that now?

She made a disgusted noise and didn’t answer him. She was just tired and frustrated with the situation, that was all. That was all it could be. There was no layer of hell where she found Alex Reynolds attractive.

Absolutely not.

The heat between her legs and in her low belly an hour later told her otherwise. Her brain, that traitorous asshole, had latched onto the idea of romance novel Alex Reynolds with the perfect hair and heated stare. It tingled her toes, her chest. She was so invested trying to purge herself of those thoughts with her eyes on the wall, half-awake, that she had hardly noticed that Alex had climbed onto the bed beside her. Her under the sheets and him on top. He had grumbled something about the floor being garbage and how he had a match tomorrow but she didn’t hear it.

She clenched her thighs together tight to give herself some relief. It wasn’t happening. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. It would be too obvious if she got up and went into the shower for the second time that night. She slipped her hand down across the warm expanse of her stomach and settled it where she needed friction the most. A quiet whimper-like moan slipped out of her. A desperate sound that he absolutely heard.

“Quit moving, I’m trying to sleep,” he said to her, voice low and agitated. That didn’t help either and a sharp nudge against her swollen clit pulled another whimper out of her. Alex went still beside her. “Wait...are you...what!?”

She froze and slowly, she half-turned to look at him. He was propped up on his forearm, staring at her with a heavy look. His damp hair was swept back from his face and she could see him clearly through hazy, lust-colored eyes. Her instincts told her to get angry, to make a snide comment towards him to diffuse the tension, but her jaw was locked tight. He angled his head slightly, a question.

“Are you trying to get off right now?”

There was that look again. The one where he looked like he knew something. It frustrated her in too many ways.

“Alex,” she started, voice breathy. “I will literally pay you to never talk about this.”

He didn’t seem phased. His gaze swept over her and she involuntarily bit her lip. His eyes jumped back up to hers and his expression smoothed itself out. He shifted, quiet in thought. When did her breath get so loud, her heart so fast?

“Do you want help?”

She rolled onto her back. The sheets felt too hot against her skin. She looked at his hands, the way his fingers curled. His eyes met hers, half-lidded and curious.

“...what?”

“I’m completely serious.”

His tone had a finality to it that had her shoving the sheets down to let her molten skin breathe. She searched his face. Whenever she found what she was looking for, she nodded.

He shook his head and pushed himself up to slowly lean his upper body over hers. His face hovered inches away from hers. His hand went to her bare shoulder and he thumbed along her collarbone. A small smirk formed.

“Use your words,” he said. “C’mon, we know you’re good with them.”

Her pride and her lust met in a lockup. His hand moved down from her collarbone to between her breasts, the strip of skin between her panties and tanktop. A trail of lightning followed and she arched up into him. The way he pressed into her side, she could feel how hard he was. The words that slipped through her lips caused him to groan. That and when her fingers went to the back of his head to tug at his hair.

“Alex,” she seethed. “Please.”

He grinned at her and when their lips collided, it wasn’t far off from their usual. A push and a pull, a test and a challenge. Teeth nipped skin and he tore the sheets off to settle on top of her, his knees by her hips. They broke apart long enough for him to pull her shirt off, to mark her chest with his mouth and the harsh scrape of his stubble as he shimmied down her body. As cool and collected as he was, the pulse of his hands around her hips told a different story. He lightly bit the soft part of her belly and glanced up at her when her knees fell apart in invitation.

“You know I still don’t like you, right?”

He smiled before he answered.

“Uh-huh. I sure do.”

His hot hands skimmed down her sides and tugged her panties off. Given that he knew what she was doing before, he didn’t waste time and got right to it. She appreciated that and told him as much with a low, soft moan when his tongue pressed into her. He didn’t stay there long and she glared at him. Was he fucking with her?”

“Get up,” Alex told her as he got up onto his knees. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to sit up. “I want you to sit on my face.”

She couldn’t even bark a laugh, too stunned at his sudden proclamation to make a nasty remark as she moved with him. His arms hooked under her thighs and pulled her close to his lips. Her nails cut lines into the headboard. She smirked down at him.

“I didn’t think the Dark Order were such giv--Oh fuck.”

Alex set back to what he was doing before in earnest, giving her no chance to complete her thought. For as much shit as he talked, she should have known he was good with his mouth. He played with her, strung her along, built her up then brought her back down. Her back arched when he sucked on her clit just right and a smug hum of satisfaction rumbled from his chest. One hand dropped from the headboard to thread itself into his hair and she leaned against the wood, her body taut.

“Alex, I’m c-close.”

Her voice was a hot whisper and she could barely tell that he nodded. Not until her first orgasm crashed through her and her thighs quivered, tightened around his head. Like an unexpected gentleman, he worked her through it and massaged her aching thighs. Her breath came back to her and her body went lax. He helped her down his body, her muscles warm and a bliss in her blood that made her all the more pliable in his hands. He set her back against the mattress and hovered over her again.

“Better?”

The complete nonchalance to the way he licked her off his lips as he sat up stoked another surge of heat in her. She reached for him and was stunned to see him move away. He smirked at her as he stood up, seemingly not caring about the fact that he was rock hard. Confusion flooded her face.

“What? Where are you going?”

“Bathroom. You were the one having trouble sleeping,” he said, that goddamn brow of his cocked again at her. Her eyes fell to look at his hips. Fuck, she really wanted to touch him and he knew it. Her nails scratched her palms. “Not me.”

“What?”

He leaned into her and kissed her long enough so she could taste herself. Then he pulled away and smiled at her. She seethed.

“Oh, you absolute bastard.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. His voice lowered and took on a conspiratorial tone. “We’re stuck here for two days. You gonna make it?”

He walked away and she watched him leave. But before he stepped into the bathroom and locked it, he glanced back at her.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

#alex reynolds imagine #alex reynolds fic #alex reynolds fanfiction #alex reynolds smut #aew imagine #aew smut #aew fic #aew fanfiction #wrestling imagine #wrestling fic #dark order imagine

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embrassemoi · 4 years ago

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Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 18

Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader CW: mentions of abuse, throwing up, depression, horrible coping mechanisms, implied sexual references A/N: Read CW for this chap.

【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】

Chapter 18: Love Isn’t a Magic Potion

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February 14th, 1976

There wasn’t quite another person like James Potter who knew what unrequited love felt like.

After years of harbouring feelings for Lily, making a fool of himself, his failed attempts of trying to impress her; she never seemed to take interest. Lily always sent him disgusted looks, never passing up the opportunity to call him a dirty arrogant toe-rag.

And sure, it phased him sometimes; her words cutting deep, but despite it all, James still believed in the fairytales, the sparks, the magic of true love, finding your soulmate — your better half. His parents were his main inspiration for love. Years — decades they’d been together and still, the love they held for one another, so fierce and unstoppable, it even shocked James at times.

A long time ago, when he truly understood the concept of love, he made a promise that he wouldn’t settle for anything but for the fairytales, the sparks, the magic of true love, finding his soulmate — his better half.

He wanted all of it. The good days, the bad days, the glitter and sparkles, the cheesy one-liners; long walks on the beach, nursing them back to health after they caught the flu, watching the sunsets, dancing in the rain — even the stupid petty arguments. He wanted all of it.

No matter how long it took to find them, he would; after all, everyone had their person.

Maybe that’s why he chased after Lily for so long — hoping for that romantic love — the love that’s made for movie screens — the type of love that conquered all. But he wouldn’t continue to beat on a dead horse, especially if Lily didn’t want that.

He wouldn’t force her and certainly, he wouldn’t harass her.

But, James would consider himself lucky, he found his friends — they were already his platonic soulmates and he’d go to the ends of the earth for each of them. His parents, the Marauders, Marlene, now Whiskers; he was always surrounded by only the purest amount of love.

He was never a person to cover up his emotions — hardly, that is. He wore his heart proudly on his sleeve, never once letting others dictate his life and the way that he loved. He laid himself bare, open, and there was a beauty to it that words couldn’t describe.

Love truly conquered all, whether it be romantic or platonic.

But to the women that fell in love with Sirius Black, well — there wasn’t quite another group of people like them who knew what unrequited love felt like — not even James ‘Oi, Evans!’ Potter could compare.

Love is shit.

Love is cruel.

Love is unfair.

Sirius would go on date after date. One fleeting look and soon enough, he had women at his feet, falling for his devilish charm that captivated them in seconds.

They swooned over his chiselled jaw and thick glossy hair; eyes so mysterious with profound, moonlit mirth. The epicanthic folds highlighted his sharp and pointed look that they swore cut through them, searching through the deepest part of their souls.

He was a part or used to be a part of the oldest and most noble Pureblood families in the country. He was rich, of high status, French, could speak five languages and a mischievous bad boy straight out of your classic Muggle film.

Falling in love with Sirius Black was an easy task, so simple and it could happen in a blink of an eye. The realization would come either fast or slow depending on the poor lovesick git who let themselves fall.

But getting Sirius Black to return that affection was an impossible task.

He was raised as a gentleman and would play the part before becoming bored. They were all fillers, the people he dated.

He would admit it, he’s a bit of a dick.

He never fell in love with anyone he’s dated so far — never got past the fancying stage and even then, it was never strong. It never made him feel those butterflies that James described them as. His heart never jumped, never sped up fast, he never felt his skin heat nor did their laugh ever put him into a trance — nothing like what he described them to be like. If anything, he’d always break it off with the girls he found himself getting too comfortable with; always severing it before it became too much.

Although, it technically never was his fault that they fell in love. Most of his admirers like to daydream from afar, or they’d make a promise at the beginning — no strings attached.

Well for them, it did. It almost always ended with strings attached with Sirius holding a pair of shiny scissors at the end of fried thread.

He did not believe in the fairytales, the sparks, the magic of true love, finding your soulmate — your better half.

But that doesn't mean he didn’t want it.

But, above all, Sirius Black considered himself to be a realist. Unlike James, he couldn't — he wouldn’t let himself believe in that shit anymore. Love is disappointing and it does nothing but hurt you, nothing but a filler he used to distract himself with, no matter who it was. Love did not fix his fuck ups nor himself.

All of the adoring admirers, the ones that lined up for him, they would all leave if they caught a glimpse of the worst parts of him. The ugly, nasty parts. He used rage as a means of defence, he pushed the people he loves away, he was moody, dramatic and above all, reckless.

All they wanted was to take, use him for his body — they wouldn’t love him if they knew him. The real him: the ugly side along with the beautiful one he wore. The side that wasn’t always adventurous, daring, bold, brave… happy, go-getting.

Nobody would stay for the ugly part of him.

In that regard, Sirius was unloveable. Completely, utterly unloveable.

Currently, the uglier, caged part of Sirius re-emerged as he writhed around in his bed. Eyes moved rapidly behind eyelids, squinted in pain as he squirmed around, clutching the bed sheets tightly. His head flopped from side to side as he was unable to wake; stuck in a nightmare.

“You mudblood lover —” “Don’t call them that!” “Babies, Regulus, babies!” “It’s killing me to stay.” “CRUCI —”

Sirius woke with a jolt, choking on a strangled scream that clawed at his throat. His mind seemed to be encased in a wordless static, muting him to the noise around him as he felt the rapid, hard thumps against his chest. Distantly, he could feel his body raking in waves as the sticky, cold feeling of his sweat dripped from his temple and down the side of his face. It made his hair stick to his forehead uncomfortably yet somehow, despite the sweating and the overwhelming feeling of heat, he felt ice cold.

He swallowed thickly, sniffingly away the stinging growing behind his eyelids but failed as a few stray tears had already settled on his cheeks. Sirius looked around frantically, meeting the familiar red and gold bed sheets that were now pushed off of him as he sat upright in his bed. Red velvet drapes hung around the sides, pulled together as slivers of bright light sliced through them. It made him squint and focus on the surroundings.

Soon enough, it felt like a weight lifted off his chest, marked in unspoken forgiveness once realizing where he was.

You’re safe, his inner voice spoke firmly, It was just a dream. A dream.

“Wakey, wakey Padfoot!”

He had just enough time to wipe the freshly fallen tears away before James ripped back his curtains, jumping into his bed. He drew a deep sigh, avoiding James’ eyes and trained them to look outside.

Upon the grass and mountains, snow sprinkled on much like sugar over a cake. The distant chirping of birds could be heard singing their usual song, or more like an alarm clock, as they soared high in the sky without a worry in the world.

If only Sirius could be a bird, what a simple life he would lead.

“Fuck you,” groaned Remus, “He might be awake, but I’m not.” His eyes clenched in annoyance, throwing his blanket over his head.

“Well aren’t you lovely? Isn’t he, Sirius?”

“The loveliest,” he managed to grit out, throat groggy and dry.

“Shut up!”

“Okay, calm down big bad wolf.”

“Well,” he mocks James, his voice going an octave higher, “This big bad wolf can maul you.”

James beamed brightly, the ever morning person he was, unaffected by Moony’s response. Instead, he padded his way over to him, shaking him before Remus flipped the covers off his body, tackling him into his bed.

“Do you guys think I should cut my hair?” James managed to get out as he gasped. Remus sprawled out on top of him, pinning him in place as he was being crushed from his weight. “I want to make sure I look good for today.”

“You’re always in need of a trim,” Peter called out.

“You look fine,” Remus added, “Besides, you and scissors are not a good move right now.”

Meanwhile, Sirius’ stomach felt hollow, worry ate at his very being before he felt something rise within his throat. Quickly, swinging his legs over the edge, Sirius made his way to the loo in a rush while James and Remus were both distracted.

Peter was there, rifling through the cabinets with his toothbrush dangling from his lips. “Morning,” he said, not quite looking over to him, “Do we have any more toothpaste? I keep telling Prongs not to use so much…”

“Get out,” he managed to say before shoving Peter out of the door, closing it shut. He barely managed to cast a silencing charm before opening the lid of the toilet seat, throwing up. For the most part, Sirius gagged on air before finally attempting to collect himself, preventing hyperventilation.

Foolishly, even up until that dreaded night, Sirius had an ounce of hope. For what exactly, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was hope that Regulus might have turned out different, or maybe it was hope that he’d finally be accepted, even though he knew that would never be the case — never with parents like Walburga or Orion.

But every time he dared to dream, to hope, he was always quickly reminded why it hurt. Hope was dangerous, a false sense of reality — a taste of what people dreamt and chase for but could never quite grasp.

It was more addicting than any kind of alcohol he drank — or the girls — or pranks.

Eventually, he got up from the floor, jumped in the shower and followed his morning routine before wrapping a towel around himself and stepped out.

Sirius was drying his hair before catching a glimpse of himself in the large mirror in front of the sink.

Sirius had never been insecure about the way he looked. A part of him, the arrogant and narcissistic part of him knew that he looked good and he’d flaunt it. But there were times like today, where he’d look at himself, but feel as if he’s looking at a familiar face that wasn’t his — a monster reflected back.

He wondered if this is what Moony felt like.

For a moment, Sirius let his face rest, allowing the helpless, loitering fear and guilt he felt engrave its way onto the smooth surface of his skin.

The eyes looking back at him today were his father’s, his hair reminded him too much of Regulus, his high cheekbones reminded him of Walburga and the tired, slightly crazed look reminded him of Bellatrix.

A member of the Black family, that's what people saw when they first looked at Sirius, the heir of the most noble and ancient house of Black.

Sirius Orion Black.

Orion Black… Even his name made him want to cry out in rage. Another reminder.

Pushing back his wet hair, he studied the faded scar that disappeared into his hairline.

It was more apparent than ever that Sirius had scars.

But unlike James, whose scars were from happy memories of the Quidditch pitch, or Peter, whose only scars were from chopping chocolate for a fancy baking recipe — and lastly, Remus, whose scars were visible, laid out for everyone to see, Sirius’ scars were invisible.

He wore them day in and day out without anyone ever knowing.

With a blink, he drowned out his thoughts immediately; his dreams, his past, his thoughts were for another time.

He sucked in a breath, clicking the door open.

Remus was the only other person still in the dorm. He stood in front of the mirror, buttoning up his white school shirt before ducking down and grabbed his bag, shoving in books, his wand and any other loose pages of parchment that he assumed was for his little study group.

“Where’s Wormy and James?” He asked, not liking the way his voice sounded wobbly and hoarse. His eyes no longer peered up at his chap, instead looking around the room. Anywhere but his face.

Thankfully, Moony didn’t seem to notice, preoccupied with the now overflowing pile of Valentine gifts and cards on his bedside. He grew frustrated with them with every passing second as they littered his space.

“Accio bin!”

The black bin from across the room flew into Remus’ hand, quickly shoving the letters in but soon a guilty look flashed across his face.

Remus had always been too considerate about their feelings, perhaps Sirius should take a page from his book.

Sirius had a pile accumulating on the carpet beside his trunk; it seemed like more and more people every year were confessing their feelings, but this time, Remus seemed to be getting a lot more along with the rest of the Marauders. But he smiled, happy to know that Remus had been getting some action. He fucking needed it.

“Er — sorry, Pete’s off to Wood’s room to borrow their toothpaste and James —” Remus cut himself off, bringing a hand to the sides of his temples as he moved them in circular motions. “I’m pretty sure Prongs went to find Y/N. Something about finishing a sign or a song for today —”

Sirius bit back a laugh, “A song?”

“I guess he’s fucking Paul McCartney now.”

Remus passed him, disappeared into the loo, giving enough time for Sirius to get dressed.

It was his third dream that week about that night and it was wearing down on him emotionally. He was losing sleep, he wasn’t eating, he was reclining from the Marauders, he was so prone to anger; lashing out, yelling… he didn’t like how he was acting — it reminded him too much of Orion.

And the thought made him sick to his stomach. He didn’t want to be a monster.

Lost in his depressing thoughts, Remus re-entered the room. But instead of walking up to his bed, Remus halted, looking directly at him before he crossed the room, putting a protective, encouraging hand onto his shoulder. A serious and calculated look crossed his face.

“Do you need anything?” He spoke in a hushed voice, as if he were to speak any louder, the walls might hear.

Sirius felt unexpected annoyance brewing in his chest. Bloody fucking Lupin, of course he knew — using his heightened senses to sniff out his distress.

Unlike Sirius, who hid his emotions, who covered and buried even a sign of weakness, who searched for answers high and low, Remus was so blunt — clear cut with his emotions. He knew just what to say, knew what was happening before others did even if they hadn’t even spoken yet.

He wished his thought process was as clear-cut as Moony’s.

“What do you mean? I’m fine,” he said, faking nonchalance. Jokingly, he prodded Remus’ cheek with his finger, “Turning into Moomy, again?”

His friend did not smile, concern still latched on.

“You know I’m always here for —” Before he could say anything more, Sirius hastily grabbed his bag, slinging over his shoulder, bolting out of the room.

Hiding — running away from his problems — that’s what Sirius was an expert on. And like that, he switched off that part — the ugly, unloveable part of his brain for the day.

When Sirius reached the Great Hall, he wasn’t surprised when a dozen owls bombarded him with letters and chocolates. It brought a sly smile to his lips

What? He did say he was arrogant.

“Looking grand, Black,” Marlene teased as she observed the overflowing amount of cards already in his arms. She ruffled his hair as he was forced to take the seat next to L/N. Marlene turned to chat with Dorcas, who finally was back on her feet and kicking it.

“It’s not even eight and your bag is filled?!” Peter exclaimed, baffled.

A part of Sirius didn’t feel annoyed as he sat beside her. Maybe it was because his main stressor, the Black family, was out of the picture and he’d been desperately trying to control his lash outs, but Sirius was stumped. Since the break, especially after the ‘Muggle’ incident, he found himself tolerating her presence.

Just a bit.

He understood why James, Remus, Lily, Marlene; why everyone took a liking to her.

But he had an inkling as to why.

Although, his mixed feelings towards her were not helping in the slightest as he dealt with the string of recent events in his life.

She was the one that spoke first, which surprised him.

“Ugh —” Y/N fiddled with the hem of her robes, “Kettleburn wants us to switch the Puffeskin between us. I was thinking since we’re in the same house, we could keep it in one of our dorms. I was thinking about keeping it in yours.”

“Why not yours?”

“They liked to hatch in warm places. Your dorm has a fireplace, right? I remember James telling me you had one… And it would make it easier since women can go into the boy’s dorms.”

For some reason, he couldn’t stop himself — he just couldn’t. “I bet you’re trying to get off quick.”

The accusations did not sit right with her.

For someone like Sirius, someone who dealt with the worst shit imaginable; someone who'd been beaten down, both metaphorically and literally — someone who by the textbook was supposed to curl in on himself — keep to himself, be small, avoid drama, don’t cause arguments — Sirius did anything but that. Everything he did, he made sure to cause a reaction.

“No —”

“Are we about to argue because you want to win, or is it because you want to learn?.”

“You’re so arrogant. I don’t need you for grades. Your brain probably grew twice in size when I turned you into a dog.”

“Didn’t ask.”

“Then why are you replying?”

Sirius rolled his eyes, “Very creative.”

“Do you ever just shut up?” She snaps. Her face inched closer to his.

Unbeknownst to her, for a second, a second that he’d never admit, Sirius' brain falters. They hadn’t been this close to each other since that day after Kettleburn had assigned their group project. He catches the smell of faint floral — tulips, he thinks. Or maybe vanilla? Books? Tea? He couldn’t place it.

But his heart did a funny thing. It never does a funny thing like that and it concerns him. He wasn’t sick, was he?

Silence lingers.

L/N scoffed, “Well finally, it looks like you have.”

Although, she seems completely unphased by their closeness.

“Huh, you really do shut up.”

He snorts, his brain finally working again. “You nag an awful lot.”

“Well, you —”

“Whiskers. You’re a woman, how do I look?” James asked. He came bouncing up to them across the hall from the entrance. He twirls a little, showing off his outfit. In one hand, he held a sign and a bunch of roses. “Would you fancy me?”

“Dropping hints, are we, Potter?” She smirks playfully, “Anyway, I know you nicked that from Sirius.”

Sirius looked over to him, his head nodding up and down but was surprised that she noticed the difference, “She’s right, that is mine. Maybe that’s why you look so good.” He meant for the remark to come off as a joke, but cringed as the words spewed from his mouth. He sounded like a complete arse.

James ignores him, “I have everything planned.” Then, he holds up a sign, all in baby pink with hearts dancing across the page as a huge message declaring his affection for Emmeline was written in bold fonts. I looked fairly cheesy, but that was James for you. A romantic at heart.

“Well,” he starts, clearly happy, “Do you like it?! I’ve also got a song written!”

“Remember the last time you wrote someone a —”

Y/N kicked him, hard, under the table, which caused Sirius to look at her sharply before his face turned annoyed again. She hadn’t even glanced his way yet. She continued to calm James down, giving him a pep talk while Sirius would jump in with encouraging words.

“Of course we love it — is it for Lily or —”

James shakes his head and they both knew who he was referring to.

“— Then Emmeline will love it even more! Get the girl, Bambi!”

James smiled triumphantly, sticking his fist out for a fist bump before running off happily towards the Ravenclaw table.

“Y’know,” Y/N starts, talking to Sirius as they both watch as James gets up on the table, preparing to serenade Emmeline in front of the entire Great Hall with a guitar that vaguely looks like Remus’. “You can choose not to be a dick.”

Surprisingly, he laughed, small, but there. And then, he finds himself responding to her comments, “I beg to differ.”

“Then beg.”

Sirius’ eyes widened, feeling his mouth go dry. He bit the inside of his cheek, eyes fluttering shut a couple times. It didn’t help that she smirked at his reaction and it made Sirius feel funny. An odd swoop piddled at the base of his stomach.

“I’ll take that into consideration for later,” he settled on.

Remus and Lily waltzed into the room, both holding small cards of their own. L/N and Sirius shuffled over as much as they could to fit in with both Remus and Lily.

A part of Sirius’ routine had started incorporating Lily doing his hair. Most often, she did pretty braids or buns — but of course, not without James pouting to him later. He only hoped that with Emmeline’s new presence, James would stop.

“Ooo la-la!” Y/N mocked, swiping one of the cards from Lily and Remus. “You two are popular.” She turned to face Lily.

“It’s n-nothing, really, “Lily stuttered, her head ducking down. But her eyes seemed to look up at her, seemingly in hope of some recognition.

“Don’t be so modest!”

“A-hem!” James’ bostal voice. His foot wobbled on the edge of the table that made them all nervous if he were to fall. He finally concluded his song. Lily looked over and smiled, glad to know that James had finally chosen a different target to annoy.

“Fuckin’ barmy,” Remus muttered out, a hand going to cover his mouth in suspense. His hand travelled down to his chin-stroking his jaw.

“Emmeline, thou beauty —”

“Oh my god,” groaned Remus again, sinking in his seat from the second embarrassment but smiling nevertheless.

However, Marlene whopped loudly, a large grin on her face.

Lily looked over to the scene, her eyes finding their way back to L/N, Peter paled slightly at the scene, Marlene was howling in laughter along with Sirius.

But much like himself, L/N found herself laughing with them too.

Her laughter rang out, and Sirius found himself drawn to the noise. But what was worse, was that he wanted to hear it again.

And even though he knew that other women and even men were staring at him right now, ready to give him all their affection and attention, Sirius found himself unable to look away from her.

He felt his palms getting sweaty, his heart beat harder, he wanted to sit closer to her and a smile tugged at his lips but he forced it down.

Fuck.

It was almost as the realization hit him there like a thousand tidal waves.

His heart jumped, it sped up fast, he felt his skin heat and her laugh put him into a trance — everything like what James described it to feel like.

If it was what he thought it was, Sirius wasn’t quite pleased with his newfound knowledge. He already had too much shit to deal with and certainly, someone like her was not worth it.

As the thought arose, there was something else that pulled him from these thoughts; it was the very shit that Sirius was dealing with, coming to haunt him again.

Regulus entered the Great Hall and Sirius had the urge to run to the nearest bin again. He hadn’t seen him since that night.

Within seconds, Regulus sensed his gaze and their eyes locked.

He wasn’t proud of Regulus, if anything, Sirius resented him — hated him and his entire body spiked in anger as he stared at him. He chose his path. But he couldn’t help but feel immense, dreadful guilt.

He could’ve done more, been there for him more, talked to him more. There were so many possibilities, so many outcomes and Sirius managed to end up with one of the worst paths imaginable.

He both wanted to scoop him up in his arms, cry — hold onto him tight like how they used to years ago, but the other part also wanted to take a Beater’s bat and swing a Bludger at his head.

His head shook slightly, just enough for Regulus to get the hint.

There was a hard, hopeless expression on Regulus’ face as he seemed to take a sharp inhale, his shoulders slumping within every passing second.

They were from two separate worlds, more evident than ever now. They weren’t brothers, not really.

Two of the brightest stars were torn apart forevermore.

Once the bell rang, Sirius sprang out of his seat and walked down the halls. He dodged owls, letters, chocolates and even a few love potions. There was a familiar void that punched its way through Sirius’ chest.

It was too early for firewhiskey, he couldn’t get knackered, he couldn’t talk to James, not when he was this happy and getting a pack of smokes from Remus — he’d bloody know within seconds what was wrong and call a Marauder's meeting or sort out some intervention for his sanity. Besides, he needed to apologize to Peter for how he acted that morning.

So the next best thing; snogging — a quick shag.

The next girl that tossed a flirtatious wink his way, he immediately approached. She was pale, had brown hair, soft skin and he vaguely recognized her but couldn’t quite place it. They flirted, Sirius would suggest it, she smiled, nodding her head and giving out a breathless sigh as Sirius dove for her lips, walking into the nearest broom closet.

Things were fast, almost a blur. She reached down, fumbling with his buckle before it clanked to the floor; he unbuttoned her top, hoisting her up and pushing them against a wall. She let out soft whimpers and he groaned into her neck.

The sensation, the building pleasure had left as soon as it came, leaving him feeling empty once more. He peeled off the girl, checking if she was alright like every other time. He didn’t know her name, forgetting it, and smiled awkwardly as she dressed.

He watched her leave the broom closet, the door clicking softly behind her. He could hear the faint scuffle of her shoes as she skipped down the hall excitedly. She had gotten what she wanted, a piece of Sirius; the Sirius that he put out — the pretty, nicely packaged Sirius.

Bent down, sinking to the floor, rocking on the balls of his feet, arms wrapped tightly around his legs and his head resting on his knees; emotions pooled through Sirius, attacking his frail heart.

Sirius laughs; it was dry, sad, pathetic, defeated. It was hard enough to hide with smiles, pranks, the random girls, sex, but those happy hormones that he craved, it was never, ever enough.

He couldn't go on like this, he had to fix something because something else was bound to break.

His laughing became strained as the walls of his throat began to close, eyes filling with tears. But now, finally alone, he let them cascade freely as his quiet sobs echoed in the dusty closest.

Love isn’t a magic potion.

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【I hope it was clear in this chapter that in no way am I trying to romanticize Sirius's trauma】

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just-another-ficwriter · 4 years ago

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Holidate - Part Four

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Reader

Words: 2000ish

Warnings: Alcohol, jealously, sexual references

Summary: Tired of being alone on holidays, Sweet Pea and Y/N decide to be each other’s plationic plus-ones all year round. What could go wrong?

Notes: Next part will be posted over Easter week! Also using this part to fill the ‘Bar Crawl’ square on my @riverdalebingo card!

St Patrick’s Day 2021

“Thank you for coming tonight.”

She whispers as they make their way into the first bar, squeezing the fingers he has linked with hers, a small attempt to make their relationship look more believable.

He’d arrived in New York a little after the others, leaving them no time to talk things over and plan the night out. He’d barely gotten his head around the fact they’d be sharing a bed for the weekend before they were piling into a cab and heading down town.

“What else are Holidates for?” He grins down at her, eyes not so subtle moving to check her out for the second time that night. He reads the green glittered writing for what feels like the millionth time, ‘Kiss me, I’m Irish’ printed in bold across her chest.

An impulse buy, she had told him, from their first St Patrick’s night out several years before. It’s little too tight, and she’s constantly fighting with it to stay down, but she’d promised it would help them get free shots later in the night and they’d both laughed.

By the time they make it over to the table, Jason’s around bought the first round and with a beer bottle held high in the air, he kicks off the celebrations.

It isn’t until the second place, and the drinks start to take affect, that Betty starts to pry.

The boys had disappeared to the bar, watching some sport on the big screen, chatting away while they wait for the drinks. Pea had no issue fitting right in, and Polly was quick to notice.

“I like him.” She steals a glance over her shoulder at the guy in question.

“Do you think you’ll move in with him?” Betty suddenly asks, straight to the point, and Y/N chokes on the cocktail she’d mistakenly just taken a sip of.

She’s surprised to see Sweet Pea’s head turn to check she’s ok when he hears, a soft smile on his face when their eyes meet. She sends him a similar warm one back before she’s glaring at her sisters again. “We’ve only been dating for 3 months.”

“I had my whole life planned out with Jug after the first week.” She wants to point out that not everyone can be like Betty Cooper, not everyone gets to live out a fairytale lifestyle with their high school sweetheart like she had once hoped.

But a hint of guilt from lying straight to their faces swirls in her stomach, and she bites back the snide remark. “We’re taking it slow.”

“Is he bad in bed?” Polly’s more drunk than she thought, and her loud questioning catches the attention of the next table over. However, the older Cooper doesn’t seem to notice. “I mean you guys have done it right-“

“Has who done what?” She’s cut off by the boys reappearing, bearing a tray of fresh drinks and a suspicious look from Jug.

Betty smirks. “Polly wants to know if Sweet Pea and Y/N have slept together.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jason laughs, shaking his head as Y/N suddenly finds interest in the cocktail umbrella sticking out of her drink.

But then a silence falls cross the table, and all four pairs of eyes turn to them, eagerly waiting for an answer. “Well?” Polly persists.

Unfazed, Sweet Pea squeezes her thigh under the table and answers for them both. “A gentleman never tells.”

By the time they hit the third bar, Sweet Pea’s boarding tipsy.

He can feel it in the way his jaw clenches when someone catches Y/N’s arm as she walks passed, in the way his chest burns unfamiliar as she leans in for a hug and the stranger pecks her on the cheek.

He knows it’s stupid, knows that technically she isn’t his girlfriend but the lines of reality are starting to blur as the alcohol soaks in and he can’t stop himself from walking over.

Y/N sends him a pointed look as discreetly as she can when he pulls her into his side, and causally introduces himself as her boyfriend. Five minutes later, they’re walking away with polite goodbyes and heading straight for the bar.

Y/N can’t help but look up at him with a smug grin, giggling a little as she teases. “Were you jealous?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You aren’t actually my girlfriend remember?” He tries to brush it off but something tells him they both know it’s a lie. He’s quick to think of another excuse that’s better than the first. “I was just worried what your sisters might say if they found you talking to some other guy.”

“They’d say Hey Chuck, how have you been since high school?” She laughs again and it makes him feel worse. That stranger wasn’t a stranger at all, and he’d almost made a scene over two old friends catching up.

Maybe he was finding this whole fake dating thing hard than he thought.

She doesn’t seem to notice as she waves at the bar tender, calling him over. “Come on, we need more shots.”

Sweet Pea’s almost certain he doesn’t need any more shots.

The fourth bar brings green beers and another round of tequila.

Polly raises her glass in the air, liquor messily pouring over the rim and down her hand. “To Y/N’s love life!”

“Cheers to that!” Betty’s quick to follow, giggling loudly as she clinks their glasses together and more goes spilling over.

He watches Y/N roll her eyes at their teasing with a shake of her head, but knocks her own shot back regardless, holding eye contact as he does the same. Neither flinch at the liquid burning it’s way down their throats.

It feels more intimate than it should and for a second Sweet Pea forgets they’re around other people.

But then the song blasting out around them changes and Y/N’s leaning forward to whisper confidently in his ear, her breath tickling his neck. “Dance with me?”

She’s on her feet before he can answer, not that he would have said no anyway, pulling him through the crowd until they find an empty space under the flashing lights. Sweet Pea can feel the beat of the music vibrating beneath them, flowing through him almost as much as the alcohol and lets it take control.

One song some how turns into three, or maybe four, he’s lost count. He’s too entranced by Y/N swaying back and fore in front of him, head tilted back as she moves to the rhythm, her back almost against his chest. She doesn’t move away when he’s finally brave enough to close that small gap, a nervous hand falling to her hip as she leans back against him.

The action alone makes his throat burn more than any shot of tequila could.

Y/N swears she sees his eyes light up when they walk into the fifth and final bar, and Jug invites him to play on the pool table tucked in the corner.

“Oh, it’s on.” There’s a new air of confidence surrounding him now as he picks up a cue, and she finds it a little too easy to fall into the roll of supportive girlfriend, cheering him on when the game starts.

He finds himself gravitating back to her side in between every shot. A lose arm around her shoulders, a delicate kiss to her forehead. They’d both become more handsy as the night wore on and she’d welcomed every affectionate touch.

She screams in triumph when he pockets the last ball, solidifying his win. Victorious laughter punctuating the air between them as he scoops her up, spinning her around in celebration.

Maybe it’s the alcohol that’s flowing through her system, or the rush of adrenaline pulsing from his win, but Y/N suddenly uses her newly found height to her advantage, pressing an eager kiss to his lips.

It takes her all of a second to realise what she’s doing, but before she can pull alway, he’s kissing her back.

And with that, she’s phasing out the rest of the bar, ignoring the loud music and jostling bodies, only focusing on him.

Until Betty’s shouting out and they’re jumping apart. “Get a room!”

Sweet Pea huffs as she throws him down on the bed.

Getting him into the apartment had been a task, even with Jason and Jug holding him up. It didn’t help that they were almost as drunk as him.

She doesn’t get the chance to slip out and change before he’s catching her wrist, pulling her to the mattress with a gentle tug.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He whispers into the dark, fingertips running up and down her bare arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

There’s a still moment where her eyes find his, and he’s left wondering if she knows what he’s about to say, if she wants him to say it. If he should even be thinking it at all. But then she giggles, the sound making him feel warm before she finally answers. “Sure.”

He gives her a goofy grin, but hesitates when her palms fall flat against his chest. His heart’s beating so fast he’s suddenly afraid she might feel it through his shirt, he’s very aware of how close they are now. “Sometimes, I forget this isn’t real.” He breathes out.

Y/N feels her heart vault in her throat from his words, her eyes wide from the confession.

She tries to laugh it off but there’s a nervousness hidden underneath. “You’re drunk Pea.”

“Still mean it.” He mumbles, shifting so he lands onto his back and lazily pulls her with him.

She’s quick to tuck herself into his side, inviting the warmth radiating from him as she doubts he even knows what he’s saying. She makes the decision to close her eyes and ignore it instead. “Go to sleep Pea.”

Sweet Pea rolls over onto fitted sheets that definitely aren’t his. His head hurts with a pounding ache, and just when he feels brave enough to open his eyes a little and sneak a glance around him, he’s hit with a blinding light so harsh it makes him feel sick.

That’s when he remembers last night. Or at least parts of it anyway. Everything’s a blur after the third bar.

“Shit.” He groans, his throat painfully dry as he blindly pats the bed next to him in an attempt to find Y/N, only to feel nothing but empty space instead.

“Morning Sunshine.” She laughs from where she makes her way into the room, amused by his dishevelled hair and lack of enthusiasm at being awake.

It takes a few seconds, but eventually he attempts to open his eyes again, reluctant and slow. Another groan slips out. “Why don’t you look how I feel?”

“Years of practice I guess.” She shrugs, slipping in besides him and handing over a warm mug. “Thought some coffee might help.”

Their finger tips briefly touch and thoughts of last night come back to him, his cheeks burning red in shame. He takes a quick sip that burns his tongue and hopes she won’t notice.

They’d kissed. Or at least he thinks they had. It’s all a little hazy.

“Did we…” He can’t meet her gaze, refuses to look up and see her reaction. Instead he just lamely points between them and the bed.

“Sleep together?” She leans back into the mattress with a devilish glint in her eye, her next words sounding more flirtatious than she intended. “Trust me Pea, you’d remember if we did.”

He smirks in her direction, tilting his head to the side playfully with an eyebrow raised. All awkward tension from a minute before melts away as he chuckles in surprise. “Is that so?”

“Just drink your coffee, Betty wants to go exploring New York.” A pillow hits him on the side of his face with a soft thud and another round of laughter erupts between them. She wonders if now is the right time to bring up his drunk confession but quickly changes her mind. “And you definitely look like you need all the caffeine you can get.”

Sweet Pea Masterlist

Forever Taglist: @p-marie-sp

Sweet Pea Taglist: @80sand90simagine @hopelesslylosttheway @be-gay-do-crime-cutie

Holidate Taglist: @popcrone818 @dcnerd98

#riverdale bingo #sweet pea #sweet pea riverdale #sweet pea x y/n #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea series #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea edit #sweet pea fanfiction #riverdale #riverdale sweet pea #riverdale edit #riverdale series #riverdale imagine #riverdale fanfiction

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niksixx · 5 years ago

Text

Patience

~Part 3. I hope you’re loving it.~

Pairing: Axl Rose/Vince Neil x Female Reader

Warning: Vince hits Reader

A/N: Please reblog for me :)

*Picture is NOT mine. Found on Google. Credit to the owner.*

Tag list: @littlemisscare-all @curly-hudson @julessworldd @madamsixx @headlight-queen @metalheartofgold @ginny-baker-sixx @mickmarstookmyheart @gunsngunners @bex-tothe-rescue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ride home to your house is eerily quiet. In the passenger seat, Vince leans his head out the window, slowly breathing in the cool air while a trash bag hangs between his legs.

Eyes focused on the road, your grip on the steering wheel tightens as Vince empties the contents of his stomach into the bag. Knowing that Vince isn’t phased by his antics fuels a fire in your bones.

As you park the car, Vince stumbles out to the curb. You throw open your door, locking the car, before walking past him. He mutters under his breath, most likely a string of curses, steading himself on the metal railing before throwing his body against the door.

On your couch is Mick Mars, book in his lap, glass of water on the side table. He turns his head, blinking twice at Vince who ignores him and heads for the shower, before gazing at you.

You lock the door, throw your purse, and slide down the door, face buried in your hands. You should have waited until you went to your room to let the tears fall, not wanting to drag poor Mick into your relationship drama. The boys had witnessed plenty of the fights between you and Vince, and most of the time they were at a loss for words on how to help. Nothing would be different this time.

Mick lifts you to your feet, arms wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you in. You go slack against him as he runs a hand up your back, dusting a sweet kiss on your head. “I’ll deal with him tonight. You rest, okay?”

You nod as Mick stalks off toward the bathroom, waiting just outside for Vince to finish up. In the fridge is a brand new bottle of Chardonnay, which you pop open, pouring a generous amount into a glass. From the kitchen you spot Nikki and Tommy in the pool, beer in Nikki’s hand, cigarette in Tommy’s mouth. It wasn’t unusual to find the boys in your house while you weren’t home.

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you kick off your shoes and slide open the doors to the pool deck. When the boys see you, they stop laughing. Setting your glass off to the side, you roll up your work pants, dipping your legs in the heated pool water.

As you guzzle the sweet wine, Nikki and Tommy exchange looks before swimming over to you. Tommy rests his arms on your legs, Nikki squeezing your arm gently.

“Half the time I’m too embarrassed about our fucked up relationship to say anything,” you mumble, licking the leftover liquid from your lips. “But I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“AA?” Tommy suggests, blowing a smoke ring.

You shake your head. “He won’t go on his own. I can’t force him to do something he doesn’t want to do.”

Even if he was forced, Vince wouldn’t thrive in rehab. The people in rehab want to get better for their friends, their families, for themselves. Vince? He wants no part of it.

“He thinks he’s invincible, and he’s not,” you whisper solemnly. “Who drinks a whole bottle of Jack and then gets behind the wheel?”

“If it helps, I tried to take it away from him at the studio,” Nikki offers, pointing to a bloody cut on his eyebrow. “I mean it didn’t work and then he punched me, but I tried. Really did.”

“Dude,” Tommy warns, shaking his head. “Not really helping, my man.”

“And then to make matters worse, he sees me with Axl and then--.”

“Wait, Axl?” Nikki asks, eyes widening. “Axl Rose?”

“What were you doing with him?” Tommy questions, frowning.

You’d never told them about your childhood best friend. For one, they wouldn't approve. And God only knows what would happen if they met Axl in the street after finding out you were once close to him.

“Axl and I go way back,” you confess, swirling the wine as the memories resurface. “He was my first best friend. We were friends all through high school too, that is until I left to move here. Since then I hadn’t spoken to him. I actually bumped into him today while I was picking up lunch. First time I’ve seen him in seven years. We went back to the store to eat lunch together and I lost track of time. And then in comes Vince.”

The picture is ingrained in your brain. Vince stumbling in. The anger and rage on his face. The surprising calmness on Axl’s. And even though you couldn’t see your own face, there had to have been a mixture of panic and horror.

“You know this gives Vince even more of a reason to hate him, right?” Nikki asks. “He’s not going to let you near the guy.”

“I don’t care,” you state, standing your ground. “I finally have him back in my life. I won’t let Vince ruin my friendship with Axl.”

“Your what?”

Slightly sober, Vince struts onto the deck in only a pair of silky white shorts. Mick follows sheepishly behind, avoiding your gaze.

“What are you doing awake?” Standing from the pool, you give Vince a hard look. Nikki and Tommy heave themselves up onto the deck, coming to your defense if necessary. “Go to bed, Vince.”

“Since when are you friends with that self righteous prick?” He questions angrily, lips curled in a snarl. “He’s nothing but trouble, Y/N. Stay the fuck away from him.”

“You don’t even know him!” It was just like old times. You coming to Axl’s defense. Only this time, he wasn’t around to witness it.

“People talk, sweetheart. This is Hollywood. You think I don’t know about him? About his fucked up childhood? How his step-dad used to beat the shit out of him? About how he was bullied his entire life? The guy’s got pent up rage brewing, Y/N. He’s a fucking hothead.”

“He’s nothing like you try to convince me he is. I’ve been friends with him since I was ten years old, Vince. I was the fucking person protecting him. We were best friends until I moved to California.”

“Oh so he’s a pussy too,” Vince concludes, arms crossed over his bare chest. “And you’ve been here for seven years, baby girl, and not once did he try to contact you. He’s a dick. Open your eyes.” Vince spits, disgusted that you’re defending him.

“He didn’t know where to find me, you asshole!” Tommy’s hand lightly squeezes your shoulder, but the touch isn’t comforting. Shoving his hand off your body, you step up to your boyfriend, who leans against the side of the deck. “The sad part is, he tried. When Axl moved to LA, he tried to find me. Asked anyone and everyone if they knew who I was or where he could find me. And if it wasn’t for you and your stupid fucking label keeping me hidden from the public eye all these years, I would’ve had my friend back.”

Vince groans dramatically, hanging his head. “Goddamn it, the same fucking conversation. You know why you have to stay under the radar.”

“It doesn’t mean I like it or agree with it, Vince!”

Mick holds out a hand. “Hey, guys, maybe we should take this inside--.”

“God, don’t I mean anything to you?” Your voice cracks. “Don’t I deserve better than this?”

Vince hangs his head, hand on his hip. “I really don’t know what you want me to do.”

Grabbing his chin, you make him look at you. His jaw clenches under your touch. “I want you to fight for me. I want you to say ‘fuck the label’ and treat me how I deserve to be treated as your girlfriend. Take me out in public, show me off, kiss me when the cameras are on us. Goddamn it Vince, I want you to love me. Why can’t you do that?”

Mick stares.

Nikki whistles.

Tommy elbows Nikki.

This isn’t how you imagined your night. The last thing, the very last thing on this Earth you wanted to do right now, was fight. Your bed had been calling your name ever since you set foot in the house. It’s eight-thirty at night and you’re exhausted. You should have just gone to sleep.

Vince had no answer. Shaking your head, an empty laugh falls from your lips. “You know what? I’m done. I’m done doing this with you. I deserve more than an alcoholic boyfriend who can’t stand up to his label, and who treats me like I’m his bitch. I deserve better. Even Axl fucking knows I deserve better, and he hasn’t been in my life for seven years,” you say, stepping back. “Maybe I should date him instead.”

Vince does the unthinkable.

When his hand collides against the side of your face, the wine glass shatters against the wooden deck as you stumble. Nikki catches you as Tommy leaps over your body, towering over Vince to shield you as Mick grabs Vince’s shoulders, watching the scene unfold in horror.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Nikki shouts, pulling you to your feet, pushing you behind him. “Are you kidding me, dude?”

“You think you’re tough hitting a woman? Huh?” Tommy taunts, shoving Vince’s chest. “Huh?! Get your shit together, man!”

Reality hits Vince as Tommy continues to shove him. Choppy breaths leave his lips, eyes wide, jaw dropping. He swallows nervously, glancing at his hand, before his eyes lock back on you. “B-babe?”

There’s no hesitation as you push past the four men, throwing open the deck doors, snatching your purse, and sprinting for the front door. They’re all shouting for you, but Vince’s voice is crystal clear as it stands out.

“Baby, wait! Please!”

He chases you out the door, but you’re already running down the street, legs on fire.

“I’m sorry! Babe! Please, come back!”

You run. You run as fast and as far as your legs can carry you, weaving in and out of people crowding the sidewalk. A few call out to you, asking if you need help, but you keep running until you end up back at your store.

And as soon as you reach the store, it begins to rain.

And then you break.

Tears mixing with the rain, you collapse on the pavement, letting the water soak your body. Your hair is damp, clothing drenched, and you don’t even have any shoes on. You’re a mess, physically and emotionally.

You remember that your car is still parked on the street from having to drive Vince’s back home, and you run to it, settling in your seat as the rain pours down from the heavens. You’re alone, and the sound of your cries is louder than the thunder that accompanies the downpour.

You can’t go home. Not yet. You don’t want to see him, you can’t. Your cheek still burns from the sting of the hit, and if you see your boyfriend again tonight, one of you may end up dead.

The notepad. It’s in your purse.

You fish it out along with your phone, dialing the numbers with your thumb. Holding it to your ear, you choke back a sob as the man on the other end of the line picks up on the second ring.

“Are you home? Can I come over, please? I need you.”

~~~

In the corner by the TV, Izzy Stradlin sits on a chair strumming his guitar as Steven Adler lounges on the floor, drumming furiously on the TV stand with two wooden salad spoons. Slash is lying on the couch, hat covering his face, while Duff sits at the tiny kitchen table, enjoying a platter of buffalo wings all to himself.

Their heads turn as Axl walks through the door, more jubilant than he was before he left to grab lunch almost four hours ago. He shrugs off his shoes, fishing around in his back pocket for a pack of cigarettes.

“Where in the hell have you been?” Duff asks as he bites into a wing. Untying the bandana around his head, Axl lets his hair fall, shaking it, and runs a hand through it. “You left at two. It’s almost six-thirty.”

Axl’s smile broadens as he heads for the couch, pushing Slash’s legs to the side. The curly haired guitarist grumbles and flips him off. “I ran into an old friend today.”

“Oh yeah?” Izzy asks, setting his guitar on his lap, full attention on Axl. He’d always been that kind of friend. The one who stopped everything and listened if someone had something to say. “Who?”

“Y/N.”

Steven and Izzy exchange a look before Steven pipes up, “Wait. The Y/N? From high school? Like, I came to LA specifically to find her and couldn’t after all these years and somehow magically ran into her today, Y/N?”

Axl nods. “I ran into her at the restaurant and I swear my heart stopped.”

“Spoken like a lovesick fool,” Slash groans, flipping Axl off once again when he knocks the hat off his face. “First time you’ve seen her in what? Seven years? What’s up with her?”

Axl grabs a cigarette from the pack, lighting it. “She owns a bakery on the Strip. Cute little shop, not much business though. It’s a shame. She’s damn good at what she does. I tried one of the little chocolate cakes on display? Best damn cake I ever had.”

“I wonder what her cake tastes like,” Steven mutters to himself, snickering at his own joke.

There was a sparkle in your eyes whenever you talked about your bakery. It was your passion. From the decor inside the shop to the variety of desserts, it was clear that you dedicated so much to your little business. If only more people knew about it.

“She look the same?” Izzy asks.

Axl’s mouth twitches. “She’s even more beautiful now than I remember.”

“Oh fucking barf,” Slash teases, sitting up from the couch, brushing hair from his eyes.

“You smashing that?” Steven grins, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Izzy rolls his eyes.

“Do you think of anything else?” Duff questions, shaking his head as he chucks a chicken wing bone at Steven’s head.

“Okay first off, no,” Axl points a finger.

“But you want to smash her?” Steven challenges, pointing a spoon right back at the singer.

Axl glares. “Just say fuck, Steven. Fuck. And second, Y/N isn’t just any girl to me. She never has been.”

“Then quit whining and go after her,” Izzy says, pursing his lips. “You’ve been in love with this girl since you were sixteen you told us.”

“Yeah and there’s one big fucking problem, Iz. She’s dating Vince Neil.”

Slash turns. “The bitchy blonde fuck from Mötley Crüe? Are you kidding me?”

“Their label is keeping their relationship on the downlow. Apparently it’ll fuck with Vince’s image if word of their love life gets out.” Axl sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“How does that make sense?” Duff asks, standing from the table. “Wouldn’t it harm his image if they let him run around like a madman and shag a bunch of women?”

“You’d think,” Axl agrees, holding up his hands. “But apparently, that’s the kind of image they want their frontman to have. All I know is I need to get Y/N out of that relationship, and fast.”

Axl had promised himself he’d never interfere with any of your relationships. Now, he was considering going back on his word. You weren’t happy. He could easily tell by the way your body tensed around Vince, from the sheer terror in your eyes when he was mad or cursed or raised his voice.

“Look man, I know you’re in love with the girl, but is that really your place?” Steven asks, serious for the first time that night. “What if she really loves the dude? Who are you to try and ruin something good for her?”

Axl shakes his head, leaning forward on his knees. “He drank a whole bottle of Jack Daniels and drove drunk to Y/N’s store. It might not be my place, but I’ll be damned if I sit around knowing she’s in harm’s way and I don’t do anything about it.”

~~~

“Ah, shit, sorry about that fellas,” Duff says, slapping his guitar. “Take it from the top?”

Axl nods, yawning, before checking the time on the clock. Eight-thirty and it feels like two in the morning. To wake himself up, he goes to the fridge for ice water, only to be interrupted by the screeching of his phone.

He picks it up. “Hello?”

“Are you home? Can I come over, please? I need you.”

He knows your voice without even needing a greeting. It’s soft over the phone, and Axl’s gut tells him something isn’t right. “Yeah, of course. Is everything okay? You remember the address?”

“I do. I’ll be over in ten minutes.”

You hang up quickly, startling him, before he hangs up and turns to his bandmates. They look at him curiously. “Y/N’s coming over.”

~~~

Your wet feet slide against the metal stairs as you ascend toward the address Axl had given you earlier that day. Looking from door to door, you shuffle down the chilled hallway, warming your arms, until you find yourself out front of apartment 6C. Christ, this place was more like a hotel with all the damn rooms it had.

You knock timidly, but loud enough to be heard.

The door opens. Axl stands in front of you, gray cutoff covering his top, white sweatpants on his legs. He looks warm, comfortable, and you want to hold him. His face falls when he sees your soaking wet figure and bare feet.

“Hey sugar,” he says softly, and it tugs at your heart. “Let’s get you inside.”

And when you step foot inside the apartment, you're greeted by four other men, all staring at you as if they’d never seen a woman before.

The first blonde shakes his head. “Damn, bro. You weren’t kidding. She’s hot.”

You laugh slightly, looking at Axl, moreso to see his reaction. His cheeks are noticeably pinker. “Steven, fuck off. That’s not even what I said and you know it.” He turns back to you shyly. “These are my bandmates. From left to right, meet Steven, Izzy, Duff, and Slash. Guys, meet Y/N.”

The one named Slash steps forward, giving you a nod. “Wanna see my snake?”

Oh, he’s bold. “Um...is that like...code? For your penis or something?”

And they all burst out laughing. Even beside you, Axl lets out a chuckle.

“No, he literally has a pet snake,” Izzy says, hiding a smile.

Oh. Whoops. “Then, sure. I guess so.”

A smile spreads across Slash’s face. “I like her.”

Axl wraps an arm around your shoulder, leading you down a hallway. His room is surprisingly neat, with only a few hats and bandanas scattered around. He rummages through a drawer and hands you a tee shirt and sweatpants. Without thinking, you begin to pull off your damp clothes.

“Uh,” Axl licks his lips. “I uh-.”

“Don’t act like you haven’t seen me change before,” you tease, turning your back to him. “And don’t act like you’re not enjoying it, either.”

“Hey, you won’t get any complaints from me,” Axl grins, eyes roaming over your backside.

Fully dressed, you spread out your arms, showing off the new attire. Both the shirt and sweatpants are extremely comfortable. And they smell like him, too. “How do I look?”

Axl swallows the lump in his throat. If he wanted to name all the ways you looked absolutely beautiful, you’d both be there all night. “You look like you belong in my clothes.”

You give a half smile before following Axl out into the main room. The rest of his bandmates are in different parts of the apartment, and they all give you smiles as you walk past them.

“Y/N, are you hungry? There’s some left over pizza in the fridge.” Izzy offers, pointing toward the kitchen.

“Damn it, I was planning on eating that for breakfast tomorrow,” Steven pouts, chucking what appears to be a wooden spoon at Izzy’s feet.

A chuckle falls from your lips as you settle into the couch, instantly relaxing as a blanket is draped over your shoulders. You look behind yourself just as Axl comes around to the front of the sofa, settling back in the spot beside you.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” He asks, grabbing another blanket for himself.

You shake your head, positioning yourself so that your head rests gently in his lap. It was something you did as kids. Whenever you were upset but didn’t want to talk about it, you’d settle into his lap. He’d let you lie there for as long as you needed, always making sure to scratch your head or run a hand through your hair. It was his way of letting you know he was there.

And just like when you were young, Axl’s hand finds your hair, lightly kneading your scalp. Your eyes flutter shut briefly, sinking into his gentle touch, and when you open your eyes, Steven and Izzy are standing to leave the room, sending not so subtle winks in Axl’s direction.

When it’s just the two of you, you’re finally at peace.

Until Axl asks the question. “Does Vince know you’re here?”

Chewing on your lip, you pull the blanket closer to your neck. You could only hope that Axl would leave it alone after you answered. “He’s the reason I came here.”

Why Vince truly hated Axl was a mystery. He’d never explicitly told you. Thinking about it, you couldn’t even come up with a reason.

“Did something happen?” He presses. Not that he’s nosy, but because he cares.

Sitting up, you tug the blanket around your body, legs curling in a pretzel. Axl watches you carefully, and the three words he never expected to hear crash into him like a wave on the shore. “He hit me.”

Blood drains from Axl’s face. He blinks twice, letting the words settle in his head, before sitting up straighter, body locking. “He did what?”

“It’s no big deal,” you brush it off. You had to. If not, you’d be a puddle of tears on his couch. “It was an accident. I said something and it triggered him. Plus, he was still a bit drunk from today. I instigated everything. It was my fault.”

Axl feels rage ignite in his body, fists clenching as he listens to you wrongfully blame yourself for Vince’s actions. His fingers twitch, itching to meet with Vince’s face, give him a taste of his own medicine. Because no one, no one, laid a hand on you and got away with it.

He grabs your jaw and you flinch. He sees it now. The outline of a hand on your cheek.

He softens his grip but makes sure to keep your face close to his own. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes, but he knows you won’t let them fall. “I’ll make him pay.”

“Axl--.”

“No, listen to me,” he says, forehead against yours. He’s breathing deep, heavy, angrily. “I swear to you, I will make him fucking regret the moment he put his hands on you.”

The roles are reversed. Once the victim, now the protector. In this moment, this very instance where your bodies are only an inch away, noses brushing against each other, lips centimeters apart, you see Axl in a whole new light.

And there’s now a part of you that wants to find out what would happen if you pushed forward gently and kissed him. Would he pull away? Kiss you back?

But you don’t find out. Instead, you’re the one that pulls back, fingers twisting around his wrist to keep his palm flat against your burning cheek. There’s something between you. You felt it the second you bumped into him at the restaurant. A certain force, a pull, bringing you together.

“I can handle him, Axl.” What you’ll say isn’t clear. It could end in tears, in a fight. Or, on a brighter side, it could end in forgiveness. “When I see him tomorrow, I’ll just—.”

“You don’t need to go back there,” Axl says, almost pleading. If he has to get on his knees and beg he’ll do it. He’ll do anything to make you stay. Keep you safe. “Stay here with me. You’re more than welcome here. You know that.”

His heart, his caring soul, his love for you shines through. He’d turned into such a wonderful, handsome, courageous man, but even you could still see some glimpses of the boy he used to be. He wants to protect you, but he’s nervous. Nervous for you. “I want you to hold me. Can you do that?”

He nods, quickly kissing your forehead before he pulls you down, nuzzling the side of your head as you sink into the couch. It’s a tight fit, but he manages to wrap both arms around you. You’re safe this way. And after a few more moments of talking, and Axl promising that he’d come to your home tomorrow to help you bake the cupcakes for Lei’s son’s party, you fall asleep blissfully in his arms.

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carnelianns · 5 years ago

Note

You’re such a good writer I’m so happy I found your blog!!! Hope youre safe during this quarantine. May I request ★ ⚚ and♩ for Nobu? Sirius and Jean too if it’s alright >.< Thank you!

ure too kind :(( hope u stay safe too, anon!

★ - sad headcanon

Nobunaga Oda

The man’s happy enough as is, with you by his side on his journey to rule the world, so not much can make him sad — he doesn’t enjoy dwelling on the past.

Sometimes, it just can’t be helped, though. When he’s feeling particularly blue, he’s noticeably more quiet, often staying cooped up in his chambers, staring wistfully at the sky if his presence isn’t needed elsewhere.

Whenever this happens, make sure to wrap your arms around his waist, pressing light kisses across his back to remind him that you’re here, you’re alive, and you love him. He might quip back with some suggestive line such as, “Is that an invitation, fireball?” though those words are hollow;

He’d much rather feel your warmth than do anything else at that moment.

Sirius Oswald

Sirius would definitely choose to care more for others than for himself, often leaving him no time to sort out his emotions, especially when he’s sad.

The burden of all the responsibilities he chooses to shoulder saddled with the hollow feeling in his chest only causes him to be a bit more languid than usual, and more often than not, you’d hear him sighing a lot whenever he’s feeling down.

You’d have to physically pull him away towards the comforts of his room for him to rest, not taking “no” for an answer. And, before he knows it, he gives one last sigh before crumbling down into your embrace.

“Sirius, don’t bottle up your feelings, yeah? It’ll only be worse like that,” you frown at the man in your arms whose head is currently buried into the crook of your neck. He can only nod.

You two stay unmoving with your arms wrapped around Sirius for hours on end, though it pays off when his silence is exchanged with little snores, only causing you to chuckle.

Jean d’Arc

It’s no secret that Jean has his fair share of angst and sadness behind his guarded mask, so a sad Jean would keep himself locked away until he learns how to temporarily forget his gloom.

Whenever he disappears once more, your best bet is to check either his room, the balcony, or the training room. He busies himself with whatever he can, by sparring, staring at the moonlight, or simply laying in bed, under his blanket and hands pressed to his ears.

Your presence is enough to calm him down. Even if you’re writing away in your journal, or dozing off in a comfy seat, simply being in the same room as him and in his sight is enough for Jean.

“Mademoiselle…” You hear a familiar voice, unable to keep the slightly shocked smile off your face as you turn towards the man who’s gone missing practically the entire day.

“Jean! Do you need anything?”

Gaze averted, his mouth opens and snaps shut multiple times, a flurry of unease and regret and everything in between swimming in his violet eyes before he finally manages, “Would you mind... keeping me company for a while..?”

You promptly drop everything to accompany him back to his room, doing nothing but humming soft tunes and running fingers through the raven locks of the man resting in your lap.

♩ - music headcanon

Nobunaga Oda

He’s very open-minded, listening to all genres before settling on something he actually enjoys.

The type of person to listen to only one artist that he thoroughly enjoys, which would probably be a singer who’s done just about any genre possible, such as The Beatles.

Nobunaga, sadly, is also the type of person to have one, huge playlist of all the songs he likes. Your ears would be enjoying a cute, little James Bay original before suddenly being harassed by Black Veil Brides or the likes.

Sirius Oswald

Sirius would enjoy mellow tunes more than anything. Music he could simultaneously listen and work to, keeping him in a tranquil mood the whole day.

He isn’t very mainstream — not on purpose; it’s simply hard to find artists with the exact melodies he wishes for — and the most popular artist he listens to would probably be either Joji or NIKI.

Super into slow dance music; James Arthur mixed with some old Ed Sheeran, songs he enjoys swaying to with you. If he’s in a particularly chirpy mood, you’d hear some nostalgic Nat King Coles and Ella Fitzgeralds in there.

Jean d’Arc

He’s technically only 19 so, when introduced to music, the angsty teen definitely had an emo phase. A lot of Fall Out Boy (which he still listens to) and Panic! At the Disco, a bit of Paramore here and there as well.

Once he gets past this phase, however, he’s all about those soft acoustic tunes, even preferring the acoustic version of songs rather than its normal version — he isn’t particularly inclined to listen to Justin Bieber, but if you put a cover of “2U” or “Sorry” on, he’d actually enjoy it.

Jean has a godly sleep playlist, stemming from his inability to fall asleep. A lot of covers are on there, though incomparable to all the piano pieces he’s added. He'd rather die than admit Moonlight Sonata puts him to sleep as well.

⚚ - fear headcanon

Nobunaga Oda

Nobunaga isn’t very fearful — in fact, you’re unsure just what causes your lover to even do so much as shudder.

You find your answer one night when you wake up to a restless Nobunaga, muttering and murmuring in his sleep as a cold sweat breaks out upon his face. Your tries at waking him up all fail, and he awakes by himself, eyes shooting wide open and breath uneven.

Before you can even ask what’s wrong, his rough, calloused hands are already cradling your face, staring into your eyes with such intensity that you can’t bear to look away. The look in those tawny eyes was far too haunted, too heartbreaking for you to break his gaze.

“... If you disappear on me, every second of my life after that moment will be meaningless,” he murmurs, tone firm against his feather-like touches against your face. “So please.. do not leave me.”

You reassure him that you have no plans to. His grip on your waist seems a bit tighter that night.

Nobunaga Oda’s one true fear is losing you, the one he swore his life to, the only one he’d allow himself to fall for in each and every lifetime he could possibly live.

Sirius Oswald

When you asked him what he feared of, Sirius blinked at your sudden question, before proceeding to list events you’re sure have already happened.

Fenrir and Ray fighting too hard... Luka running away... Seth and Fenrir setting the kitchen on fire... Ray flooding the Quarters with cats... Seth and Fenrir setting the Quarters on fire... Seth and Fenrir...

“Okay, so you’re basically afraid of Seth and Fenrir?”

His eyes widen for a moment, thoughts swirling in his head before he finally nods. “Huh. I guess you’re right.”

"Sirius... you’re such a dad, you old man.” Shaking your head, you manage an amused eyeroll.

Narrowing his eyes, he suddenly hoists you up into his arms, a smirk on his face as you squeak. “Can you say that again, little lady? I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch it.”

He’s big on the scoldings, if you haven’t noticed.

Jean d’Arc

The French warrior doesn’t have many fears, though you see the way his eyes widen infinitesimally when he sees flames, the way his jaw clenches ever-so slightly at the mention of fire.

He’s not so fearful of it that he avoids fire completely, but you can sense the unease radiating off of his stiffer-than-usual form whenever exposed to such heat.

The topic had come up in a conversation between you two one day and, sensing your unease, Jean decides to crack a joke, smiling slightly.

“However, if I were to pick between flames and Le Comte, I would pick the latter.”

You blink, before bursting out into laughter. “I think he’d be happy. That almost sounds like a compliment.”

Jean stills, conjuring up an image of the man, eyes bright and tone jovial. “... I take it back.” He’s joking. You hope.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikemen revolution #ikerev #ikevamp x reader #ikesen x reader #ikerev x reader #nobunaga oda #sirius oswald #jean d’arc #headcanons #200 followers

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lyssismagical · 5 years ago

Note

15 or 94 for the angst/fluff prompts ✨💙

15 – “You betrayed my trust”

94 – “Don’t you give up on me”

{TW for Car Crash}

“You can’t just do that!” Peter shouts, ripping off his mask to stare Tony down. He’s pissed and he’s not the starstruck kid he once was, too scared to step in the wrong direction around Tony, Tony’s too much of a father-figure now that Peter will show how pissed he is.

“I know what I said, kid, but I couldn’t let you do that,” Tony says, as calm as he can, but he’s obviously angry about this too. “You would’ve gotten yourself killed out there.”

Peter rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. “That’s not true and you know it. I know I used to be this stupid kid in a onesie to you, but I’ve learned how to take care of myself now. I don’t need you babysitting me.”

“I’m not babysitting, kid. I’m just watching out for you.”

“If you were watching out, you’d still be home, watching the fucking baby moniter feed. You wouldn’t have dragged out a suit and pulled me from the fight. I had it handled like I said I did.”

Tony sighs harshly, running a hand through his hair. “You have to understand that I was just trying to protect you.”

“I said I had it handled. I would’ve asked you if I didn’t think I could. I don’t need you to come swooping in every time I try to do anything myself!”

“I don’t want you to get hurt!”

“You’re not my dad!” Peter shouts, chest heaving. “You lied to me. You said you’d watch the baby moniter feed and let me handle it, but no, you flew out here to stop me. Again.”

Tony’s visibly angry now, voice lifting. “You didn’t have it handled! There were fifteen armed people in that building, Peter!”

“And I’ve dealt with more! I can’t be a superhero if you keep treating me like a child!”

“You are a child!”

“I’m seventeen for gods sake, Tony,” Peter says, already starting to back away towards the elevator. He just wants to go home before one of them says something they regret. “I don’t need you helicopter-parenting me.”

Tony rolls his eyes, letting out a harsh laugh. “I can’t helicopter-parent you if I’m not your dad, can I?”

“God, can you just admit you’re wrong for once?” Peter says, voice tipping into cold territory. He’s never once acted like this around Tony. He feels like he’s being the annoying teenage-stereotype, but he’s a superhero and Tony should let him act like one. Not keep him cooped up and dealing with cats in trees for the rest of his life.

“Can you just admit that you’re not ready for something like this?”

“You told me you’d stay home unless I asked you for help. I would’ve asked you if I needed you. I thought we’d gotten past this stupid phase when I beat the Vulture for you.”

It’s still a relatively sore topic, all things considered. Tony still feels a lot of guilt for Peter being alone that night, and Peter still deals with a lot of nightmares and panic attacks revolving around the warehouse collapse.

Tony sighs harshly again. “How many times have I had to save your ass after you refused to ask for help?”

“That’s not the point!” Peter shouts, angry all over again. “The point is that you betrayed my trust, Tony! The point is that you promised you’d let me handle this one alone unless I asked you for help, but you couldn’t even do that! Do you just not trust me?”

This is bordering too close to raw territory, real feelings, and that’s normally not easy for them, let alone when they’re angry and fighting.

“Fine,” Tony mutters, eyes dark and jaw clenched. “If you want me to stop helicopter-parenting you, I will. If you want me to let you dive into stupid fights and get yourself killed, go for it, I won’t stop you. See if I care.”

It’s not true, and Peter knows it. Tony cares about him a lot. Too much, probably. But the words still cut deep, and Peter’s never been a good arguer. He always ends up crying if conflict is too much.

So instead of making things any worse, Peter sends Tony one last glare before turning his back and heading for the elevator.

Peter’s driving now. He’s not the best driver, but he can do it. Plus, it saves Happy the long hours to and from the city for Peter. It makes everyone’s lives a little bit easier.

He doesn’t want to drive home. It’s raining now and the sky is dark, and it’s hard to see through his glassy eyes, tears threatening to fall. He almost turns back to the tower to say in his room for the night, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to face Tony again. He doesn’t want another fight.

He should’ve been smarter. He should’ve followed his gut to not drive back.

Maybe that would’ve changed the outcomes of the night.

Either way, the roads are slippery and Peter doesn’t see the truck run the red light. He certainly doesn’t see the way the truck loses control.

The last thing he does see is a flash of black as the truck slams into his tiny cheap car, and then the world goes dark.

*Tony stands in the hallway for a long time, staring at the discarded Spider-Man mask on the floor. Peter left in his suit, with a sweater and short pulled on over it like it would protect his identity at all.

He already regrets the things he said. He knows he should have faith in Peter’s capabilities. The kid’s strong and smart and he’s got a crazy expensive suit on his side. Tony should’ve trusted Peter, he knows.

But on the other hand, Tony can’t lose Peter. He can’t let something happen to his kid.

“Karen’s inactive so I’m incapable of getting a read on why, but Peter Parker’s vitals have fluctuated to dangerous levels,” Friday pipes up.

“What?” Tony asks, drawing his watch up to get look at them.

It isn’t clear why his heart rate has chaanged drastically or why his blood-oxygen levels are dropping, but it’s bad. It’s pretty obviously bad, so Tony summons a suit and takes off towards Peter’s last known location.

When he gets to the scene, Tony’s heart drops to his stomach, hands trembling as he tumbles out of his suit.

There are two ambulances, three police cars, a fire truck, and two tow trucks all surrounding the scene of the accident where Tony can just make out Peter’s little car, wrecked and smoking.

Tony had told Peter time and time again that he shouldn’t buy the shitty, old car off his neighbors, but Peter had been insistent. He wanted a car of his own, not one that Tony would buy for him. He wanted to have his own first shitty car.

And Tony let him as long as he promised they’d fix it up together.

They never really did.

“Sir, you can’t be here,” a woman tells him. She touches his arm gently, eyes focusing on him with concern. “We don’t need Iron Man’s help here.”

“No, not Iron Man, I’m just here as Tony,” he tries to explain. “That’s my kid’s car. That’s- He- He’s my kid, please.”

The woman nods carefully, glancing behind her at the wreckage. “We’re working on getting him out of the car and then you can ride with us to the hospital, alright? Just stay out of our way.”

“Yeah, yes, of course,” Tony blurts, voice shaking. “Just- Please, please let him know I’m here?”

All Tony’s allowed to do is wait on the sidelines.

A man’s dragged out of the truck. He looks alright, still able to stand on his own, only a little bit of blood on his temple and hands. His face is scrunched up in awful grief as he stares at Peter’s wrecked car, as he’s taken to one of the ambulances.

And then finally, finally, they get Peter out of the car.

All Tony can see is blood and he nearly throws up, stomach twisting as he sees the paramedics get Peter onto the stretcher and into the back of an ambulance.

The woman from earlier reappears and grabs his arm, leading him up and into the ambulance as well.

Tony can barely breathe as he reaches out and grabs Peter’s hand, trying his best not to cry. “I’m so sorry.”

Peter’s eyes are closed, skin an awful pale, blood staining every inch of him.

“I’m so sorry, kiddo,” Tony repeats quietly, accepting the washcloth and bucket offered to him and he starts carefully rinsing the blood off the kid, water turning pink. “Don’t you give up on me. Please. I’m sorry.”

Tony focuses on washing away Peter’s blood until they get to the hospital and he’s sat down on one of the uncomfortable chairs, left to call May and Pepper and Happy, let them know what happened and promising to keep them in the loop.

Time passes strangely and Tony doesn’t do much but sit there and silently hope that everything will be okay, guilt swelling within him for hours.

Until a nurse comes and leads him to the hospital room where Peter’s already awake, still looking too pale and hurt, but awake. Alive.

“Kid, I’m so sorry-”

“I know,” Peter says, reaching out one of his hands for Tony to take. “I didn’t really think you were being honest because I wasn’t either. I know you only do what you do to protect me.”

“And yet, you’re here because of me.”

Peter shakes his head, eyebrows creasing in confusion. “It’s nobody’s fault. The weather was bad, it was just an accident. We could spend forever pointing blame, but it’s okay. I’m not mad at you anymore.”

“I’m still sorry.”

And Peter smiles, bringing Tony’s hand up to his chest to hold it close. “I love you, Tony.”

“Yeah, I love you too, kid. Don’t ever scare me like that again, okay?”

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spideygirl2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @tonystarkweneedyou {Let me know if you want to be added or removed}

#lyss writes #lyss answers #irondad #Irondad and Spiderson #irondad fic #peter parker #tony stark #kinda lowkey not that proud of this one but yk

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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 5 years ago

Photo

Stretching | Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Modern AU

Request(s): can you write a fic about bucky barnes going out on a date with his s/o, but when they get there the waiter is acting a little too friendly and bucky gets mad and make them go home early and teaches his s/o a lesson? & can you do one where ps reader has a lot of one night stands so her mom sets her up with someone to stop her because she’s worried and the person she sets her up with is bucky and they had a ons in the past?

Warnings: jealousy, a hint of possessiveness, smut, unprotected sex (please don’t do this), fluff.

A/N: this is my second smut! Please let me know how good or bad that part is.

Gif credit: @sebastiansource

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

Shaken awake quite harshly, you instinctively pulled the covers over your head to keep the light from enhancing your headache. The material was priced off your hands, the air making you shudder as it hit your bare skin.

Your mom scoffed, opening your closet to pick some clothes for you. Throwing them on top of your stomach, she ordered, “take a shower and get dressed. Quickly.”

You dreaded quick showers after a night out and being woken up when you had stayed up late, and when your mom visited unprompted. In fact, you couldn’t find anything positive about the situation you were in.

She had made herself comfortable in the living room, but as you approached her you saw how angry she was. Two steaming cups rested on the center table — that was a bad sign, your mom only overheated beverages when she was truly furious.

As soon as you sat down, she held a piece of paper in your field of vision. You read an unknown phone number and a very familiar name. Lifting your hand to take the paper from your mom’s grasp, you sighed in exasperation as she not only took the paper away from you but ripped it.

“You can’t continue doing this!”

“Did you really come just to chastise me?”

It had always been hard for her to understand you, too worried about how people would perceive you instead of how you perceived yourself. Your mom herself had prejudices against your lifestyle — well, love life, but you were more than happy with it. You finally had control over who you liked and with who you got sexually involved.

“You’re wasting your life and your time,” your mom repeated the same chastising comment she made every time she saw you. “I can’t continue seeing you ruin everything for a few minutes of... carnal pleasure.”

The fact that she didn’t call it sex amused you yet you kept it to yourself. “Mom, we’ve talked about this.”

“And you still don’t understand,” she stated, picking the cup closer to her. “But I have a solution.”

“I’m not joining a covenant,” you reminded her.

Your mom glared at you from behind her cup, swallowing the liquid loudly as she put down the ceramic. “I know someone who would be perfect for you, and it’s not God.” Her tone shifted, “his name is James, he’s very nice, handsome, and hardworking.”

Her giddiness while speaking about this James guy was alarming. Your taste in people had never matched your mom’s, the way she described him was nice, basic in what anyone wanted in a partner, but the dreamy tone of her voice wasn’t encouraging.

“Give me his number and I might call him,” you opted for saying, not wanting to fight over the same thing for the millionth time.

“No need, your cousin and I set you up for a blind date next Friday.” She smirked, very proud of herself.

The covenant sounded better, honestly. Your mom had the tendency of giving people a tame idea of the kind of person you were, the date was set to be a disaster.

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

You didn’t give your mom details of the first date. She had arranged for the date to be at a restaurant near your workplace so you didn’t have any excuse to not attend.

Your mom’s adamancy in you finding a partner as quickly as possible bothered you, but the idea of having a formal relationship wasn’t bad at all. It was the only reason why you hadn’t fought her on it, maybe she was right and it was time to at least try and give romance another chance.

The restaurant had been packed, as you had imagined it would be. After you were guided to your table, to where your date was already waiting for you, you had to keep yourself from reacting in shock. James wasn’t only handsome but unforgettable. It had taken you a moment to find a way to greet him, you hadn’t been sure if you wanted him to remember you or not seeing as you hadn’t called him again after a one night stand.

Thankfully, he hadn’t shown signs of recognizing you and both of you introduced yourselves as if it was the first time you had met. You were even more thankful for how easy he was to talk to and be around, the phase of getting to know people was always tedious yet he made it not only easy but enjoyable and fun.

At that moment, a few dates later, you were hearing hin rant about how crazy his best friend was driving him, sat in front of him in a booth at a coffee shop. You usually did some work there when you didn’t want to be alone at home and had told him about it through text — he surprised you by saying he would meet you there and arrived fifteen minutes later or so.

Upon giving you a coffee refill, the waiter placed a slice of cake on the table. “On the house, ma’am,” he said, cheekily smiling at you.

James sighed heavily in front of you. Clearing your throat, you acknowledged the server, “thank you, Benny.”

The waiter bowed, looking straight at your cleavage as he retreated. Your date took a gulp of coffee. Putting the cup down more loudly than he intended, James shifted on his seat.

“Does that happen often? Because It’s the second time today.”

Your brow twitched in confusion, “second time of what?”

“That he flirts with you.”

“Not every person who acts friendly is flirting.”

He lifted both eyebrows, not amused at all. “He stared at your chest.”

“It’s a free country, James,” you teased him, looking at him through your lashes.

Bucky leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table to prop himself. You were sure he was doing it on purpose. His jaw was clenched, eyes boring into yours for a few seconds before he dropped them to your cleavage too.

“You know what? We should leave,” he said suddenly. “It’s a nice night for taking a walk and you need to stretch.”

Wordlessly, you stored your laptop back into its case. He offered his hand for you to hold it. Complying once your coat was on, you felt him intertwine his fingers with yours.

As you walked toward the entrance, Bucky bumped into someone. “Goodbye, Benny, have a good night.”

Keeping yourself from rolling your eyes, you too wished the server a good night.

Bucky was full of shit, the night was cold and humid. The two of you walked a couple of blocks in silence until he tugged on your hand to make you halt your steps. He flagged down a cab, opening the door for you to get in first.

You did so, greeting the driver and giving him directions to get to your building. Bucky placed his hand on your thick thigh, reminding you of how he had done the same the night you met him at that bar but he didn’t say anything, he was very busy looking out of the window.

Traffic was a nightmare so you got bored. Taking your cellphone out, you lost time by scrolling down Twitter. Bucky’s hand squeezed your thigh, sliding up as he got closer.

Locking the device, you acknowledged him. “So much for stretching, huh.”

He huffed a laugh, leaning to kiss your cheek. As his lips dragged against your skin, he spoke, “oh, you’ll stretch. I promise.”

Turning your head to face him, you looked into his eyes. They were intensely on your face, you couldn’t place what it was hiding behind his gaze but it rooted deeply, making the ocean blue of his eyes appear steely.

Forgetting where you were, you pressed your lips to his. Bucky’s hand left your thigh to wrap his arm around you, skipping the chasteness of the other kisses you had shared and holding you as flush to his chest as the position you both were in allowed you.

You weren’t complaining. You ruined his perfectly combed hair as you threaded your fingers through it while kissing him passionately.

With his arm around your waist and fingers drumming against you, he anxiously waited for the elevator to stop at your floor. You were making small talk with your neighbor, sweetly answering their questions about your work, with your own hand on Bucky’s back.

You weren’t done locking the door from the inside when he was again all over you. Peeling off your coat, he quickly worked on undoing your blazer and shirt, finger fumbling as his mouth sucked on your neck.

Bucky buried his face in the exposed section of your breasts, pulling you closer with both arms in order to get rid of your pants. You extended a hand to take his sweater off but he tsked on your skin.

“Hands to yourself, doll,” he commanded, palms softly caressing your ass.

A whine escaped you, “Bucky, please.”

He lifted his face, “now I’m Bucky? Because earlier,” he spoke slowly, taunting you with his voice and touch as his hands now groped. “Earlier I was James. Remember, baby?”

“Your name is James,” you tried to reason with him, desperate to get him naked as soon as possible.

He hummed, “but you called the guy flirting with you by his nickname. I can’t let that one slide.”

Before you could even think about rolling your eyes, he nodded upward. “I’m going to give you the opportunity to decide if you want to take your lesson on the couch or the bed.”

“Bed,” you answered quickly. Damn him and the effect he had on you.

Bucky extended an arm to motion for you to lead the way. Kicking your shoes off, you followed his instructions. He was eager to give you the lesson, so much that he pushed you face down on the bed immediately after entering the bedroom.

Shifting your head to be able to breathe, you waited for him. You could feel him standing behind you, the harshness of his breathing echoing around the room. He pushed your legs open, reminding you, “don’t close them, you need to stretch.”

Fuck. You had an idea of what he had in mind and although you would enjoy it, you didn’t have the patience for it that day.

“I want you to count, okay? If you lose focus, we’ll start over again.”

“Oka—“ you yelped as a spank on your left asscheek interrupted you. “One?”

Bucky kept on going. For the second one, he changed the cheek he hit to your right one. The harshness increased too.

“Two,” you counted, trying to breathe in through your nose. It didn’t hurt, not yet, but you were sure the morning would be tough. However, what truly hurt was the fact that you just wanted him inside you.

By the fifth one, you were desperate to clench your thighs, worried about dripping all over the bed so early.

Bucky took you by the hips, kneeling between your legs. He leaned in, whispering in your ear, “I should’ve remembered you loved getting spanked, shouldn’t I?”

Wide-eyed, you craned your neck to look at his face. “I—“

He angled his face in order to kiss you, making you open your mouth so his tongue could explore it. “Shhh, I know you’ll learn the lesson.”

He slid your underwear to the side, groaning at how wet you were. You whined as his fingers ran up and down your slit. Smirking, he kissed your jaw and without warning introduced a finger into you.

It wasn’t enough but telling him would mean giving him more power to take even more time. You hadn’t thought he’d remember you.

“You want more, right, darling?”

“Yes.”

He gave it to you, surprisingly, fingering you with two fingers now at a quite rapid pace. Clenching around his fingers, you moaned.

Bucky sighed, “who is making you moan like that, baby?”

“You,” you whined. He plunged his fingers more deeply, encouraging you to moan his name. “Bucky — shit!” Your legs had started to shake, the sensation of his long fingers touching the perfect spot and the sound of your slick as his fingers moved in and out only made the room feel hotter.

He withdrew his fingers mere seconds before you could cum.

“What the fuck?” you complained, failing to turn around because of his position between your legs.

“It’s a lesson, (Y/N).”

“I just want you to make me cum, Bucky,” you mirrored his mocking tone.

Bucky stood up. As his weight left the bed you rolled over to be on your back. You tilted your head, allowing yourself to enjoy the show he was unintentionally giving you while taking off his clothes.

Momentarily pressing your thighs together upon noticing the bulge in his tight boxers, you sat up to attempt reaching for him. Bucky stalked toward you, slowly pushing you back down onto the bed.

He gripped the sides of your thighs to part them. Hovering over you, he spoke lowly. “You want me to fuck you, doll?”

You nodded effusively.

“How can I be sure you don’t need the lesson anymore, mmmh?”

You cupped his cheeks, “what if I promise I won’t be too friendly with other guys when they flirt with me?”

Bucky feigned thinking about it. Covering your mouth with his, he slid one of his hands down to your clothed core and rubbed slow circles.

You pushed your hips up in search for more friction. Interrupting the kiss, you exasperatedly spoke, “just fuck me already, babe.”

Pulling on your bottom lip with his teeth, he smirked at you. “I’m gonna make you cum, baby, I promise.”

Bucky threw his boxers to the side, hissing as the cold air hit his hot cock. As he took your underwear off, he looked at you in expectancy of consent. Nodding your head, you shifted to a more comfortable position.

Teasingly, he rubbed the length of his cock against your labia. Your hips spasmed and although it had happened involuntarily, you copied the movement so he’d hurry up. Bucky chuckled, entering you slowly. Bottoming out, he clenched his eyes shut as he inhaled and exhaled deeply.

You took the opportunity he was giving you to get used to his size to crane your neck in order to kiss his throat. Feeling him groan on your mouth, you sucked on his neck as he started moving inside you.

“God, I missed your pussy,” he groaned, propping himself with his forearms at each side of your head to give you easier access to his neck and chest.

Your pussy had missed him too, more than you had ever given it thought. You were extremely attracted to him, at every level, and honestly, he knew how to fuck you just right.

You moaned his name against his skin as his pace got quicker, only encouraging him to get rougher. Bucky shifted his weight onto his right side to grip your face with his left one.

“Tell me you’re mine.” It was a plead instead of a demand, his dilated eyes boring into yours in the most passionate gaze someone had focused on you. At any other moment, you would’ve felt moved and maybe a tiny bit flattered but you were too lost in the pleasure he was giving you.

Wrapping your arms under his armpits to place your hands on his back, you nodded for you weren’t able to speak due to how mushy your brain felt.

“I,” he thrust deeply, “didn’t” another thrust, “hear,” a harsh one that made the bed rock and prompted you to pierce his skin with your nails to hold yourself onto something, “you.”

God, you didn’t know how he could be able to speak right now. To make matters better for your pleasure and worse for your ability to speak, he let your face go and dragged his hand down your torso and toward your clit.

“‘M yours,” you squealed, allowing yourself to close your eyes as he rubbed your clit and pounded into you.

You were sure he could feel how close you were the same way you felt his cock pulsating against your walls. Clenching around him, you kissed him sloppily to keep yourself from being too loud.

He swallowed your moans the same way you swallowed his. “Come for me, doll,” he mumbled between kisses.

Bucky didn’t need to tell you twice, the edging from earlier and the pent up frustration of not having had sex in weeks made the tight knot in your stomach undo slowly although not gently.

You tiredly peppered kisses over his jaw and neck as he pumped a few more times. Bucky let out a strangled call of your name, spilling inside you with his eyes clenched shut and nose scrunched up.

Patting his back, you panted, “I need to pee.”

Bucky rolled off you, breathing heavily as he laid on his back. His cock twitched at the lack of warmth of your pussy while you tried not to make a mess as his come dropped down your legs.

By the time you were out of the bathroom, cleaned up and in search of some sleeping clothes, Bucky had already put his boxers back on.

Watching you get into a pair of panties, he told you, “I brought you a glass of water.”

Sliding a t-shirt on, you turned around. “Thank you.”

Bucky pouted playfully, “it’s not fair for you to wear a t-shirt.”

Shaking your head as you picked the glass up, you took a gulp of water. “I’d tell you to take it off then but I’m tired.”

He waited for you to put the glass down before grabbing you from your robust waist. Pulling you onto the bed, Bucky kissed your face multiple times, holding you close.

“Do you need a massage?”

You shook your head, “you didn’t hurt me, dummy. I’m just tired.”

“Good,” he sighed, loosening his grip around you to let you get as comfortable as needed. “You know I didn’t want to hurt you, right?”

Humming, you turned your body enough to be able to look at his face without hurting your neck as you laid on your side. “Just like you knew I would like it.”

“I would know more if you had called, though.”

“Does that matter?” you genuinely asked. “We’re dating now.”

Bucky’s fingers traced random patterns over your bare thigh. He stayed quiet for a moment. “It doesn’t matter as much anymore, but for me it does. You could be cuddling Benny right now if we weren’t dating, for example.”

“Are you really bringing up a barista I see almost daily right now?”

“He flirted with you knowing you were with your boyfriend! He saw us kissing, (y/n). Wouldn’t you be jealous if it had been the other way?”

You placed your hand on his cheek to leverage yourself in order to kiss him. Bucky kissed back, sliding the hand on your thigh upward toward your ass.

“I wouldn’t cheat on you, love,” you promised, lips still brushing his.

“I know.” Bucky rolled you onto your back and hovering over you, kissed you again.

“Baby,” you interrupted the kiss for a second, “I can’t take a second round right now.”

He hummed, kissing you again, and again, and again. “I just really enjoy kissing you. And that you’re still dating my dumb insecure ass.”

You confessed, trailing your fingers down his spine, “it was hot. But then again, everything you do is hot.”

“I’m trying to learn from you, Miss ‘I look hot while sleeping’.”

Not being able to help it, you giggled. “Good to know you think I’m hot.”

“The hottest,” he clarified.

You completely relaxed your body. Your head fully hit the pillow, palms moving to Bucky’s defined biceps. He laid his head on your chest, closing his eyes as your hands caressed his arms.

Waking up to an empty bed surprised you for the first time in years. You checked your phone in case Bucky had texted an explanation — there was nothing there. You found weird that your boyfriend had left while you slept.

Not wanting to think the worst, you decided to wait for him to call. Maybe he had an emergency, or maybe his phone died... you were determined to remain positive.

Taking your cellphone with you in case he decided to make contact, you walked directly toward the kitchen to make coffee.

A voice made you jump and drop your phone in the process, “I was about to wake you up.”

“For fuck’s sake, James!” you squeaked, bending over to pick up the device and asses the damage.

He tried not to laugh but ultimately failed when a third presence cackled up. Recognizing said laugh, you put the cellphone away.

“Hi, mom! I didn’t know you were here.” You said the second sentence while glaring at your boyfriend.

Bucky immediately defended himself, “you said you were tired.”

You didn’t know what was worse, if he had met your mom before you introduced them or the fact that he had basically said in front of her that he had fucked you so good he tired you out.

Either way, everyone was happy. You finally were dating someone which was what your mom had wanted, your boyfriend was great and a dream come true, and Bucky now felt more sure about your relationship. Also, the sex was great and after your mom left you would probably spend the entire day making out and so much more.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #plus size reader #plus size fanfiction #bucky barnes #james barnes #the winter soldier #marvel x reader #marvel x plus size reader

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despisydraws · 5 years ago

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Okay, so this went from headcanons to a one-shot draft real fast and I'm 100% not sorry to fill your entire timeline with trans Courfeyrac's first meeting with the Amis and his coming-out story

Enjoy this mess of a bullet point half-oneshot that has somehow gotten the length of 1,7k words, with no beta because we die like men

-It took Courf quite a long time to figure out what it was that made him so uncomfortable with himself and even once he came to conclusion he just tried to repress it

-He used to dress in extremely feminine clothes (mostly out of fear that nobody would want him anymore otherwise)

-Yep, right, he was super scared of being alone in the world and he constantly needed the assurance that he was needed

-He had a bunch of super shitty boyfriends who treated him like dirt and only wanted him as a status symbol, to have 'a hotter girlfriend than the others'

-He was so tired of being cheated on and used, but he felt so alone and helpless that he tried to hold on to every. single. one. of those douchebags

-That made them even greater assholes, of course, like a confidence boost (disgusting)

-He got rid of them only by them getting rid of him, what happened after a fairly short time (because 'He was just so clingy' and 'they never wanted a long-term relationship they just wanted some fun') (I repeat: disgusting)

-After an especially bad breakup, which he reasoned by himself not behaving enough as the girl he should be ('shitty-ex also said that, so it's true, right?'), his almost frantic femininity got even worse

-That was the phase in which he met Combeferre

-Courf was sitting in the corner of a very empty cafe, staring into his cup without drinking

-Ferre has to deal with the Amis, so he's kind of a hobby-therapist, he came over immediately and asked to sit with him

-He just sensed that something was off about 'the girl who constantly shoves her beautiful long curls back as if they were tiny snakes trying to bite her, who kneads the hem of her short dress nervously, trying not to let anyone see, who shifts her feet in her heels as if she stood on needles' - it reminded him of Enjolras, but in less furious and more hurt

-They chat a little and Ferre gets him to attend one of the amis' meetings

-They go there together, there is a mirror in the corridor of the cafe next to the coat rack, where Courf stops dead and just gazes at what has become of him

-Ferre just tries to calm him by saying 'don't worry, you look wonderful.' And Courf immediately clenches his jaw, because 'oh, great, another one of those guys...'

-Anyway they attend the meeting and Courf is absolutely in awe over Enjolras, about his strength and confidence, generally just his aura which is almost visible to him, red and burning

-Feuilly, who is a hobby-hairdresser and cuts cuts the hair of all of the Amis for free, takes one look at him and immediately goes "wooow, I'd love to cut your hair, can I cut it? Look at all those cool and sexy hairstyles over here *gestures to Bahorel* and here *gestures to Joly who grins and waves at him*, okay, over here I messed up *gestures to Bossuet, who notices Courfs mortified expression and goes 'no, don't worry, I'm naturally bald he's just joking!'* and Feuilly laughs and goes on with his rambling" but Courf is like 'no way, you're not gonna touch my hair, wtf?' And he avoids Feuilly because he has a vague feeling that the redhead is a huge creep...

-Enjolras takes one look at Courf and then turns to Ferre with a raised eyebrow

-They have something like a telepathic discussion about Courf, Ferre desperately wants to keep him because he just feels that it's right but Enjolras can't stand him because his behavior seems so fake (he can't get behind it yet, he tends to judge people immediately, like an instinct, and he really doesn't want a 'little prom queen Ferre wants to go off with' in his activist group. He should really know Ferre a little better than that, given the fact that they grew up together, and know that he's got his reasons, but Enj had a very bad day so he goes with whatever his mind tells him)

-Courf gets along quite alright with the others, especially with Bahorel, Grantaire and Jehan (even though he thinks they're a little weird) and 'that Joly is cute I guess'

-After the meeting they all get ready to go home and most of them have left already, Jehan suddenly comes up to him and hugs him deeply, saying how much they wish for Courf to stay with the group

How? How could anyone resist that?

-So Courf comes back a few times and when they plan to go on vacation with the group to strengthen the team spirit and mayyybe just have a chill weekend for once Courf is already included in the plans without them even asking him

-They go by train to a summer cottage Jehans parents own at the coast of Spain, right at the beach

-Courf shares a room with Grantaire and Joly and Bossuet, Enj and Ferre share a smaller room and Jehan sleeps with Feuilly and Bahorel on a huge extendible couch

-Let's say this is at a point where Courf has already gotten so much queer influence from this group that he is just confused and absolutely can't tell anymore who he is, because, apparently it's okay to not feel the same way your body lookw?? But that's colliding with everything he learned from the shitty douchebag boyfriends and his clique he had a few years ago????

-His mind is absolutely overwhelmed and he doesn't know what to do anymore, the assumption he had about himself is proving true at an alarming speed and he can't repress it anymore.

-Even though his is with such an open minded group now, he still fears to be cast out once he opens up

-He fears that they would think he was shamming himself again to fit in more ('I presented myself so different when he first met them, it would be strange, right? It would seem like a lie if I told them!')

-He sleeps less and cries a lot, this holiday should have been relieving but it has become the horror to him

-Everytime he sees Joly and Bossuet kissing, everytime Enjolras lifts his shirt in the heat, showing his scars and Grantaires' longing gazes, he excuses himself. He sits in the bathroom quietly, staring at the wall, until a person comes along who has to use it

-One night he can't take it anymore

-There's Grantaire and Bossuet snoring to both sides of him and Joly shifting in his boyfriend's arms the entire time, sometimes pressing a pillow on his face to stop the noise

-There is too much sound, too much movement around him so the thoughts that need to be thought, if not at daytime, then at least at night, get even louder

-He stands up with his blanket underneath one arm and quietly leaves the room into the dark hallway. His knees are shaking and all he wishes for is to break down on the floor but his body just can't pass that point of desperation, so he stumbles around until his hands find the next doorhandle and pushes it

-There is a muffled voice, saying "Don't even try it, Jehan, I hid your notebook. Go to sleep, write that thought down tomorrow..."

-When there is no reaction a bedside lamp is switched on, revealing Combeferres sleepy face

- "Ferre, turn the goddamn light on one more time and I'll kill you" Enjolras grunts from the other bed, turning his back to the room

-Combeferre just quietly signs for Courfeyrac to lay down next to him after he took one look at his face and he does (Ferre is after all still the one he trusts most)

-He crawls underneath Ferres blanket and buries his face against the latter one's chest and then everything just starts streaming out of him, all of his thoughts, all of his feelings, he just talks about everything for the first time

-As he ends there is silence and Combeferre places a kiss on his head when he starts to cry again

-Enjolras just quietly apologizes for being rude to him all the times before and stands up, moving over to the two of them

-He starts to tell Courfeyrac the story of his own coming out, how he got kicked out by his parents and had to move out of the city and live with Combeferre and something about the story calms him down

-He falls asleep sandwiched between Ferre and Enj after they had to promise to not tell anyone about it yet

-The next night he feels better but he is still restless

-He's up again, quietly shifting to the living room where he shakes Feuilly awake

C:"Can you help me with something?"

F:"Sure, what is it?"

C:"Cut my hair..."

-Feuilly is out and about in an instant and soon there is light in the kitchen, Courf is sitting on a stool they found in a small storeroom and Feuilly comes in with a grin and a pair of scissors

-The next morning the others almost don't recognize him anymore, if not because of his looks then because of his aura. He is genuinely happy for the first time in what feels like an eternity

-Even Enj is grinning when he sees him and stands up from the table where they are eating breakfast, putting an arm around his shoulders

"Listen here my boy, you don't know what danger you just put yourself in. Look at them, they're all gay and ready to eat you alive"

-The entire table bursts in chaos, Joly spits out his juice, Bahorel is screaming from the top of his lungs, Grantaire is muttering "I'm so in love, I'm so in love, I'm so in love" over and over again and Bossuet jumps up from his chair so suddenly it falls over "Enjolras made a joke?! Enjolras is funny?! My life is a lie!"

-Courfeyrac just laughs with them, glad that Enjolras saved him from all the awkward questions for now

-He sits down next to Combeferre and shoots him a small look

"Are you also, you know... gay and ready to eat me alive?" He chuckles and Combeferre turns his head into his direction with an amused smile "Eating you would be a little harsh, don't you think? But I admit, I have been thinking of eating with you this evening" "Are you... asking me out?" "What else could I have intended with that?"

And they all live happily ever after, finish, yaaay

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roseofithaca · 4 years ago

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Let Me In

Once again, for some reason, I get a sudden burst of creative energy around midnight. I was only thinking, god, if this scene had been in then TTDS would have had to be very different (for the better), so here it is.

Michael tells Eleanor the truth from the start.

SUBJECT WAKING UP IN 05:00

“Oh good!” Eleanor takes a sigh at the green counter flashing on the back of Michael’s office wall; “At least you’ve got a few minutes to read his file and prepare, right?”

Michael hums, still retaining that sheen of sweat on his forehead that she’s noticed since she entered. He hasn’t quite seemed his excited, determined tree of a demon-self since she walked in. He claimed it was just nerves which, fair enough, made sense considering humanity itself was counting on them.

He’d always seemed so confident since she met him on Earth. She can hardly speak for the Michael she had paired up with before, those memories were lost to her, or the brief glimpses of the ‘evil’ (still putting it mildly) manipulator she saw in the flashbacks of her and Chidi together. The only Michael she’s truly known up until now is the one before her now, the one who saved her and has been watching over her and her friends all this time, guiding them, their constant leader and protector...even if Janet ended up doing most of the physical protecting, the thought still counted, very much so.

This Michael...Her Michael...was no demon. He was their guardian angel buddy. And she didn’t believe anyone could be in charge of the experiment that would fix this screwed up afterlife more than him.

“Hey,” she gets his attention again, deciding that he’s going to know this before she leaves; “Whatever your plan is? It's gonna be great! We trust you.”

His eyes meet hers, a smile full of surprised warmth appearing on his face.

“Your friends will always trust you.”

No one has earned that trust more than this dude.

She gives Michael a thumbs up and turns to go out the back door so he can get ready to wake this ‘John’ guy up and get his shirt together. She dimly hears Michael muttering to himself.

“You go...I’m going...And I’m gone...”

Eleanor turns in time to see all six feet of her buddy’s skin suit crumble to his knees.

“Michael?!”

She moves to catch him as he slumps against his desk, falling on the floor, her hands on his arm. No, no, no, what the fork is wrong?! Is he sick? Did Shawn or another demon poison him?! All sorts of horrors run through her head to the point she forgets what they’re even supposed to be starting in less than a few minutes, her focus entirely on Michael’s wellbeing.

“I can’t....I can’t do it....” He starts to hyperventilate, looking at her, eyes wide behind those specs; “I can’t do it, it’s too scary...Oh no, oh no, oh no!”

She’s never heard his voice break like this. Fork, he’s always held it together around them, been their firm if quirky champion. Had that all just been an act?

Was the quivering wreck in her arms more like the Michael she befriended in the last reboot?

“Michael, look at me.” she takes his hand, clutching it tight; “I know it’s a lot but you need to get it together. You’ve got this!”

“No, I don’t! I don’t got this, Eleanor!” He starts to whimper, burying his face in his free hand; “I can’t do this, I’m nothing special, I’m just Middle Management!”

“Bullshirt! Dude, listen!” She says, fiercely; “You are better than all of the demons and Judges and angel nerds I’ve come across so far! You actually want to do shirt that matters, you try to get it done where they either give up or don’t care! You got us this far, man, farther than anyone has ever come out of this ridiculous system...You even got me to snap out being a selfish bench drowning in my nihilistic, determinist crab - You are...You’re our hero, Michael, don’t you get that? And you can be a hero for these humans we’re gonna welcome in too, and for every human that ever dies-.”

“You know you’re just adding to the pressure, right?”

“Right, fork, forget that last bit.” Eleanor retreats, taking a breath; “Look, all I’m saying is, you have nothing to worry about. You can do this, I have faith in you...Me! I never had faith in anyone since I stopped believing in the tooth fairy after I stayed awake to try to mug her.”

Michael laughs with her, and for a small respite, Eleanor hopes she’s managed to crack through the stress and let him calm down. But then he meets her eyes again, his gaze lingering, before he crumbles into tears.

“No, no, no, I can’t...I can’t, it’s too much...Too much to lose...”

Eleanor looks at the timer. Three minutes thirty seconds. Damn, they don’t have long.

“Michael, what do you mean?” She asks, putting on her no nonsense voice; “We’ve always known what’s at stake, bud, this hasn’t phased you before, why now? What changed?”

He hangs his head, bringing his knees in close and hugging himself like a frightened kid.

Eleanor places her palm on the side of his head; “Talk to me! I just told you that your friends will always trust you, remember? That needs to be two-way, buddy. Trust me. Let me in. Can you do that?”

He remains frozen, meek sobs choking out, eyes shut.

“...For me?”

He looks up at her again, a shift in his expression. As if he’s only seen her there for the first time.

“Shawn called.” Barely a whisper.

Eleanor’s jaw clenches, her fingers tightening on Michael’s wrist.

“What...?” The fork?!

“B-before you came in...He called to say that...He wanted to taunt me about you all being tortured when...I-if we lose...” He sniffs, rubbing his nose; “B-but that also...He’s going to torture you by having one of the demons...w-wear a suit of me. So you guys think that I’m the one...I’m the one who...”

His voice breaks apart again as he shatters once more.

Eleanor’s guts twist in rage. How the fork dare that low-rent Satan mess with her buddy like that?! When they’re only a minute away from...?!

She puts her hands to Michael’s face.

“Hey. Hear me, bud.” She’s truly fired up now, “There is no way we are ever going to fall for a trick like that, even if we do lose, which we won’t. We’ll never believe any of those losers are really you. Especially now you’ve told me.”

“That’s it...That’s why I wasn’t going to...” He confesses, cringing with shame; “He said that he’d erase your memories of finding out. And...”

Another look of horror passes over him.

He tries to shuffle away from her.

“Y-you’re never gonna be sure if it’s me or not...Or if they’ve swapped me, you...” He shudders, uncontrollably, fingers clawing at his own face; “How can you ever trust me now knowing what I’ve told you?!”

He recoils as if she’s already voiced her rejection.

“Dude...It’s okay....” she tries to be soft at first, wanting to reach out and brush those tears off his stupid, pretty but stupid face.

He just shakes his head and keeps looking away.

Eleanor darts forward and reaches for his hands again, pulling them close to her.

“Michael. I didn’t think it was possible to trust you more than I did five minutes ago but, after you just told me this, and seeing what it’s done...I trust you with everything, with every piece of this...hot soul of mine before you, ‘kay?” She tells him before reaching a hand out to stroke his cheek; “I see you. I know it’s you. And as soon as we get a moment, we can tell the others and organise some sort of plan to ease your worries about this, but for now....Just breathe. Go on.”

He obeys her, taking a deep breath in, then out. The anxiety remains etched into the lines on his face. No wonder, that little mental torture of Shawn’s clearly did a number on him at the worst time.

She reaches out to place her palm on his chest.

“Does that help? I see Jason do it all the time.” she asks, frowning.

Michael is able to manage a tiny smile amidst his distress, looking down at her fingers over the space where his heart should be (but isn’t).

“...It’s helping.”

Eleanor shuffles forward on the floor and tugs him into her arms, wrapping him up in the tightest of hugs. She wishes, for a moment, she had the power to snap her fingers and take this message from Shawn out of Michael’s memories. Or just beat the shirt outta the guy. Or both.

No one messes with her demon.

“I know you, man. Even without my memories...I feel like I’ve always known you. I ain’t ever letting any stupid demon make me forget you again, or the real you.” She leans in and plants a lingering, sweet kiss on his cheek, leaning back a bit to look into his eyes; “We’re gonna win this. I’m sure we will...And none too soon, we’re gonna be celebrating that victory over Shawn by burning all those fake Michael suits and getting drunk off our ashes.”

He sniffs, raising his hand to stroke her hair, tears soaking his cheeks.

“Eleanor, I...It was so hard to have you guys forget me again but...Not having you trust me, or think I’d ever hurt you again, I...I can’t cope with it...!”

“Then don’t! Don’t let him get to you!” She urges, turning to the wall.

00:30 REMAINING

It’s not enough time. Not for Michael to suddenly clean himself up and be as normal as an only somewhat fake angelic Architect can be. He’s too shaken up. She can give him all the comfort in the cosmos but it won’t restore his courage in time.

Well. Eleanor steels herself. She’ll have to have enough courage for the both of them.

“I’ll do it.” She tells him; “I’ll tell John that I’m the Architect. You just sit in the corner and pretend to be my assistant.”

“What?” Michael blinks; “I....I can’t ask you to...”

“You don’t need to. I’m stealing that chair of yours, bud. I look better in it anyway.” She tells him, resolute; “I can fudge my way through it and then you help me work it out from the shadows, that sound good? Like I said. We’re gonna do this as a team.”

She takes his hand and interlocks their fingers together.

“Trust me?”

He glances at their hands and then at her, taking another deep breath.

“....A-always.”

She smiles, hoping she’s not about to make a huge fork-up. After all Michael has done for her, she has no qualms about taking this role on for him to get it together.

As the last few seconds count down, she crushes him in another hug.

“Say it with me, man.” she whispers, feeling him tighten his hold as if she’ll disappear; “We’ve got this.”

He exhales, melting in her arms for the last spare moments, before they get back on their feet. Somehow feeling like they’re on the same level now, even with the silver devil still towering over her, a renewed spark of hope in his eyes.

“We’ve got this.”

#emotional hurt/comfort #tgp fanfic #hellstrop #michael x eleanor (platonic)#as this takes place when cheleanor are together #so it's more brotp #found family feels

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sombreboy · 5 years ago

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Love Maze »19

Previous » Next Series Masterlist ▎ 18+ ▎ pairing: Taehyung x Jungkook ▎ genre: School AU, crack humor, smut, angst, ETL, slow burn, fluff. ▎ word count: 8.1k ▎ ch.warnings: Profanity, angst, description of medical procedures (I'm no doc so dhsajkd), homophobia (tae's father is homophobic), use of homophobic slurs(censored), mentions of blood, tae jerks koo off in the hospital bed THIS WAS SO UNPLANNED BUT HEY IT HAPPENED..they're horny. dom!tae, sub!koo, good boy kink

Co-writer: @velvetwicebang ♡♡♡

The boys sat in the dull, somber hospital waiting room. It’d been around an hour, and still no news of Taehyung. Joon knew it was probably still too early, but the suspense was keeping him at the edge of his seat.

“Jungkook-ah..” Jin treaded gently, “do you want some tea? Anything?” Their youngest seemed so out of it, it was incredibly concerning. Just as Seokjin was about to build onto his small proposition, an older man barged in through the doors. He was tucked into a polished suit, obvious he’d come back from work by the bag at his side.

“I’m here for Kim Taehyung.” Namjoon quirked up a brow, turning to look at Jungkook to see if he knew the man.

“Kim Daejung. His father.” The group’s eyes widened, they’d never seen Tae’s dad before. The latter didn’t openly talk about his family— at all. “You’re all checked in. Feel free to take a seat by the group of boys, they’re here for Mr. Kim as well.” The moment the man turned around with a puzzled expression, Namjoon’s eyes widened at the uncanny resemblance between the two. Taehyung was an exact copy of his father. The sharp eyes, full brows, sun-kissed skin. Everything. Well, except he was a few noticeable years younger..

Hesitantly, the man advanced towards the group. Who the hell were these kids? He took a seat across from them, clearing his throat before crossing his arms over his chest. For the first time since they arrived, Jungkook's eyes moved from the blank stare at the floor up to the man's face. So this was Taehyung's father. The very man who had Tae running to Kooks place with tears in his eyes and trembling in self hatred. Taehyung looked just like his father. But they were nothing alike. Jungkook didn't say a word, simply mirrored the man's posture when their eyes met. Daejung crooked an eyebrow as his gaze roamed Jungkook's disheveled state, the blood on his hands and clothes.

"How do you know my son?"

"We're on the same basketball team in school." Namjoon clarified, interrupting whatever Jungkook had waiting at the tip of his tongue.

"Ah." Daejung nodded, seemingly uninterested after all. He clenched his jaw in annoyance. He really had to come here for his useless son. And let's not begin to talk about the hospital expenses. The very thought had the older man fuming in frustration for himself rather than for the condition of his child.

"Hey." Jungkook suddenly caught the older man's attention, "Are you not going to ask if he's okay?" Kook didn't fail to notice how Taehyung's father didn't seem worried enough. He didn't even ask what had happened-- or if his son was even alive. All he saw was that Taehyung was nothing but an inconvenient burden with the way Daejung was impatiently tapping his shoe against the floor.

"Mind your business, kid." Daejung huffed back, the hostility in his words provoking Jungkook to clench his fists in his lap. Gently, Jin seated next to him placed a hand on the younger's back as if to say 'Don't'. The monochromatic room lacked fresh air and ventilation, and the newborn tension between Jungkook and Taehyung’s father only stuffed it even more. It had the rest of the boys ready to take action, keeping a close eye on Kook who appeared to be ready to burst. The older man struck them as a heartless asshole. Tae was severely injured, yet that wasn’t enough to get him to care just a bit. All of this was a nuisance to Daejung. It was killing him not knowing how much money was being wasted on Taehyung. It physically hurt to think of all the extra hours he’d have to work. Even then, it wouldn’t be enough. With an impatient sigh, the older man leaned back into his seat, glancing at Jungkook once in a while. His eyes were red from crying. It got him thinking.. Why did he seem the most in pain?

“Mr. Kim?” Daejung turned around to the voice’s origin, meeting the lady from behind the counter once again. “Hello.” She respectfully bowed, apologizing for disrupting him during a tough time. “I completely forgot to give you these,” the woman extended out a plastic bag with Taehyung’s found belongings— his cellphone and wallet. A bit disoriented, the older man thanked her before setting the clear bag on his lap. He didn’t think much of it, until he caught a glimpse of a picture sticking out from his son’s wallet. Curious, the boys watched him unzip the bag, asking themselves what he was doing rummaging through Tae’s things at a time like this. Daejung took out the wallet, before unfolding the picture strip. It was adorned with silly hearts around the creased edges. But the most surprising thing of all, it was of his son— with a boy. Worst of all, with the same boy sitting across from him. “You’re kidding me..” He felt a wave of new anger wash over him, glaring into Jungkook’s doe eyes with utter disgust. Jungkook recognized the strip of pictures immediately, and it felt like a pang in his chest from the memory. Tae had kept the photos of them… Hearing the older man's word in revulsion towards the fact that his son loved the boy sitting right across from him had Kook's temper flaring up even further. Especially when the words were directly aimed at him, and Tae. Jungkook stood up abruptly, the hands of his hyungs reaching for him to sit back down, not strong or fast enough to keep him down. He was just so angry at this man, he wished he could just beat some sense into him.

"Kook, sit down.." Jimin pleaded behind him, tugging at the younger's shirt. Jungkook brushed his hand off, keeping his eyes fixed on Taehyung's father. If eyes could burn holes through a person, Daejung would be hollow. The older man kept looking down at the photo and back at the doe eyed boy, the difference between the sweet looking boy and the anger fueled, bloody mess standing tall was eerie. But Daejung couldn't wrap his head around this.

"No fucking way." Daejung spat out as he crumbled the photo in his hands to throw it at Jungkook, a deadly sharp stare in his eyes, "You're probably the reason my son is in here in the first place, aren't you?"

Jungkook took a step closer, the muscles in his arms flexing with every clench of his fist. "No." He really tried keeping himself calm, but the older man didn't make it easy.

"Hah....was probably beaten for being a f*g. You stay away from my son." Daejung mocked, the words coming from his mouth nothing but venomous, as if he knew exactly how to place his words to hurt the most.

"Watch your fucking mouth, you don't give a fuck about him anyway! I do!" Kook placed his palm on his chest to make a point, the hard thud against his pecks displaying the strength he possessed. Yoongi rose to his feet, hand reaching out for Jungkook’s bicep to prevent him from pouncing Taehyung’s father. He felt the strong muscle project from underneath the skin, verifying the younger’s internal infatuation towards the appalled man. “Don’t fucking touch me, kid.” Daejung pushed back, disgusted that Jungkook’s bloodied hands came in contact with his expensive suit. “You don’t know shit about the relationship with my son. You think he gives a fuck about you?” The man scornfully chuckled, finding the strain on the younger’s face quite amusing. “Taehyung is incapable of love. He’s a kid without any manners, he only thinks about himself-- All of this? This is a phase, alright?” Daejung didn’t hold any shame in bad-mouthing his own child, belittling his every step, making him feel worthless. It was his own twisted game. “When he moves away after High School, Taehyung’s gonna thank me I sent him to a college outside of the country. Far from you.”

Hearing Taehyung's father say those words felt like a punch in the gut for Kook. The amount of times he'd heard the expression 'it's just a phase' from his own dad was almost laughable. "You're lying..." he murmured, but the more he thought of it, he wasn't so sure. Was Tae gonna leave?

Yoongi kept his grip on Jungkook's arm, tugging at him to leave the room. "Come on, let's go." He urged, and after a long moment of thick silence, the younger gave in and left out the door without another word. When outside, Yoongi let go of Kook. "I brought your change of clothes... they're in the car. You should grab them and wash up your hands and then come back, okay? I'm sure the asshole is gone by then." Yoongi's words were soft, and hearing him refer to the older man as an asshole made Kook feel a bit better. "Alright..okay." Kook nodded as he grabbed the keys that Yoongi had borrowed from Namjoon, heading outside towards the car. Yoongi decided to wait by the entrance, keeping a distant eye to give the doe eyed boy some much needed space. Jungkook unlocked the car and got in, sitting down in the car as he reached for the plastic bag with his clothes. He placed them in his lap as he took a second to just.... Breathe. Would he ever be allowed to catch a fucking break? He was happy the car was spacious, quickly able to change out of his bloody jerseys to slip on a black hoodie and sweatpants before heading back towards the building, seeing Yoongi waiting outside the door with a soda in each hand. Just something to get the bitterness off the younger's tongue.

"Thanks." Kook breathed out as he brought the can to his lips, the sugary drink not as sweet as he’d hoped for it to be. But how could it be, with circumstances like these?

A couple more hours passed by, and almost everyone was on the verge of passing out from exhaustion. Yoongi was asleep, Jimin was trying to stay awake, Hoseok seemed fine, and Jin visibly fought against his eyelids weighing down on him. It was a close battle. Daejung kept his distance from the group— which was for the best. From the looks of it, Jungkook was still wide awake from anger. Worry, too. Namjoon couldn’t sleep with the ticking bomb at his side, even if Kook had calmed down a bit, Joon would feel better if he kept an eye on him. Their previous feud was no longer of importance, all that mattered was that Jungkook was okay.

Moments later, and the doctor appeared in the waiting room. “Kim Taehyung?” Nearly everyone’s heads perked up, standing up from the stiffly uncomfortable chairs to walk over to the man. Tae’s father followed behind, pushing past the boys to stand upfront. “Are you the father?” He answered with a curt nod of his head, waiting for what the doctor had to say. “Your son is strong. He’s okay after only a few minor complications.” Hoseok exhaled a breath of relief, looking for Jungkook’s reaction. “It was good that you found him when you did. If you would’ve waited a minute longer, I’m afraid he wouldn’t be with us right now.” Daejung’s jaw tightened, the words were too raw. It hadn’t fully sunk in that Taehyung could’ve died. “H-how’s he doing? Can we see him?” Jimin asked, desperate for more good news. “He’s a bit out of it at the moment. Taehyung suffered from a few seizures during the procedure. The skull fracture was deep, which caused him to lose a lot of blood. We had to make sure there were no blood clots or leaking of cerebrospinal fluid. He’s doing fine, only had to get a few stitches done to patch up the open wound.” Jimin smiled at Jungkook, hoping that was enough to assure him that Tae was going to be fine. He made it.

“Mr. Kim, if you’d like you can go see him-“

“Can we see him? Please. We’ve been waiting out here for hours.” Yoongi tiredly pleaded.

“I-I’m sorry, sir. But I’m afraid it’s family members only.”

“Doctor. Please, Taehyung is like family to us! We don’t all have to go. Just... please.” Hoseok added, to which the older man seemed to thoroughly think about.

“Mr. Kim, are you fine with one of them coming along?” Daejung shrugged his shoulders, simply wanting to get this done and over with. He had work in the mornings. “Alright. Jungkook, go.” Namjoon softly uttered at the younger, easing his anxiety with a faint smile. Jungkook hardly processed everything that went over his head the past few minutes. Taehyung was okay... But only because Jungkook found him on time. He could've checked any other place before going to the locker room, and it would've been too late. Just that thought alone was heartbreaking...

'Jungkook, go.'

He felt Namjoon's hand gently push the younger to step inside of the room. He hesitated at first, his doe eyes worried and his expression blank from all the emotions he's been through. He couldn't even bother with being upset at Taehyung's father at the moment. Especially not when he saw Taehyung himself on the bed. Nothing else mattered. A shaky exhale pushed through Jungkook's lips as he rushed to the side of the bed, roaming the elders face with his doe eyes. The color of his skin was no longer pale, but had gotten most of it's beautiful tan back. He was alive. Kook never would've thought that simply watching the elders chest heave up and down as he breathed would be one of the best things he's seen today. Taehyung was there, but not fully. Hi s swollen eyes leisurely flickered open, ears spiking up from the sudden intrusion. He’d only been awake for an hour or so, his mind had yet to catch up. It hurt to think as much as it hurt physically; the rocketing ache in his head was bothersome. Tae didn’t pay any attention to his father’s entry, noticeably livening up at the hazy sight of Jungkook. He’s able to recognize Kook’s doe eyes anywhere. Having the latter stare down at him was the torch he desperately needed in these dark times. “Hey..” Tae muttered meekly, attempting to smile. “You’re here.. I-I love you.” Taehyung needed to say that— needed to reassure Kook that all was well. Perhaps Tae was scared he would’ve never gotten to say those three words again. He hated himself for making the younger worry.. Slowly, he reached for Jungkook’s hand, weakly holding it in his bigger one.

His father’s jaw clenched tightly from his son’s words. Did Taehyung not see that he was in the room? He shouldn’t say such disgusting things— especially if it’s aimed towards the same sex. It made him sick. Every second of their exchange.

Jungkook quickly grabbed Tae's weak hand in both of his, softly squeezing it in reassurance. "Hey," his voice was shaky due to his entire body trembling, feeling like he's internally experiencing a turmoil of every single emotion he's able to possibly possess, "Of course I'm here." Kook leaned closer to get a better look at the elders eyes, barely able to see the brown pools of life through the swollen eyelids. But it was there. "I love you too, you dumbass..." he joked, but he was also serious. He loves this guy with every figure of his being. And Kook was nothing but a dumbass too for trying to believe anything different. He loved this dumbass, that kept being a difficult push and pull-- but whatever happened, they both kept gravitating back to each other.

Once more, Taehyung's father felt himself getting sicker and sicker through the exchange. "Enough." He finally mutters, but Kook refuses to do anything but to keep holding Tae's hand. God knows they both need it.

A weak, barely detectable chuckle emitted from the back of Taehyung’s raspy throat. “So sweet of you,” He teased amidst laughter, gazing up at Jungkook to the best of his abilities. It was kind of hard when his unclear vision was limited by his eyelids’ puffiness. Taehyung looked sickly— as one would expect. A crescent moon, the shade of dark, red-ish purple adorned his sunken under eyes. The bridge of his nose was visibly swollen, flushed with the remains of dried blood. And of course, no one could ignore the protective cord of stitches keeping the broken skin of his upper forehead together. No one but his father, who appeared to be more preoccupied with their choice of wording rather than his son’s well being.

“What did you do, Taehyung? Why did this happen.” He was back to putting the blame on his son. Again. Tae wished he could’ve been used to it by now.. He was hurting enough already; the elder didn’t need this pain on top of it.

“Dad—“

“Do you know how much this is going to cost me?” The older man huffed, impatiently tapping his foot against the tiled floor. “I work way too damn hard for this.” Daejung refused to meet their eyes, defined jaw clenched once again. “You won’t even appreciate my efforts.” His father was also back to speaking on his behalf. Not caring about how Taehyung truly felt.

“Dad.. I-I’m sorry for putting you through this.”

Jungkooks rolled his tongue against the fleshy inside of his cheek, eyebrows drawn together as he glared over his shoulder, before looking back at Taehyung, softly stroking the elders knuckles with his hand. "This isn't your fault." He hissed out, moreso aimed towards the asshole in the room, "Don't apologize."

"He better apologise, and it won't ever be enough for the shit he put me through." Daejung scoffed, still annoyed with their interactions, "you should apologize too, you were probably the very reason he was put here in the first place." He continued, hinting at the fact that their relationship was something his son would get beaten for.

Jungkook withdrew from holding Taehyung's hand to turn towards the elder man, his nostrils flaring with his growing anger. "Your son almost died, and all you do is blame him?!. Get the fuck out of here if you're not gonna at least pretend like you give a fuck!"

Taehyung's father crooked an eyebrow, stepping closer to the younger. Rarely he was spoken to this way. "You have no power here. He's my son. My blood. And he's gonna repent every single penny I'm wasting on this," he gestured towards the hospital room, but ends his pointing hand at the younger, "this shit."

Jungkook's hand clenched again, but this time he doesn't hold back, instead takes a few daring steps until he's almost chest to chest with Daejung, his doe eyes instead replaced with something eerie swirling inside of them. "Get the fuck out of here." he paused to clench his jaw, hissing through his teeth, "Before I put you in a hospital bed myself."

One does not want to mess with the bundle of muscles this boy is, and considering he almost lost everything he cared for, Daejung was lucky that he didn't end up eye to eye with a man with nothing to lose. The older man was taken aback— who the hell did this kid think he was?

“Whatever.” Daejung harshly spat, lingering by the doorway. “Don’t expect me to come visit you, Taehyung. Not with this fucker around.” As if Jungkook was a walking disease, his lowered eyes raked down his stiff form. Disgust was one way to put it. Not only was his son a f*g, he was a man of terrible taste. Without one last glance, Daejung walked out of Tae’s hospital room.

Taehyung was left speechless, teary-eyed, and relieved. “Sorry you, uh, y-you had to be in the middle of that.” Taehyung’s teeth clamped down on his strained jaw, the muscle protruding from the sides. When the elder least expected it, a single tear streamed down his cheek. God, how much he loved Jungkook.. “Shit.” He roughly wiped at his face, careful around the bruised areas. However, more tears welled up in his swollen eyes. “I-I don’t wanna think about what would’ve happened if I didn’t make it.” Taehyung stared at Kook, reaching for his hand once again. He couldn’t picture a world without the younger; he just couldn’t. It was cheesy, but Jungkook was his everything. “Just.. not being with you for two weeks hurt like hell. I couldn’t imagine leaving you forever.”

The very moment Taehyung's father left, Jungkook's muscles seemed to relax. Turning to Tae, he quickly returned to his side by the bed to catch his hands with one of his own, using the other to carefully wipe away the elders tears with the pad of his thumb. "But you're here." He felt the lump in his throat grow, his own voice straining at the thought of receiving news other than the fact that the love of his life wouldn't be okay. Kook was sure he wouldn't be able to live without him. "You're okay... you're okay..." his own tears glazed his doe eyes, bringing Taehyung's hand up to kiss the soft skin of his knuckles, "I love you. I always loved you."

Those damn three words..

He’s heard them before in movies, plays, casually shared on the streets by many of Cupid’s victims— but Taehyung never would’ve thought he’d get to hear them himself. No matter how many times Jungkook reminded Tae of his love towards him, he still turned into a flustered mess. Something told him that would never change..

“I love you too.. dumbass. Always will.” The warm tears were now due to happiness, genuinely glad that Kook was by his side throughout all of it. Closing his eyes, Tae cutely puckered out his lips. “This is code for, ‘lean down and kiss me, my neck hurts.’” The elder childishly mumbled through the pout, patiently waiting for the touch of his prince’s lips against his.

Jungkook couldn't hold back the toothy, nose scrunching grin on his face. He leaned forward over Taehyung, bracing his hands on the bed to place a delicate kiss on the elders pout. He'd missed the familiar touch of these lips, so he went back for another, and another, moving his chapped lips against Tae's as carefully as he could. His face lingered close as he pulled back just enough to look at Taehyung with his soft gaze. "I missed you."

Throughout this sweet encounter, their hyungs had lingered outside of the door, Jimin finally unable to contain his curiosity after watching the older man rush out of the hospital. He quietly opened the door to take a peek, everybody else scuffing and pushing to get a look, only to be greeted by the wholesome sight of the two boys kissing. The boys exchanged looks of relief and joy, letting the boys have a moment together for a little longer before their patience ran low. They wanted to see their stubborn brother too.

"Taehyung, you're awake!" Hoseok chimed as he pushed through the door, stumbling over his friends as they all gathered in the room.

"Were so relieved that you're okay," Jin added with a worried sigh.

"That the both of you are." Yoongi murmured, hands deep in his pocket with a lopsided smile.

Namjoon felt glad, this was such a mess from the very beginning, and it finally seemed to be like everything slowly fell into place. The boys were happy again-- but he couldn't help to wonder about Jisoo. She must want to know what's going on too. But that's for the morning, they've all been through hell. The game was long forgotten, all that mattered was that Taehyung was alive and well, and Jungkook finally seemed like he could breathe.

“Thanks guys.” Taehyung showcased a faint, boxy smile. Seeing everyone here.. for him, it eased his throbbing pain somewhat. The feeling of relief seemingly washed over their worn out, sunken faces. They willingly waited in the hospital for hours, hoping for a chance of good news. It got Tae thinking, was he that memorable?

“I’m gonna say something.. and I need you to promise me you won’t laugh your asses off. If you laugh, I take it back.” Taehyung warned, gaze flickering between each of their puzzled friends. “I love you guys.” It was a different kind of love from the one he shared with Jungkook, but it was there. After what nearly took place, it made him realize he should say those words more often. No one quite knows when their last day would come, better to leave without any regrets.

All boys felt smiles tugging on their lips, some trying desperately to hold them back while others freely grinned widely. "We love you too!" Jimin chimes as he heads to the side of the bed to give Tae a gentle hug, careful not to hurt him.

"Yeah." Yoongi agreed with a simple nod.

"Or else we wouldn't have waited hours for you!" Jin grinned, followed with his hyena-like laugh.

Jungkook scrunched his nose, this entire scene so wholesome. He kept Taehyung's hand in his, constantly rubbing mindless circles with his thumbs against the smooth, warm skin.

"So, any news on when you get to leave here?" Namjoons eyes roamed the room, "should I go check with the nurse?"

Taehyung seemed to dig deep in the back of his mind, “I think she said in around a day or two..? Apparently they still need to do a few tests or whatever.” Just the thought of that was tiring, Tae wanted to go home. Home as in Jungkook’s tiny apartment, nowhere else felt more welcoming. As if on cue, a young nurse walked into Taehyung’s hospital room. She was initially startled by the large number of people, but she hid it well.

“Okay, Taehyung. I think it’s time for you to get some more rest.” The woman looked at his group of friends, reassuring them that they’re free to visit him tomorrow— when it wasn’t three in the morning. “He’ll be fine. There’s nothing to worry about.” She spoke to all, but mostly towards Jungkook. It was sweet how much he cared for his boyfriend, but everyone was due for some much needed rest. “I’ll let you guys bid your temporary goodbyes.”

The nurse left the room to give them some privacy once more. Everyone hadn't really properly felt the exhaustion hurling over them until now that they were finally able to relax.

"Alright guys. Let's go." Namjoon nudged towards the door, giving the two youngest by the bed a softer look. The other guys could tell they probably needed another moment to themselves before parting, so they waved goodbye before heading out the door, leaving Jungkook & Taehyung together.

"I could stay here." Jungkooks doe eyes roamed Taehyung's face, his hand reaching to move his dark curls away from his eyes, "so you don't have to be by yourself?"

A fond smile magnified on Taehyung’s dry lips, “Baby, I’m fine. I’ll survive.” He extended out a weak hand to caress the side of Jungkook’s face, “You need your rest. No offense, but you look like shit.” A raspy laugh emitted in the midst of the comfortable silence. Tae withdrew his hand to latch onto Kook’s closest one, giving the firm skin a gentle squeeze. “Just give me a big kiss and get out of here.”

"Fair enough. Today has been a long fucking day." Kook sighed with a relieved smile. After all, it didn't end badly. And for that he was grateful. A small pout formed on his lips as he leaned forward, one hand delicately placed on Tae's cheek to draw him in for the remaining inch needed to press their lips together. He kept it that way, their chapped lips not bothering him in the slightest. He was just happy that they were there. Warm. Alive... Kook pulled back when he felt like he got enough to make it through the night, kissing Tae on the forehead before standing up straight to stretch his back. "Okay, I'm going. I'll be back tomorrow though, don't miss me too much!"

“I’ll try not to, see you tomorrow.” Taehyung watched Jungkook leave with a saddened twinkle in his eyes, wishing he could just.. stand up and leave with him. But he had to stay here for a bit longer. If he was lucky, perhaps it’d only be one day.

“Feeling better?” Namjoon asked Kook the moment he sat in his car, rubbing the younger’s shoulder in a soothing, slightly awkward manner. Joon was trying his hardest to be there for him, although his nervousness could be a little too loud at times. “I called Jisoo, by the way. She’s relieved that everything’s alright.”

Oh, right. Jisoo.

"Yeah, much better." Kook sighed, sinking into his seat as if he's melting into it, body completely worn out in exhaustion-- both physically and mentally. "Ah, that's good.." kook nodded, making a mental note of the fact that he had to talk to her about everything. They had a long heart to heart earlier, and honestly he was rather excited to finally tell her that things were...good. Even if the two of them shared their time together, intimately and in other aspects, they were awfully good at just being.. friends. Jungkook had rambled on about Taehyung like a giddy schoolgirl, even during a time where he was pissed at the elder earlier tonight. And suddenly everything had changed in within the span of a few hours. At this point, this had happened so many times that Kook would eventually suffer from an internal whiplash.

Namjoon kept the conversation short; he could tell Jungkook was fighting against his sleepy urges. And truthfully, so was he. It’s been a long, stressful night. They all needed their own time to heal, to take in everything that happened in the short span of the few, awful hours that were spent waiting for news on Taehyung’s condition.

“Alright. See you tomorrow, Kook.” Joon bid his tired goodbyes, driving off when Jungkook made it into his apartment building. Namjoon didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but he hoped it wasn’t anything remotely close to today.

Despite everything, Jungkook slept like a dead man. He was so exhausted that his body didn't give him much of a choice than to rest. As soon his alarm clock blared, he groaned and got up. Now that the game was over with, there would be a break for the basketball team. Which he didn't mind, but it did feel weird to break his routine. Instead he used the extra time in the morning to take a walk, clearing his mind of the things he's been brewing on for forever. Most of all; Taehyung. Was he doing okay? Kook couldn't wait to go see him. School passed by rather quickly, seeing his hyungs every now and then was reassuring. They also looked a lot better after a night of rest-- and Jimin was back to his obsession with his cellphone. The very moment the bell rang to dismiss class, Jungkook was already half way through the hallway. He didn't need anything else than to see Taehyung. Luckily the hospital wasn't too far away, running there was an option. He was too impatient to wait for a ride from Joon. Jungkook was a bit taken aback when he reached Taehyung's room, only to find several policemen talking to the boy. Well, they were just finishing up it seemed, as they were just leaving, letting kook finally see the face he's been longing for all day.

"Tae," Kook closed the door behind them as he entered the room, "What was that for?"

Taehyung felt himself relax when the assertive pack of policemen left his side, giving him the chance to breathe. Talking about what took place built up nervous jitters in his veins, and as if he could relive it all over again, the stitches in his forehead mirrored a forest fire only growing in size. It stung. They interrogated him with several questions regarding last night’s bloody circumstances. The approximate time, the place it happened, and most importantly; who was unstable enough to nearly tear someone of their life. If Tae remembered— or even knew. Which he vividly did. The image of Ash’s face was something that’d been forever engraved in his memory. He didn’t see the man the moment he lunged towards him, but Taehyung could perceive his madness through the harsh tug of his fingers. It made the elder a little uneasy..

“Babe, hey.” He traded his sullen expression for a small smile, slowly extending out his arms to engulf Jungkook in a warm hug. It would definitely make him feel better. “Oh, uh, nothing.. they were just asking me things about last night.” Taehyung nibbled down on his lower lip, “If I remember who did it.” The topic hadn’t come up yesterday, thankfully. It would’ve only granted him a bigger headache. “Anyways, did you miss me at school?” The elder cheekily wiggled his brows, trying to steer away from the previous conversation.

"Missed you a lot," Jungkook confirmed with a small smile of his own. But he wasn't going to let the elder get away from his attempt to avoid the question. "So, do you?" Kook pressed on the matter, and it was obvious that the stubborn boy didn't want to simply beat around the bush. He reached out to gently brush Tae's well overgrown fringe away, his eyes observing the stitches visible, "remember who, I mean?"

He angled his face towards Jungkook’s feather-like touch, forgetting about his internal worries for the brief time. The second the younger withdrew his caring hand, the calming spell was shattered. “I mean..” Taehyung hesitated, “yeah.” Tae wasn’t going to lie. There was no need to. The boy at his side was the one person he could trust, it would be silly to keep something as serious as this from him. “Don’t freak out, okay?” Knowing Jungkook, Taehyung wasn’t too sure his words would have any effect. “Remember, I-I’m fine now.” It was challenging for him to admit, but he’d go out with it for Kook. “Uhm.. it was Ash. He— he found me in the locker room, started talking shit; saying how I made you uncomfortable. I grew tired of it, so I turned to leave but..” Tae gulped, fidgeting nervously with the younger’s fingers. “All I remember is him grabbing me by the hair, and just.. slamming my head against the sink. Everything else is blurry...

Jungkook's jaw muscles visibly tensed up at the revelation. Things made more sense now, Ash always struck him as odd. Obsessive. But to the point of using violence? He was fucking insane. "That motherfucker..." Kook hissed through his teeth. The sensitive nerves within the younger boy were easily set ablaze by this-- anything that hurts Taehyung he wants to get rid of. He was even ready to pounce Taes own father for the sake of peace. Now, he didnt, and it was for the best. But Ash, however was different. Jungkook's hands were trembling in his building rage, "...he won't even dare to look at you again." kook murmured as if he skipped a previous part of his sentence, maybe it was simply in his thoughts.

Taehyung successfully attempted to sit up on his hospital bed, warm hands seeking Jungkook's face. “Hey, don’t worry. They’ll handle it, Kook.” He forced the boy into looking at him, guiding the latter’s sandwiched face closer to his own, staring into the same pair of doe eyes he missed waking up to. “Please.. don’t do anything stupid, alright?” Taehyung pressed his chapped lips onto the tip of Jungkook’s nose, the pads of his thumbs caressing over the younger’s temples. " I love you, I’d hate for anything bad to happen to my boyfriend— wait, we’re back to being boyfriends, right..?”

Jungkook's face relaxed in the elders touch, and the sweet words only added to his small smile growing. ''Okay.'' He agreed, but he knows himself too well. He won't be able to simply let it go... But he didn't want to add to Taehyung's worries. ''Yeah,'' He added with a small scrunch to his nose, placing his own hands on top of Tae's, ''We're boyfriends again.'' Just those words alone made Jungkook feel the bursting joy of butterflies in his chest, finally he felt like the void in his soul was complete once more. He sighed in content, ''I want you out of here, I miss you a lot.''

The elder beamed at the sweet confession, finally withdrawing his hands from Jungkook’s face to run his fingers through the younger’s soft, curled hair. It was noticeably longer.. “I should be out of here soon. I kinda miss you too.” Taehyung broadcasted his teasing in the form of a lopsided smile, scooting his butt to make some room in the bed, “lay down with me.” It was a tight space, but he’d missed Jungkook way too damn much to care. The closer they were, the better. The boy nuzzled his cheek onto the younger’s chest, inhaling his boyfriend’s scent with every collected inhale he took. “Hey, I don’t know if I ever thanked you for it, but.. thanks for standing up for me— because of my dad, I mean.” Tae mumbled, hugging him tighter.

Jungkook kept his boyfriend close, one arm around him as the other reached down to hold Tae's hand. ''I won't ever let him hurt you again,'' Kook promised, craning his neck to softly press a kiss against the elders head. He wouldn't let anybody hurt him again. At least not without consequences. Jungkook wanted to protect the one person he felt like he'd die without. ''I can't wait for you to come home, I miss your loud snoring.'' He tried to lighten the mood a bit, for Taehyung and for himself. He rubbed mindlessly against Tae's upper arm, a reassuring touch, hoping his embrace would feel like a wall of protection, ''And morning showers.''

It worked, Taehyung’s swollen eyes crinkled into crescents, the sound of his deep laughter ringing throughout the room. “You’re desperate, huh. Missing my snoring? That’s a first.” Tae looked up at him, smiling now that he was back in the safety of Jungkook’s strong arms. “What do you miss about morning showers?” The elder cocked a brow, mind automatically ignoring the ‘washing up’ side of things. He’d missed his boyfriend so fucking much— it hurt.

Jungkook pretended to think about it for a second, humming in thought. ''Well..'' He paused to lean back more comfortably in the bed, his gaze roaming the ceiling, ''I miss your cocky comments. The way the water coats your skin... and.. the way your skin feels against mine.'' He chuckles, the mere thought stirring his insides, ''Your hands. Shit...''

Fuck. Maybe asking was a bad idea...

Taehyung’s bigger hand squeezed harder onto his, as if it’d been awakened by the memorable mention. “What I’d do to put my hands to work right now..” Tae lowly breathed out, legs pressing together to try and mask his evident boner. “To touch you.. and tease you.” His slender fingers unlatched from the younger’s to snake underneath the fabric of his shirt, feeling around his boyfriend’s defined abs.. traveling up to his warm pecs. The elder’s eyes roamed towards the closed door, then back to Jungkook’s chest, able to make out the shape of his hand whilst it roamed freely around his skin. “So fucking strong..” Taehyung shimmied up a bit on his spot, now able to nuzzle his nose into Kook’s neck.

A breathy sigh emitted from Jungkook's lips, the elders slightly cold hands quickly warming up underneath his shirt. ''Fuck...'' Kook quietly cursed when Tae's nose tickled his neck, ''I missed your touch...'' Jungkook's eyes flickered towards the door, then back down to the hand that roamed his torso. ''What if someone walks in..'' He closed his eyes nonetheless, a part of him didn't even care. He missed feeling Taehyung, like a parched man craved water.

“They won’t.” Taehyung sounded overly confident, although he had zero clue about what could happen in the span of their time together. Someone might walk in, someone might not. They’ll have to take the risk; Taehyung’s fingertips prickled with anticipation. He pressed a wet kiss onto the vein that protruded along the side of the younger’s skin. His hand slowly slid down Jungkook’s torso, seeing the light once again. After withdrawing his face from Kook’s neck, Tae guided the palm of his hand up to his mouth. Slowly, he wet the slight dip with his glistening spit, all the while he held eye-contact with Jungkook. “Don’t make any noise, and no one will come in. Sounds easy enough?” The elder bit down on his lower lip, unbothered to wait for a clear answer. Taehyung’s eager hand sank deeper past the waistband of his boyfriend’s sweatpants, before sneaking down into the warmth of his briefs. Immediately, his fingers wrapped around Jungkook’s thick girth. He began to pump him slowly whilst the pad of his thumb massaged the tip. “Do you like it? Because I do.” Taehyung murmured in his sultry voice, keeping his intense gaze on Jungkook’s cute facial expressions. “You look so pretty..”

Jungkook bit down hard on his lower lip to muffle the groan that threatened to escape his throat, instinctively jutting his hips into Taehyung's hand. He was so needy for this, no other could touch him the way he did. ''I love it, you know I do..'' The pressure on his tip already had him leaking precum, pressing his back further against the bed as he kept his eyes on what went on beneath the fabrics of his waistband, ''Take it out, please..'' he restraint of his underwear prevented Taehyung from properly stroking him, and it slowly made him frustrated. His need for more grew way too quickly, greedy for more friction. And yet, in the midst of this, he looked at Tae with a hint of concern in his eyes, ''Are you okay, though?'' He was still worried about the elders health, he didn't want him to overwork himself past his abilities in his condition.

“Is that seriously what you’re worried about when I have your dick in my hand?” Taehyung chuckled, nevertheless answering his boyfriend with a quick nod. Anything to ease his worries. Remembering Jungkook’s previous pleads, he pulled out the latter’s cock, nearly gasping at the inviting sight of precum leaking down his hardened shaft. “Right now it’s all about you, okay baby?” Taehyung gradually increased his sloppy pace, jerking Jungkook off from the tip to the base, spreading the droplets of cum onto every mouth-watering inch. “You’re being a good boy for staying quiet.” Tae crooked up a brow, the wet sounds of his hand continuously sliding down his boyfriend’s cock increasing in intensity, as did his movements. “Love it when you’re a good boy for me..”

The terms of endearment and praise has Jungkook melting underneath Tae's ministrations, already feeling the heat of an orgasm pooling in his lower abdomen. ''Ah... feels good...'' Kook breathes out in a quiet whine, eyes never wavering from the way the elders large hand moved up and down his slick length, ''Harder... I won't last long babe..'' He whimpers, feeling his hips buck upwards to meet the movements, desperate to cum. Jungkook's eyebrows were gradually drawn together the closer he got, his breathy moans becoming harder to keep in control, ''I'm gonna cum, please....''

Taehyung granted him no mercy, only accelerating his movements to the best of his abilities. “Fuck..” He groaned, the slight sore in his wrist drove him to jerk his boyfriend off until the nip of pain was subdued by numbness, left to feel the rock hard exterior of Jungkook’s wet cock. The elder gazed down at him, strands of hair streaming down his dark eyes. “Cum, baby.” He muttered in a pleading tone, his long fingers squeezing tighter around the younger’s overwhelming length. Taehyung could practically feel him about to burst. The following seconds were similar to a ticking time bomb, Tae didn’t know when he’d come loose. All he knew was that Kook was close. When the time came, the elder let out a pleased moan at the warm, sticky mess that spurt all over his hand, adorning his glistening fingers. “See? No one came in.” A smirk stretched itself onto his reddened lips— the natural hue from biting down on them quite often. Taehyung’s hand didn’t stop there, continuing to pump his boyfriend at a slow pace, helping him come down from his strong high. “Your hair’s getting longer.” He noted in the midst of doing so, feeling comfortable enough around Jungkook for it to not be awkward. It felt.. domestic, in a sense. “You better not cut it.”

Jungkooks hazy eyes stared down at the mess that is his twitching length and Taehyung's hand, coated in the younger's release. "Y-yeah?" Kook stuttered out meekly, taking deep breaths to collect himself as the cloud of lust slowly dispersed. Looking up at Tae, he reached out to swipe his thumb over the elders lower lip in a sweet gesture. "So is yours... you look hot." Glancing down at the mess between his legs once more, he squirmed lightly when the touch was becoming a bit too much, but did nothing to stop Taehyung's hand, "ah... need to clean that up, let me get a towel or something?"

“Oh yeah?” Taehyung ruffled the outgrown locks of his hair with his free hand, flaunting them for extra effect. “Glad my boyfriend thinks I’m hot.” The elder grinned over his shoulder, insisting on getting up to grab Jungkook a spare towel. If he stayed glued on that stiff bed for a second longer, he might just lose it. Taehyung was used to moving around; rushing through things. Hours upon dreadful hours of laying down in the same place felt disorienting as fuck. “Here,” he handed Kook the soft fabric, snuggling up to the younger’s chest once again. “Never thought I’d jerk someone off in a hospital room.”

Jungkook whispered a quiet 'thanks' as he cleaned himself up, placing the crumpled up towel to the side before he pulled his waistband up to tuck himself back in, "Never thought I'd be jerked off in a hospital room." He chuckled lightly. It was as if they never went through this agonizing time spent apart from each other, the way they fell back into their comfort of the other so easily was just the telltale sign of how much they both needed each other. Kook wrapped his arms around Taehyung to keep him close, glancing over at the clock. Fuck, he had to leave soon... "I'm gonna ask the nurse if I can bring you home today." He placed a soft kiss on the elders head, "You seem much better considering, I'm sure you can do the bedrest part in my bed instead."

Similar to a worn out, flickering lightbulb trying its hardest to shed its light, Jungkook’s proposition was the right twist it needed to have Taehyung gleaming in contentment. “Fuck, please do. My ass is sore from laying around all day.” B arely two days in and Tae already dreaded expanding his stay. Jungkook’s place was the calm, cozy atmosphere he desperately needed. Not some.. dreary, monochromatic space that was his assigned hospital room. The only striking detail was a framed picture that hung on the beige wall, even then, it was of an abstract painting. Boring.

Tae never really learned how to properly appreciate the arts.. He felt most comfortable whenever he visited the younger’s apartment; Taehyung knew it was silly, but sometimes it felt like he belonged there.

Kook’s cum-stained couch, the small shower, his spacious bed— now those were pieces of art he could truly admire. “Take me home.”

As it turned out, they were planning on dismissing Tae even if Jungkook hadn’t asked. They felt as if there was nothing to worry about, the few tests they’d done came back crystal clear— no signs of unexpected complications. There was no reason to have Taehyung stay another night. The moment the nurse broke the news out to him, Tae’s boxy smile shone brighter than the stars. She thanked Jungkook for looking out for him, even going as far as complimenting them on their relationship.

“You two are lovely together, by the way.”

Taehyung didn’t seem to mind. A pparently, they tried contacting his father. Since his son was getting released, it was better if he was escorted home by a family member. However, Daejung never responded. Nor did he bother answering the hospital’s voicemails. They got the hint that Jungkook was the only family Tae had..

Bittersweet was a perfect way to put it.

#fic: Love maze #taekook smut #jungkook x taehyung #sombreboy

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insideabunker · 4 years ago

Text

The Games: Chapter 12

The dream was the same as always, darkness and the sound of glass shattering followed by silence and the terrible sting of the cold night air. The wind bit at her nose and cheeks and something pressed down on her shoulder, crushing her tiny body with its weight.

Lexa woke with a start, her senses slowly returning as she peered around the dark space. The shades were down, but sunlight slipped in through the cracks, casting eerie shadows across the room and illuminating the blurry figure hovering over her. She rubbed her eyes, her vision finally focusing on the frowning face of Raven Reyes, who knelt over the bed, clutching twin paper cups of dining hall coffee. She placed one of the cups on the bedside table and tilted her head toward the door of the room, which she disappeared through without a word.

Lexa untangled herself from the sheets, taking great care not to wake Clarke, who remained tucked into the brunette's chest, fast asleep. She groped in the semi-dark for her shoes, slipping them on as she grabbed the coffee and snuck out of the room. The door had barely closed behind her before Raven pounced.

"You're sleeping over now? Is there a U-Haul parked outside somewhere?"

Lexa gripped her coffee cup a little tighter, rattled by the girl's intensity and nowhere near awake enough to handle the third degree.

"What time is it?"

"Five AM, now answer my question."

"Clarke asked me to stay."

The corners of Raven's mouth rounded downward into a scowl, her eyes narrowing in disapproval. "Did you manage to convince Clarke to get her leg looked at?"

Lexa sipped the coffee guiltily, trying to buy enough time to come up with a good excuse.

"No."

Raven rolled her eyes, unimpressed with the answer. "Damn it, Woods, I was counting on you!"

"I'm sorry." Lexa fidgeted with her coffee cup, nervously wondering why she hadn't tried harder to talk sense into Clarke. Then again, she thought, why hadn't Raven if it was so important?

"What about you? You could have stayed and helped me instead of just disappearing."

Raven scowled. "I did not just disappear. I went to find our coach, who was off screaming to the IOC about that sad-ass excuse for a referee. Kane left right after the game ended; otherwise, he would have insisted on Clarke getting examined." She glanced at the door, lowering her voice. "Did you at least get a look at it?"

Lexa nodded.

"And?"

"Honestly?" The goalie shuffled in place, rubbing her neck nervously. "I mean, I'm not a doctor," she skirted the question, swallowing the guilt that welled up as she thought about the angry, purple bruising along Clarke's thigh. "She said that if it didn't feel better this morning, she'd have it checked out by your trainers."

Frustrated, Raven ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the roots as she clenched her jaw tightly. Lexa watched the muscles in her cheeks flex as she ground her teeth together, her irritation evident. After a few moments of tense silence, Lexa cleared her throat, attempting to change the subject.

"Look, I don't know Clarke that well but..."

"That's right." The statement seemed to call Raven back from whatever had been on her mind. Her attention snapped to Lexa, completely focused on the goalie's features as she stared her down. "You don't know her that well, but I do." She let out a sharp breath, sipping more of her coffee as she surveyed the hallways to make sure they were still alone.

"Woods, listen to me. I've known that girl since she was seventeen. Clarke is my best friend."

Raven ran a hand over her tired face, massaging the slightly purple bags that had formed under her dark eyes. "She's more than stubborn; she's downright unreasonable. Winning gold means everything to her. She's not going to let anything get in the way of that, even if it means risking a permanent injury."

Raven's face softened. "Do you know why it took Clarke more than a year to rehabilitate her knee?"

Lexa shook her head, waiting for the American goalie to illuminate her.

"It took her so long because she nearly re-injured it halfway through rehab. She was pushing too hard, and she put a micro tear in the cadaver ligament she'd received." Raven stared at her seriously. "Look, if you're going to be sticking around, you've got to understand how intense Clarke is. She doesn't know when to quit. She'll work herself into her grave if you let her."

Lexa's face fell, her guilt growing as she realized how little she'd done to convince Clarke to get her leg appropriately treated.

"So," the American goaltender stared at her Canadian counterpart skeptically. "Are you?"

Lexa looked up, confused by Raven's question. "Am I what?"

"Are you sticking around?"

Lexa bit her lip apprehensively, unsure how much she wanted to admit to Clarke's closest friend.

"I'd like to," she paused. "If she'll let me."

Raven bowed her head, staring at her toes thoughtfully. "Maybe she will," she looked up, her expression deadly serious. "But, if you care about her you'll help her make the right decision, especially when she refuses to make it for herself."

-----

"Is it just me or is it cold in here?"

Clarke rolled her eyes at her father, smiling at his telltale smirk as he beamed down at her. Warm yellow light from the afternoon sun spilled through the windows of the old rink, making Jake's face glow.

"Very funny, Dad."

"I'm just saying." His eyes sparkle with mischief. "I remember this place being warmer when you were a kid."

He shoved his daughter with his elbow, smiling at her reverentially as he gave her the once-over. "How ya been, Kid?"

Clarke shrugged. "Tired."

"Of the game?"

"No," she shook her head. "That's the one thing I never get tired of."

Clarke sighed and leaned into her father's side, burrowing herself into the old, flannel lined corduroy jacket that he was never without. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of old spice, bay rum, and stale tobacco that always seemed to cling to him.

"Still smoking?"

"I'll quit when I'm dead."

"Not funny." She frowned, surprised to find that a lump was forming at the back of her throat. "I miss you," Clarke barely managed to eke out as she forced back the tears that threatened to spill over.

"I miss you too, Kid." Jake wrapped one of his strong arms around her shoulders and pulled her tighter to him, gazing back at the rink as the shotgun crack of a slap shot broke the silence of the arena.

They stared down at the ice, watching as the puck sailed into the outstretched glove of a goalie. Clarke watched at the goaltender curiously, recognizing the curly tendrils that peaked out from underneath her helmet.

"Who's the sieve?"

"I, um..." Clarke fumbled for a way to explain Lexa's odd appearance in her dreamscape. "Dad, what's she doing here?"

"You tell me, Kid." Jake smiled as he watched the masked figure discard the puck from her glove and crouch lower, readying herself for another shot. "Never knew you had a thing for goalies."

Clarke felt the blood rush to her face, the blush spreading all the way across her cheeks to the tip of her ears. "Dad!"

"What?" He flashed a grin at her. "You old man can't ask about your love life?"

Clarke blushed even harder, sure that by now, she had turned beet red. "It's just," she paused thinking of all the conversations they'd never been able to have. "I never got a chance to tell you..."

"That you're into brunettes?"

"Dad..." Clarke narrowed her eyes, imploring him to solemnity. "Please, be serious."

Jake's face softened as he pulled her closer. He stared down at her with a look the reflected nothing but pure, unconditional adoration. "Kid, why didn't you just tell me?"

"I hadn't really figured it out yet." Clarke sighed, burying herself farther into her father's side, thoroughly embarrassed.

Jake patted his daughter's shoulder reassuringly, thinking for a moment. "I always wondered why you never went through that boy-crazy phase your mother kept warning me was coming."

"I thought I was just focused," she shrugged. "Are you mad?"

There was a pause, and then to Clarke's surprise, a giant roar burst from Jake's lips. "Kid..." His sides shook as deep belly laughter doubled him over, making his eyes water. "My dream in life was that I’d never lose you to some loser boyfriend." He wiped tears from his eyes, taking a moment to let his chuckling subside. "I couldn't be happier."

It took a moment, but Jake finally managed regained his composure. He winked at his daughter. "So you like this girl?"

"I do," she nodded.

"Like, or like?" He emphasized the last word, cocking one eyebrow.

Clarke avoided his gaze, feeling suddenly awkward. She shuffled her feet nervously. "I haven't known her very long. I'm not sure yet.”

Jake's expression became wistful. "You know," he paused, pondering something for a moment. "I knew how I felt about your mother five seconds after I met her." He nudged his daughter in the ribs, playfully. "Some things, Clarke, you just know."

Clarke continued to stare at her shoes. "You should see her play; she's so good."

"As good as you?"

Clarke's shoulders slumped, her face falling at the question. "I'm not so sure about that these days."

"Hey..." She felt her father's fingers under her chin as he tiled her head up to look him in the eyes. "Don't ever say that."

Clarke tried to look away, but her father held her gaze. "I didn't teach you hockey because I loved the game. I taught you hockey because from the moment you first put on skates I couldn't keep you off the ice. You love to play, and you're great at it; the best."

Clarke finally looked up, acknowledging the honesty in her father's words. She reached out a hand, squeezing her bad knee as it began to ache. "I'm not sure how long I've got left, Dad."

Jake nodded, his face solemn. "None of us do, but you know what I always say."

"Find what you love and let it kill you." They spoke the words at the same time, both smiling at the well-worn expression.

"Can you stay for a bit?"

Jake sighed, his eyes turning glassy. "'Fraid not."

Clarke clenched her jaw tightly, refusing to let their last moment be a sad one. She burrowed back into her father's side, wrapping her arms around his wiry frame as his arms encircled her one last time.

"I love you, Kid."

"I love you too, Dad." Suddenly, the rink was dark. The pressure of her father's strong, sturdy arms disappeared, and all Clarke could feel was a rush of cold air. Then her eyes flickered, and she was awake, suddenly aware of a new set of arms wrapping themselves around her waist.

Lexa shifted behind her, pulling the blonde closer as she slid under the covers of the bed. Clarke stretched a bit, turning herself so that they were facing one another.

"Hey."

"Hey," Lexa smiled apprehensively, clumsily rubbing at the back of her neck. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"That's ok." Too tired to be concerned with the intimacy of the gesture, Clarke tucked herself closer into Lexa, leaning her head into the crook of the larger girl's arm. "Where did you go?" She closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of deodorant and soap.

The goalie kissed the top of Clarke's head and ran a hand through her disheveled locks, pushing stray blonde strands out of her face. It was a tender gesture that, ordinarily, would have made Clarke anxious. To the blonde's surprised, however, she found herself closing her eyes in contentment.

"That feels nice."

Lexa chuckled. "Speaking of how things feel," she cringed, knowing that her attempt at a smooth transition had been clumsy at best. "How's the leg?"

Cautiously, Clarke began to move her ailing limb. She stretched the leg, extending it nearly all the way before she winced at the tenderness. "Well, I can move it at least. She wiggled her toes, thankful to feel that she had full motion in all of them. "No numbness or tingling in my foot."

The Canadian bit her lip, nervous to inquire any further. "And the pain?"

Clarke attempted to bend the limb in the opposite direction, finding that it was much stiffer and more sore upon flexion. "Well, it doesn't feel great." She grimaced, "but, then again, it's felt worse."

"Can I take a look?" Lexa tensed, bracing for Clarke to become defensive. For a moment the smaller woman stiffened, but the tension in her small frame eased a second later, and Lexa felt her nod into her chest.

The brunette pushed her body upright, pulling back the covers just enough to expose Clarke's legs. Slowly, she pushed the leg of Clarke's sweatpants up, careful not to jostle her limb as she moved. Lexa recoiled at the sight of the angry purple bruising that seemed to have grown darker overnight.

"Clarke," she hesitated, not wanting to upset the fierce girl tucked into her side. "The bruising looks worse than it did last night."

Clarke nodded, surprisingly calm. "That's normal. She raised herself on her hands, chancing a glance at the leg. Clarke frowned, growling in frustration as observed that the damage had not magically disappeared. "That's just the blood losing oxygen as it raises to the surface of the injury."

"Wow," Lexa sounded genuinely impressed by her companion's savvy. "Check you out, Dr. Griffin."

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right." She collapsed back against the pillows, groaning in discouragement.

"Clarke," Lexa hesitant, afraid to push the issue any further. "You said you'd have your trainer look at your leg if it was still bothering you today."

"I know but..." Clarke rolled closer, settling her weight against Lexa's body. "Can we just lay here for a while? Please?" She cuddled up against Lexa's side, sliding a hand underneath her t-shirt and trailing her fingers along sinew and rib.

Lexa shivered at Clarke's touch, her better judgment melting away as goosebumps formed along her skin. "Yeah, sure. We can lie here for a little longer."

Lexa shuffled down into the covers and slipped an arm over Clarke's waist, desperately trying not to grin like a fool. She knew she should feel guilty for giving in so easily, but something about Clarke's touch, something about the way she said "please," tore at Lexa's resolve.

"Do you want to go back to sleep?"

Clarke shook her head. "I'm not sure I can sleep right now." She continued to gently stroke Lexa's side with the blades of her fingers. "Can you talk to me for a while? Just until I fall back asleep?"

Lexa let her hand dip below Clark's sweatshirt. She ran a flat palm over her spine and began to rub slow circles over the tense muscles of her back. She felt almost giddy at the way Clarke' hummed into her chest, clearly enjoying herself.

"What do you want to talk about?"

Clarke breathed contentedly, thinking for a moment. "I was pretty awful to you last night. Why did you take care of me?"

Lexa considered how to answer the question, ultimately deciding that honestly was her best option. She allowed herself a moment to gather the right words, and when the moment was over, stated simply, "Because, you matter to me."

"We just met though," Clarke peered up at her, her fingers stilling as she stared up inquisitively. "How..." she hesitated, trying to understand how Lexa could be so sure about something in so little time. "I mean, why?"

Unable to articulate her answer, Lexa shrugged. "Some things you just know, I guess."

Clarke nearly froze at the brunette's words, the sound of them ringing in her ears as she remembered her dream. Determined that it must be a coincidence, Clarke relaxed again, burying her face back into the crook of Lexa's arm.

"Well, thank you for staying."

"Of course." Lexa leaned in, allowing her chin to rest on the top of the blonde's head. She closed her eyes and continued to rub soothing circles up and down Clarke's back. "What else do you want to talk about?"

Clarke thought for a moment, contemplating her options. "Tell me about where you grew up."

Lexa laughed. "It was called Rat Portage until 1905."

"Dare I ask why?" Clarke laughed softly into the worn fabric of Lexa's t-shirt.

"I'm sure you can guess. The goalie shifted her long frame, allowing Clarke to rest more of her weight on her.

"It's small, not as small as your hometown, but small enough. In the summer, it's full of tourists and mosquitoes. In the winter the only things to do are hole up in a bar and drink, or play hockey."

Lexa fought a grin, giggling to herself. "Actually, there was one other thing to do in the winter."

She pinched Clarke's side playfully and earned a finger jab in return. "Very funny," Clarke murmured. "I suppose that means you broke lots of hearts."

Lexa scoffed. "Hardly. There wasn't exactly a plethora of sapphically inclined girls at Beaver Brae Secondary School."

Clarke choked on a laugh. "That wasn't the name of your high school, was it?"

"It was, indeed. Our mascot, somewhat incredibly, was the Bronco."

"Wait," Clarke raised one eyebrow. "Your high school was named Beaver Brae, but your mascot was a horse?"

Lexa shrugged. "It's Canada. We try to avoid redundancy by not doubling down on beaver themed everything."

"Anyway," the brunette smirked, tracing the edge of the dimple that appeared in Clarke's cheek each time she smiled. "There were a few curious girls at a handful of parties, but I was hardly breaking anyones heart. Most people didn't come out until after high school."

Clarke raised her eyebrows inquisitively. "Was it hard being out where you grew up?"

Lexa's brow furrowed in thought, her mouth puckering to side as she considered the question. "Maybe a little," she shrugged. "I mean, Canadians don't care that much about gay stuff. Mostly, Kenora was just small. There weren't that many of us. Not much point in being out if there isn't anyone to date." Lexa ran the tip of her finger over the helix of Clarke's ear, eliciting a soft moan from the blonde. "People knew though. Nobody gave me too hard a time."

Clarke continued to savor the feeling of Lexa's touch as the brunette's fingers moved from the top of her ear to the soft skin of her neck. She closed her eyes, relishing the way it made her spine tingle.

"What about you?"

Clarke's eyelids fluttered open. She stared at the olive-skinned girl whose fingers were now tracing the lines of her ribs. "What about me?"

"What were you like in high school?"

"Focused." Clarke rolled her eyes, thinking back to life in her tiny Minnesotan town. "I had a boyfriend for about six months during my sophomore year, but he took too much time away from hockey. "Plus," Clarke made a face remembering the hardships of making out when two sets of braces were involved. "He wasn't a very good kisser, so I ended things."

Lexa tried not to laugh. "Poor guy. He must have been devastated."

"Perhaps, but I'm sure Brock Larson managed to move on."

Lexa bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "You high school boyfriend's name was Brock?"

"Yes, it was." Clarke laughed at the memory fo her first boyfriend, a tall, skinny young man with sandy blonde hair who had been the object of every sixteen-year-old girl's affection. "My friends thought I was crazy to break up with him," she smiled. "He made boy's varsity as a freshman and was related to Dave Christian on his mother's side."

"Dave who?" Lexa cocked her head to the side, lost as to about who Clarke was talking.

"Dave Christian?" Clarke waited for Lexa to recognize the name. "The Lake Placid Olympics? Miracle on Ice? NHL player?"

Lexa shrugged.

"He is one of the eight Olympic hockey players who've come from my town."

"Damn!" Lexa's eyes went wide "Are you guys running a breeding program?"

"We have an algorithm," Clarke deadpanned. "Anyway, dad got sick right after I broke up with Brock. After he died, I kept to myself and concentrated on hockey. I had to focus on getting a scholarship. I didn't exactly have time for romance."

"So not much has changed?" Lexa grinned mischievously, squeezing Clarke's hip.

"Very funny." Clarke shifted her weight, settling into Lexa's chest. She laced her fingers into the brunette's hair and began running her hand through the mess of wavy curls. "I almost had a girlfriend in college, but it didn't work out."

Lexa savored the feeling of Clarke's fingers as they massaged her scalp. "Why not?"

"It's complicated." Clarke continued to work her fingers through the tangles in Lexa's hair. "People knew I was bisexual at college, but not at home. She wanted to date openly, and that was more than I could handle at the time."

"And now? "

Clarke sighed. "I think people back home suspect, but they've stopped asking. Besides, I've been so focused on the game for the last ten years that I've barely had time for myself, let alone anyone else."

"That sounds familiar." Lexa pulled Clarke closer. She enjoyed the feeling of the warm body pressed against her and thought of the many long nights she’d spent on the road, curled up in bed alone in a dingy hotel room. "It would be nice though."

"Hmm?" Clarke's hand stilled.

"To have someone." The goalie stroked the small of Clarke's back with the blade of her thumb, leaving goosebumps along her skin.

Clarke closed her eyes, imagining for a brief moment a life where obligations didn't bind her to team and county. "It would be," she smiled sadly, "but I owe too much to my team to lose focus right now."

Lexa nodded, trying not to feel disappointed at Clarke's response. "Well..." She leaned in, kissing the top of Clarke's head absentmindedly. "Maybe, one day, you and I will owe nothing more to our teams."

The blonde buried her face in the crook of Lexa's neck, inhaling the scent of her. "I hope so."

For a while longer they lay there, bodies enmeshed, minds close to sleep but never quite there. Finally, Clarke groaned, the ache in her leg getting the better of her. She pushed herself up on her elbows wincing as she pulled back the covers. "I think I better try to stretch this thing if I want to play on it again."

Lexa bolted upright at the statement, utterly confused. "I thought you said you were going to get it looked at?”

Clarke swung her legs over the far side of the bed, cautiously testing the amount of weight the injured limb could support. She stood up, wincing a little as she transferred a bit of her balance onto it. "I said I'd get it looked at if it wasn't better by today. It feels better."

"It looks worse."

"It always looks worse when it's healing,” Clarke said, brushing off the Canadian’s concern. She began hobbling towards the bathroom, and Lexa jumped up behind her, ready to catch her the moment the leg buckled. Remarkably the blonde managed to bear weight on it, limping into the bathroom on her own to retrieve the bottle of Motrin. She shuffled back towards the bed slowly and lowered herself onto the mattress with great effort.

"Lexa, it's a bad bruise. I'll be fine after some rest and ice. Besides, we don't have a game for two more days."

"Clarke..."

"Lexa, I'm fine." She swallowed several pills and scooted back on the bed, stretching the leg out in front of her as she reached for her toes. Carefully she bent forward, tensing her jaw as she began stretching the tender muscles.

"But..."

"I'm fine!" The words came out through clenched teeth, though Clarke managed to smile through the pain. "I promise."

Unsure of how to proceed, Lexa hung stiffly in front of the bed. She stared down awkwardly at the frustratingly determined captain, racking her brain for a solution. Thankfully, Clarke offered her one.

"Look, if you're that worried, we can meet up tonight. That way you can check on me."

"Meet up?"

"Yes, for drinks, maybe food.” Clarke smirked, as though Lexa had just missed the most obvious implication in the world.

"Food?" Lexa's eyebrows nearly shot up to the top of her head when she realized what Clarke was suggesting. "Like, in front of other people?'

"Unless you'd like to meet in secret." Clarke grimaced, continuing to stretch her stiff and bruised leg. "Or do you not want to meet at all?"

"No!" Lexa bit her lip, blushing at her outburst. "I mean, yes, I do. I'd like that."

Clarke rolled her eyes at the sudden ineptitude of the usually cocky girl, relishing the effect her invitation was having on her. "Ok, but let's meet off campus. " Clarke massaged her thigh, trying to work out the stiffness in the muscles. "Some of the girls went out into the city the other night. They said the Budnamu Brewery was great. Would 7 pm be alright?"

"I... Yeah, of course."

“Good, then it's a date."

"A date?"

"Yes, a date." Clarke deadpanned. "I mean, it's been a while, but I'm pretty sure the kids still call it that."

"It's a date," Lexa nodded dumbly, stunned that Clarke was asking her out, and in public no less.

"I should shower." Clarke struggled to her feet and cast a furtive glance at the bathroom door.

"You should shower." Lexa's head wagged up and down, too dumbfounded to pay much attention to what Clarke was saying.

"Lexa...?"

The goalie looked up, snapping back to reality. "Oh, Right!" She cleared her throat, trying not to turn red. "You shower. I should go." Lexa grabbed her sweatshirt from the chair in the corner, hurriedly pulling it on over her head as she mussed out her wild mane and shoved her feet into the boots that lay haphazardly by the bed.

"7 pm at Budnamu Brewery?

Clarke nodded.

"And you promise to get your leg look at if it starts bothering you?"

Clarke nodded.

“Ok. I’ll see you at seven."

Lexa turned to leave but was stopped by a small hand grabbing her elbow.

"Wait." Clarke bit her lip nervously, hesitating. Slowly, she leaned up on the tiptoes of her uninjured leg and pressed her lips to the corner of Lexa's mouth, delivering a soft kiss.

"Thank you for staying."

---------

Lexa was in a daze as she drifted down the hallway and boarded the waiting elevator, nearly forgetting to press the button for the first floor. Clarke had asked her on a date. It felt almost too good to be true, and yet it had happened. Lexa had the text confirming the details on her phone. She could barely contain the smile on her face as she floated through the elevator doors and into the cavernous lobby of the dormitory. Nothing in the world could bring her down at the moment.

"Lexa Woods?”

Nothing, except for the sound of her name coming from the stern looking man in the dark grey suit. He approached her from the cafeteria, and out of the corner of her eye Lexa watched as Raven slipped away, apparently having just finished a conversation with him. The man held his hand out for her. "Marcus Kane. I'm the head coach of Team USA Women's hockey."

Lexa took his hand and shook it firmly. "Nice to meet you, Sir."

He smiled politely, his appearance losing some of its gruffness. "May I speak with you a moment?" He gestured to a small lounge just off the entrance to the main lobby.

Reluctantly, she agreed, following him to a suite of armchairs tucked in the back. The goalie took a seat across from him, trying to ignore the way her heart pounded in her ears as he watched her.

"So," he began earnestly. "I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude. I hear you cared for an injured player of mine last night, Clarke Griffin."

Lexa nodded apprehensively. “I did."

Kane looked solemn as he contemplated the young women across from him. "I understand that you two have been spending some time together. Am I correct in that understanding?"

Lexa nodded again, her pulse racing as she worried about the direction in which their conversation seemed to be headed. "That's correct, Sir."

He furrowed his brow, his expression grave. "Miss Woods, given your respective positions on opposing teams, you understand that the two of you spending time together could be construed as…” Kane searched carefully for the right word. “Inappropriate?”

“Yes.”

Kane purses his lips for a moment, analyzing her answer skeptically. Finally, his expression softened. “Luckily, I considered Miss Griffin's integrity to be unimpeachable. However, should the two of you choose to continue to see each other socially, I would advise you to proceed with the utmost discretion.”

Lexa nodded vigorously. "I understand, Sir."

"Good then." Appearing satisfied, Kane patted the armrest absentmindedly. "In that case, Miss Woods, I only need to ask one more thing of you."

Lexa swallowed, dreading his next question.

"What's that, Sir?"

"I need to tell me whether or not my team Captain is hiding an injury from me."

Lexa's heart nearly jumped out of her chest. It pounded like a bass drum, thumping in her ears and drowning out the hum of the lobby around them.

"I... I don't."

"The truth, Miss Woods."

At that moment Lexa's conscience was entirely at war with itself. Lie, and she put Clarke at risk. Tell the truth and she would betray her trust. Neither one was an attractive option, and she shifted nervously in her seat, unwilling to choose either.

"Lexa..."

She sighed, resigning herself to the lesser of two evil. Surely, Clarke couldn't fault her for being concerned.

"She says it's fine but, it looks pretty bad. She can walk on it a little but.…” She bit her lip nervously. "I think she's probably fine," she back peddled, attempted to reassure him. “Maybe she should have a doctor look at it though, just to be safe."

Kane smiled at her, smoothing out the wrinkles in his pant legs as he rose. "Thank you for your honesty, Miss Woods."

With that, he started towards the elevators, leaving Lexa to dread her decision.

7 notes · View notes

spacesnail3000 · 5 years ago

Text

Brooklyn’s Sweetheart Chapter 6: Be Good for Bucky

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Chapter Summary: Bucky thought his dreams were better than real life, but his life just keeps getting better and better. Maybe this vacation wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Word Count: 5,015

Warnings: Language, drinking, smut (dubcon, fingering, handjobs, overstimulation, forced orgasm, really filthy stuff yall)

Masterlist / AO3

Bucky was dreaming of something hot, and wet, and wonderful.

“Bucky,” his name was whispered, his body rocking gently back and forth. “Bucky—”

“Bucky,” Steve hissed, shaking him awake.

“Wha—” Bucky startled, his body jolting, limbs tangling in the duvet.

“Bucky, wake up!”

“Steve?” Bucky rubbed his eyes and looked up at his friend, then to the clock, then back. It was five in the morning, still dark outside his window, and Steve was standing over his bed, only the light from the hallway illuminating the space.

“Tony wants us on a call. It’s important.”

He sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. “What’s this about? The sun’s not even up.”

“The Laufeyson deal,” Steve answered gravely, and that had Bucky’s attention.

Bucky threw on a shirt and a pair of joggers before he followed Steve to the office, where he already had the landline set up with a call to Tony. The landline had an untraceable number and was assured not to be wired, one of the perks of being at a mob boss’s vacation house.

“Tony, we’re here,” Steve said. As Bucky yawned, Steve pushed a half-full mug of coffee into his hands. It was tepid but strong like Steve always made it. He must have been awake for a few hours now, Bucky realized.

“Listen, this is a serious matter. So the deal with Laufeyson’s supposed to go through on Friday.” Loki Laufeyson was the brother of Thor, one of the senior members of the Brooklyn Mob. Loki owned several businesses, and a deal was in the works to smuggle drugs and launder money through one of his nightclubs in Manhattan.

“Is there a problem with the deal?” Bucky asked. Steve and Bucky had personally been working on the deal, spearheading arrangements before Stane had sent them to the Vineyard.

“We’ve noticed Hydra lackeys hanging around the area,” Tony explained, “They seem to be gearing up for something.”

That was bad news. Hydra was a rival gang of the Brooklyn Mob, and the two regularly got into territory disputes.

“What’s Laufeyson say?” Steve asked.

“He says he doesn’t know anything about it but we saw him walking out of lunch with a few Hydra fellows.” Tony sighed, clearly exasperated. “Look, I hate doing this shit over the phone. One of you get your ass back to Brooklyn.”

“I’ll go,” Steve said immediately. “Buck, you gotta stay here and watch over Y/N.”

“I shouldn’t need you here for more than a week,” Tony said. “I know Stane’s being a real hard-ass about having you guys watch over her. He didn’t want to call you guys back to the city, but you both know the deal with Laufeyson better. Thor’s already on it, but you know how they are.”

They wrapped up the call with a few more words and then Steve was following Bucky into the kitchen. “I’ll get some breakfast made,” Bucky said, “You go pack up. Stark wants you on the road in an hour.”

Steve acquiesced, going upstairs to shower. Bucky started on a pan of eggs. After he spooned them onto a plate for Steve, he turned around at the sound of someone entering the kitchen, but it wasn’t Steve as he had been expecting. Y/N had woken up and was now taking a seat at the table. He noticed she wasn’t wearing the dress from last night anymore. She had changed into a pair of athletic shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt that said St. Thomas Aquinas High Swim & Dive.

“You’re awake,” Bucky said.

“Steve’s makes a lot of noise,” she grumbled as an explanation, putting her head down on the wooden table. Bucky knew all too well that Steve made plenty of noise while showering and getting ready. “Why’re you up?”

“Work stuff,” he answered shortly. Scooping eggs onto a plate for her, he put a piece of toast on each plate before putting more bread in the toaster for himself. “Steve’s going away for the week.”

“Why?”

He smiled tightly, placing the plate in front of her. She was still lying face down on the table. “Don’t worry about that, doll.” He ran a gentle hand over her hair to coax her up. “Eat up. Once Steve leaves, we can do whatever you want for the day.”

Steve walked into the kitchen then, dressed all in black, face all business. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” he addressed Y/N, tone stern, pulling on his jacket.

“You woke me up.” Sitting up to take a jar of jam from Bucky, she looked to Steve briefly taking in the tense expression on his face.

Steve let out a terse breath and sat down next to her where Bucky set his plate down. “Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t sound very sorry—more annoyed than anything.

“Why d’you have to go back to Brooklyn?” she asked nonchalantly, slathering her toast with raspberry preserves.

“That’s none of your business, sweet cheeks,” he answered, jaw clenched. Then Steve paused, chewing a bite of eggs, and observed her for a long moment. “What’s on your neck?”

Bucky froze, turned, and saw where Steve had his gaze turned. He thought he had been careful not to leave any hickeys the night before, but there on the side of her neck was a dark spot.

“What?” she asked, confused.

“It’s all purple there.” He reached his hand out and ran his fingers over the mark.

She jerked away from his touch. “Ouch, Steve! That hurts. I burnt myself with my curling iron.” He tried to touch it again and she slapped his hand back. “Stop!”

Leaning forward to inspect it more closely, he muttered, “Doesn’t look like a burn…”

“Well it is,” she snapped. “How many burns from a curling iron have you seen?”

He reached his hand out again. “Just let me look at it—”

She leapt from her seat, standing up and stepping away from him. “Cut it out, Steve, it’s too early for this shit!”

Gritting his teeth, Steve’s eyes were suddenly a dark, stormy blue, narrowed angrily at the girl. “You’re lucky I need to go soon,” he growled, pushing away from the table and stalking up to her. He got close to her face, grabbed her chin tight, and forced her to look at him. “We’ll be talking about your language and your attitude when I get back.”

She held his gaze petulantly until he roughly released her, then he brushed past her and went upstairs. While Steve packed his bag, she helped Bucky clean up the dishes in a tense silence until Steve announced he was leaving. They went into the foyer to send him off. Although she was still annoyed with him, she acted cowed, knowing better than to give him more attitude.

Bucky and Steve shared a few whispered words between them.

“I’ll call you when anything changes,” Steve said in a low tone. “I’ll call on the landline.”

“Keep me updated,” Bucky murmured, “Good luck.”

Steve patted him on the back briefly, hand lingering for a moment on his shoulder blade before he turned away, looking to Y/N now. His eyes softened at her nervous expression. “Come here, sweetheart, give me a hug before I go.”

She obeyed him, allowing him to engulf her in his arms. “Sorry, Steve,” she muttered into his chest, hoping it might save her some of his wrath later.

He kissed her head and pulled back a little, tilting her head up with a finger on her chin, much gentler than in the kitchen. “We’ll talk about it later. Be good for Bucky while I’m gone, okay?”

She nodded. “I will.”

Steve turned to Bucky then. “Don’t let her get away with anything, Buck.”

Bucky nodded, holding open the door for Steve. “Oh, I won’t. You don’t have to worry, Stevie.”

With a few more parting words, he was gone. Bucky watched out the window as the headlights of the car disappeared down the driveway, and then he turned back to see Y/N walking upstairs.

“Where are you going?”

“To take a shower.”

He followed her up, watching the way her ass moved in those tiny athletic shorts. Steve was gone now, and he wasn’t about to waste a single second of the following week alone with her.

When she entered the bathroom, she nudged the door closed, only for him to stop it with his foot. “Not so fast, now.”

“Hey—” she turned and glared at him. She was a little annoyed with Steve for being an ass, and a little annoyed with Bucky for getting her into the situation in the first place because of the hickey. “Go away, I need to shower.”

Bucky only hummed, brushing past her to turn on the tap. “I know.” He straightened up to look at her.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she nodded to the door, hoping to come across as unyielding and serious. She didn’t exactly feel like dealing with Bucky now. “So get out.”

He saw right through her. “Not so fast, sweetheart.” He cornered her against the counter and her eyes narrowed further, lips set in a pout, but he paid that no attention. Brushing her hair away with his knuckles, he took a look at the bruise on her neck. “That’s no burn,” he said, firmly pressing the pad of his index finger against it. She didn’t flinch like she had in the kitchen with Steve.

For a second, she looked sheepish, but then her expression returned to irritation. “Well I couldn’t exactly tell him it was a hickey.”

He chuckled, not letting her attitude phase him. Maybe he would punish her if she kept it up, but he suspected he could sway her to his favor. “No, you couldn’t have. You know what Steve would do to us if he found out?”

Her expression darkened and she frowned, looked away from him. “He’d probably hit me again…”

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart.” He ran his hand down the back of her head, tangling his fingers lightly in her hair.

Her eyes locked on him, angry again. “Now Steve’s mad at me and I’m in trouble and it’s because of you.”

“Me? No, you got yourself into that mess with Steve, honey.”

“Don’t ‘honey’ me. You gave me this thing,” she gestured to her neck.

“You shouldn’t have talked back to him at breakfast,” Bucky replied. “You know how he gets.”

Huffing, she tried to move past him. “Yeah, whatever… Just let me shower…”

“Hey, hey,” he said her name and pulled her back in front of him. She tried to move again but he pinned her body against the counter with his own, caging her in with his arms. He looked down at her, their faces close. Deciding to go for sweet first, he cooed, “I don’t want you to be mad at me, baby. Let me make it up to you.”

He leaned down to kiss her, but he barely brushed their lips together before she was pushing him away. Although she pushed him, he didn’t remove his hand from her head, still stroking through her hair in an attempt to soothe her.

“Wait, Bucky,” she sighed, conflicted now. Her annoyance about the hickey had only dredged up the anxieties she was feeling about last night, about whether what they did together was right or not. She didn’t know how to decide if it was right in the first place, but her gut told her it wasn’t. The nuns would have said the same thing, and she realized that her conscience sounded a lot like Sister Catherine, her high school English teacher. “I don’t know about all this.”

“Don’t know about what?”

“This,” she gestured between them. “Me and you.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Did you not enjoy last night?” She blushed and looked at the floor, and when she didn’t answer, he coaxed her with a gentle nudge with his shoulder. “Hmm?”

“I did enjoy it… I just… Aren’t we doing this in the wrong order? Aren’t you supposed to take me on a date first, or something?”

Bucky smirked. She was just too sweet. Gently lifting her by the chin to meet his eyes, he asked, “You want me to take you on a date, sweetheart?”

“Isn’t that how this is supposed to work?”

“Sometimes, you go on dates before having sex,” he explained patiently, and her blush deepened. “Not always, though. Dating is so that you can get to know each other. I think we know each other pretty well; don’t you think?”

Maybe he had a point—they had known each other for almost her entire life. “Yeah, I guess. I just don’t know how this kind of thing goes. I’ve never dated anyone before.”

“I know you haven’t,” he said, pressing himself closer. With one hand, he cupped her face, and the other settled on her hip. “That’s why you’re lucky that you have me. I’ll take the lead, and you just have to follow me. I would never do you wrong, baby.”

She chewed on her lip, thinking it over. “I don’t know, Bucky…”

“C’mon, don’t you want to be a good girl for me?”

“I mean, yes, but—”

“Then do what I say.” His tone was firm now, and when she looked into his eyes, they were harder, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He was done playing around—he knew what he wanted, and he wasn’t going to wait for her to get on the same page. She’d get with it eventually, even if he had to force her hand.

Pressing his body against hers, he kissed her, hard and dominating. Hands pushed at his chest, but he was insistent, not allowing her to move away. Pulling her tight into his arms, he kissed her quickly, and his tongue darted inside her mouth, tangling with her own. Clumsy, unsure, she kissed him back, but he didn’t mind; he preferred to take control.

His hands dropped and cupped her ass, pulling her hips into his and grinding his half-hard cock against her lower stomach. She gasped in shock and Bucky promptly lifted her up to sit her on the counter.

“Bucky—” she breathed when he attached his lips to her neck. Tangling her hands in his hair, she yanked hard in an attempt to dislodge him, but it only spurred him on. He skimmed his fingers along the hem of her shirt and then under, feeling the soft skin of her stomach and sides. Jerking at his touch, she tried to move back on the counter, but he used his strength to his advantage, pulling her shirt up and over her head with a single movement.

“Wait!” she exclaimed, bringing her arms to cover her chest. While she was occupied in concealing her breasts from him, he focused on getting her athletic shorts off, yanking them down and past her hips with little work. One of her hands went to cover her mound, while the other one remained across her front, poorly concealing her chest from him.

Redness creeped down her neck, and Bucky leered at her. “Sweetheart let me see you,” he said, voice husky but still commanding. “Put your arms down.” She didn’t, so he took her wrists in his hands and held her down, baring her to him.

He eyed her, not bothering to conceal his lust. Sure, he’d seen her in bikinis before, but without anything on, she was just something else. Admiring the swell of her breast, the point of her nipples, the thatch of hair on her pubic bone, the pink lips of her pussy, glossy and slick against her will.

One of his hands released her wrist and he brought it to her pussy; she grabbed his wrist, trying to stop him. She didn’t say anything, but the look on her face was panicked, embarrassed. Her cheeks were flushed and pupils blown, eyes dark with lust, so he knew she was enjoying it, even if she was fighting him off.

When his fingers traced along the seam of her pussy and then pressed against her clit, she jolted, a small moan escaping her lips against her will. He rubbed gentle circles on her clit while she tugged again at his wrist, more halfheartedly this time.

“Oh,” she gasped, head falling forward against his shoulder.

“That’s right, baby,” he rasped, pressing more firmly now, working her up quickly. “Give into me, sweetheart. Feels good, doesn’t it?” She didn’t answer, but that was okay. He knew he was making her feel good—he could tell from her reactions. Eventually, she would admit it to him and herself. With his other hand, he palmed her breasts, tugging and pinching her nipples until they were swollen and red and she was crying out against his neck.

Now rubbing her clit with his thumb, he eased his middle finger into her pussy, her channel accepting him easily.

“Bucky,” she gasped, renewed in her effort to pull him away—although she was still no match for his strength. “No, Bucky—” She looked at him, unnerved eyes, mouth open in protest. Never before had she put anything inside her—not even a tampon—and she wasn’t sure about it now.

“You’ve never had anything inside of you before, have you baby?” he asked, knowing the answer.

“No, I—oh!” A cry interrupted her words as he pressed the pad of his finger against the spongy patch on the front wall of her cunt, bringing her greater pleasure than she had ever felt before.

He chuckled at her reaction, pressing his forehead to hers. “That’s right, baby. Nobody else can make you feel this way, can they?”

A broken whimper escaped her lips, eyes shut tight. “Bucky…” She turned her head and he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“I know, baby.” He smiled against her cheek, then dipped his head to nibble at her neck. “God, baby, you’re soaking. I’ve never been with someone who gets so wet, so damn responsive to me. You love it, I know you do.”

Still trying to refuse him, she shook her head, so he slipped in another finger. She hissed at the stretch, the foreign intrusion, but the pain melded into the pleasure as he pressed insistently against her g-spot, still circling her clit.

“Don’t deny it, baby. I love that I get to be the first one to make you feel so good, that I’m the first to have a chance at your sweet little virgin pussy.” Her cunt was a vice around his fingers, slick and hot and heaven. “So fucking tight, baby girl,” he growled in her ear and her walls fluttered around his fingers. “You’re gonna come for me, I can already tell. C’mon, sweetie, want you to come for me, all over my fingers.”

“Bucky, please—” her voice was almost hysterical with pleasure and panic. She was becoming overwhelmed with the feelings, with the idea that Bucky was doing this to her, about the things he was talking about. Was he really going to take her virginity? Did she want that?

The thought sent electricity through her, just like she felt last night, and suddenly she was falling over the edge, her pussy and womb contracting and releasing like the push of waves in the ocean, faster at first and then slowly ebbing off as she caught her breath.

“Good girl,” Bucky groaned against the side of her head once her orgasm ended. He breathed in the smell of her hair, then pulled back to look at her. She was still panting, blushing heavily, lips swollen. “That was so good, baby,” he whispered, and she shivered at his praise, her pussy clenching down on him again. He smirked, curled his fingers inside of her again even as she pushed him away.

“No, Bucky—” she gasped, “Stop, it hurts—oh—" Practically sobbing now, words failed her as he continued to finger her, working her up and past the point of pain until she was shaking in his arms, face buried in his neck, tears welling in her eyes as she whimpered and moaned.

“Does it hurt, baby?” he asked. She was cooperating more, pliant from her previous orgasm, and she nodded at his question. “Does it feel good?”

“Y-yes,” she whimpered, “B-but it hurts a little, Bucky, please—”

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby,” he told her, “Your pussy’s just begging for it, begging for me to fuck you. You want me to? Want me to fuck you?”

She didn’t answer—didn’t know the answer. She only clutched his shoulders as the pain and pleasure became indistinguishable—but she didn’t want it to stop, she was almost there, to the point that her pelvis tightened painfully, body twitching, all of her nerves on fire.

“I’m getting you used to this, honey,” he told her, “Because when I finally fuck you, I’m gonna make you come again and again, and I’m not gonna stop even if you beg. And you’re gonna love it, baby, you’re gonna love it when I fuck you.”

Once Bucky finally forced out another orgasm out of her, she was practically sobbing. Her pussy clenched painfully, and then he pulled his fingers out, running the tips of his fingers through her swollen, drenched folds.

“You did so well, baby,” he cooed, examining his glistening fingers. “Look at that, sweetheart. That’s how much your sweet pussy wants me.” He licked at one finger and moaned at the taste, tangy and earthy, a little salty, and so, so delicious. “You taste so good, baby,” he told her, bringing his hand to her lips. “Try it.”

She shook her head, appalled at the thought of tasting herself. Then he gripped her jaw with one hand to the point of pain and pushed his fingers pushed against her lips. Firmly, he said, “Do what I say.”

Hesitantly, she opened her mouth, accepting his fingers between her lips. Her face twisted at the taste—not exactly what she expected, but she didn’t know how she thought she would taste. Still, it wasn’t unpleasant, and she was so wound up and dazed from her orgasm, so it actually served to heighten her arousal. Briefly she wondered how she still felt needy for his touch, too aroused to focus. She could feel herself dripping onto the counter, and her hips twitched at the feeling of how slick she was.

Bucky admired her glazed eyes, the way her swollen mouth stretched over his fingers, the flush that swept from her cheeks down to her nipples. She was practically drunk from her orgasm, pliant to his touch, sweet and wanting. He wanted her like this all the time.

He wasn’t going to fuck her—not yet—but he had a lot of other ideas. He pumped his fingers in and out of her mouth, lightly fucking her mouth with his fingers, and when he shoved them in deep to the back of her throat, she gagged and coughed.

The thought of her doing that to his cock almost made him come right there.

To delay his orgasm, he pulled his fingers from her mouth, then pinched at her nipple, smeared the wetness along the flesh of her breast. She didn’t complain, only looked at him in shock and pleasure, a little crease between her furrowed eyebrows. One glance at her pussy found that she was drenched, slick dribbling onto the countertop, and he had to restrain himself from bending down and licking her clean.

He had to finish himself soon so they could move on with the day. There would be plenty of time for him to eat her out later.

Quickly, he pulled his cock out of his shorts, ignoring the surprise on her face.

“Here, sweetheart.” Bucky grabbed one of her hands and held it against his cock. “Take it in your hand,” he ordered. Mind numb with conflicting feelings, a haze of pleasure and satisfaction and disinhibition, she obeyed, unsure of what else to do.

This was not what she was expecting, but she tried to move past the shock that she had her hands on the first penis she would ever touch. He was so hot and smooth, hard and soft all at the same time. Where she was gripping his shaft, she could feel him throbbing, the pulse of a vein that wound itself from the base to the head of his penis. It was flushed pink, the tip dripping with pearlescent fluid.

He moved her hand up and down his length a few times, then encouraged her to continue on her own. “Just like that, baby,” he groaned, “Oh—fuck—”

She continued on, not sure what else to do—but he seemed to like this, so she kept at it. When her hand went a little too high on one stroke, her fingers dipped into the fluid at the tip, and Bucky groaned, his hips bucking into her grasp.

“Yeah, baby girl,” he moaned, “Like that.”

She did it again, collecting more fluid from the tip with each stroke upwards, and Bucky guided her movements, telling her what he liked, to go faster, grip him harder, twist her hand on every upstroke. He liked that he was the first one she had ever touched, that he got to teach her about this—and she learned quickly. Pride swelled in his chest as he watched her pleasure him, wide eyes stuck on his cock, enraptured by him.

She felt so powerful when he moaned and sighed in pleasure, and the feeling she got from making him feel good was addicting. It went straight to her pussy, making her drip more on the vanity. She wiggled her hips a little to get some friction, but all she felt was the slick slide of her skin against the marble where her juices had dripped all over the place, making a mess of her.

One of his hands tangled in her hair and pulled her into a deep kiss, and he moaned into her mouth as she worked his cock. Pulling back, he noticed her restlessness, the twitching of her hips.

“Does this turn you on, baby? Touching my cock, making me feel good?” She didn’t answer, but she bit her lip, knowing the answer was yes. “Grab my balls, sweetheart—” he took her other hand and guided it to his sack. “Oh, yes, fuck,” he panted when she followed his directions, grabbing gently at first, and then squeezing a little. “Yeah, baby, just like that,” he groaned, “Again—”

She worked him like that, pulling on his cock and massaging his balls, to the point that her arm started to cramp up. Bucky had his lips on her neck, kissing and biting and groaning, whispering dirty things to her the entire time. Just as she was about to adjust her grip, Bucky bit down hard on her neck, making her yelp.

“I’m gonna come, baby,” he said, teeth gritted, “Fuck, you’re gonna make me—”

He didn’t finish his sentence, and then his orgasm was washing over him, his come dribbling down her hand. She watched in awe, stroked him through it until he grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away.

“Clean up your mess,” he commanded her, bringing her wrist to her own lips. She hesitated, but he was giving her that look again, the one where he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Her tongue darted out to taste it. It wasn’t as pleasant as her own juices tasted, in her opinion—more bitter and basic, like laundry detergent might taste. Still, he made her lap it all up until her hand was clean, and then he kissed her deeply, licking the taste out of her mouth.

“That was so good,” he said into the kiss, “Such a good girl for me.”

She shivered again, her own arousal still simmering just underneath her skin. “Bucky,” she whispered, clinging to him. Moving her hips again, she tried to impart her want to him without having to tell him—if he made her voice her arousal, she might die of embarrassment.

For some reason, despite two orgasms tiring out her body, she was somehow unsatisfied, the arousal rising up inside of her again and making her ravenous as she was stroking his cock. Had she really enjoyed touching him so much? Why else would she feel this way, she wondered.

He knew what she wanted—of course he did—but he looked at her with a small clueless smile. Besides, if he left her wanting and needy now, it would make her easier to play with later in the day. “I think that’s enough for now. Time for you to get cleaned up, sweetheart. Get in the shower. I’ll take you out today.” He was thinking he’d take her into town or get her father’s sailboat ready and spend a day on the water.

“Wait—” she protested, grabbing him when he tried to move away.

He laughed at her, cupped her cheek and kissed her sweetly. Pulling back just a little, he murmured, “You’re insatiable, baby. You know that?”

It was true. He had awakened something in her that she didn’t know how to stop, and it worried her. Was this right? Bucky was supposed to be her best friend. And now he was touching her inappropriately, and she loved it, for some reason.

A light kiss on the cheek, a stroke of his knuckles down her bare spine, and then he pulled away, leaving her skin burning like he had poured lighter fluid on the flame inside of her. “Get ready. We’ll take the boat out on the water.”

Out on the water, away from everyone else, with her wearing only a tiny bikini—Bucky could only imagine the possibilities. Oh, he was going to have plenty of fun with her.

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